Archive for June, 2017

Outside, I approached the car.

Inside, he watched carefully.

Slowly, he wound the window down.

I could hear Nautilus Pompilius playing,

one track transitioned into another,

a homemade cassette.

I smiled inwardly.

I knew we would have something to talk about.





Okay, it was an interesting proposal.

Considering the closest he got to Avant-Garde was the second Omsk Hockey team, when they had a free admission day,

this was truly *out there*

and I was intrigued…




Every thought you think.

Every urge you indulge and/or struggle against.

(… Resist!)

Every order you obey.

Everything you say.

Every word you read and/or hear,

affecting, …

infecting your perspective.

Constant barrage,

constantly compromised.

Trust no one.

Your time will come.






“You’ve heard of the bald-hairy-bald-hairy theory, for our leaders, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, I apply it to women,” he said, looking downward, meaningfully, expectantly…





Dress for success, they told me,

appearance count (deceive),

get the job (done).





I hear things, I see things,

inside, outside society,

even from my prison cell.

Like, drunken, drugged fools,

all too clear,

the more public the better,


(and this is *living*!?) ….

Apparently they have no fear of Kompromat.

Perhaps they have “nothing to lose”

(can it really be, so many people thus?),

near and far from home.

As for me, by choice, I always drank alone.





You watch the TV show,

much like the evening news:

in the name of engagement,

they lie.

In the name of pain relief,

you buy.






Comrade Stalin was speaking to me,

through time and space,

poetic soul,

another voice,


let the cloud dweller be.





Fuck you and your election (!)

your protest march,

your commentary.

“Progressive”, “conservative”,

exploiters and oppressors all!

Fuck your democracy,

function and form,

your hollow ideas of society,

the machinery,

benefiting the few,

screwing the masses,

deluding and coercing,

sucking dry.

Let me be,


Peace and sanity.

Deal with the weather.

Forecast history.





Sick joke.

After the deluge, flood,

gut-wrenching damage,

heart-broken people,

sunshine has the temerity to break through,


I grimace in the glare.

What solace?

Perverted grace.


… Mockery and farce.