Today I Saw Lenin
TODAY I SAW LENIN
October 31, 2007
by Constantin von Hoffmeister
Moscow (Third Rome) - October 31, 2007
I just went to the Lenin Mausoleum. Young Russian men in uniform stand at attention inside, the symbols of the Russian Federation on their shoulders seamlessly blending in with the Bolshevik surroundings that radiate the glories of a once proud but now fallen empire. Exuberantly futurist and rigidly angled, red flames licking the walls of the capsulated solemnity that is the shrine where the Viking revolutionary is laid to eternal rest. Like the pharaohs of yore, Lenin is a symbol of might that transcends the yesterday as well as the here and now. Transfixed in time, a vacuum in space, the Mausoleum does not exist merely on the material plane. Visitors file past, eyeing the mighty mover of mountains, asleep not dead, like Barbarossa beneath the mountains. Lenin is no more a man. He has mutated, his mummy become a shrouded promise of liberation. In awe, in the dim light of the crypt, visitors pay their respects to one that always was and always will be. Lightning strikes, and the moon (that wench!) is chased away by storm clouds of disgust and relief. Appalled by the utter insignificance of their own weightlessness, visitors clasp their hands, praying for deliverance and retribution. What was lost will be regained. What was soiled will be repurified. Lenin's hands are immobile. The Viking revolutionary is in a meditative pose. What once moved shall move again. The claws of the double-headed eagle, symbol of the empire that swallowed the East, shall again dig deep into the flesh of the lands complacent and guilty, drawing blood, hot as lava, to heal through slaughter.
(yahoo.group)
October 31, 2007
by Constantin von Hoffmeister
Moscow (Third Rome) - October 31, 2007
I just went to the Lenin Mausoleum. Young Russian men in uniform stand at attention inside, the symbols of the Russian Federation on their shoulders seamlessly blending in with the Bolshevik surroundings that radiate the glories of a once proud but now fallen empire. Exuberantly futurist and rigidly angled, red flames licking the walls of the capsulated solemnity that is the shrine where the Viking revolutionary is laid to eternal rest. Like the pharaohs of yore, Lenin is a symbol of might that transcends the yesterday as well as the here and now. Transfixed in time, a vacuum in space, the Mausoleum does not exist merely on the material plane. Visitors file past, eyeing the mighty mover of mountains, asleep not dead, like Barbarossa beneath the mountains. Lenin is no more a man. He has mutated, his mummy become a shrouded promise of liberation. In awe, in the dim light of the crypt, visitors pay their respects to one that always was and always will be. Lightning strikes, and the moon (that wench!) is chased away by storm clouds of disgust and relief. Appalled by the utter insignificance of their own weightlessness, visitors clasp their hands, praying for deliverance and retribution. What was lost will be regained. What was soiled will be repurified. Lenin's hands are immobile. The Viking revolutionary is in a meditative pose. What once moved shall move again. The claws of the double-headed eagle, symbol of the empire that swallowed the East, shall again dig deep into the flesh of the lands complacent and guilty, drawing blood, hot as lava, to heal through slaughter.
(yahoo.group)
bin66 - 2. Nov, 00:59
