Day 297
Headlines of reports in foreign media about residents of Ukraine’s capital freezing to death after yesterday’s Russia’s missile attack sound a lot worse than how I feel now, this morning, the day after.
Dead white male expat monkeys in Kyiv are stanning themselves, posting screams. I am amused, then annoyed.
Same goes for dead white male Ukraine experts abroad.
Who is in charge of the United24 campaign? Why would anyone be so foolish to do what it asks them to?
One thing I fear is people taking McFaul seriously about anything relating to fascistic Russia’s genocidal campaign in Ukraine.
Same goes for the bar stools employed by The Washington Post.
What the fuck does “generally impossible” mean?
In related news:
There is nothing deliberately invented in this year’s cycle of works, titled “On the occasion of the death of Putin.”
We see beautiful people celebrating not so much the death of a dictator as the death of the very concept of totalitarianism. A simple and clear idea can be traced in Lobanov’s photographs. Instead of ephemeral denazification, we witness the total identification of citizens of a nation.
The most beautiful nation in the world!
The inability to let go of the past means there is little room left for the present. Instead of the present - a collection of unfinished stories and unnecessary things - we experience the desire to return home after extricating ourselves from the bloody mess and mountains of slush we have been mired in for so long.
In other words, art lives longer than dead white male expat monkeys.