Fyodor :- I wonder, is that priest mad?
V.V.P. :- A ritual plague this priest had.
Fyodor :- All forms he mixed, but essence - miss … was priest kissed by abyss?
V.V.P. :- For quite a long their god is money, all actions strange, few souls are sunny, and even stupid ritual he can’t perform, for it’s so dull.
Fyodor :- If they possess no more sheep, there is no need for gold and whip?
V.V.P. :- Let’s them cut fur from their bodies, and all those “donated” goodies.
Fyodor :- They’ve served a golden calf so well, had their feasts in their fall - was their list of crimes too fat?
V.V.P. :- I guess we’ll keep in secret that!
Fyodor :- The priests are not doing well … watch politicians, friend, we shall?
V.V.P. :- No reason watching them, I think - to guzzle oats and vodka’s drink?
Fyodor :- Oats and vodka? Funny move! That’s how their holiness they prove?
V.V.P. :- They are doing that for quite a time! With Faberge eggs they play ping-pong, and left their mansions with gold pools, still loudly crying: “We were fools!”
Fyodor :- Those are, no doubt, timely thoughts!
V.V.P. :- Hi, politician! Eat now the oats!
Fyodor :- Have they ground off their teeth, trying all to bite and tease? Or have enlightenment just come, and they have learned their own harm?
V.V.P. :- They were shocked, then were crying when Ivan was zealously flying! And just besides in own dreams they saw the tombs, prepared for sins. They saw what is awaiting them, and since these days they are in the lam.
Fyodor :- The avaricious knight has learned the price of blight, confirmed that he was fool and sat in dirty pool?
V.V.P. :- Sort of, my friend, it is quite so … the politician has fallen low. Already soon he’ll leave the scene, for oh-so-bloody it has been.
Fyodor :- What if he gives away all gold?
V.V.P. :- Another fate may then unfold. But he collected all in holes, for long perceiving own goals.
Fyodor :- He may present someone somewhere, to share with others - that is fair!
V.V.P. :- Every task can you endure, if your soul’s always pure!
Fyodor :- Oats with them we’ll not consume, and leave them all alone to fume. I guess at last the time has come to watch medical outcome! For long they’ve rescued only bodies - what has become with their goodies?
V.V.P. :- Ivan, show us the plot for now, and fly in heavens … you know how!
Camera changes its foreshortening for one more time, turning away from a raging priest, who is crying out “Ya fly away from there, I banish ya!”, takes into opened temple’s gates and rises into heavens. For some time a spectator can observe landscapes replacing each other far below, beginning from vast forest and finishing with apparently endless roads, leading goodness know where and goodness know what for, and then starts a traditional sharp dive and the picture of a city’s dump reveals before one’s eyes. Huge dump - I would even say a picture of massive waste. It’s clearly visible a row of cars standing before a dump, competing with each other in the holy right to be emptied as soon as possible. During the “emptying” of a next garbage truck it becomes visible, how from its body a big heaps of some tablets of all possible forms and coloring, some bags filled with powder, and finally some jars and bottles with every possible mixtures are rolled out and fall down into this already huge heap. All this medical junk amicably flies downwards from a heap’s top, ringing and as though clinking with invisible hooves in the process. This magnificent picture is finalized with striding here and there between heaps fire-bearers with torches, who persistently and methodically try to send all this unloaded junk to a fire for eating.
Fyodor :- Burning bright, a finest light!
V.V.P. :- Look in the sky - Ivans do fly!
Fyodor :- Fine to remember of own childhood, these fire-bearers are like Robins Hoods! Medicines burn with a wonderful glow, former diseased express their “love” …
V.V.P. :- People of Earth heal each other, energies holy were granted by Father.
Fyodor :- A funny change in medicines … diseases are caused by own sins!
V.V.P. :- A true belief can cure one! The one’s, becoming divine son, mistakes must own understand to travel then in wonderland. They now were healed by the God, they sing and dance, and praise and glad!
Fyodor :- And by all means, that is just fine! Beloved topic that’s of mine … I am again on the road, and happy thinking of the God.
V.V.P. :- We both, my Fyodor, know of that - this planet was in state so bad, but now the healing in near … and the new Earth will know no fear. The age of light now comes to life …
Fyodor :- I wonder, who will that survive?
05.02.2012
New Age Threshold. Part II
V.V.P. : - Pray tell me, Fyodor, how are you?
Fyodor : - The fate has stacked us with glue!
V.V.P. : - Oh yes, I see … and that’s fine then! Shall we watch events once again?
Fyodor : - Or we can simply talk a lot … and share what’s going on and hot!
V.V.P. : - The spring is coming, snow’s no more …
Fyodor : - And once again my spirit soar!
V.V.P. : - How is the height? And what’s the speed? And is the sign in heavens lit?
Fyodor : - I have no knowledge of my height … Yet speed increases own grade …
V.V.P. : - I am so happy, poet-friend, that we for now are in same band!
Fyodor : - There is no reason now to flatter … to wake up sleepers - so much better.
V.V.P. :- Through verses telling of the things, and waving own hands like wings?
Fyodor :- Of wondrous times we are still ringing, and bird from skies to us still singing, with each her song we know bit more, so let us learn her hidden lore.
V.V.P. :- We are together - I am glad. Let’s once again pour the flood!
Fyodor :- Strange flood’s approaching worthy nations … enlightenment that’s and inspiration!
V.V.P. :- Heed our speech, my watcher, then. Life’s closing circle once again!
Fyodor :- The altitude does differ, though. Away from fire shadows flow.
V.V.P. :- Without fire life is dark.
Fyodor :- So let’s give watcher at least spark. A river of times is flowing in spring for them to awaken in eye’s blink.
V.V.P. :- Awakened warriors we’ve got! What’s their numbers?
Fyodor :- Quite a lot?
V.V.P. :- I guess there could be more of them?
Fyodor :- Someone preferred to go in lam.
V.V.P. :- We’ll fight alongside ones, who’ve come.
Fyodor :- And make the viewer silent-stunned.
V.V.P. :- Let’s go, oh camera, go live! Ivan is going on the strife!
Fyodor :- Ivan in going in the sky just like a fighter on the fly …
V.V.P. :- He's fighting now with prejudice!
Fyodor :- But have no feathers, just us, guys.
V.V.P. :- And add the wings to absence list - but still he’s sky apologist.
Fyodor :- He’ll gain those in Thin World rather and bath himself then in the ether?
V.V.P. :- It’s hard to be like Angel, guy, your soul must be on the fly.
Fyodor :- True wings are granted by the God?
V.V.P. :- Ivan, show us the funny plot!
Camera together with Ivan (or maybe Ivan together with a camera?) rush away from film-making studio, winding on corridors for a long time, evading on its way from scurrying here and there employees, who are at the sight of camera (or maybe Ivan instead?) quite unambiguously smile and concede roads; then, finally, flies by at the opening door on a fresh air. It’s clearly visible how a camera then turns by a semicircle, speeds up and starts winding through capital’s streets, having risen by level of the third or fourth floor of houses in order to evade side effects of possible collisions with even less ambiguously smiling lower-walking passers-by. After about three m
inutes before televiewers a scene of recently build up shopping center opens up, and camera, having accurately entered in formed at opening of entrance doors armholes, finally freezes as though in indecision state.
A picture of truly epic scale reveals before the audience : entire hall, as far as the look suffices, is full of people making a din and scurrying-about here and there, on backs of which pairs of wings of white, black, pink, green, orange, gray, gray-brown-crimson-in-a-speck colors are fixed. Lots of girls do coquettishly try on themselves the next pair of wings, gracefully flaunting in front of mirrors; as if in revenge some young men try to pinch them from time to time for these very most newly acquired wings; here and there exclamations of type “And do these white ones fit me well?”, “And those pinkish I’ll present to my girlfriend!”, “In them you look more like a devil!”,”I welcome thee, Emo-Angel!”, “Gimme two!” and the like. The picture intrigues and bewitches one greatly.
Fyodor :- What are they doing there, my!
V.V.P. :- The wings of Angels do they buy!
Fyodor :- Like them they want to look at least, and have engaged in fair’s feast?
V.V.P. :- Everyone desired so when Ivan was on the go!
Fyodor :- They search for wings as if guru?
V.V.P. :- And cry aloud “Gimme two!”
Fyodor :- There are wings of color black?!
V.V.P. :- For those whose soul’s on wrong track.
Fyodor :- And even those of color pink …
V.V.P. :- It’s quite an honor, don’t you think?
Fyodor :- You’ve got a humor in the stock! And what is that?
V.V.P. :- It’s winged dog!
Fyodor :- And even horse these wings has gain?!
V.V.P. :- Pegasus flying in the rain!
Fyodor :- It’s sort of miracle as such …
V.V.P. :- I do agree, so don’t you touch!
Fyodor :- Ivan’s no doubt, lucky one!
V.V.P. :- And more skills are yet to come. He’s our curiosity with all verbosity!
Fyodor :- I am so happy for that man! Flying’s is part of Divine Plan.
V.V.P. :- Into the Garden we will go … the road is shining with new glow.
Fyodor :- Someone will enter, others not. The battle’s getting more hot.
V.V.P. :- I pity those still doing crime. Just like American marine …
Fyodor :- How USA is living, yes?
V.V.P. :- Ivan, show us this teaching mess!
As if having found second wings, let it even be somewhat artificial, in reality, Ivan in unity with a camera and his great desire leaves chock-full pavilion with Not-So-Angels and sharply soars up to the clouds. For a short instant the camera appears to be blinded by beams of a rising sun, and then the audience can behold for some time gentle curly-headed cloudlets-lambs and flying by flights of pigeons. Then all of a sudden the camera dives down, cutting clouds and having frightened off the next flock of totally not guilty of anything birds, and depressing in the monotone picture reveals before televiewers.
Wherever you look - everywhere there are dilapidated and almost depopulated cities with rickety houses and beaten-out glasses, through streets of which winds keeps walking and rolling goodness know where from brought tumbleweed and other not taken out from fire chestnuts. From time to time through this or that street some figure rushes on, bearing a faint resemblance to human, yet by its habits and appearance more resembling Neanderthal men. Sometimes silent abuse comes off from Ivan’s side, along with advices to be cleaned from “this burial ground of stinking macaques” as quicker as possible. The picture, revealing before televiewers indeed partly reminds a cemetery, in which survived ones didn’t still manage to put things in order yet, or are already totally incapable of doing so independently. It all forms a feeling as though this continent was recently visited either by a huge natural disaster, or not less destructive by its consequences social act of terrorism. The picture depresses and leaves extremely burdensome impression on Soul.
Fyodor :- Who are these? Some sort of monkeys?
V.V.P. :- Sir, look closer, these are Yankees!
Fyodor :- Faces covered with fear?
V.V.P. :- Their fall is coming near!
Fyodor :- Many covered with fur, no escape from own moor?
V.V.P. :- Those, who have abandoned God, doomed themselves to groan and rot.
Fyodor :- Yankees must repentance feel …
V.V.P. :- They are killing others still …
Fyodor :- Who will them accept abroad? Poor fates for now they’ve got!
V.V.P. :- All worthy ones will make through sea, what for the rest - I cannot see …
Fyodor :- Oh, what a pitiful the end! A fitting end for continent.
V.V.P. :- Capitalism made them like mad. Feodalism now welcomes, lad!
Fyodor :- They are dividing quickly so … how many “kingdoms” in the row?
V.V.P. :- Just like as many as the states … Run overseas all Wall Street’s mates!
Fyodor :- No one escapes the Justice Law!
V.V.P. :- Feel no repentance? It means … oh …
Fyodor :- Those ones escaping from the fate will more trouble only bait.
V.V.P. :- Ships may think without link … of your actions one must think!
Fyodor :- Look what Yankees brought on them …
V.V.P. :- Nature’s wrath is like a ram! Whirlwinds and tsunamis maybe coming from the seas …
Fyodor :- This is quite instructive, yes … evil ones are making mess.
V.V.P. :- Quite long ago it has been told. Still people strife for wealth and gold.
Fyodor :- They are the lesson for this world, ones who rejected divine chord …
V.V.P. :- This nation bears own guilt … and hate like poison makes them wilt.
Fyodor :- Their brother-Jew … what of these ones?
V.V.P. :- Ivan, show us those “chosen” sons.
Once again having sadly sighted directly into the camera, Ivan sighs with relief and soars under heavens once again, and, being guided by reference points known only to him, flies straight in the direction of a sacred hail, because of which sanctity there was so much human blood, probably not so sacred, spilled already. On approaching, however, it becomes obvious that the sky over Jerusalem is densely covered with black-gray clouds, here and there lightnings are sparkling, illuminated dark horizon, and heavy rain has already started. Either a mind abuse or Ivan’s caustic snicker can be heard in the camera, and she, camera, starts of become covered by more than live drops of moisture. Then, however, the hand of operator waves before televiewers, which in all its immense power with ease wipes the camera in a flash of time, and unambiguously exposes to everyone its thumb, raised vertically up.
Five more seconds passes and before looking into their TV screens auditory a shocking unprepared watcher view opens itself: it’s clearly visible how large masses of people gathered before sorrowly known Wailing Wall and in some sort of drunk waste, more, however, reminding frenzied despair, are bashing their heads against this so sorrowly known wall. They are hitting it, however, not so strongly and seriously, because no a single one from them, as the look suffices, bears no visible signs of a blow with own forehead. Deaf sounds “bom!” accompanied by high shrieks “Ai!”, “Ouch!” and even “Eh time, one more time!” fill space. The picture reminds an attempt of national public repentance not the most original way. Drops of moisture, beating about a pavement, complete this pitiable picture of crying.
V.V.P. :- Just look, my friend, at Wailing Wall - the Jews are “paying” their toll!
Fyodor :- Oh my! With heads they are bashing walls! Is that the way to reach their goals?
V.V.P. :- They beat themselves like in frenzy, for long have been living in the lie…
Fyodor :- A heaven’s fire fell on town, and “chosen” one was stripped of crown?
V.V.P. :- Was making money all the way … and thus become their own prey.
Fyodor :- Water with fire will cleanse all, thought it was not t
heir own goal.
V.V.P. :- What do you think of them, my friend, what is the future of this land?
Fyodor :- Here’s my thought without catch - for greed of some we need a patch.
V.V.P. :- There are wolves among the lambs …
Fyodor :- In USA wolves built their tombs!
V.V.P. :- Their guns are useless all for now, in own traps they steadily fall.
Fyodor :- When conscience dropped in the urn, the sun’s becoming hot and burn?
V.V.P. :- Whose speech is brutal, full of hate may know what role sun plays in fate.
Fyodor :- Without nature one lives not. What of officials and their sort?
V.V.P. :- I’m afraid they aren’t glad.
Fyodor :- I didn’t get it - what is that?
V.V.P. :- Without money thieves went mad.
Fyodor :- And what of those who stole not much?
V.V.P. :- For their wealth they tried to clutch.
Fyodor :- Can this be seen in color mode?
V.V.P. :- A nice cutscene we have got.
Fyodor :- And that reply is quite unclear.
V.V.P. :- Oh yes, we’ll see, ‘cause it’s quite near.
Camera soars up again, taking off from a zone of black clouds, and sets course for a Moscow. After a short duration still recently black sky suddenly lights up with sunshine, patches of which light starts playing here and there on lens only known to them chords. Through totally short time before televiewers the image of St. Basil’s Cathedrals flows out in a real time, and the panorama of Red Square reveals from a bird’s flight height. It’s clearly visible how along specified square under a military escort all first officials of the state, who have now become the last ones, are moving, spitefully looking around on by no means loyal to them military forces and celebrating people. From the site of aforementioned last ones obscene abuses and promises “to restore justice” can be overheard - what sort of justice they are talking about, however, isn’t known. Escorts periodically kick them, helping to get into the prepared armored vans under encouraging exclamations of standing nearby people. On faces of thieves of Russian State, departing into exile, a totally genuine mix of fear, surprise, melancholy and disappointment can been distinguished. By all means it’s obvious that they surely didn’t expected such sort of ending.
On the Wings of Hope : Prose Page 23
