Came back from Russia. As with any trip to the Motherland, I arrived in England jam-packed with fleeting moments that will haunt me during some of the more lonely days. All I can say about this summer is that it was an experience. Maybe a bit stranger and darker than usual... Gosh, these last three years abroad have been nothing but strange. I grow into a routine over the course of a year, and then everything’s smashed to bits. Year in, year out. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing. I get to talk about my future, surrounded by close friends and family, and drink to it till I get red in the face, and then dawn is upon us. When I go to bed, I don’t sleep well, and the following week’s all a dreamy mess, complemented by my relatives’ enlightening talks of politics, jew domination, Putin’s cronies’ sordid mishaps, etc. A lot of confusing, silly, sad thoughts whirling in my silly mind, since then... I liked my uncle’s metaphor on Russia, bluntly put after a few drinks:
“Russia is like a big pile of shit, from which few tulips, daffodils come sprouting up. And the ones that do come sprouting up are the best in the world.”
Plain and to the point, I guess! Maybe he’s right, about the tulips and daffodils. I hope things will get better.
My grandfather told me I should stop watching movies and read more, for a change. Give Kurt Vonnegut a try. So far, Player Piano, his first novel, is ticked off my list. An amusing read, although—as someone else pointed out—comes off a bit heavy-handed and dark; took inspiration from Orwell / Huxley. And now for his magnum opus, Slaughterhouse-Five. I’ve read some about Vonnegut on Wiki. I like the guy; fought in World War II, adopted four kids, socialist, humanist, not against God. I’ll get to reading...
$root - whoami turgid tulip
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