‘…Human crap stinks much the same no matter where they shit it, in a civilized society or amongst savages. The only difference is that civilized society has a special system to bury its crap deep underground, called ‘sewage’; whereas barbarians get rid of their shit by kicking it upwards, and they call such system ‘government’.

Although such happy-go-lucky approach makes barbarians perfectly comfortable with their life in general, it often triggers protests from neighboring democracies which start suffocating whenever the wind blows their way and threatening sanctions against the evil smelling regimes.

The savages fiercely defend their custom on  international arena aptly calling it ‘a sovereign democracy’ and insinuating testily that the stink  which their democratic neighbors make so much fuss about could actually be coming from their own rotten wealth in which democracies adore to wallow .

At the same time the rulers of those evil-smelling regimes warn their opposition that they would be killed right on their toilet seats as extremists, if any of them adopts subversive ways of visiting public or private lavatories…’

 

 (A page from ‘Notes on Human History’ by unknown author, found during archeological excavations on the Planet Earth on a toilet seat of ancient public lavatory, dating approximately to late II – early III millennium. The author’s diary which I reproduce here as a blog was found in the same place and in the same torn-to-pieces condition).

 

Soliloquy of the dead man in the country of scoundrels.

 

The reader may possibly wonder why this bizarre name is given to a blog? Dead men cannot soliloquize, they cannot soliloquize anywhere: neither in the country of scoundrels, nor even in the country of fools where almost anything goes.

My dear friend of sound reason, you must have never lived in any of the two countries, otherwise you wouldn’t jump to conclusions. As  for me, I’ve lived in both: the country of fools (formerly known as the USSR) and the country of scoundrels (now known as the Russian Federation – my present place of residence) – so I think I’m in a position to explain this paradox.

First of all, the reason I call the Russian Federation (the RF) the country of scoundrels (the CoS) is not because I’m a social misfit, a renegade loony and a traitor to the country which raised me and which I’m now trying to slur. Though the above-mentioned unsavory part of my character is perfectly true, and - I’m proud to admit - is far from being complete, still, it’s not the real reason for this libelous act.

Nor do I claim the intellectual right of inventing this libelous brand – this is the merit of the great Russian poet of Robert Burns style and stature, Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin who incidentally had no lesser love for his country and people than his Scottish colleague.

The reader of sound reason would object: If calling your fellow-countrymen scoundrels is love, what’s hate then?

Ah, my dear friend, brace yourself for more puzzling contradictions which neither Socrates nor Freud could have explained.

Well, Yesenin, God bless his simple soul, did love his country and countrymen – and this love was not unrequited: he was published, praised, and almost worshiped, in short he, too, was loved – otherwise how could he happen to be found hanged in his hotel room after a binge with his ChK (KGB predecessor) friends? (It’s worth note that all western encyclopedias give an official, read KGB, account of his death: an act of suicide committed by a mentally deranged drunk person).

Yes, my dear reader, that’s the way they love in Russia, and there’s nothing criminal or morbid in this form of adoration – you may ask our gallant FSB (formerly KGB) officers who would readily support my assertion, and some would even cite the example of their cannibal replicas of the insect underworld, those spidery creatures who have the knack of dining on their beloved after dating them. ‘Love is a bitter thing”, some of them philosophical types would note chewing their chums. ‘Love can make you happy but often times it hurts’, would caution the others.

You would again object, my friend of sound reason, saying that my allusions do not belong to the human species type of love, nor can one regard the rare cases of maniacal cannibalism human.

You may be right, but on the other hand, if you spread these consume-mate love practices to ordinary human world, by turning them first into cultural tradition, then an object of national pride, and finally into a principle of state policy – well, you, my dear reader, would hardly find any better suited name to such country than the name given it by Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin, the CoS.

 

 

 

‘The West is best to live and work, the East is excellent for holiday making, whereas Russia is a paradise for stealing…’  (From Businessmen’s Guide to Russia)

 

 

So, why dead man after all, and why soliloquizing?

 

Because in the country of scoundrels only a dead man would dare expressing his own thoughts and ideas - the living find it safer to recite the ‘truths’ prefabricated by the state and propagated by its hirelings.

The moment something original escapes your lips in the CoS, you’re as good as dead. Being deluded by your perfect metabolism, you may still imagine yourself alive and well whereas in fact you’re already dead and safely buried.

If you’re observant enough you’ll notice people around you, your fellow-CoS countrymen, start treating you like a ghost: the normally genial people become either stony-faced or panic-stricken the moment they see you, after which they simply disappear like smoke into the air.  Without a word because communicating with a spook is always a liability for a live loyal citizen: you may hear something uncensored which will make you give explanations for the rest of your life; or the spook may be judged the real spook in the pay of the enemy state…

So whenever they are forced to talk with you they are always looking past you focusing on some spot in the air as if they were talking with your shadow, a really eerie experience unless you can see that now you indeed have a shadow which is impossible to escape neither in day of life nor in darkness of death. It’s the shadow of the CoS state - when you learn it you won’t fancy talks either.

Meanwhile dumbfounded by the wall of social silence you may be tempted to raise your voice to a shout. Do be careful: those cries in the wilderness is the thing of the biblical past, when people were ignorant enough to believe in God, and when rulers were unsophisticated enough to believe in crucifixion of their subjects. Now you never know where a rash act may bring you to, even after your death. Being acoustically sealed off from the outside world doesn’t mean the world doesn’t hear you, it does: it eavesdrops on you 24 hours a day, so you needn’t worry your cry won’t be heeded, it will be, and you’ll be mighty sorry you ever uttered a word with your lips, for every word of yours will be distorted and maligned by the state-controlled echo of social gossip.

Those unbending types who are prepared to meet the challenge of ostracism with a stiff upper lip may suddenly be surprised to find that not all of their living brethren seem happy to take part in this campaign of social chastisement. Some of them even show signs of sympathy for the victim, among them are those whose daring goes as far as communicating with you in secret. After a stifling period of silence this sudden outlet of human sympathy is so intoxicating that even a dead man can be provoked into the rash outpour of grateful confessions, eager to find warmth for his still heart. Those who have just died and therefore still retained a sentimental naïve part of their human character are particularly vulnerable to such tricks of the Evil One. But this transitional period marked by shock and confusion and the dead man’s excessive sentimentality cannot linger long, after which the chances of duping the cold unsentimental corpse drop to zero: He who has left the world of illusions won’t be duped twice. Yes, the only way for the CoS citizens to escape the traps, pitfalls and follies of their world is to leave it, to depart its life.

Of course your death and subsequent liberation from the evil spell which the state so far managed to put on you doesn’t mean that the CoS authorities would leave you alone. Neither the fact that you’ve won freedom, nor the price you paid for it – nothing would impress them or make them treat you like a freeman. They would go on unruffled using the same old tricks on you as if nothing happened: the same old blackmail, coercion, provocation - with the same zero effect.

At first, this senseless, futile persistence would greatly amuse you. You might even conclude rashly that you are dealing with fools who are unable to see that they are simply wasting their time and effort trying to chase a specter.

But by and by you’ll learn that your foes are anything but fools. You’ll learn that their seemingly stupid behavior is dictated by the wisdom of their black magic, namely: If you acknowledge the exception somebody will revise the rule.

 

And finally, why, indeed, soliloquizing?

Because in the country of scoundrels where trust is unknown entity any what they call ‘dialogue’ are actually two monologues proceeding at once.