PATRIOT’S SONG ON FIRST OF MAY

10178039_745925182125026_3800730810538116251_n

 

Writer Leo Tolstoy called feeling of patriotism bad and harmful that causes many disasters and it is leading to war.

In the CCCP, on the contrary, patriotism was taught with special diligence, starting from school. The Russian state became a legal successor of the Soviet course in this direction. And Crimean crisis undoubtedly actualized agenda with full throttle. Song and Dance Ensemble of the Russian Army Alexandrov , former role model of once Bolshoi Soviet style , again assumes the role of a loudspeaker of the Russian patriotism. It is this ensemble performed the song on ” polite people.” Song promises that ” we’ll be okay ,” and polite people,  that are wearing “polite” helmets and even their steel machines are “polite”, “will save  the honor and glory of the Motherland.”  (Russian Forbes writes, more or less).

Probably we can continue that Russian tanks are polite and they will politely occupy Ukraine, in order to save. I smell some kind of complex of the Russians, they hysterically are trying to find, crystallize  and present the Russian Idea well packed and digestible to the masses.  It is already 23 years in all post-Soviet republics goes on a hard job on redefining identity, it is not an easy task in our drastically changing world of globalization and neo liberilism, when a rich Socialist state is gone for good. Farewell to neo liberalism, it is what it is and it can not to reach the new heights. And now there is some kind of politics of Putin “for the masses”, some of the jerks are completely excited that Russian “rotten” intelligentsia is surprised and disappointed of this turn. Tsar is turning back on them, the poor intellectuals they are the minority and of no interest. Tsar is thinking of the “simple” people. So, for the “simple” people with a background of a strong military breeding it is important to have a strong “roof” to cover them up. Well, Russian do not differ much  from the other Big nations. Americans buy pink riffles to their daughters. Pro-tsarists are excited and mock Russian intelligentsia. That is not too intelligent to drive to exile (it is called the Fifth wave, starting from 1917) all that bright humans, as well to suppress arts. Bolsheviks have done something smart back then, – they gave sometime to flourish to the artists and intellectuals after the October revolution. That how the concept the style of Soviets was defined and polished then they strangled them all. Now they just continue what once was started, almost 100 years ago. In any case Russian always liked the idea of a strong “fist” that keeps them in terror. They like a fist-job. Just a bloody history repeating.

It is best described in a novel “Generation P” of Pelevin. A gangster Vovchik Maloi (Small)  in Moscow of the 90s (special breed of the gangsters) ordered to a creator Tatarsky concept of  Russian national idea. All that because Vovchik Maloi was upset to go abroad and not be able to proud of being Russian (Courchevel?). Creating such a concept did not work Tatarsky even with a help of the spirit of Che Guevara. The next morning Tatarsky learned that Vova Small was killed during clashes with the Chechens. 

All that spiced up with a fanatical faith. I grew up in Soviets and I wonder from where all these fanatics of the age 40+ are from?! Where they were hidden? My grandmother was religious, all her children baptized (illegally), I was baptized illegally. But it did not stop her to believe in Stalin until her deathbed. She told me she was crying when Stalin died. She was not fanatical, but it was some kind of strange mish mash. I can compare it to Haiti believers, with voodoo rituals and chickens paw.

As they say, you don’t choose for motherland and religion. Is it that way still? I doubt. Wizards of images making are re-inventing Russian idea. This year they have orginized a parade for 1st of May. That is after 23 years. Why? Because it is still appeals to Russians, and it is a “simple” folk’s red letter’s day to get out with the red (oeps, tricolor) flag on the Red square and to be proud of being Russian. Sick and tired of all that national pride.

Slaves+Orthodox+Kokoshnik+Patriotic Song+Tsar+ Polite Fist

I am confused. I am politely threatened by polite gun machine hold by polite robocops.

 

203402215

 

 

WHAT THE FAG?!

artworks-000046460822-qkc05n-original

 

It is not appropriate to swear for a woman, – they say. I question for years myself and the others, -why? Yes, explain me why should I stop use all that cheesy slang, curse and swear. In Russian one can fully express their thoughts in full sentences only constructed from Gros Mots (swear), as they say it in French. Friend of mine composed a 12 volumes (!!!) dictionary on Russian “Mat” (A. Plucer-Sarno, Russki Mat). It is amazing, how codified becomes language due jargon, ’cause people start to talk omitting some words or changing them close by the sound or meaning. Like proper ladies say “shoot” instead of “shit”. So, to be economical on the subject I am smearing here, tell me how do I write a short scene that came to my mind now without swearing?

Noon, frenetic sun frantically scorches. A couple in their 30s, sitting in an antic VW car argues. WOMAN screams and yells at a MAN that is behind the wheel. She slaps him and spits on him, gets out of the car, slams the door, bends to the open window. Woman’s face is pink from all the effort she makes while screaming. She screams out into the face of a man, – FUCK YOU! Man looks in front of him the horizon, turns to her, smiles mildly and answers, – I love you too, babe!

How do I write it better without “Fuck you!”? You tell me, ’cause I do not know. Better could be only, – I love you too, bitch!

My endless struggle with the rules, to accept a lot of stuff “just as it is”. I was told as a little girl, as a teenager, as a young woman not to swear, – it is just not allowed for a female, or it creates a negative image for a lady belonging to a middle class (let it grow, or worst case scenario, – she belongs to the upper class or, oh mein Gott, to the aristocracy). Profanity is a sin according to the Bible, with an explanation this time, – I love church, they explain everything. Jesus specifically taught that what comes out of a man’s mouth is evidence of what is in his heart. Luke 6:45 says, “ The good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth what is good; and the evil man out of the evil treasure brings forth what is evil; for his mouth speaks from that which fills his heart.” We pray and curse with the same mouth and we can’t do it, ’cause with the same mouth we say Jesus name. Especially, when it boils in one pot gods, devils, dirt and saints. But these are just words, aren’t they? Why a word strikes so much harder than a fist? Because first was a Word? The more I think now the less I want to swear, probably to many words I have written. But all those words sometime ago were just regular words, bitch – a female dog now it is a a pejorative term, fuck – complicated etymology, a lot of meanings, fagot – a bundle of twigs. How did it became all wrong? Gay is just happy. I know a woman with a name Gay, she is of a Greek origin and around 50 years old. I think her parents were hippies.
Well, I keep my speech profane-free when there around gentle and degradable brains of the children. More or less I try to keep it quite, ’cause foul mouth is a habit and to get rid of that is more difficult than to quit smoking. Smoking is a concrete action and then you have that foul, – or taste of freedom matter how you conceive it, – smoke in your mouth. With words… they are like birds, ones freed try to catch them. Always to late. I was given a lot of remarks on my misbehavior back in my supersonic youth’s years. Sometimes in so-called-proper company, snobs, parents of little children. Still I don’t manage to say “shoot” instead of “shit”. I always then imagine myself as an lady in pink bad taste dress but very expensive a-la Paris Hilton, after her “porn”-tape is out, with little girl’s thin voice “Is it bad, I like sex, so I’ve made litl-bit-o-porn”? That was me, with my thin voice, – Is it bad to swear?

My opinion: it is cheaper to swear loud and let it all out loud than to go to a shrink, – 200 euro cheaper per month, believe me. Of cause it does damage your image in the hui society. It is a lower stage of human being but it is sometimes so to the point. Just I would tell that there some rules about that, be general, swear at the aliens, at some forces you don’t. Don’t be personal, racist. If say a fag to a person that is homosexual, – it is offensive, if to straight guy, well, you might have some broken cheekbones. Oh, and I love my cheekbones, – they like prosthetic ones of a Hollywood star, would be pity to have them broken.
Ay, I preach again. Do whatever you want. LET YOUR HEART BEAT FREELY!  There are no rules on swearing or not swearing. But believe to swear rightly and funny and inspired, – is an art form. Some great poets wrote poems full of profanity. I know for sure Kharms, Pushkin, Esenin, Bukowski, Mayakovsky. Me.

I am profane. I am doomed. What the fag? For I can read a book with a title “Philosophy of a Cunt” and discuss it.

 

 

art-bitch-fashion-free-lips-favim-com-417752_large1

 

 

 

Dansu dansu dansu. 2014


the-artist

 

Well, I have stolen the title from Haruki Murakami’s sixth novel. Lovely book it suits me to use its title since it is a lot on loss and abandonment, Murakami is like that.

I am burning to write about dancing and love of dancing. Yes, it is an International Day of Dance, and yes I did not manage to get to some seminars/ballet/show. The cause of me not attending all that was trivial, I did not have a bicycle and I am broke. It was rather disappointing but I hope to catch up with the seminar on Friday (I guess). In any case I have suppressed my love to this form of art for many years and suddenly all came up couple of days ago when I took absent-mindlessly a flyer somewhere in stupid shopping center. It was about Dance Limerick events and there was it, -the date of 29 April, Dancing Day. And all of a sudden I got so excited , I have realized that just by watching I can also enjoy art. I am kinda more of a doer. I like to watch and then to do it myself, whatever art it is. Poor me.

And now I have a flash back and I remember me being a little tiny ballerina and how I had  my first show. I was very disappointed due to Soviet kind of fest we had to wear brown uniforms with white aprons, so frustrating. We wanted to wear those pretty little pink voile ballerinas tutu. It was very important to wear it. It was more important than the choreography and how we executing the dance. We were a bunch of little furious dancers. That I remember well, the dance was a disaster. Through years I have learned that a dancer makes the shoes and not shoes make a dancer. And only in fairy tales the Red shoes make you dance. It is hard-hard work. First comes the sweat and then the beauty (Balanchine).  You become a tough girl, it needs a lot of ego swallowing, ’cause you find out slowly that prima ballerina could be just one, and sometimes it is not necessary best one. Or it is not going to be you! Just she was in the right time at the right place and got the part. A lot of factors. You learn not to give up and just continue to love your art. And to know how to dance is always cool! Dance makes music visible, – so true! Sorry for quoting Balanchine just agree 100 % with the guy. And he knew some things.

Here I am having a celebration on my own. Still I am glad that my warm feelings for dancing came upon me. I’ll go to salsa festival next week! Another 5 min of Dansu Day. Love you all crazy dancers. Make dance not war!

JD2014_Screenshot_BLURRED_LINES_XBOXONE_1

 

Pourquoi ou combien?

why

 

 

Lorsque vous êtes un enfant qu’il ya beaucoup de questions que vous posent au “les grandes”. Juste les enfants posent une question plus que l’autre question, tu sais cet question – c’est pourquoi? Une question de philosophie et de physics. Ci les anciens grecs jamais ne posent pas cet peut être le monde aurait été different.
Mais quand nous grandissons cette question est changée avec, “combine”. Nous nous demandons plus souvent,- combien c’est ecoute? Combien kilometres jusque la bas? Combien d’enfants aurais-je? Combien de temps avons-nous? Combien d’années ai-je jusqu’à ce que je mourrai? Combien combien combien.
Vous ne l’obtenez pas, le moment où le “pourquoi?” est changé par «combien?». La ligne entre les deux est floue. Comme la ligne entre l’enfance et l’age adulte. Vous vivez dans ce flou qui a appelé la jeunesse depuis quelques années sans en être conscients et tout d’un coup vous êtes tous impliqués dans le monde gouverné par le FMI.
C’est le moment précis où vous arrêtez de rêver et que signifie une chose – vous êtes vieux! Oh, mes excuses, je devrais être politiquement correcte, – vous avez arrivé à maturité! Lorsque nous nous arrêtons de rêver que nous vieillissons.
Ne vous laissez pas à tache floue! Non pour les lignes floues de la Zone Crépusculaire!

OU

faites ce que vous pensez BON pour vous.

En tout cas, certaines personnes ont très courte période de «pourquoi». Ils ont sauté par-dessus “pourquoi le “pourquoi” période et ils frappent trop vite et trop tôt dans le “comment?” . Vous avez rencontré certains d’entre eux, ils sont assez effrayant surnaturellement au moins pour moi.

 

Cordialement vôtre,

 

Toxicana Cyber

 

money

write waste write

The worst happened, – I have lost my text. Now I have to re-write it that is awful and I have no choice. Sure nobody will be hurt if I do not rewrite, no hard feelings towards me neither. Just it is so unfinished. I am not done with you!

I write as I think and I think as write. Usually the best free style writing happens at night, when I am in bed and full of hopes to fall asleep immediatly. Ha! It is almost never happens. I can be dead from tiredness nevertheless I will wide awake wishing to die. I have made some experiences of not writing, – it does not work, I would stay until 10 AM in bed with no sleep. So, I stop forcing myself and I just scribble down all my great ideas and then come back to bed. Strangely enough all my great refreshingly new ideas become old and outdated in the sun rays next morning. My “news” ain’t “news” anymore like in fashion business, – tomorrow is today. It might be everything in life better to do something today you thought to do tomorrow. Procrastination rules the worlds. Lazy me thinks too this way, – why to do something today if I can do it tomorrow?!

And I write, and I write and I waste my precious time you say better I earn more money or spend more time with ma famiglia or whatever more. The thing is that I do not feel well if I do not. It is very important to write for me for my precious mental health. I better be a graphomaniac than any other with ending “maniac”. It is the way of debugging meself or kinda of antivirus program. And luckily it works!

and a flag into my hands, a train towards me, and an acidic sky overhead and a hell a lot of inspiration and workaholism. So I sit and write, write, write, like that bipolar schizoid artist Adolf Adolf Wölfli sentenced for a rape of three girls that wrote autobiographical book of 45 volumes, 25 000 pp. Good for him, – too bad for the little girls.

СТОЛ И ЛЕНИН

Image

Полное название в оригинале, – “Письменный стол и Ленин”. Но я решила сократить название, дабы возбудить любопыство читателя, выехать на известном лейбле, под названием “Ленин”. И также пригладить свои литературные амбиции, или поддержать живой свою претензию на возможнотсь сотворить оригинальный текст, чтобы ни у кого не возникло ассоциаций что я претендую на оригнальность Л. Кэрролла и на его знаменитую загадку: “Что общего у ворона и письменного стола?” загаданной Шляпой Алисе. Тем паче я не собираюсь исследовать сходство Ленина и Письменного стола, хотя Его, – Ленина не Стола, – образ у меня тесно связан со столом и именно письменном столом. Только в процессе ворошения памяти слово “письменный” исчезает. Так как на ум мне пришёл рассказ из далекого октябрятски-пионерского детства, – до комсомолов, увы, наше поколение не дотянуло. И рассказ этот был стандартный из учебников по-литературе, пестревшими рассказами о хорошем Мальчике Володе, позднее Молодом Революционере и ещё позднее о зрелом Интеллектуале и Вожде народов. Этот рассказ о начинающем вожде, которого отвратительные угнетатели (с Царём во главе) засадили в очердной в тюрьму. И как ценно он потратил своё время будучи за решёткой, как он много читал и учился, совершенствовал языки и знания по философии, экономике. И самое главное, – что он писал, писал и писал. Уже тогда, в своём далёком отрочестве я осознала, что в тюрьме письменного стола нет, и что в жизни не всегда будут удобные письменные столы под рукой, и значит нужно умение приспособится к дискомфорту. К труде и обороне. Все эти детали меня не так поразили и задержались, как то что Ленин занимался по ночам и что во время занятий он каждый час отрывался, чтобы позаниматься физзарядкой (физическими упражнениями), всё для того чтобы быть в форме, как думала я, по-детски наивно, в том далёко-мутном прошлом. Настоящая же причина, оказлась другая, и она мне кажется наиболее верной, – на самом-то деле Ленину было холодно, и так он разминал свои застывшие члены и согревался. В царских тюрьмах не топили (почти), как не топили в советских тюрьмах (почти), как не топят и в федеративно-российских тюрьмах (почти). И ещё один фактик, – в царских тюрмах у заключённых было больше времени, судя по колличеству написанным Лениным. В российских нынешных тюрьмах у заключённых нет ни времени, ни сил, ни желания, бороться нынче не модно и не за что. Так или иначе этот рассказ о Ленине меня вдохновил на физзарядку во время учений, а так как читала я много и взахлёб, это помогло мне не превратится в бесхребетного слизняка.

Всё ж таки меня мучает Кэрроловская загадка, -“Что общего у ворона и письменного стола?”, и именно что она без ответа. Я ведь душа наивная всегда думала, что это общее – это перья. Перо у вороны, перо пишущее на столе. Вот такой вот казус каждодневный.

 

 

DOWN WITH WEATHER! WATER CONSPIRACY

1391435_10151970904574633_1368197587_n

 

In the last bloggie I found meself way too sweet and angelic than I really am. And all intro with the weather… Although I received praise from people MUITO Important for me, I find it quite boring text. Eventually it occurred to me that I have forgotten to write about something really bothering me for years: THE AIRPORTS!

Oh my-my, how I hate airports lately, approximately last ten years. Maybe a bit more, +/- 3 years. Especially to travel alone, long flights, long waiting hours, all alone. Although I am communicative and always find a company with  whom to have a chat.  I always find what to read and still I can’t stand anymore to travel alone. I ceased to be a lone traveler, my dear people, I’ve had enough. Enough is enough.

So, my last nonsense travelling was from Greece to Ireland, transit flight through London’s Stansted airport, Ryanair I was flying first time with an economy airline, there is always a first time they say. For the price I have traveled – it is OK. Hm, how to describe it? Well it is economical, it is economize on everything, especially on the space. You know.

Just one fact started immediately bothering me, – that is the price of little bottle of water (3 £) that is sold on board. I found it rather amusing, especially that the customs take away your water. Then you forget to buy a new one. And then you pay dearly your amnesia. I was furious, – little bottle is just not enough for a flight of 3.5 hours. Two bottles – 7 euros. Still it is OK remembering the price of a ticket.

BUT (there is always this cheesy butting) in the Stansted airport in the toilet I was at first pleasantly impressed that the water was hot. From both tabs, a cold water tab and hot water tab was running really hot water. I said to myself, – oh, nice, they are wealthy over here, if it is spent all that energy on hot water. Whensoever I went to buy some food and water, SURPRISE, – I found out that water is precious. You are forced to buy pricey water, while CocaCola is cheaper, a can of beer is cheaper. Try to persuade me that it is NOT a conspiracy of neo liberals and bloody business that must go on and on and on. I threw my bottle of water, I am in a transit flight, I am tired and decide to stay at the airport, not willing to pay gold for water (I have my principles too). I would drink in the toilet. I can’t. So, I got out of the airport just to buy water and that miserable packet lunch. I am fairly satisfied ’cause of the fairly priced (only for this situation) water bottle. Coffee is cheaper. Gimmie a break! I went for that through UK border with my bend ID, waiting in a line only to have a slightly stressful situation when the airport worker on the desk asked me for some extra documentation on my precious person

– Might you have a passport or driving license, M’am?

– Only ISIC, sir. And that already too many cards for me, sir, to carry around.

Guy was very serious, -behind him were another three senior men, probably checking how works

– Can you take off your cap M’am?

I was wearing a really bad boyz black baseball cap. I took of my cap.

-Well, that’s not my best picture on this ID, sir. In life I am much prettier.

The senior men were giggling they found me boldly amusing. Well, I am bald lately.

And that all for a bottle of water for a fair price. Gush, I dislike Stansted. People are rushing, nobody interacts with each other. So, bloody 2001, Kubrick/ Just dirtier, no style, no taste, grey, faceless, crowdy, hysterical, – I saw at least 10 humans in a panic attack of loosing a flight.  A Polish girl was absolutely hysterical, blaming the staff for willing to drink coffee instead of serving her. When I told her, – well what kind of service do you expect for a ticket of 80 Eu, darling?, – she got so upset, – if sight could kill I was dead by now, – she looked at me with such hatred. I told her, – hey I am not the Boss of RyanAir, am I? I wish.

What saved me that I read quietly. I read for six hours. That is the only nice thing happened to me during 8 hours of transit.

Then there were new rules that all cosmetics (under 100 ml) have to be placed into a plastic bag 10×10 (I don’t remember of what, cm, ml) or 20×20. I am already in going to the customs, and realize that I have to say probably bye-bye to that few things I have. Luckily enough there those shitty baggies are placed next to the x-rays. So, I didn’t throw ma stuff. And then you must seriously get undressed. I make joke to a lady next to me that we all should get naked and finish with that! She looked around, like imagining the crowd all naked, got the image and we laughed like hell. Like in the movie “The Perfume” naked scene.

All that I find conspiracy of the multis, the water one buys, the cosmetics one throws (I saw people throwing their stuff ’cause they are in a desperate hurry). I think there is no terrorism just we are forced to consume more. You throw – you buy, if it would be cold water in the toilet, no self-respecting punk would buy water.

In any case according to some prognosis – water is going to be a real trouble in the near future.

I am thirsty from writing down my rage against the machines in letters. I need some water!

 

2001-2

 

FRESH. LOVE.

P1070171

 

 

Freezing fresh here on Smaragd isle. Humidity so high, it screws into your bones and I even feel pain. Am I spoiled living for years in warm countries? All that drizzle and just trivial rain does not break my nerves although I thought I would hate it. The most important if there is sunshine in the morning then everything is just fine. That’s why the Irish(English)men talk so much about the weather, – it just occurred to me! Weather is so often changing here, – one tries to catch up. In any case weather is bothering me here, so I got stuck on this subject although I thought to write about another more important stuff to me. That is ma familia. After a disheveled day, all these child caring, pooh I do respect mothers!  It is no joke to have children. They banging their heads, they have belly problem from tiredness. BUT they are also a lot of fun!

I concentrate better on fun thing, actually I don’t remember already all their whining and crying, only their big smiles.

So, here I am sitting with a baby of 11 months old in my arms because he is refusing to sleep and his mum got exhausted, – she had a tough day, – children, work, exams. She got very nervous, so I took over the bouboukas (baby) and we went to see the little fishes in the aquarium. Baby was gazing at the fish and suddenly I realized that I feel very very happy at this very moment. Holding bouboukas on my arms, staring at fish, Tom&Jerry on the back round – the eldest son was watching cartoon. It was such a serenity this unbelievably messy evening. Serenity gets you in the most inappropriate moments. I probably calmed down. For a while. In any case I love my little sis & Co!