Europe

the real heroes
are not the ones who conquered
not the ones who killed
but the ones
who defied orders
in order not to

(…)*

 

*Write me a message, if you want to read the full poem

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the architectonic concept of breaking words are the building blocks of our time together repetition of words means redundancy redundancy is necessary for the sustainment of a stable system positive redundancy creates color negative redundancy eats color – creates blackness

the architectonic concept of breaking the architectonic concept of breaking words  are the building blocks of our time together repetition of words means redundancy redundancy is necessary for the sustainment of a stable system positive redundancy creates color negative redundancy eats color - creates blackness blackness is static cold distant it is necessary for the existence of color color builds upon color ..<..<..<..<<<..<<<..<<<..-->>-->>-->>-- blackness builds upon blackness ------------------------.--------------------------- however the equilibrium is not linear blackness       can substitute color very  easily color can substitute blackness very slowly but in the passage of time stands the simple mathematical principle: 2 > 1

Ballad for Siberia

As I said, I write some times. Mostly something like poetry. I know, now it’s the end of  the summer (at least in my part of the Earth) and the thing you’ll read bellow was written around November or December 2010 (if I remember correctly). It’s sort of sad, so if you don’t like sad stuff, you may not like it. Long story short… well that’s it – enjoy :)

I stay on the porch

and glance at that snowy glass

of pure white vodka

and beg –

beg to all the gods

but mostly to the demons:

I beg you, you old Russian drink,

flow freely in my veins,

conquer them with your

white snowy strength,

cut them with your edges

of pure snowy sharpness

and make my heart freeze

– and find it’s peace at last

let the Russian bear roar

and stab its nails

of white curing sharpness

in my dying heart, already torn

some say hope dies at last

but you, oh, you

– beautiful glass of pure white vodka –

tear the hope out of my veins,

smash it with your frozen breath

and make my burning heart freeze