The Book of a Jungle (A Jungle Episode)

Maugli has broken the rules of a jungle. But all is not as it seems in this jungle, and Baluga unravels a plot that goes way beyond anything he could ever have ever imagined ...

Will he save us all?

From visionaries Mike Pigskin and Karina Aslanova, comes a jungle story re-imagining for modern sensibilities. Using cutting-edge special effects, beautiful character and scene development, and intricate plot twists, they have truly redefined a genre.

Prosaic Friday: Blinking

Blinking

The sun was leaving his street too fast. The street was longing for the light just like his soul was. Even when direct afternoon light was penetrating into every corner of this place, everything seemed to him invariably miserable and grim. Well, sometimes you just can’t help the way you see things, right?

He left his sleeping place and went out to the street hoping to catch up with the last promise of today’s sun. As always, it promised to return tomorrow. Either scorching or almost invisible, the sun has for already almost 5 billion years been fulfilling its promise to return, and it was nice for him to know.

Speeding up and wading between the tightly-planted houses, like air he was gulping the last gleam of the day. There, ahead, there is still a little bit, he thought to himself, focusing his gaze at the end of what seemed an infinitely sad street. The sky was dipping itself into the arms of darkness yet it was bright. Out there, above, the swallows were circling and crying incessantly. They were flying low, he could hear them. The atmosphere was pressing the ground with all its body. It will rain, he thought. Something superhuman and unfathomably painful was in their cry. Something too animal, something too wild for a landed human. After all, every blackfly on account for every bird and its offspring, survival couldn’t make them not to cry.

Along the way he thought that he could stay in the flat and bid farewell to the sunset from the window, but then, that eight-foot room would swallow him in blackness much faster. A bridge was very close.  The destination he was eager for. He crossed the road and took his phone out to take a picture. The picture was nothing particularly different from the other 90, but it was one more day that was born, lived, and was dying right in front of his eyes. He will not remember this day, they all have long been mixed into one but let it be pixelated and saved elsewhere just in case. That's all. He reached the remains of light and was saved just like the picture in his phone.

The bridge was empty just as he was. No people, no cars, no motion. It was getting dark quickly, hastily. Street lanterns were proudly showing initiative in the urban décor. An ambulance raced past. Nothing will help this day, he thought, call the morgue. For him, the night wasn’t a part of the day; it was a totally different dimension, with its rules, traditions, and way of existence. In these circumstances, he had nothing to do at night, or more precisely, in the night. A cold north wind in mid-July, the smell of alcohol digesting welcomes you past every pub implanted into the row of houses, sickly-sweet perfumes, meaningless electronic cigarettes, and people dressed as mannequins for real? Now anger was filling his soul. People. People make the place, right? They're unconditionally buying cheap flirtation and even the crudest attention, they admire each other's primitive intelligence, and now he hears the shouts of encouragement to a guy who just broke a bottle of beer. These people are narrow, flat, and happy fools, and unbeknownst to him, the envy has eclipsed the anger. Now a single night's darkness was not enough for him and he hobbled back home, to the smallest and darkest room in the world.

Cold wind has weather-beaten his thin skin but he imagined this city on fire with all the colours of the rainbow and it was warming him. Night. Infamous night. Go away and give me back my day, was he crooning on the way back. Empty like entrance of the house, lonely elevator, he entered the flat and quietly made himself a cup of tea, in order not to wake the rest of the monsters in his head. Today there was enough of them.

The door of the room. Closed curtains. Squeezed wooden bed between two thin walls. They are all too unfriendly. He doesn’t care, he closes his eyes and the thought of a new day that brings new hopes lulls his heavy heart. Light will come and all will be brighter. Light will come.

His sleep is instant and deep, he barely sees dreams. They are deceptive though comforting. He is too tired of them.

The morning. He feels it with his eyes closed, but only when he opens them there is no light. Is the night not over? Or have I gone blind? But there is no panic, it does not frighten him, he sees the dark with open eyes and it feels good, it feels like light and it doesn’t matter if there is no more light, because he doesn’t need it anymore.

A little later he woke up again to find a lock of dark hair on his face. The hair that replaced the light and darkness, the hair which makes both equally deep and light. Day 91. 

All rights reserved.

The Gringo

 

Saturday Poetry (late friday)

 

White Dwarf

 We are all here temporary

 And a cup of yours is for a matter of time

 Until you break it

 And all of this imperfect

 And the bones easily break

 Just like a cup

 Indestructible - perfect

Parasitical array

Nefarious reproduction

In the pursuit of lasting

False observation

 

Both past and future

(The second will also not prolong forever)

From order to disorder

Unconscionably, relentlessly

Stop - the red dot.

There must be something endless

Some kind of the abstract

Fantastic and elastic

For a happy ending, At least

Perhaps this little" something"

Somewhere inside the depths?

Inside of that what easily

What easily can break

Perhaps it’s sugar, milk, or honey pot

Or lemon, or that bloody sweetener

Although the fluid is too hot

Too hot to make it infinite

Your something’s immaterial

It’s independent, blatantly existing,

Beyond the words and stroking

The answer infantile and dreamily unacceptable, misplaced.

 

Why do you want to last so long?

Why do you give a shit what happens after all?

Just drink from the cup of yours,

With pleasure, surely slurping

Until it breaks apart, until it’s gone, while it is full, while it is yours.

 

 

(Azlanova indeed)



A perfect place

cold. An autumn. mud and mist. tightly dormant dried plants fill the space its prim shades
a few kids are standing in the field. Boy's eyes filled with tears, the children stood motionless.
They look at the barbed wire fence.
He blinked again...
- Why can't we go there? a fair-haired kid asked
- We just can't go. this is forbidden zone. the other fat boy said
- But there is no one! protested the girl
- We will be scold and punished if we jump over the fence. Explained perspiring of fear fat boy. He was scared. After all the horrible stories of his limited father, feeling of fear completely absorb all other feelings of interest, enthusiasm and childish passion for adventures.
Children that grow up in the working class families on the outskirts of belligerent island, impossible to meet playing with dolls, touch and run, at playgrounds etc. Only ball and wars. They don't like each other, they quietly despise their parents, they are hate war. They roam around the ruins of the abandoned, crushed houses, felled forests, burned fields.
The age of eleven they are getting ready to have sex, to smoke weed, to get drunk in the trash, fight, to have abortions, to steal, lie and even kill. They are prepared to be cool, though it is not the fact that they know that the word "cool" has two meanings.
- This is the best place I've ever seen. said fair-haired kid
- Nothing special. disagreed fatty.
- There is another sky. Clouds floating in the the opposite direction. It is here, behind a fence. began think up a girl
- I'm going. fair-haired said and started to get through the gap between bars of the fence.
- I'm with you. joined him rapturous girl
- Assholes! You will stumble on a bomb and then it will be many pieces of assholes. Ha-ha, shouted to them in the back the fat boy.
- Fence doesn't mean anything. if there is a bomb then you can stand on one of them right now. shouted a bully girl.
Fatty quickly bounced from place where he stood and began to examine the ground around him.
- The earth is soft, do you feel it? a pale boy asked on the way
- Yes, really. Look what I have. Girl pulled from a wide coat pocket some thing reminiscent of brick with a small hole and the wedge in it
- What is it? This is real? the boy stopped walk
-  I don't know. I stole the bomb from my dad
 - Want to try explode it?
At this time the fatty dared to climb over the fence and join the kids or to stay with the status of the coward and go home.
- Hey you,losers, wait for me!
- Yeah, let's try where should we ...When suddenly shout of the fat boy and inconceivable explosion behind the kids deafened them.A cloud of explosion slowly absorbed into the skies without leaving a trace.
Boy's eyes filled with tears, the children stood motionless.  They look at the barbed wire fence. 

He blinked for the first time...

Yellow imagination of lilac coat

- Maybe I have cancer? Or some other incurable dental disease?
She stood in the kitchen and looked at the autumn landscape of debris in her window.
- If there was cancer of stupidity you would definitely been ill, - her fussy mum said, and slammed the door. She felt as if little slippery worms had a bath in her head. They laughed and drunk champagne from crystal glasses that borrowed in the sideboard that stood in the corner of her skull. Their ties, jackets and heels were scattered all over the head. This time it was a office worker-worm, his worm-wife, and their worm-mistress. Outside the window, screamed worms-kids and all the time didn't let them concentrate on their orgasms. The dog began spinning around its own axis.
- Noooooo! Please don't! Okay, okay, let's go for a walk!
She dressed beige corduroy pants, terrible style, (which she had already more than 5 years and constantly tried to alter them, making it narrower and narrower, but style still intolerable),and stupid lilac coat, in the form of a bell.
She carried her vegetable dog outside and as long as he like frostbitten stood shaking his head  she began to watch the falling leaves. Under the feet was formed a real autumn carpet. I hate carpets.
-Lilac color is definitely in harmony with the yellow leaves, I make at least some creative effect in the world. maybe I should stay there until the wipers will sweep away the leaves? Then I'll know for sure that I must go, to another location in the search of harmony. I was born in autumn.
One leaf was falling so slowly, naturally. Waltzing in the space of earth and sky it is resignedly but proudly took its place on the carpet with its cousins. The other leaf, having made a few choleric rotations, spun around so hard that blew away itself into a puddle. Noble but nasty girl decided to help the trees to get rid of their old and not trendy attires and shook one of them thus caught under the Starfall of leaves. Actually this day girl was so bored and sad that she decided to have fun with such latest idiotic way.
The dog happily took a run and hit his head against the wall,  then stood up and ran on.
-Why are you doing this? The girl was funny and sorry for dog.
She imagined how dog turns into young puppy in a silk green scarf and leather hat with a cup of tea in the legs, coming to her, said - well, I must go, - make a curtsy, puts the pilot glasses and flies away in his doggy helicopter. She looks at the sky, wiping away the tears by one leaf of yellow carpet brotherhood and the helicopter writes in the sky "see you..."
He flies away and putting head down she sees a little piece of avian shit on her sleeve. She gazes into this picture and see how out of shit starts to grow a small narcissus flower, - Oh my god, avian shit is not a sign of money, it is a sign of flowers! Said out loud anxious girl. She hastily lifted vegetable dog and hurried home, telling him about perfect balance of yellow and lilac colours.
At home she has determined that flower grows out of her hand.In a such moments, you don't know who to call and what to say, but she began to search mobile, but returned to the kitchen where she had left a dog, was lying only green silk scarf, and in the sky was visible white stripe of helicopter.
She stared out the window when her mum came home.
- Are you still sit back? asked mum
- Mom, I'm definitely sick ...
- Oh please, just don't start over again, by the way, and where the dog?
- He flew away mum
- Sorry?
- I have something to show you
- What did you say about dog?
- Do you know any diseases when from the people grow plants?
- Sorry?
...