– Mikhail Bulgakov, from the book Master and Margarita
– Nikolai Gogol, from the book Dead Souls
– Gillian Flynn, from the book Gone Girl
Rainbow cookies, short and sweet,
Rainbow cookies, square and neat,
Rainbow cookies, from New York streets,
Rainbow cookies, so good to eat.
Rainbow cookies, an Italian flag,
an homage to the boot, without the jet lag,
red, white, and green, to my friends I’ll brag,
of your deliciousness and taste, I’ll stuff my mouth till I gag.
Rainbow cookies, a name somewhat fake,
you’re not really a cookie, you’re more like a cake,
So fucking good you taste, for heaven’s sake,
I eat till my stomach aches.
Rainbow cookies, Mariia denies you’re legit
Joseph doesn’t care much, and even Olha a bit.
And somehow even Lida, is afraid to admit,
but they’re all just jealous, that they taste like shit.
Rainbow cookies, don’t mind their ignorant botch,
If it offends you I’ll be happy, to kick them in their crotch,
You’re so damn delicious, with milk, juice, even scotch,
as a meal or a snack, holy shit! kurwa mac!
Rainbow cookies, Mariia made me write this ode,
but I would have done it anyway, without her and Lida the toad,
they are just bitter to you, because they weren’t bestowed,
with taste and deliciousness, even better a la mode.
Mariia and Lida might be, undeniably adorable,
but they’re attitudes toward you, are simply deplorable.
They’re small and cute, but you’re small and portable,
They don’t understand, how you’re good and they’re horrible.
Rainbow cookies, so delightful and yummy,
Lida and Mariia, delightful, but dummies,
Rainbow cookies, so good in my tummy,
you make me want to, go hug my mummy.
Dedicated to Mariia and Lidiia, my two Ukrainians living in Warsaw. They hate rainbow cookies.
– Haruki Murakami, from the story “Chance Traveler” in book Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman
I’ve been binging on everything Haruki Murakami that I could find these past few months; I’ve consumed about 5 of them in this time, and I can’t get enough. I think that Murakami is one of the best writers of our time. He paints the most vivid pictures with his words – no easy feat, since he originally wrote all this in Japanese. Actually, in this case I must give credit to everybody that translates his work into English; it is mind-boggling for me to try to accept that these lucidly-conjured words were adapted from a completely different tongue.
Anyway, this quote and the passage around it, from his short story, Chance Traveler, which I read within a book with several short stories within, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, really struck a chord with me.