Archive for the ‘©SvetkaSamizdat’ Category


being asked to judge the Ms Czechoslovak Nebraska Pageant,

brought a smile to the weariness of this Russian’s frozen soul.

And, why not?!

I am detached enough…

(And we don’t have to be enemies…)

Beauty for ashes?

One should always hope.

The winner was truly charming,

her name, Sally McSomething.

(… Only in America!)

Indeed, God Bless Nebraska.





Of course,

notions and vestiges

of East and West

are redundant,

when you’re at

or near

the Pole.




Unrecognized &



in my own way,

I am laughing at you,

deriding your folly,

scorning your hubris.

… I question “success”.




You call them elites,

I call them exploitative scum

with delusions of grandeur

(which we enable)

and deaf ears to our needs.

Political and corporate leaders

have the authority we believe they have:

confused masses, we empower shits.

(… Time, friends, to change our beliefs? …)





I found an empty seat and sat down…

To sleep,

perchance to dream.

Alas, no,

too much noise and commotion.

I groaned audibly and fidgeted.

The man next to me took my discomfort

as an invitation to introduce himself

and talk.

And talk.

And talk…

About himself,

his children,

his grandchildren.

The whole sordid lot.

Apparently never to shut up,


He didn’t seem to require any reply

or encouragement from me,

he just kept talking,

droning on interminably.



Yes, shit!

I needed to shit.

I said exactly so

and excused myself bluntly.

He gaped after me,

silenced at last.




That yesterday,


is a story for another day…

Sometime in the future past,

when the time is right.




In Budapest, I was lucky,

my sadness was overcome by tiredness

and I slipped into a form of nothingness.

For a while,





The clocks are all wrong

and no one understands your song.

Does it really matter,

when we all have to sleep?




I tried to listen to Falco

but the battery ran out

and external distractions


my will to replace,


time and place…

so tired,

so tired,

so tired,

need rest…


Before Vienna

was Budapest…




Sure, Falco songs are often as banal as the next

half-forgotten Austrian

pop musician,

but there’s something more…


memories surrounding the home-made cassette

Uncle Kolya brought

from Magdeburg.

And the fact that Falco died before I realized I

too was dead.


… Perversely,

vague happiness,

and proxy signs of life.