(no subject)
Boris Yeltsin died today. His heart stopped.
http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20867,21610863-1702,00.html
And now, I keep thinking about Maxim Galkin parodying him and hoping that he went in peace. If he believes in heaven, I hope he gets there.
I was trying to find a coverage of it that didn't speak about his downfalls - he had many - and it proved to be impossible. One report mentions his lack of control over finances, the other mentions his failure in Chechnya, and in the one above, it speaks about him once allegedly being too drunk to meet an Irish prime minister.
But he was the first freely elected russian president, he abolished the soviet union, he eradicated all signs of communism - he single-handedly brought about a whole new reality for russia towards a positive direction -> democracy. After countless kings and totalitarian leaders, I think that he did as much as he could - he was served a hard role.
For some reason, the scenes from Galkin's parodies won't leave my mind. Probably because of the absence of cynicism in them - just a kind of russian accepting warmth like "yes, what a screw up, he's one of ours. Have another round."
He wasn't worse than most, I guess.
(Clinton and Yeltsin were friends).
RIP first president Boris Yeltsin, thanks for the democracy.
A wtf picture:
look at the expression on his face, it's priceless:
(he's the one not saluting):
Hear no evil?
I'm not going to cry, obviously, I don't know him...but on the other hand, this is one of the times when I feel the tug of that heart-string which is still rooted in Russia. Sometimes, I think of Sochi, and can't breathe. The nostalgia and the yearning hurt so much. Not that there's anything to come back to - all my memories are just memories now, that world is bulldozed to the ground and exists only within me now, but it doesn't stop the longing nevertheless. Up to the age of 7, I cannot complain about my childhood. I was living a real fairytale. That's why it hurts that it was ripped away. Because nothing in this world can replace that beautiful corner of the world, and nothing can bring it back. I would give up so much to be there again, to stand on the white blocks of cement under the grape-vines and to stare across the valley at the mountains in the distance, or to play around with the water hose - spraying it in the air to create the sunlight-rainbow, or to climb the stone stairs into the garden and to sit on the rock that split the apple tree around it, or to wander towards the forest from the garden to that old randomly abandoned rusty bathtub and watch the tadpoles dart back and forth in the green murky rainwater. Sunlight was magnificent there, as were the stars - they were so bright, and the sky was always so dark and low, hanging above you, and the roses always opened in the morning, especially the yellow one by the stairs.
I really wish I could draw well, or even better, paint well. I want so much to sketch this into life. I'm scared one day these photographic memories will fade from my mind.
http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20867,21610863-1702,00.html
And now, I keep thinking about Maxim Galkin parodying him and hoping that he went in peace. If he believes in heaven, I hope he gets there.
I was trying to find a coverage of it that didn't speak about his downfalls - he had many - and it proved to be impossible. One report mentions his lack of control over finances, the other mentions his failure in Chechnya, and in the one above, it speaks about him once allegedly being too drunk to meet an Irish prime minister.
But he was the first freely elected russian president, he abolished the soviet union, he eradicated all signs of communism - he single-handedly brought about a whole new reality for russia towards a positive direction -> democracy. After countless kings and totalitarian leaders, I think that he did as much as he could - he was served a hard role.
For some reason, the scenes from Galkin's parodies won't leave my mind. Probably because of the absence of cynicism in them - just a kind of russian accepting warmth like "yes, what a screw up, he's one of ours. Have another round."
He wasn't worse than most, I guess.
(Clinton and Yeltsin were friends).
RIP first president Boris Yeltsin, thanks for the democracy.
A wtf picture:
look at the expression on his face, it's priceless:
(he's the one not saluting):
Hear no evil?
I'm not going to cry, obviously, I don't know him...but on the other hand, this is one of the times when I feel the tug of that heart-string which is still rooted in Russia. Sometimes, I think of Sochi, and can't breathe. The nostalgia and the yearning hurt so much. Not that there's anything to come back to - all my memories are just memories now, that world is bulldozed to the ground and exists only within me now, but it doesn't stop the longing nevertheless. Up to the age of 7, I cannot complain about my childhood. I was living a real fairytale. That's why it hurts that it was ripped away. Because nothing in this world can replace that beautiful corner of the world, and nothing can bring it back. I would give up so much to be there again, to stand on the white blocks of cement under the grape-vines and to stare across the valley at the mountains in the distance, or to play around with the water hose - spraying it in the air to create the sunlight-rainbow, or to climb the stone stairs into the garden and to sit on the rock that split the apple tree around it, or to wander towards the forest from the garden to that old randomly abandoned rusty bathtub and watch the tadpoles dart back and forth in the green murky rainwater. Sunlight was magnificent there, as were the stars - they were so bright, and the sky was always so dark and low, hanging above you, and the roses always opened in the morning, especially the yellow one by the stairs.
I really wish I could draw well, or even better, paint well. I want so much to sketch this into life. I'm scared one day these photographic memories will fade from my mind.