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imperialarmytrooper In reply to EvanOakTree [2014-09-20 04:42:23 +0000 UTC]

Get  outta here you dirty hippie

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EvanOakTree In reply to imperialarmytrooper [2014-09-22 05:53:25 +0000 UTC]

A commie calling me a hippie? Rofl. I don't see how quoting Adolph Hitler makes me a Hippie... but at least hippies aren't complete tools like you commies cock biters.

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Inkylee In reply to EvanOakTree [2022-12-26 17:37:14 +0000 UTC]

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the-black-cat In reply to Deineko2010 [2014-09-09 04:08:56 +0000 UTC]

I looked it up.  The book doesn't have an English translation, so I probably can't read it.  Interested in this "gothic-communism synthesis" you mentioned.

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Deineko2010 In reply to the-black-cat [2014-09-09 10:26:53 +0000 UTC]

He is the only major writing member of this "Gothic-communism" style, as far as I know. His main works consist of:
1. A trilogy:
- "The warmth of your hands"
- "The darkness of your eyes"
- "The sweetness of your tender lips"
2. A novel, named "Devils".

"The darkness of your eyes" is widely considered the best of his works (proceed to see the book's cover art: lurkmore.so/images/7/77/Mrak.j… . It tells the reader about a vampire-pioneer girl Sonia, who travels through the stone forests and industrial wastelands to the Black Moscow, with an aim of the resurrection of Lenin.

"The stone forest is filled with the cemetery snowy quiet. Sonia does not reflect in the mirror bark of the black trunks ascending to the foggy void of the winter sky, nor in the pearly twinkling labyrinth of the anthracite branches, as if she does not exist in the reality. Snow here falls permanently and slowly, not disturbed with any wind, and no bird interrupts the stillness of the trees, which were once embraced with the indestructible eternity of their new material. 
Sonia goes deeper and deeper in the forest, feeling on her face the burning breath of the reigning there frost, but the snow does not sting her bare feet anymore, but just embraces them in his soft palms, with a tender crunch. Though the curtain of the falling snowflakes Sonia begins to distinguish among the snowdrifts the frozen figures of the dead pioneers, with their hands raised in the salute and their blue faces looking straight in the eternal quiet of winter. Scarlet neckerchiefs are blazing on their necks, snowflakes are melting on the silk fabric, not able to extinguish the cosmic fire of the child memory."
---
"-- Who are you? -- Sonia asked.
-- We are the archangels of the Revolution - whispered the girls with one voice - We are Vestals of the Black Pyramid, keepers of the eternal flame of communism, we are komsomolkas, who died young and sinless, we gather human blood so the flame of communism would not extinguish in the hearts of the future generations. Our legs, which step the stairs of the sacred stone, do not know uncomfortable shoes, ears, which hear all sounds of the world, -- golden earrings, nails, which touch the sacrificial bowls, -- chemical polish, and mouths, which bear the prophetic word of communism -- lying lipstick. Our braids can not be untwisted, because they are intertwined with the testament of the Chief, our dresses can not be taken off, because they are bonded by the testament of the Chief, our thoughts are always clear, because the thought of the Chief lasts there forever."

"Devils" is in many ways similar to the "The darkness of your eyes", but it is much larger. This book concentrates on the communism as a mystical above-human project, which we see through the eyes of a young and orphaned daughter of the bourgeois family, named Klawa, stripped from her social status with the Revolution.

"It was already a dawn, when  because of Nikifor's song a flock of ravens ascended above the crushed train, near the Zalesska station. This train was immense, when it was railing to its indivisible goal, maybe it was transporting to the Moscow hordes of the faithful to the Tsar soldiers, before the red partisans blasted the railways under it, and the whole metal avalanche derailed, killing itself with it's own mass. The power, accumulated by imperialism, was so great, that the train for some time moved through the field without the rails, tearing the ground, his titanic gritting crushed the ramshackle huts of the Zalesska village, and mixed the milk of the cows with the blood. Than the train began to be teared apart with the agony of the formation, furiously tossing around the pieces of wagons and human bodies, now unfit for the war. Draisine, driven by the subdued Nikifor, was rushing now through the malformed burned fragments, among which, like an unmelted snow, bones densely studded the grass. From the heights, the ravens, hovering above the draisine, were shouting deafeningly.
Klawa did not fear the crushed train, but somewhere ahead she felt something giant and dangerous, already moving in her direction.
[...]
-- ComraaadeeeeeSverdloooooooov!!!!! -- sang he [Nikifor], widely opening his mouth.
[...]
That machine was a pride of the young State of Soviets. It was created by a genius designer Kapiton Ladov, who outpaced his pauper time by several centuries. The steel giant was built at the first hard years of the new life, when the white-guardian hordes were besieging the republic, preventing it from breathing the fresh air of forests and fields. Only the sun continued to walk above the soviet ground, despising the imperialism, and exactly it, because of the respect to its faithfulness, Kapiton Ladov decided to take as an example, he invented an engine, similar to the sun, which was a special, not known even today, kind of atomic. Proletarian genius has placed a piece of the sun inside a super-strong armour and moved the resulting mass at the class enemy, as single, all-crushing will of the working people. "Comrade Sverdlov" moved with the supersonic speed, but he was able to move even much more faster, but no one used full of its power, because already the wind began to fill around it with fire, with burning birds being thrown to the clouds, and the ground bringing down the huts and breaking through the glades in the forest, aimed in the direction of the reign of capital and before time pointing it at its death. Because the atomic armoured train, as the ghost of communism, had to move through whole Europe, and it already was able to, because it did not  need even rails for its furious movement to the victory, but the plan of the Council of the Peoples Commissars lay in the destruction of the whole imperialism as one structure, and for that a tunnel beneath the bed of the Atlantic ocean had to be built, because only then the atomic pale could be driven into the hear of the world Scrag. Kapiton Ladov was authorized to find a way to burn out the necessary mass of earth by the power of the raging in vain magma, but he died shortly after, because he never slept, only smoked and thought about the acceleration of the victory of the working class. [...]so, for now "Comrade Sverdlov" moved through these lands, burning out the life from them, because its machines were no to stop for a second, as inside of it a true atomic heart was beating, which every second threatened to explode because of its love for freedom and become a second sun above the earth."
---
"So she could reach the road, she was forced to go around the corner of Terentii's hut, and she saw amidst the arctiums impaled members of the food squads* once again. Klawa approached them, wincing from the great stench. She could hear how worms were eating both of the dead from inside, as if the grass was rustling. [...] 
-- Comrade Sverdlov died - wheezed quietly the right rotten, while looking motionless with his dried eyes into the arctiums. - I died too. And you also have to die.
The left rotten remained silent.
-- Only Lenin will not die, - wheezed the right rotten. - Lenin is eternal."



*"Продотрдовцы", it's hard to find an analogue for these members of such formations in English.

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Deineko2010 In reply to the-black-cat [2014-09-09 05:42:01 +0000 UTC]

Unfortunately, I won't be able to translate any of his books completely for you in the nearest two months (because of participating in the final exams of my second higher education and the fear of not being able to deliver you authentic author's aesthetics), but I will come up with translations of the selected pieces from his bibliography in few minutes, so you could catch the spirit.

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