Archive for the ‘Zapad (запад)’ Category

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,

me.

Peace and sanity.

Deal with the weather.

Forecast history.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

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Alas,

tiredness hits

like a brick.

After a certain point of time,

depending on the day,

I lose my capacity for self-reflection,

rather,

I want to forget,

indeed, escape!

 

©ddr7hd

 

Do you remember when the exception

became the rule?

An exact moment,

a sliding scale?

Life’s progression,

travesty and pain,

your enthusiasm wanes

matures: disdain.

Child-like excitement,

excess, indulgence…

Joie de vivre…

Becomes adult depression,

frustration,

repression;

with information,

realization,

and mortification.

Alas,

some sunsets

are not worth watching.

 

©ddr7hd

 

A little before they put me away,

in a cell,

beyond time and place,

Donald Trump had been elected “leader of the free world”.

Leader of the Free World?

Frankly, who won the election is not my focus,

it’s the very statement: “Leader of the Free World”.

Indeed.

I simper, deliberately,

as,

grandiosely, that’s what Americans

(and many others from deferential nations)

call Mr. President.

My,

oh my,

why,

such hubris!

Such arrogance!

Really,

such use of words,

intent and content,

is absurd.

Yes,

indeed,

that’s the word!

Welcome to the life on Planet Earth,

everyday theater of the absurd.

 

©ddr7hd

 

One day (or night), they came and took me out of my cell,

out of the prison altogether.

I was put in the back of a darkened van and driven away,

as far as I could tell

and/or remember.

I don’t know, maybe it was a hallucination,

electrode-conducted, drug-induced,

or maybe it was reality,

but suddenly I was in the West,

or, at least what I imagine Zapad to be.

I was in some kind of massive shop,

it was full of people,

it was full of produce and products,

but most of all it was full of noise,

a cacophony of head-piercing noise,

talking, music, and confusion,

jostling and delirium,

slow moving,

swaying,

unfriendly plastic faces blending…

Sensory overload,

stomach churning,

sickened,

I collapsed and curled into a foetal position.

I shut my eyes and tried to block it out.

But the noise was too terrible and insidious,

the vibe too destructive.

This was torture I couldn’t handle,

I decided I would confess,

tell my captors what they wanted to hear,

just let me get back to peace and quiet,

my cell or death, either would do.

I felt a new, sharp pain,

someone kicked at my head,

it was a small foot,

a child’s,

it kept kicking.

I heard the word “Christmas”

and I blacked out.

That is all I remember.

Sometime later, I woke up in my cell,

mouth dry and lips stuck together,

I had the distinct feeling that I’d been violated.

 

I had, I am sure,

an abnormal childhood and adolescence.

A product of who, when and where I am from,

external manipulations,

my sensitivities.

I saw the movie Grandview USA in 1993.

It was new to me.

I felt like I belonged, somehow.

From the opening credits, homely, inviting,

I felt at ease.

I wanted to be the girl in the bikini

with the Frisbee

(hard to believe?),

happy,

free.

I hoped things hadn’t changed too much

in the almost decade

since the film had been made.

Indeed.

I wanted a home.

I could dream.

 

 

The machine works,

ruthlessly,

the cogs grind me yet further,

marginalized

and screwed over

on a whole nother level.

Bureaucracy discriminates

illogically,

pedantically,

and with extreme fucking prejudice.

Bit by bit they are taking things away,

pieces of myself

being trashed.

Perhaps tomorrow I will simply disappear,

it seems to be what the system wants.

… My obliteration.

He sees his neighbours “getting on” with ease and wonders. He despairs at his lot.

What next for the man-child?

Suicide?

That’s what they want, indeed:

another fucked-up statistic to fuel the machine,

money,

corruption,

news cycle,

policy.

Deluded and bamboozled

by your wannabe

bourgeois ideology,

bells and whistles,

telling me what to do,

I forget myself,

the essential and fundamental,

individual and collective,

beautiful possibilities gone.

I watch the programs on TV you tell me to

and obey the adverts in between times.

I am your soldier,

you feed me shit,

as we march westwards

into the sunset

and death.

Thank you, at least, for giving me the opportunity to have a nice funeral – I only need to sell my soul and legacy to this life-insurance policy, a plan truly for death.

 

Moskva ’80,

Zapad ’81.

You act,

we react,

it’s a matter of fact.

Get with the program!

You hate,

we abhor.

And wait for LA ’84.

 

He exited the gym, pleased with his exertions,

feeling the benefit in his muscles and body,

exercise. So pure!

Sweat, cleansing,

so healthy-feeling.

He took a long and satisfying drag on his cigarette.

 

 

She exited the clinic,

botox procedure complete,

her face smoother.

Contented, youth restored.

She screwed her eyes shut, squinting dramatically,

the glare of the Sun.