Ultima Thule

Part 1 (Oxxxymiron)

The weather outside is awesome, a seascape painter would be excited.

The Earth is a flat disk under a bell glass of rain.

Waves are raging in the rooms, and my bed will be washed away

But I know in advance - your Noah's ark won't pick us up.

These atolls are full of wind and cold. The weather man no longer cares about them. The meteorologist is on a drinking binge.

Sea is everywhere, it's unlikely that I will ever wade through it

But I take my own weakness and fuck it in the mouth.

As seagulls in the sky are meowing like the souls of cats.

It's hard to live without dry land but we will be able to survive in this puddle.

This is like a Hollywood movie about the marine world

Made by another boring sodomite.

Terrestrial experience is not applicable here,

Too much water circulation in the nature.

The city is moored, floating on a long cable.

In the open sea, a Kraken is chowing an airplane carrier.

But my destination is further, towards the epicentre of the storm

As the eyes are Hyperboreans on the face of Lemuria.

Here go the first orcas by the window -

Such is this intermittent atmospheric precipitation.

Part 2 (Luperkal)

I have given away a fortune for a ticket beyond the ecumene

The sea is voiceless here, like a certain captain of the same name (Nemo=voiceless – a pun in Russian)

A sad phase. Let’s look into the walkman – only Tricky is there

I don’t dig other freaks as much. The world rests on three whales.

No need to intentionally beg the fans for love there

In the port, among industrial Leviathans.

I was looking for those sailing beyond the frontier, to one of the Atlantises

And my mind drifts like a sea-cow between the storylines of books.

Fate will put us on hooks, short-circuit the neurons,

The heart will burn down like Nero’s Rome, let the rhythm be unstable

Fight against the nature? Take heart and step out of the bushes?

Like Jacques-Yves Cousteau, I have long ago chosen piers instead of railroad platforms.

The cold of Styx and Charon will squeeze the throat like a garrotte,

Some will lose their heart in vice, the time will throw down crowns from their heads.

With the same short haircut, in the cargo hold, between string bags and boxes

The grey-bearded skipper will meet those who have boarded the ferry boat.

As my way goes over there, to the edge of the continents, beyond the mountains

Where the sea hunches its back and sends sailors to Dagon.

There, among the carcasses of merchant caravels

I will meet her who has the face of Madonna and the gaze of the Gorgon.

Hook:

On a raft, by sea, on a board, will I even find the way towards it? Ultima Thule

I sail / swim like in delirium, I sink and I walk on crutches towards Ultima Thule.

Through fates and tempests, will I even find the way to it, to my elusive Ultima Thule?

Ultima Thule.