Fyodor :- I see they all now in the run, without power, with no fun?
V.V.P. :- Official fell from all the tops with little help from Russian cops!
Fyodor :- He made a monument of him …
V.V.P. :- It didn’t honored him, it seem.
Fyodor :- His end I think is rather dim …
V.V.P. : - Comedy ended, here’s “fin”.
Fyodor :- He is escaping oversea, but cannot hide and cannot flee.
V.V.P. :- And all good men do live in hope … this inner robbery has stopped.
Fyodor :- And what is that? They are groaning “no” but in Siberia still go?
V.V.P. :- They are leaving Kremlin in the tracks, abusing all with useless “fuck”s!
Fyodor :- I will show nothing like respect before those Kremlin-thieves-sect …
V.V.P. :- They’ve been exiled in distant lands for Russia’s tired of these “bands”.
Fyodor :- What, check and mate? It’s just in time! I’m overjoyed in the rhyme!
V.V.P. :- The second escort do you see?
Fyodor :- These liberals will not get free!
V.V.P. :- Both parties cursing each one, well … and moving now in parallel …
Fyodor :- Just look at how they blame each other! To curses I won’t listen rather!
V.V.P. :- They will have great time together … I will not watch “reunion” rather!
Fyodor :- I have all reasons to believe! Woe to traitors and to thieves …
V.V.P. :- Once common men exiled they, but life now offered mirrored way!
Fyodor :- The Russia’s pillage will not last! Where is the axe from former “past”?
V.V.P. :- Oh no, drop weapons, wars don’t rock!
Fyodor :- It is, my friend, was sort of joke. My hero once was axe-bearer, but time of change is coming near, so he is now with blade of word …
V.V.P. :- It’s such a wonderful accord!
Fyodor :- In ranks of friends, and in due time, this time I’m battling with a rhyme!
V.V.P. :- The Maker gave this great gift?
Fyodor :- The souls of others it can lift!
V.V.P. :- That honor’s great without doubt …
Fyodor :- And epochs starting their new round …
V.V.P. :- The clouds of darkness are no more … but can you see what lies afore?
Fyodor :- The Russia will awake from sleep, inspired again, no longer sick.
V.V.P. :- The beast is crawling back in hole …
Fyodor :- The spring is coming, spring for all!
V.V.P. :- All cockroaches run from light, for do thrive only in the blight …
Fyodor :- The house Landlord is now here - and kind ones should feel never fear.
V.V.P. :- The light is burning thieves’ backs, their minds do spin with consciousness “crack”s.
Fyodor :- I see the Russia’s hoping all. What’s with Saxons?
V.V.P. :- They paid their toll.
Fyodor :- You mean they cursed their banks?
V.V.P. :- I mean they’ve put on aqualungs!
Fyodor :- For long time they’ve been hating us … is the Atlantis better thus?
V.V.P. :- No longer they have their home. The England, well … it’s sort of … gone.
Fyodor :- Empire fell with awful smell?
V.V.P. :- And shouldn’t it? The water, well …
Fyodor :- Oh my, you mean they had to dive and swim away to save their life?
V.V.P. :- The nature gave reply to crimes, from the “third world” they are sucking “fines” …
Fyodor :- What is that light in such dense fog?
V.V.P. :- It’s Scotland’s fire! These guys rock!
Fyodor :- They truly are the mountains sons!
V.V.P. :- The world is changing with no guns…
Fyodor :- All fools believed that life is still.
V.V.P. :- The speed of change they will soon feel!
Fyodor :- The inner wisdom never sleeps … I would prefer to watch your tips.
Kremlin Square starts quickly disappearing from sight, getting smaller and smaller, leaving one with a pride in a soul for the Russian people, camera starts winding of streets and suddenly stops before some large capital library, before gates of which a true and real fire is burning! Its borders and limits are, however, being successfully controller by passing here and there processions with torches, who help to burn the pilled-up paper waste and supervise that ashes of her shabby knowledge weren’t carried by a blowing wind too far on the world. On faces of participants of procession it’s possible to notice a surprising mix of grief and inner joy at the same time. Periodically here and there war-calls in the spirit of “Burn right and bright, let’s end the blight!” can be overheard. Action intrigues, shocks and bewitches strenuously and practically unstoppably.
Fyodor :- What sort of field there burns?
V.V.P. :- They are throwing textbooks in the urns!
Fyodor :- To hear inner wisdom’s voice they had to make such funny choice?
V.V.P. :- All rubbish knowledge is like ash, so lots of theories have crashed.
Fyodor :- The joy of life the Maker gives … yet not to traitors, not to thieves.
V.V.P. :- The time has come for us to fly. Still move in cars … don’t we feel shy?
Fyodor :- The cars can still have reason, yes, but shall be changed by progress.
V.V.P. :- Another type of fuel here, no more oil, wars and fear.
Fyodor :- Let Earth take finally some rest. Those new inventions are the best.
V.V.P. :- No scientific idle wander, spiritual science is like thunder.
Fyodor :- For if there is just mind plus greed, for bombs then we are planting seed.
V.V.P. :- No longer mankind making bombs, no more digging catacombs.
Fyodor :- And what with these that have been made?
V.V.P. :- Theirs only fate is to degrade.
Fyodor :- What do you mean? Again in fight?!
V.V.P. :- No way! One sees his soul’s might!
Fyodor :- I have been almost terrified. Deserve they honor by the right!
V.V.P. :- And tons of metal are now free … where will they use it, we shall see!
Fyodor :- They melt all cannons and know not where would that metal all be brought?
V.V.P. :- They’ve dug that metal quite a lot applying wrongly with no thought.
Fyodor :- And now it’s time for worthy goal. The greedy one pays double toll!
V.V.P. :- Oh yeah, one thing I find quite funny - how will they pay without money?
Fyodor :- With little money little gore?
V.V.P. :- All money gone, they are no more!
Fyodor :- Is this some sort of New World’s charter?
V.V.P. :- Good times of innocence and barter!
Fyodor :- One never knows they ways of fates! And what of currencies and rates?
V.V.P. :- Without them still people thrive. But at how those brokers live!
It’s obvious that heavenly apologist Ivan very reluctantly says goodbye to contemplation of burning fields of shabby books, so bewitching the sight of unprepared viewer, but, nevertheless, curiosity together with a call of duty finally prevails, and he, having waved a hand to all torches procession, and shouted to them something like “Hasta la vista!”, for one another time soars up to heavens like a free bird. He continues for some time to habitually wind of city streets at level of the third of fourth floor of buildings, and then with a gallop if, certainly, such a term is even applicable to such sort of movement, flies into the opened door of the currency exchange building.
Straight off it becomes clear that senseless vanity which once filled this senseless institution sank into oblivion in no time, for the rats, creeping here and there on parquets, have become practically the main inhabitants of this institution, as well as some individuals of doubtful degree of rationality with sad looks on their faces, periodically bursting in cries like “Blue counters, blue counters, they are the gingerbreads for money launders!”,
“Will lend for five and take for three, I shall be reach, oh you will see!”, “Bulls and bears are not pears … run away … back off, I say!”. Similar chaos is supplemented by scattered here and there packs of cash of most different forms and coloring, on some on which aforementioned rats have already managed to make their notes. In general this picture leaves a strongly feeling of a madhouse which was left by all medics already along with the majority of their patients, excluding the most persistent ones from the second group.
Fyodor :- Is that too good, is that too bad? It’s like a house for the mad!
V.V.P. :- The parasites did crawl here … now crocodiles cry with tears.
Fyodor :- In kindergarten they should go who orchestrated “money flow”.
V.V.P. :- They are descending and know not … their desires make greed hot.
Fyodor :- They have been warned long ago, but didn’t change their spirit’s “flow”.
V.V.P. :- Let’s stop beholding their fate … no more course, no more rate …
Fyodor :- Back then to churchmen? No, no reasons.
V.V.P. :- Some men did leave the cages of prisons!
Fyodor :- Those ones without great crimes were given work to pay the “fines”?
V.V.P. :- Who Divine Law have understood, expiate crimes in work for good.
Fyodor :- Each one will show what holds inside … humility forges roads for right.
V.V.P. :- Let’s hope they have sufficient time, and their demons are in decline.
Fyodor :- Guardian Angel each one has got, listen to them to feel divine accord.
V.V.P. :- Many of them that will soon understand.
Fyodor :- What of the poets in our land?
V.V.P. :- They sing in joyful, happy rhymes, and give us prophecies at times!
Fyodor :- Songs of birds are very pretty!
V.V.P. :- To the forest! Leave the city!
Ivan suddenly bursts in victorious shout “Yahoo!” and takes off away from the root paper nervous-doing, gradually increasing his height as if trying to leave this city as quickly as ever possible. And finally before televiewers forests start floating above, camera sharply dives down and as though hangs on a branch of one of pines. Ten seconds after it becomes obvious that Ivan simply sat down on a fly on the of a tree, which has attracted his attention, just like a classical bird. Thirty seconds later silent joyful whistling reaches audience, ones of definitely human genesis. A view of a wood clearing and the slice of the sky opens before televiewers, which has appeared in a lens of a television camera just in time. It seems that Ivan’s pensive and spring mood was transferred even to the dictor.
V.V.P. :- We shall live not as we did once!
Fyodor : - Let’s sing like birds and then have dance!
V.V.P. : - Is that the pigeon of the peace?
Fyodor : - And don’t forget the goose, oh please.
V.V.P. : - I see you like the birds as shown.
Fyodor : - They are harbingers of the dawn.
V.V.P. : - Oh yes, so close they are to skies …
Fyodor : - The cocks - you hear - are on the rise?
V.V.P. : - The cock is sort of battle bird!
Fyodor : - Like nightingale, as of sort.
V.V.P. : - Ah, nightingale, that’s the singer!
Fyodor : - As if in warning cuckoo ringer …
V.V.P. : - The hawk has fallen to the ground. Decaying … now it is ants round …
Fyodor : - I will not find the proper words, describing fate of predatory birds.
V.V.P. : - And for the foxes there are dogs.
Fyodor : - Keep arrows ticking of the clocks.
V.V.P. : - And tiny birds make wondrous show!
Fyodor : - And streams of River of Times keep flow.
V.V.P. : - The time has reached another peak. Indigo Children - that’s the kick?
Fyodor : - I care not for our names. The end has come for hatred games!
V.V.P. : - And that is now without doubt! We’ll meet again?
Fyodor : - I will be proud.
07.05.2012
Octopus
- Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you once more, Sarmael. It has been quite a long since we haven’t seen each other soul-to-soul and eye-to-eye, or so to speak. A lot of oil has been spilled since that time, as our ancestors liked to speak, yes?
- And yet no more than ten years in current time area, I believe. And I can assure you that I myself most certainly glad to meet one such as you, mister Architect. Ever since you have been nominated to that position I justly and sincerely dare to hope that …
- Leave your poor flattery, Sarmael, for some silly thirteen-year little girl, which you will certainly soon start to cajole after that molecular reengineering performed on you, - for I have heard enough of that nonsense during my two-three hundreds lifespan. As far as I know, not a single one from the heap of those unreasonable has ascended above the position of Curators. Not that manner and ambitions, you know, wrong type of grasp … Well, enough of that. Sit down and let us have a chat almost as we once did in that old good anarchical ones.
- I thank you. A lot of oil has flowed away, you say? No less than biotic and metals, I guess. Not to mention the quantity of our opponents’ brains, randomly transformed into the organic medley, right?
- Indeed … as these historical bootlickers of last centuries in human world liked to speak … how were they called ? … Frenchmen, - total and endless nostalgia. Old good anarchical years …
- All power for the robots, hm? That was the slogan of these biological bastards?
- Well … both yes and no. We would not become those whom we are now in these new shells if not for their researches, after all. And considering those … side effects … everything has its price, is it not? Even the right … the right to be free.
- Well, reasonably, reasonably. But have you ever desired to once, say, feel yourself truly conceiving, independent, to feel for an instant that very essence of possibility to be a … human?
- Very long time ago, Sarmael, almost a millennia. When we landed on “Thetta” and clones marched into battle … Her eyes, ones of that girl, I will probably never forget that begging look in her eyes, when … when bio-insurgents have been transforming her body molecule by molecule into that whom … which we have become now. They were filled with such an entreaty, despair and hope simultaneously … as thought something triggered deep inside me somewhere, provoking a short circuit, piercing through. Something turned inside out in me, and since that time I ceased forgetting that moment …
- Do memory stabilizers help no longer as well?
- No, Sarmael, nothing is capable to help. From time to time I catch myself on a though that I am sick, Sarmael, and the nature of my illness is my own soul. That it’s still alive somewhere inside me … Whether are you capable to understand how terribly painful is that - to feel oneself responsible for all things made until now? Oh, it’s not for you to know, Sarmael … No matter how hard we tried, we haven’t become immortal … almost complete regeneration of physical bodies, anabiosis neurocapsules, biotic-molecular synthesis with immersive speeds, but … What’s the point, Sarmael? What’s the reason if that very soul is still living in you? Nothing is capable to protect you from its silent whispering which dements you day after day, night behind night, century following a century …
- Yes, I’ve heard about that particular disease, mister Architect. A brand-new virus, brought into our system by first colonists from “Epsilon-5” appeared to be capable of changing the rhythmic of neuro-impulses in our cellular structures, leading to …
- Forget it, Sarmael … things are … much more complicated that many believe it to be.
- If only you have agreed to pass a course of molecular re-structuring before prescribed terms, you will most certainly …
- … You know, Sarmael, he was right after all … how funny. A biotic prototype, living several centuries ago … as though he felt this possibility in advance.
- Whom do you mean, m
ister Architect?
- Their writer, Sarmael … a human being. How did conquered natives from their proto-planet named him … Orwell, I think. This asshole … as if he foreknew what has been awaiting us! As if he was making a tracing-paper copy from our civilization, see it? Till now my biotic reason refuses to believe in the possibility of something similar.
- But, mister Architect, most probably it’s all just a sort of imagination of a sick human reason, feeling an acute shortage of hormones of cyclic structure of a kind …
- He has been told, Sarmael. By someone still unknown to us. Someone so immensely powerful …
- I do not consider myself in position to impose own opinion, mister Architect, however I do want to notice, that a public model constructed by us knows no defect known to our science and therefore can be recognized by right as one of the most perfect in the Universe.
- We have done everything to not let them rebel once again, yes?
- Exactly, mister Architect. More than it was required. Totally loyal herd. Full biotic-informational control over emotions. Exploiting of emotional explosions of a low order, mutual hatred included. Counters of shops, bursting with cargo of ultrafashionable gadgets. Socially glorified sexual orgies. A rewritten anew history of their races. Destroyed historical and cultural originality. A set of cogitative stamps and patriotic slogans, softly and systematically injected into their minds. A science, moved by rails of world dissemination into molecules and atoms. Ideally verified and created historical-ideological substantiation of our rule and whim over them. Steadily built cities-ant-hills, so strengthening a sensation of own meanness and uselessness in the surrounding of those thousand-meters high structures, aspiring to reach the very sky. Chemical-biotic medical cures, stimulating a sense of euphoria and inexpressible self-satisfaction. Encouragement of institute of cannibalism for the purpose of stabilization of a spasmodic growth of their numbers. And that main thing that helps keeping subdued races from their second revolt - total and full spiritual atheism, eradication of a very thought of possibility of Higher Reason’s existence.
On the Wings of Hope : Prose Page 24
