Archive for the ‘Pravda’ Category

Fake news?

Like the weather forecast report,

presented as if fact and certainty:

in reality bullshit!


(To be continued…)







They say truth sets free;

alas, it often gets lost:

lies and agenda.


(To be continued…)







Interrogation Of the Renegade_ V Vereshchagin, 1901

“Speak freely,” he said,

as if it was an option.

Truth versus freedom.


(To be continued…)








It’s OK,

you can be honest,


nobody’s reading anyway,


Confess, unload,


your sins

will be exploited.

… Selah.




Red Terror,

White Terror,

Day Terror,

Night Terror.

Memories I imagine,

from other people’s accounts.

I shudder with repulsion, pain and fear.

Yes, I understand,

but I don’t know.




I dreamt (well, I think it was a dream),

one night or day,

that “they” asked me to negotiate

Mid-East peace,

the epitome of deal-brokering,

the ultimate legacy maker,

the secular holy grail, so as to speak.


Why not?

So, I tried, as others have, and failed.


My conclusion: the belligerents maintain the conflict, so as to validate themselves and, importantly, to keep revisiting 5-star hotels in relatively pristine European cities…

where nice prostitutes remember their names.




Une monde sans pitié,

l’univers de la désenchantée.




Radio Progress calling:

This is your early morning invitation

to do

physical exercise,

right there,

at home,

before you go to school or work.

Embrace the life force!




Then further get into the progress vibe,

with intelligent discussion.

Learn something useful.



Communist Youth




You will remember these days with fondness.




I woke up with a 1 Ruble coin in my hand.


How and from whom, unknown.

It fitted perfectly into my hand’s curl,

palm receptive.

I felt its curve and brought it up to my face.

I smelled it, for some reason,

then studied *its* face.

1977, Olympic issue,

3 years hence,


I smiled.

I wonder who held it before me,

this coin,

who bequeathed it,

several times over,

in serendipitous turns,


generally unthinking and banal,

fleeting possession, in exchange…

Maybe to buy toilet paper,

possibly bread,

50 issues of Pravda?

Perhaps Andropov himself…




I don’t remember how I got to sleep,

nor for how long I slept.

No dreams,

hazy memory.

I came to with a horribly dry mouth,


I felt like I’d been drugged.

The TV was on but silent,

the gray-white-black fuzz they call snow


I imagined it was falling

and, with a tight smile,

I imagine the real thing might be falling too,


My mind’s eye…

It might as well be Saturn.