Runtu Gay asked, his eyes dark and empty the USA

Runtu: He asked, his eyes / http://proza.ru/2023/11/14/1173  / again dark and empty the USA

Runtu: He asked, his / http://proza.ru/2023/11/14/1173  / eyes again dark and empty… the USA

Runtu: That crap / http://proza.ru/2023/11/14/554  / about your family needing you … the USA

2021 Стихотворение автора : " Там Ходики Стучат Расписаны Судьбой Uri Runtu "  /
 http://proza.ru/2021/01/10/1077 / 2021.


                Год ото Дня.

                А там Неделя...

                Месяц и Десятилетья:

                сошли на НЕТ –

                как Облака раздуло с Ветром за Окном.

                Все УСКОРЯЕТСЯ ДВИЖЕНЬЕ –

                Закатов и Восходов по Ночам.

                И НЕ-СТОЯТ ЧАСЫ –

                И ХОДИКИ СТУЧАТ ВСЕ ГРОМЧЕ –

                в которых Дни :

                РАСПИСАНЫ СУДЬБОЙ.



Runtu Bad crap about / http://proza.ru/2023/11/14/554  /  my family needing you : the USA

Runtu: Farewell, /  http://proza.ru/2023/11/13/1089 / my stripling warrior... Souvenirs from Utah… the USA

Runtu: I just /  http://proza.ru/2023/11/13/864  / sipped my cocoa and watched the boys burn more cardboard... Magical Worldview … the USA

Runtu: And that’s quite liberating... / http://proza.ru/2023/11/13/458  / How Does Apostasy Feel? … the USA

Photo :  Юри Мэттью Рюнтю: p. 1949 ( born 1949 : Russia}: Yuri Ryuntyu, Uri Runtu: Iouri Runtu: Washington DC : the USA

2023 автор / http://proza.ru/2006/04/14-339 / Рюнтю Юри 17 Лeт 2006-2023 на Проза. Pу / http://proza.ru/2023/11/02/800 / Англо - Франко и Pусско-язычный писатель и журналист : Юрий Рюнтю / Uri Runtu / Yuri Ryuntyu / Canberra ACT : Australia /  Media TV Radio /  http://proza.ru/2023/11/13/224  / 2023

2006 - 2024 / http://proza.ru/2023/10/30/1600 / Проза. ру - это Грандиозное и Единственное на планете Земля - Явление в Мировой Культурологии из России - / http://www.proza.ru/2013/05/10/1461 / Media TV Radio : 2024

Этo учит : распознавать гнев до его превращения в насилие.
Этo учит : обуздывать ярость, если она вспыхивает

2006 © Photo : St.-Petersburg : Russia 2006 / http://proza.ru/2023/08/26/1174 /. Я - Юри Мэттью Рюнтю: p. 1949 ( born 1949 : Yuri Ryuntyu, Uri Runtu: Iouri Runtu: Canberra ACT Australia) и Сергей Некрасов: p.1947 ( born 1947 : Dr. Sergei Nekrasov : D.Sc., Ph.D. Moscow Russia). Mой кристально честный русский друг - Директор Всероссийского Музея А.С. Пушкина / b. Moscow 1799-1837 d. St.-Petersburg, Russia /, кто принял - ДАР - для Главного Музея России - " МИРОВОЕ ИНТЕЛЛЕКТУАЛЬНОЕ НАСЛЕДИЕ РУДОЛЬФА НУРЕЕВА : РОССИЯ - ХХ ВЕК ": DVD-1 и DVD-2: 1-35 books: 15 000 pages: 4 000 photos: St.-Petersburg, Russia / http://proza.ru/avtor/yuri2008 / 2006

About Runtu: writer in Russia: USA: Australia: journalist in Australia and Russia and France: educator: ballet critic in Australia and Russia: theatre critic in Australia : playwright in Australia and Russia:


2023 © 18+ : Все права принадлежат авторам, 2000-2023. Портал работает под эгидой Российского союза писателей. Интеллектуальная Элита Демократической России : 18+ Russia 2023.

2023 : Telegram : Runtu, Uri TikTok : Юри Рюнтю : " The general purpose of PROSE is to preserve language as it is spoken by the people. Language is the key to expressing civilization itself. The most complicated and mature language embodies the highest level of civilizations across time and history. It is how we view and remember events, a lingo to record the world around us. Here we stand for the history of Russian literature in Australia. This prose represents Australian citizens who still enjoy writing in the mother tongue of their Russian heritage. Anyway, this Russian-speaking literature belongs to Australian Modern Culture and flourishes equally alongside its Anglo-Saxon counterpart. The previous background of writers is pleasantly mixed with the new style of life they experience in Australia ". / http://www.proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2020-01-11 / Iouri Runtu: French : Rudolf Noureev : La Mort a Paris / Юри Рюнтю : Russian / Uri Runtu: English Yuri Ryuntyu / Celebrities RU : the Neo-transcendental theatre : 2022.

‘ Back from the dead ’/ Denmark : Runtu Uri / Runtu / English : Ryuntyu Yuri / French : Iouri Runtu / Russian :  Рюнтю Юри / Australia Canberra ACT / Bolivia : Mormon Missionary: USA : Washington D.C. / the USA / USA / US

Runtu: Not much to tell. I’m now in my 70s, have way too many kids, and live in the Washington, DC, area. I write for a living, but unless you consider technical writing creative, this is the only creative writing I do. Recently, I published an article in The Human Prospect and a book chronicling my experiences as a Mormon missionary in Bolivia.

2023 : Telegram : Runtu, Uri TikTok : " Why do we need these? " - Rudolf Nureyev asked. "Because we need life experience from these people and only on the basis of life experience can we make predictions for the future without states self-destruction and international wars..." - he underlined. "I wish good luck for Russia, but I would like to know the true colure of the future for such a great civilization with over one thousand year’s historical record. Please remember..." - he said. "We have in Russia two-hundred-year-old theaters, two hundred and fifty years of ballet and music as well as a great and the most fascinating literature and poetry to be found in the world which is over five hundred years old. Think about and be proud to keep this tradition well and fruitful from the beginning to the end of such a fascinating cultural project. I wish you good luck and God be with you." This Rudolf Nureyev said to me in Armidale ( NSW : Australia ) on November 23, 1991 " / http://www.proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2017-02-23 / Iouri Runtu: French : Rudolf Noureev : La Mort a Paris / Юри Рюнтю : Russian / Uri Runtu: English Yuri Ryuntyu / Celebrities RU : Hео-трансцендентальный театр : 2022.



Runtu: He asked, his eyes / http://proza.ru/2023/11/14/1173  / again dark and empty the USA

Runtu: He asked, his / http://proza.ru/2023/11/14/1173  / eyes again dark and empty… the USA

We walked along the uneven sidewalk past the zoo and the botanical gardens, the large “super” slide quiet in the dark, the amber streetlights reflecting on the sagging wrought-iron fence.

               We hadn’t said much that day, as usual.

                Brent wasn’t exactly a talker.

I pointed out that this was the place where the Hermanas had been flashed the week before, an unknown perv having stuck his penis between the iron bars as the sisters walked to an appointment.

                “What was weird was that he was circumcised,”
                said Hermana Stevenson, clearly unfazed.

Brent said nothing but jammed his hands farther down into his dusty overcoat.

Tall with sharp features, he might have been handsome had parasites not spent five months attacking his digestive system.

As it stood, his tall frame hunched in a billowing overcoat, his cheek bones protruding at sharp angles, setting off the saddest eyes I have ever seen.

I think they were brown, but you couldn’t tell because there wasn’t much light left in them. Five months in Bolivia, and not a single letter from home.

Three months with a sadistic “trainer” who thought a naive Texan was nothing more than a practical joke waiting to happen.

And two months with me, both of us trading bouts with salmonella and strep throat.

But we were both finally well and ready to get some missionary work done.

We crossed the cut-stone pavement in the plaza bordering the stadium, the transplanted Incan statues casting long shadows on the gravel.

The wind picked up again with its familiar cold, dry, dusty sting, like nothing I had experienced anywhere else.

The cold went through you as if you weren’t there, and I could almost see the salesman back in Utah snickering to himself as I paid for the worthless Czechoslovakian overcoat at the “missionary” store. Another half mile, and we would be home.

It wouldn’t be much warmer inside, but at least we had some wool blankets to huddle under.

We came up over the last rise before the river; even thought I’d been in La Paz for 3 months; the altitude still made me breathless climbing even the gentlest slopes.

As we descended toward the bridge, we joined a long line of tired workers quietly making their way home. No one talked, and all you could hear was the dragging of worn sandals on the cold stone sidewalk.

It was always like that.

The Pasos Kanki bridge wasn’t particularly impressive. Perhaps 50 meters across, it straddled what the locals charitably called “el rio,” a muddy wash full of trash with a Gray-beige stream passing through it.

By day people washed their clothes in the river, except on the days when the textile mills upstream emptied its dyes from a pipe into the ravine.

On those days the river would run in brilliant purple or green, and the disappointed colitis would turn sadly and take their unwashed laundry home.

The still-quiet stream of Pacinos continued perhaps three abreast as we neared the bridge, and I found myself unconsciously staring at the ground as I walked, shutting out the cold and the crowd around me.

I nearly ran into the elderly man in front of me when the crowd stopped suddenly.

I could hear some muttering up ahead as the stream made a wide turn out into the middle of the bridge to avoid whatever was obstructing the sidewalk.

The bridge was well-lit, and I could see what looked like a pile of rags shoved up against the small concrete railing.

As we approached, I could see it wasn’t rags at all; it was a person, though I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was had clearly died on the bridge.

Unthinking, we both turned and followed the traffic into the street, around the body, and back onto the sidewalk. Still, no one said a word.

We walked up the unpaved street on the other side of the river toward our apartment, the smell of pig entrails frying in lard over a kerosene burner joining the dust in our noses as we passed the Cruce de Copacabana, the main bus stop in Alto San Pedro.

We climbed the steep hill to our apartment building, opened the red metal gate, and crossed the courtyard into our tiny room.

         Neither one of us spoke as we changed into our night-time clothes:

                long johns and sweats to keep out the Andean cold.

Brent sat in his garments, staring at his feet.

“Maybe we should go back and do something,” I said, helpfully. “We shouldn’t have left him like that.”

“Look, you’re the one who kept on walking, so don’t blame me,” he said, his eyes showing anger I hadn’t seen before.

“All right, let’s go,” I said, pulling on my overcoat.

He dressed quickly, and we headed back down the hill.

Nothing had changed since we left.

The line of pedestrians continued steadily maneuvering around the body.

“What are we supposed to do?” Brent asked, knowing neither of us had a clue.

“I don’t know, but we can do something.” I wasn’t sure we could.

As we approached the body, I’m not sure what I expected.

I’d never felt such sadness and yet such terror at the same time.

But I made myself squat down beside what was now obviously a woman.

             She was dressed in traditional chaolite clothes:

   wide pollera skirt, stiff woolen shawl, and battered bowler-type hat.

She was still, almost in a fatal position, leaning against the railing, as if she had just decided to stop walking once and for all.

I touched her shoulder, and she stirred slightly.

Not dead. Thank you, Heavenly Father.

I asked if she needed help, and she turned a grimy face flecked with bits of coca leaf to me.

“What the hell do you want, gringo?” she slurred at me angrily, clearly drunk.

“We just want to help,” I said softly.

“Go to hell!” she shrieked.

A man behind me said, “Stupid gringos, just let the bitch die. She’s not worth the time.”

I turned and saw that the crowd had stopped, and they were watching to see what these two American boys were going to do.

“En serio, just leave her alone. Let her die,” he repeated. Yes, she would die if she stayed on the bridge.

“Please, senora, you need to go home,” I tried again.

This time she spat at me.

I turned to ask if anyone could help me get her home. At that moment, I saw an ancient taxi heading toward the bridge, the driver’s eyes staring at the crowd gathered around us.

At that moment, another car approached from the other side, its driver also trying to figure out what was going on. The cars collided perhaps 15 feet from where we were.

Half the crowd, including my companion, rushed to the crumpled cars to see if they could help.

I stayed with the woman, trying hopelessly to get her to go home.

Presently the police arrived in a rickety Land Cruiser. One of the officers rushed to where I was still squatting and asked, “Which car was she in?”

“Neither.”

As the police worked on the accident, I noticed a small girl, perhaps 7 or 8, standing a few feet off.

“Do you know this woman?

Do you know where she lives?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s my mother,” the little girl said.

It looked like she had been crying,

but now her face looked stiff and cold.

“Let’s take her home,” I said, trying to smile.

I reached my arms under the mother’s shoulders and lifted her to her feet, as a stream of profanity flowed from her mouth.

Her daughter smiled at me and said, “We live only a couple of blocks away. I’ll get her home.” I watched them stagger slowly up the hill toward the stadium, the mother now screaming what were likely obscenities in Aymar...

I turned and saw Brent holding the hand of a woman who sat on the opposite sidewalk, her head against the railing, blood trickling down her temple.

We stayed a few more minutes until a policeman told us to go home.

Brent told the woman one last time that it was going to be OK, and then we started up the hill towards home.

At the bus stop, a woman was packing up her kerosene burner and pot for the night, and a few men stood warming their hands near a fire burning in the gutter.

                At the gate, I fumbled for my key.

                “So, what did we end up doing?” Brent asked,

                his eyes again dark and empty.

                “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”

Runtu: He asked, his eyes / http://proza.ru/2023/11/14/1173  / again dark and empty the USA

Runtu: He asked, his / http://proza.ru/2023/11/14/1173  / eyes again dark and empty… the USA

Stanford University Library Bio автор Рюнтю Юри

Рюнтю Юри: литературный дневник

2023 - / http://proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2023-11-13 / - Iouri Runtu: French / Юри Рюнтю : Russian / Uri Runtu: English : Yuri Ryuntyu / Canberra ACT Australia / Celebrities RU
-
National / http://proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2023-11-13 / Library of Australia : 100 Books by Uri Runtu / http://catalogue.nla.gov.au/catalog?q=Ryuntyu / 1995-2023
-
NLA Canberra Australia / http://trove.nla.gov.au/work/36715538 / 2000-2023 / http://trove.nla.gov.au/work/34694657 / 1993-2023
---
SUL : Stanford University : Library / http://searchworks.stanford.edu/view/8597478 / Stanford, California 94305 USA
2


2023 Runtu : Runtu Uri / http://proza.ru/2023/11/15/113  / Germany Yorkshire Group : Who is who Uri Runtu family in Canberra ACT AU 2023

2023 Рюнтю Юри: Runtu : литературный дневник  / http://proza.ru/2023/11/15/113  / 2023

2008 - 2023 : Runtu Uri : Who is who : Uri Runtu family in Australia Canberra ACT / http://proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2023-11-15 / Runtu New Material Project and Runtu Thermal Power Project : 2008 - 2023

In 2006, Runtu was identified as key hi-tech enterprise of China: France : Italy : Denmark : Finland : Sweden : Australia : UK : Canada : USA 2023

Runtu ranks the 13th on top 500 China's Big Group Competitiveness announced by National Bureau of Statistics and ranks the 1st on top 10 enterprise of independent innovation ability industry of national big-medium-scale industrial enterprise decided by National Bureau of Statistics.

Runtu announced its public listing on July 6 of 2010 in Shenzhen Stock Exchange. (Security code is 002440):  Runtu : Germany Yorkshire Group.


2023 - Русско-язычная Культура в Австралии : Telegram : Автор на Проза.Ру : Кто и откуда Юри Рюнтю / http://proza.ru/2021/03/01/1646 / : Родился : 1949 Россия - Живет и Работает : с 1980 : Австралия Франция США : Iouri Runtu: French : / http://proza.ru/2021/10/28/817 / Hео-трансцендентальный театр : Австралия ISBN 978-1-925278-36-1 Canberra Australia 2022


Gaining the access to the capital market is a milestone for Runtu to enter capital market; it is a new beginning for Runtu to face encourages, challenges and opportunities.


Zhejiang Runtu Co., Ltd. has taken acquisition of Jiangsu Mingsheng Chemical Co., Ltd.


In 2011,this action has help Runtu extending its chain of strategic industries; the acquisition of Germany Yorkshire Group has laid a solid foundation for Runtu to implement its "going out" strategy.
-
The year 2012 is a great year for the investment and development of Runtu. We will invest more than CNY 1.5 billion in the construction of Runtu New Material Project and Runtu Thermal Power Project in the near future.


Runtu now is working hard to expand business, and striving for getting steady and fast development continuously.


Runtu aims to be a responsible Group both for enterprise and society, and strives to make Runtu a company with "a century history", and a flag of Chinese brands.


All Runtu people are working hard to make their-own contributions to the development of Chinese industry!