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Interviews Eduard Limonov

Interview by Edward Limonov. Its synchronous election, voters. Synchron Igor Malyarova the election of the young people who come to the party.


Interview with Edward Limonov

21.12.95.

Farewell Invitation Wording

Eduard Limonov on some exhibition


Synchron Eduard Limonov

07.10.1995

How To Fix The Red Ring Fourth

Vladimir Guga / / "Literary Russia", № 8, February 25, 2011


\u0026lt;...> It is not surprising that quite a different fate of Eduard Limonov's novels, also an emigrant Third Wave, who stood in the very negative attitude towards the "liberal" West. Limonov wrote confessional action, a style close to the works Henry Miller and Charles Bukowski, so the intellectual elite, liberals just do not take it seriously, "sort of a bully." But in vain. Also, it is works, by a unique combination of poetic naturalism and biting, and could continue to claim success. \u0026lt;...>

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How Much Is Haircut In Bench Fix

Eduard Limonov, / / "GQ", № 3, March 2011



think outside the box CHILDREN

bleak prospects: the happy childhood is not the case in principle, but growing up - forced degradation.

in Europe, and throughout the world culture of children treated in a favorable light. Unquestioned authority children and admiration for them made them untouchable, powerful taboo.

I look past few years to the children, their own and others'. I noticed a lot of strange and strashnostey and the children themselves, and their impact on adults.

course, that children - a quarter-men, half people, not just the people as they grow.

infants in the first year the existence of children no longer belong to the other world from whence they came. According to Plato, the newborn at the exit from the world's memory is erased. At the exit are keruby and erase. But apparently, not entirely erase the memory, because individual attitudes, postures, gestures and sounds made babies belong sent to another world and firmly indicate that their relationship with the world. All of them ugukanya, mirrored eyes, no doubt, directed to the beings whom they see hearing and touch.

I have to call the baby "demons". I admit that the term is not very successful and has a plaque on his Christian myth, is meant just some furry creatures with tails. No, children are small hairless spirits, mostly harmless demons lowest order. Possessed - because they do not belong more to the world of men.

After one year of age they are slowly gaining the interest of humanity miserable. But still remain nedolyudmi. Of course, some of them are beautiful graceful young senseless animals, but for a man of high development sadly spend lots of time with a quarter and demihumans. Their helpless babbling eventually tired of his stupidity.

I think they'll cut a path from the top, born sophisticated, mystical creatures (demons), having a direct relationship with the cosmos, to the lowest, to the man. Years go by then that they have forgotten the state, the language, those signs (which were given to them at conception) and retrained in the lower people. And in order to ready-held adults enjoyed their degradation.

an average of 15 years goes out to the most complex, let and helpless worm ("demon") make any cattle unhewn, all the forces tending to return to the blissful state of "demon". Hence, attempts to adolescents with alcohol, "screw" glue "Moment" to return to Paradise, bessoznannye memories which are erased, but some sort of appendix still aching.

general here a huge mystery. Born in spirit ("demon"), why must inevitably turn into a primitive, several cellular creature? After all, our pathetic culture, may not be worth one day in those passionate dusk meaningless when the baby "the devil" Sucks milk from the mother?

Until two years they are still fully "demons", although precise boundaries are blurred, and my daughter, for instance, immediately after the two looks and behaves more meaningful than my son behaved in the same age. And in three years of age or later, continuing umilyat parents charm, similar to the charm of puppies or kittens children are still meaningless, like insects. They steadily wander aimlessly circling, grab objects in his hands, throw, forget about them. That is, their behavior is reminiscent behavior of the adults crazy.

Freud completely unfounded, in my opinion, came up with that early childhood determines the future of human life. My childhood experiences I did nothing concelebrated. I even do not remember it because it was not surprising. Only a particularly cruel childhood may seem to be remembered. And then, perhaps, only in case of severe childhood contrasts more or less normal, warm life. Childhood, in my opinion - in general lost time, wasted on marking a single location. You may say, the child learns and gains experience? Well, yes, but what he becomes? Typically, there are, куда более убогим, чем те подключенные к космосу комочки материи и духа, только что вытащенные из материнской слизи.

Дети не понимают, но чувствуют свою inferiority in the new world that they Quarter, people, half people. Tell them: "You little!" And the child sensitively responds: "I am big! Great! »

Happy childhood, thus, in nature can not be. Small copy rights, waddling at your knee, wants to immediately be "big." Because children love to measure their growth, they can not wait. It is generally accepted that children overjoyed to communicate with loving parents. But the attitude of the parents such as demanding like a dog with the owner (the dog because, as explained by psychologists, believe the owners themselves, but the man considered a servant): "Feed," "Walking," "I want to какать!», «Хочу кусаться!», и вся остальная программа себялюбия.

Резюмируя сказанное: взросление — деградация, к которой и принуждается, и сам стремится devil-baby. Inevitably, inexorably, like a butterfly from its chrysalis, it will turn into the adult, tightly cut off from the cosmos and chaos, and fully immersed in the profane, rather primitive world of men. Demons are after all, akin to the gods, and an adult man is full of arrogance, stupidity and fear of death.

was apparently and there is the possibility of another pup development rights. I believe that clues to this possibility I have a very thin wall separates the darkness. Maybe kerubov after erasing the memory, the road forked and there human babies are taking the wrong road, we ought to take another. Of the demons in person - to the left? And from demons in the Gods - right? I do not know yet, but I definitely know, but if you do not know if I will recognize you the other, like me.
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In Stock Hamburglar Adult Costume

Eduard Limonov (photo)


Eduard Limonov and Viktor Erofeev with his wife Kate at the presentation books and Nikolai Uskov " Seven Angels " / / February 17, 2011



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Fun Freshmen Hazing Ideas

Congratulations Edward Veniaminovich Happy Birthday to the Echo of Moscow



congratulate ...
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2010 Thermal Compound

Zahar Prilepin / / Kommersant ", № 31, February 22, 2011




BIRTHDAYS

Today marks 68 years chairman of the unregistered party Other Russia, Eduard Limonov

His congratulates writer Zakhar Prilepin:

- Unfortunately, not everyone is given the mind so as to understand that Eduard Limonov - this is not a character but a hero in world history, literature and politics. This is one of those names that are the essence and meaning of Russian life. Limonov's name can be written by a comma in one of the few names thinkers and rulers of that have shaped human life before and after Christmas. I treat this man with his sons trepidation. People like me in Russia, a great many, will have to reckon with.
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Ensure Meal Replacements

... from an article by Zachary Prilepin / / "Spark", № 7, February 21, 2011




\u0026lt;...> Not to mention about Eduard Limonov Veniaminovich, who in their 60-something was the only person who I get completely drunk at times, while his speech is extremely accurate, quick, witty. Quite He finished it off me, when after a day of countless "approaches," he began to talk freely with a French journalist in French and then with English - in English. I'm to the point and the Russian alphabet, then lost in the head. \u0026lt;...>

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Avinash Dixit Games Of Strategy Solutions

Eduard Limonov (photos)


Eduard Limonov, at the presentation and Books Nikolai Uskov " Seven Angels " / / February 17, 2011



here



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here



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Hijab Color Significance

Gleb Davydov / / "private correspondent, 15 February 2011




ANATOMY OF HERO
Svidrigailov Limon (instead of answering Delphinidae )

write derogatory column address Eduard Limonov - it is like to scoff at the dead man or pettifog with the character of a literary work. Comparing it with Svidrigailov, Brodsky was not trying to omit Limonov. He only said that Limonov - the mythological figure.

Once a respected literary critic respected literary newspaper threw cry in my LJ. "People, readers, writers, publicists! - He asked. - What do you think of how in our time must be literary hero, and what in general should be literature? Write about it in our newspaper! »

theme struck me as amusing. Wondering about how to get to to start, I decided to resort to the old test means: divination by books. Took from the bookcase the first available (caught Eduard Limonov, "In captivity from the dead "- a text written during his release in 2001) and opened it at random. Glance immediately fell on the following lines.

«investigator Shishkin, a hypocrite stressed many times stated that he did not read my books. They are all excellent read! "Anatomy of a Hero" was required reading thick operative Captain Edward Vadimovich, he was recognized by the arrest in the Altai. To a large extent, they arrested me for my book. "

As such, the prison labor Lemons repeatedly attempts to understand how and why he ended up behind bars. And every time inevitably looped back on arguments about writing. Senses, from wind ...

Hero lyrics Limonov - always himself. And he himself - the hero of his texts. The text Limonov no doubt good, and Lemons - a great writer. And make it so, not only and not so much a writer's gift, how much of the fact that he had his works not only wrote, but first loses them in life. All this his politics, novels with gloss and transnational gay bohemians, all his postures, gestures, and sometimes absurd - no more (and less) as an excuse. Opportunity and means to let go of his character, give him a field of activity - environment, space, air. And only then starts the routine: skills, letters, hardcover. Such is his creative method.

In April 2007, the Eduard Limonov seized a typewriter and a lamp - in payment of compensation moral damage it, according to a court decision has caused Mayor Luzhkov, something he said about him on the radio. Computer from Edward Veniaminovich not (yes he does not know how to use it), and the typewriter was the only means by which a writer can earn. So he gathered the will in a fist and through the Basmanny Court typewriter myself back. Result? Great skit. Oak and the Calf.

Next - interesting. Being obliged to pay Luzhkov half a million rubles, Lemons asked the court to allow him to pay monthly for 10 thousand rubles. But the mayor of this installment did not work. The Mayor (through Court) maintained at 50 thousand per month. At the same time Limonov evicted from a rented apartment, which for him again, nullifying the opportunity to earn and pay the money. Lemons cries out: "This is absurd: millionaire sues man who has all the property at 14 000 850 rubles. It's a shame. " And filed a lawsuit in Strasbourg, arguing that the court violated the 10 th article of the Convention on the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (freedom of expression).

Shall I Limonov, a small man In this his new literary work? Of course. Yet how small. But, unlike Bashmachkin, the modern young man erupted teeth. It has grown slightly.

Assume, however, that we do not really like Limonov's literary hero, the eternal teenager Savenko ... And we want some other hero. Such does not exist. But that would be worth inventing. Here a question: whether to even talk about how it should be, this hero? I think it is not necessary. Has no special meaning.

First of all: the literary hero at all. He has always been invented. And just in case he becomes a hero and a general reader's interest. The hero touches precisely because it is perfect and only hypothetically possible, but - not real, is not realized. He acts out there, in a fictional world, and only thanks to this through a thin boundary penetrates into our world, influencing him to change it and shaping it. If literary hero was a real person living in the real world, he would have no effect. He just would weaken and crumbled. Not as Bashmachkin, but as a complete nothing. He simply did not make to the reader the slightest impression. In the best case would be entertained (as entertain the reader and minaevskie Robsky characters). But this is not the same effect. We're talking about literature, not about show business?

So, "regular, real person as a literary hero," the reader is uninteresting. Or interesting superficially in minaevski (revered and forgot). Because that this hero will be no more than one of the readers. And readers are not interested in each other, or at least, not so much for each other is important to produce each other the impression (and each other to change) ... It's like a reality TV show "Dom-2" on television - saw spat switched.

Did not Akaky one of the readers? Not a real person? None. We can confidently assert that never in real life, there was no such person. And why is this image so strong. The same can be said of all the heroes of the great Russian literature.

And what about lemon? The same thing ... It does not exist. This action is not a real person: is the fate of young people believed him, sits in jail, wrote in glossy magazines and in conflict with the government. This is a character. Just then there was a palindrome: a hero from the very beginning of the transition line between literature and life, and then goes back to the literature and recorded in another book. But from the relocation of these alchemical terms the result is not changed ... Hero Savenko exactly the same effect on the world exclusively through its deliberate unreality, fabulousness, epic. It is ideal, he penned, he just looks like a real ... And so it is stronger than reality and is able to affect her and her form.

In principle, the same could have been said about any other hero, for he is a hero to be contrasted reality and at the same time working on it. Lemons just under the arm was caught (by divination), but could get caught and some of the Tatar «Generation M" and Turgenev's Bazarov, and Pushkin Dubrovsky. AND Svidrigailov. And no matter by what time this had fallen from the bookcase hero belonged: only to a certain extent depends on the nature of the literary hero of mores of the time, which he happened to be born. But it is not the time or do not like the hero gives his soul. Spirit of the times, maybe a hero equips the body, flesh, clothing. But the main literary heroes are not this dense shell (and to her, to close this shell, and morals are, after all).

in this (not minaevskih) Heroes is much more important soul. Actually, this is clean, get rid of the signs of time immortal substance and makes heroes forever. And do not belong to one or another time and do not attempt to writers to create their characters, to answer any there current challenges and issues. Even if such attempts by Gogol, Dostoevsky and Tolstoy were, their heroes were born and held as heroes rather in spite of these attempts, and not because of them.

a word, no matter what will be the hero. Whatever it No matter - it will be a hero, not a man. And this is important. Therefore, I think you need to look no hero. Task for any writer and any reader - to look for the point at which man becomes a hero, and ceases to be a man. And in which the hero is transformed into a man and becomes one of us. Transition point between the literature and life. The boundary between these two dimensions. And finding it, we (readers and writers) can do wonders.

PS The text was never published in a reputable Literary Gazette. Because Limonov is displayed with a certain tinge of complementarity ("great writer") and even Luzhkov was then the mayor of ...

PPS Comparing with Limonov Svidrigailov, Brodsky was not trying to omit Limonov. He only said that Limonov - the mythological figure. Known to the literary, type. And at the same time, like any true literary hero, he was - totally alive and free (though not quite human). Just like Svidrigailov .
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Using Baby Oil In Solariums

Kerstin Holm / / "Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung", 16. Februar 2011




AS SACRED MONSTER put me out

As the protest Russian writer Eduard Limonov, is a legend - as a political activist, he is ignorant and unpleasant.

This writer is Perpetuum mobile of the Russian protest. In its 67 years of Eduard Limonov looks on his career - he has been translated into many languages, the writer, a tireless fighter and a fanatical and prone to divisive political leader. He was even going to candidate in the presidential election next year. However, the Ministry of Justice refused to register his new party "Another Russia ".

This son of Intelligence officer initially rose against the Soviet system - and so in 1974 he emigrated - and then against America, which was written his remarkable novel «Fuck off, Amerika» («It's me - Eddie") and then against the French establishment. For this reason, in 1991 he returned to the democratic Russia, founded the National Bolshevik Party and participated in the civil wars in Yugoslavia, Georgia and Transdniestria. Limonov is not afraid of the police, or prison. During Putin's tenure, he often found himself behind bars, and it was in the chamber, he wrote his most belligerent of the book, including the collection of articles "Sacred Monsters", as well as prison memoirs titled "The Triumph of metaphysics." All of his books were printed without any interference and they sold in major bookstores. Perhaps that is why the Moscow writer, who was forced to spend the first two weeks of the new year in prison careless movement of his hand brushes off their works.

important for him is just a political battle, he tells me in his extremely sparingly furnished apartment on Leninsky Prospekt, where I was invited to enter lean-looking young man. Invented their action "Strategy 1931" fills Now a special pride Limonov, dressed today in a strict monastic free black suit. The essence of this project lies in the fact that the dissidents, human rights defenders Ludmila Alekseeva of the environment, liberal politicians like Boris Nemtsov and Igor Yashin, as well as Limonov and his anarchic series 31 of the corresponding Months went together into the street to express their support for the 31st article of the Russian Constitution, which guarantees freedom of assembly. With Elder revolutionary movements of other participants of the demonstration, in addition to their hostile attitude toward Putin, united only by courage. Limonov, however, write Today on their banners the slogans in support of free regional elections, easing the tax burden for small businesses, as well as agriculture, uses the capabilities of its partners, and they, in turn, its energy and its attractiveness to young people.

Supporters of the publicist with a shock of unruly gray hair are trained to become a faithful and active members of the party. They are bombarded with politicians cakes and eggs, and protest against the abolition of social care capture room in the building of the Ministry of Health. They were constantly being arrested during the demonstrations. In Russia, his love and understanding, "says Lemons insinuating voice. Unlike in Western Europe - up there with the text more difficult, although it According to him, the most interesting writer.

He fights for a bloodless change of government following the example of the Tulip Revolution, said Lemons, who in his blog laments the fact that Amnesty International and the Strasbourg Court of Human Rights are not doing enough to help the imprisoned his supporters. My

question about why he switched from Bolshevism to the democratic slogan, he believes the philistine. Times to change something, he teaches me. "During the Yeltsin era lacked decisiveness, "- says he is more emotional. Today, in his opinion, the government should cut back. Comparing his task with the function of the signal bulbs it is not clear. Lemons annoyed. Two hundred of his supporters went through the prison, he says to me with due fervor. In addition, Yeltsin for his offenses for the shooting of the Parliament in October 1993 and was not prosecuted, he adds, as if it were about something or says something worthwhile.

In what he sees as a political responsibility, I ask in turn. This undesirable word for Russian politics and, apparently, for the most Limonov. Responsibility? Suddenly, the poet-agitator announces the interview completed, and calls me stupid and dogmatic. I object, I can assure him that contrary, I just want to understand his position. However, the guru had already disappeared into the lounge. His pupil silently escorted me to the door.

Kerstin Holm: Wie mich das heilige Monster vor die Tür setzte
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Is Lorena Herrera Man

ed_limonov @ 2011-02-16T14: 11:00

Speech Eduard Limonov, at an evening dedicated 20 th anniversary of the newspaper "Tomorrow" (12/02/2011).



Happy birthday, Alexander Andreevich. How many We are familiar with? Nineteen accurately. In my opinion, I appeared in the newspaper "Day" just in February 1992.

here sounded romances on verses Esenina, which I have a dual association. The camp came to us sometimes Philharmonic. After lunch on Sunday we were sitting after eating porridge, bed hungry, but we were forced to listen. Since then, the piano and Yesenin make me some dissonance. It's so little to lose lacquer anniversary celebration.

continue scrape varnish. Prokhanov now sitting here kind, anniversary, but this man made me a newspaper itself, which I do not want to. After the tragic days of October , 1993 I came to Prokhanov. I have already had disagreements with the existing opposition publications, several articles were rejected, "the Soviet Russia, but also did not want Prokhanov publish. I asked him what should I do? He answers: either you humble yourself, or make their own newspaper. I was so angry at him, that the left and six months later founded his own newspaper. Oddly enough, and the money found, and everything else. True, in 2002, my newspaper still banned.

in dissonance with all speakers, want to wish a high award - to the newspaper, "Tomorrow" is also banned. I think that this is the highest award.

What we're seeing in the past? Heroic siege of the White House, Ostankino. All that we have experienced, we are all one way or another were members of these tragic events, but I always looked at a newspaper "Day" and the newspaper "Tomorrow" as a shout of Russian, not Russian, patriotism. Unfortunately, over the years, patriotism soiled by dirty hands, This is certainly not our fault.

Each 9 th of May, when the government is cooking their porridge ostentatious, everywhere rising smoke from the "field kitchens and fro warp "Young Guard" Nashi, I take it with disgust. Immediately come to mind during the 93rd and 94 th, when we were broken up for what we were celebrating the 9 th of May. Liberalism so discredited that they, of course, the only remains that the arm of patriotism.

turning his head back, we should not forget that the front - A great political weather. Power is increasingly discredited itself, and there is no need to tell people how bad it is. I look with great interest in what happens in Tunisia and Egypt, before looking at other people's flashes of anger: in Kyrgyzstan, wherever it occurs. It's all cool Interestingly, you can learn from experience.

Our nation is different from Egypt - he probably will not be found a variety of mutual aid organizations, it's boring. I think if one day, somewhere will be a tiny match, then all will burn in hell. Let us look at ourselves without arrogance, say, we can not organize, do not create the structure. I assure you that we are closely monitoring the situation, and if this match will be lit, we'll do everything that it broke and brought results.

Sasha heartily congratulate you, a rare newspaper for twenty years can survive

Nosebroken Capillaries

Alexander Dolphins / / Private Correspondent, February 14, 2011




pineapple In Limonov

In one of his books written in prison, Limonov recalls all pomershih acquaintances, including Joseph Brodsky. And can not understand, why the last such podlyanu he threw, writing in the annotations to the books that were supposed to issue in the U.S., they say, the type of Limonov in Russia is well known - it Svidrigailov.

«Lemons talented, but turn away ...»
S. Dovlatov



windy night of 1994 I spent the night at a party at Maxim Mirsky, a better dancer Ptuch Club, a large two-bedroom apartment near a subway Shchukinskaya. (Flats Max then sold that did not bring him happiness, but that's another story.) Ibid I first read "Eddie." I remember, I could not tear myself away. By morning brutally sleepy. Leafed through some of the pages for speed. After closing the books left a strange feeling: that swallowed a piece of juicy melon, simultaneously discovering that he was sitting near the semi-decomposed dead dog. Later read another book - "The Diary of a scoundrel." Remember how the lyrical hero in the morning looks at the toilet my stools. Theme feces in Russian literature, thus, novelist Lemons opened slightly earlier writer Sorokin.

Somewhere in 1989 I met with Yevgeny Bachurin, the famous bard and artist. In the 60 Bachurin composed hit the "Tree of you my tree, and on his canvases portrayed cold urban landscapes. Once he launched into a recollection of Limonov. "He's good poems composed, - hot Bachurin - and correctly written: We had a great age! "On the eve of just got the story Limonov was the title of one of "thick" journals. From the story, I understand that daddy lyrical served in the NKVD. Bachurin gave Copier limonovskih read poems. Cut lines: "My dear land, I will tell you the Russian" shit! "- Or something like that.



But even earlier, in autumn 1988 the first, I was in St. Petersburg, Sergei Firsov, owner of the a large music library underground Russian rock, I rewrote the punk group "Civil Defence". In the same room talking with the owner, Mikhail Borzykin, the leader of the popular band "TV", the author of a greyhound's hit "Your father - the fascist" and said: "Perhaps he had not read Schopenhauer, but I know for sure - Your father a fascist! "Twenty-odd years later Borzykin performs the same song with the words" Your Putin - a Fascist! "And then, in a room Firsov Borzykin drank tea, ate pie and talked about Paris. I would also like pâté, but the table was not invited. Caught the eye of the emigre publication Limonov: "Teenager Savenko. Waiting for the rewritten "coffin", I read. The book realistically describes the suffering polovosozrevayuschego teenager. From reading a little felt sick, though, may feel sick just from starvation. Firsov, incidentally, came to prose Limonov as a possible character, but Borzykin - a hero of another novel.

In 1990, I hung out in the biggest Moscow's squat - in Petlyury in Petrovsky Boulevard. Among other squatters lived there a group okolohudozhestvennyh informals fueled by special interest to all true Aryan. From someone of them heard: Lemon with Dugin not organize the party, not the assault units. Dugin - is a popular philosopher Eurasia, looks like a well-fed priest who passed by a church service to the secret. One day, while under strong exposure to various substances, my colleagues and I began to argue about Hyperborea, and the theory of eternal ice. I cried: "Friends! All this smacks of fascism Nazism, crystal night and smashing! »

But friends laughed in response
and exclaimed:" Sasha! No! No!
Our Limonov - the dreamer
plus excellent writer,
And besides - a wonderful poet! »



Even earlier, I can not remember the year I was in love with Russian girl, N. from Paris, the granddaughter of a famous dissident emigrated to France. Her family Gorbachev released from the Soviet Union in 1986, at the personal request of Mitterrand. In the perestroika N. began dropping in Moscow, torn Mythogenic between the past and the liberal-capitalist future. N. told about the sensation produced by the mod Limonov in Paris mid-80's. Appearance International dudes she described like this: a white suit, purple boots, pink hair. Interestingly, the writer Limonov was still not fond of wearing camouflage или уже примерял парамилитарную униформу перед зеркалом в гардеробе? С автоматом по Парижу он точно не бегал, но пописывал в правопостмодернистскую газетку and easily sent to hell for all those who refused to admire his work. Brodsky, one he never sent, probably sensed: Brodsky himself to send able, will not find it.

the summer of 1994, along with French journalist Pierre Dozom for many years has lived in Moscow, we were sitting in the bar dumb APN pending of a journalist with Channel One, who wanted to shoot dokfilm about "civil defense", by the time of the anarcho-punk turned into in natsbolskuyu. Its leader, Yegor Letov began to look like raznochinets-populist and became friends with Limonov. Pierre described how during the 1993 coup, has agreed to interview Limonov and have a night wandered around the White House, watching old women with slogans like "Yeltsin - Judas sold to Russia!", an Orthodox priest with an accordion, singing the Soviet songs around the campfire, gloomy fellows skinheads in camouflage, people from RNE in black shirts with sleeve emblems like the swastika, Bearded men with the black flag, and hundreds of banners, crazy grandfather with a red flag and a portrait of Lenin, as well as for some reason a group of people from the community Esperanto enthusiasts. Among this shizokonservativnogo circus suddenly drawn writer of the Russian land, surrounded by harsh men. Hearing Pierre, Limonov advised him the lam, is still alive - he remembered what Doz criticized his red-brown paper long before in France. Interviews somehow did not grow together ...



Then the bar pinned our TV reporter. After a half-hour conversation, it became clear - and there is hardly srastetsya! We pochapali the street, going to Komsomolsk Prospect podbreli to stall, a seller of rum women. "Look, Pierre - has shown me - you see that bearded, in a leather coat? A number of small, bespectacled, danced. True to Limonov look like? "-" This is Limonov "- smiled Pierre .- A bearded - Dugin!" Struck sudden materialization objects of our conversation, I silently stared at the sweet couple. They stood in a nearby stall where they sold beer. Perhaps in the queue Li Da Doo just negotiate development of the National Bolshevik Party and, say, engaging in it, besides Letov, other religious people underground, like Sergei Kuriokhin ... Dugin himself higher, fed, looked like a rustic Goering, and a short, Limonov - kaschenkovskogo Napoleon. My friend grimaced French. National Bolsheviks talked enthusiastically the fate of Russia. From the doorway nearby smelled of urine. "Come here!" - Pierre said. And we marched along the Komsomolsk toward metro Frunzenskaya. The sun blinded through the trees. We walked, walked and - father-light! - With Limonov, Dugin again marched in front of us, mysterious way behind! "So teleportation is possible "- just sighed and Pierre.

A little earlier, I do not remember the year, with my colleagues on the reggae band "Jah Division" that's what happened. Called them a boy and says: "Slyshte, bro! You have a drum set there, and we rock festival mutim. Bail out! We lend your drums and you have an hour will play! "the appointed day, drove the musicians to a rock festival. The group and among its fans had a few native-born Africans from Zimbabwe, Senegal and other fraternal republics of the Black continent. No sooner had the actors sit in their assigned dressing room, as there broke skinheads and good people marked born Africans. Musicians Nordic appearance still decided to play. And then they came on the scene.



And we saw banners hanging there, and red cloth banners on the walls: a white circle black hammer and sickle. Part of the fans came into this room - and was beaten again! But running musicians could not - drums on stage stand, and then they started playing something, but incoherent, out of tune, out of place. And a simple introduction to the song played twenty minutes without a break in a row! A leader of the group repeated the ominous incantation: "Jah Division arrived! Jah Division arrived! "Brewing scandal. And then on the scene Eduard Limonov emerged Veniaminovich that this gadyushnik and organized. "A man is sitting and drinking beer! - Much zagnusavil NBP leader in microphone brand gadskim voice .- A person is resting and drinking beer! And then you can not understand without a man! To the man come and say: clean up! I will bring order! The man will bring order here! "By Jah Division" safely drove away. Year in 1996 and in the night air of Echo of Moscow "Lemons stated: no fight at a rock festival and even more beatings musicians has never been ... Ha! Of course, it was not. Just black monkeys themselves cripple each other, they same with the palms recently dismounted from their animal smell, but not citrus.



last fifteen years limonovskaya charisma is spreading like a broken egg on red-hot skillet. Familiar artist Boris joined the party NBP, throw whiskey, began to wear black trousers, white shirt and suspenders criss-cross. Subsequently He, however, ran into a new batch of ECM under the shadow of duginskoy Brad. Li Da Du broke up, the first of the opposition to Yeltsin had gone into opposition to Putin, the second Putin love and prefer a more simple funding sources. Familiar litkritik D. Limonov has called the best Russian writer, "because he is sincere." Vyshetsitirovannye line about "the land - fucking" evoke the poet M. aesthetic emotion, turning into an epileptic orgasm. Meanwhile, the old man Limonych spent a couple of years in the dungeons, because it tried to buy the machines for the coup in Kazakhstan, and maybe he is not trying to buy, and the FSB itself something to sell, but the white-haired troublemaker in the end was prematurely released. In one of his books written in prison, Limonov recalls all pomershih acquaintances, including Joseph Brodsky. And can not understand why the last such podlyanu he threw, writing in the annotation to the book that should have been issue in the U.S., they say, the type of Limonov in Russia is well known - it Svidrigailov.



Mr Limonov, a writer! After all, you bragged about what killed the "Muslims" in Bosnia? Or is it just literature? Or is it not? Ryskov between Bohemia and attack aircraft, finding aktsionistskuyu courage, not lost if you wont conscience? Now you are organizing a "March of Dissent", had a quarrel with other organizers, I was imagining all that matters most to you - it is always be opposed, even in the company of those who are against it, still oppose them. Aged boy, the little Fuhrer, gall erotomaniac, narcissistic cynic - it is equally sour options.

And I absolutely do not feel sorry for you.

Alexander Dolphins, Berlin
2003-2011


.

What To Study For To Be In Eod

Elena Schapova (actress) = First Maid = "The Torrents of Spring" (1989)




Elena Kozlova-Schapova De Carli (de Carli) as a maid (First Maid) in the movie " The Torrents of Spring " (adaptation of the novel by Ivan Turgenev's "Torrents of Spring"). Ten seconds on the screen ...

imdb


.

Customised Silverado Trucks

song about Eduard Limonov

Above gray plain of the sea breeze gathers the clouds. Between clouds and the sea, proudly flies
Ed. Lemons with beard liberal.
's hand touching the wave, the boom vzmyvaya to the clouds, he cries, and -
clouds can hear the joy in daring him cry.
this cry - a thirst for the storm! By rage, the flames of passion and confidence in victory
hears the Kremlin in this cry.
deputies in the Duma moaning - moaning, rushing on stage and in the sand
willing to hide the horror of her before this storm.
And Medvedev also moans - they Kremlin, you see, is not available enjoyment of life battle: Thunder strikes frightens them.
Smart Putin also moans. Only proud Ed. Lemons with beard liberal flies boldly and freely over the Kremlin gray and old.
Thunder rumbles. In the froth of anger moan clouds, the wind of the dispute. Here
covers wind flocks of clouds embrace a strong and throws them with a flourish in the wild
malice in the Kremlin, breaking into dust and splashes of emerald masses.
Ed. Lemons shouting flies, black lightning, like an arrow piercing the clouds and
cops brazenly rips.
Here it is worn like a demon - a proud, black demon of storms with a beard liberal - and laughing and crying ...
He laughs over the clouds, he weeps with joy beard Liberal!
Enraged Thunder - sensitive demon - he had long tired hearing, he believes,
not hide the clouds of the sun - no, do not hide!
wind howls ... Thunder rumbles ...
- Storm! Soon the storm will burst!
This is a bold, Ed. Lemons proudly flies between lightning over the roaring angrily
sea; then screams of victory the prophet:
- Let the stronger the storm will burst! ..

How To Access Digital Playground

Veniaminovich Danish ...


via Alexander Petrossova:



Eduard Limonov DET ER MIG: EDDIE!
/ Lars Bonnevie / / Kbh.: Gyldendal, 1984, 342 s.
.

Is Pernicious Anemia Hereditary

Eduard Limonov (photos)




Eduard Limonov, the opening ceremony of retrospectives naive exhibition of the artist William Brui in the Moscow Museum of Modern of Art (MMSI) Petrovka / / January 25, 2011



.




here



here
.

Eevee Evolution Sounds

Edward Veniaminovich draw ...




Viktor Pivovarov
Eduard Limonov
portrait from the series' philosophy, or Russian Nights ", 2010


..

White Menstruation Before Menstruation

Eduard Limonov, / / "Depesha", vol.4, 2010-11




PHOTOGRAPHERS OF MY LIFE

part of my life I have lived next to in fashion, with the world of glamor photography, ridiculing him and he must be, secretly enjoying the them.

Suffice it to say that my two wives were models, one has worked in fashion magazines, my current favorite woman - fashionable actress, and I myself - zafotografirovanny character to the holes of the world culture and politics has been a quarter century. So that the subject I know.

In the early 70's in Moscow, me and my lady hearts Helen take pictures Leo Nisnevich and Vadim Krokhin, both were related to the Literary Gazette. Now, looking at pictures of those years, I appreciate their photographs very high - they are original and in no way inferior to the creatures of Western masters of the appropriate time. Nude Elena, sitting on a silver platter, And I'm standing over her young man, looks like a Bob Dylan - it's very good work of Nisnevich. He subsequently went to the United States and tried to become a photographer there. However, his fate was never fully developed. I do not even know whether he is alive.

Krokhin did amazing and imaginative picture stories. More recently, I found a couple of dozen prints and was struck by their modernity - and in fact they are already over 30 years. There is me, young man, lying alone on a cot in the empty room - a sort of portrait of a lonely existentialist. I've seen with Krokhin in the early 90's, he worked at the time electronically, some weird experiments to create virtual experiences. What happened to him now - do not know either.

In New York, when I appeared there in February 1975, employed many Russian photographers. Several of them helped Alex Liberman, art director of all magazines Conde Nast, the husband of Tatiana Yakovleva, once beloved of Mayakovsky. In particular, helped He Lene Lubenitskomu, red-headed photographer from Leningrad. Lubenitsky later did some become a classic portrait of Brodsky and my time writing "Eddie." There I was with a cross on his neck, with a cap of hair, would be seen as a fisheye. I myself do not like it, but admit a talented portrait creation. For reasons, known only to him, Lubenitsky was working as an assistant of Richard Avedon, the best photographer magazine Vogue. I remember that out of curiosity I came into the studio Avedon and watched as the Leonid (everyone called him Lenka) installed lights, umbrellas and reflectors. I found this wildly funny, but Lenka argued that all of this - the "system" and that he was able to penetrate the "system of Avedon. I found that the photographs Avedon's cold and as if varnished, lifeless; find it now. Avedon himself (somehow we were at one table at a reception in the house Libermans) was polite and reserved person. However, Lenka said that Avedon - a tyrant to those who worked with him.

Rival Lubenitskogo (all Russian quietly competed with one more time has been published in fashion magazines) was then Sasha Borodulin, the son of a famous Soviet photographer who subsequently emigrate to Israel. On the wall at me now hangs photowork Borodulina in 1977 - a beach of Coney Island (New York), thousands of people went into the water in the blue-gray haze, a cloud of eggs - a lot of black bodies. Beach - a suburban, poor, a sort of wet hell. Borodulin in those years a lot of shooting poor, black and English.

I remember the piles of bodies in his photographs. In some ways ahead of Borodulin time. If he had connections and he would have time to published album "New York beaches, which then was running, I think, he immediately would become fashionable and expensive photographer. But something prevented him to implement this project.

I do not remember now where I first saw the work of Helmut Newton, I think - in the magazine "Interview" Andy Warhol (editor there was Bob Kolachello). I really wanted to get to the pages of this magazine, I was ambitious. So, I was worried about pictures of Newton, sensual beat of a situation, full of intrigue.
world of high fashion came across the photographs of Newton with the dark alleys of the night city, in a dramatic situation is the model, and the collision was born a subtle, spicy and somewhat perverse eroticism.

I am a successful man of the world the bourgeoisie, I remember, went to the presentation of a photo album of Newton to the store "Rizzoli," the 51-th Street. Year, that's true, I do not remember. (A successful man - because worked as house-keeper, holder of the homes of multimillionaire Peter Sprague.) He sat in the shade of a rich store shelves that were full of books on art, in the middle furniture of the old wood, decorated with leather, big-nosed and somehow lonely, without escorts. Announcement that he will sign your album, put "Village Voice", and I assumed that the store will hold a crowd of admirers, but except for me and a dozen aging beauties no one there. I have long walked in circles, leafing through the book, which I am not interested in, hesitating to come, and dare, maybe just half an hour. Afford to buy the album, I do not doroguschy could it cost more than my monthly salary, "the holder of the house." Therefore, following the example of an elderly lady who had just come unstuck from the master, I handed him the notebook. "Please sign, I really appreciate your photos. In them - the new urban eroticism. You are elegant ... "- and here I stumbled. And he was smiling, helping me and reached for my notebook. "Here you have a Picture, where a young model ... a mini-skirt, stockings, elastic peep out from under the skirt ... stands on the roof of the warehouse type. Night, weak stream of light ... "-" Yes, yes, thank you "- he mumbled, interrupting me, hurriedly scribbled something in the notebook and returned it to me. Somehow I thought he was afraid of me. And I left the store. Newton's autograph I gave at the same time some random passions, a beautiful nurse.

[ first text was published in the journal "OM", № 10 (97) October 2005 ]

---

PHOTOGRAPHERS OF MY LIFE

I spent part of my life with fashion, with the world of glamor and photography, all the while deriding it, but perhaps, secretly relishing in it.

It's enough to say that two of my wives were models, one worked for fashion magazines, and my lovely current wife is a young actress - while I've been a figure of world culture and politics who has been photographed to death for a quarter of a century already. And so I know my subject well.

In Moscow in the early 70s, my ladylove and I had our pictures taken by the photographers Lev Nisnevich and Vadim Krokhin, both of whom were associated with the Soviet arts magazine Literaturnaya Gazeta. Today, looking at pictures from back then, I highly value their photography work ― they were true originals and in no way inferior to the Western heavy-hitters of the era. A nude Elena seated on a silver salver, and me as a young man standing over her Bob Dylan style ― that was quite a piece of art by Nisnevich. He subsequently went to the United States and tried to become a photographer there. However, that was not be be his fate. I don't even know if he's still alive.

Krokhin produced striking and ingenious photo essays. Not long ago, I found a score of prints and was amazed by their modernity ― even though they were already more than 30 years old. There I am, a young man, lying all alone on a cot in an empty room ― what a portrait of a lonely existentialist. I when I caught up with Krokhin at the beginning of the 90s, he was into electronics and some weird experiments to create virtual sensations. But as to what he's up to now, I haven't got the slightest idea.

There were quite a lot of Russian photographers working in New York when I arrived there in February 1975. Some of them were helped out by Alex Lieberman, the art director at Cond Nast Publications and the spouse of Tatiana Yakovleva, who was once the darling of Mayakovsky. In particular, he helped out Leonid Lubenitsky, a redhead photographer from St. Petersburg. While I was writing, «It's Me, Eddie», Lubenitsky made several portraits of Brodsky and I that would become classics. There I am with a cross around my neck and a full head of hair, seen as if through a «fish-eye» lens. I don't like myself in it, but I do admit that the portrait is a creation of a man with talent. For reasons known only to himself, Lubenitsky was then working as an assistant to Richard Avedon, the best photographer for Vogue magazine. I remember when curiosity got the best of me and I walked into Avedon's studio and watched how Leonid (everyone called him Lionka) was setting up the lighting and flash-reflecting umbrellas. He seemed to be doing it in an overdone way that was funny to me, but Lionka held that all of it was part of a «system», and that he had been able to glean insight into «the Avendon system». I then found and still find Avedon's photos to be cold and somehow lifeless. Avedon himself (as it turned out I sat next to him at dinner-party at the Liebermans) turned out to be a courteous and reserved man. However, Lionka said that Avedon acted like a tyrant to those who worked with him.

Lubenitsky's rival (all Russians take part in an undeclared competition to see who gets published the most in fashion magazines) at the time was Sasha Borodulin, the son of the famous Soviet photographer who later left for Israel. Hanging on my wall at home is a 1977 photography piece by Borodulin featuring Coney laland Beach in New York, where thousands of people, mostly blacks, relax in the water on a gray, hazy day. The beach is in a poor neighborhood outside the city center, a kind of waterfront hell. Borodulin devoted much of his work at the time to poor people, blacks, and Hispanics. I remember the masses of bodies on his photographs. In a way, Borodulin defined his times. If he had had the connections and published the «Beaches of New York» photo album that he then carried around with him at the right time, I think that he would have immediately become a fashionable and highly prized photographer. But something or another hindered him in completing that project.

I no longer remember when I first saw the work of Helmut Newton, I think it was in Andy Warhol's magazine «Interview» (Bob Colacello was then the editor). I had really wanted to appear on the pages of that magazine, I was ambitious. Netwon's photographs really moved me, they were sensuous, always playing out some situation or another, and full of intrigue. In Newton's photographs, the world of high fashion collided with the dark alleyways of the city at night, his models were placed in dramatic situations, and the collision resulted in a delicate, spicy, and somewhat perverse eroticism.

Having been a successful servant of the world bourgeoisie, I remember going to a presentation of Newton's photo album at Riccoli's on 51st Street. I can't recall, however, exactly when that was (As a successful servant because I was then working as a house keeper for multimillionaire Peter Spreg). Newton sat in the semidarkness of an expensive store whose shelves were filled for books on art, among burly wood furniture trimmed with leather. He was long-nosed and for some reason alone, without an entourage. The «Villige Voice» had printed an announcement that he would be signing his album, and I had expected that the store would be filled with crowds of admirers, but there was nobody there except for me and a dozen former models. I walked in circles for a long time, leafing through books that didn't interest me, all the while too shy to approach him. It took me a half-hour to work up the courage to walk up to him.

I was unable to buy the super-expensive album, it cost more than my monthly wages as a housekeeper. That's why, following the example of the older lady who had just been up to the master, I offered him a notepad to sign. «Could I please have your autograph? I really appreciate your photographs. They demonstrate a new urban eroticism, you're quite elegant…» That's where I started to stumble. But he smiled, and helped me out by taking my notepad in his hand. «You've got a picture where a young model… a mini-skirt, stockings, and panties peeking out from under the skirt… she's standing on the top of a warehouse. It's night, weak beams of color…,» I stammered. «Yeah yeah, thanks,» he muttered, cutting me off, and hurriedly writing something in the notepad and then returning it to me. For some reason, it seemed that he was afraid of me. I got out of the store. I gave Newton's autograph to my current flame, a beautiful nurse.
.

Paper Baking Cups In Oven

Poems Eduard Limonov, the book Helen Shchapov It is I, Elena (1984)


из архива Ильи (г.Дзержинск)



Elena Kozlova-Schapova De Carlo (de Carli)
It is I, Elena: Interview with itself
/ / New York: "Basement", 1984, edited by K. Kuzminski,
Appendix: Limonov's poems, she devoted:

• «green lawns and the squares of Rome ...»
• «These days couples cheering! ...»
• «What dalos tell us that ..."
• «I am ready to give support in the morning ...»
• «All in the wine-stained tablecloth ...»
• «You invented me trouble ...»
• «And You - dissolute stranger ..."
• «Madame gone. She ran ... »
• « How colloquially referred to ... »
• « Your Lover! My God - a nightmare! ... »
• « smells terrible quiet Medicine ... "
• «Helen! After all, you were a poet ... »
• « Sun. Scary it squares ... »
• « blatnaya my beauty ... »
• « My dear girl ... »
• "Lena, you Elena - an officer's daughter ...»
• «For the Lord open the page ...»
• «We drifts into a blissful edge ...»
• «I shout a joyful "Lena»! ... »
• « Actually, I certainly do not know ... »

APPENDIX: Eduard Limonov

Helen from her former husband and unchangeable friend

* * *

green lawns and the squares of Rome
My fate is unique
You remember we went to the villa visited
On the benches sat in silence
I remember the shadow. Movement shadow
wanted to be before you on your knees
We are there silent Russian bumped
eyes are large and steaming
You were crying - I drew a stick
the two of us but I loved
cared. There upon thee with
In Italy, we were so on the spot
(lazy clouds Romanesque prettiness
And even in Palma piniyah playfulness).
Limonov was a half-turn in the profile-floor
And the sun lit up her cheek goal.
His Elena now incorrect
As God is frivolous!
All hats breast
All flashing pens. feet. comb ...
Crazy how all the younger child
mad as all of Natasha. Tanya!
you are an adult. But what you have in your pocket?
Do not nail. Do not nuts. No matches? Oh
her dangerous habit!
not venture will bring up the good
She left me. Yesterday.



* * *

These couples cheering days!
these calls the threat of the sun!
I love not cars - horses
the old-fashioned love all roses!

young man with a visor
With flying off the shadow of spades
We stood with you together
there in the photo. And we're to blame

Life crazy curly smoke
little drunk. Loosely inhaled
good die young women
To cry would become

good to me shot
Police at the edge of the fence
and April realize was
or May - understand bastards!



* * *

Why tell us this dalos
anguish and hunger in the morning
fate of the Russian poet
chipped in half

I seem to shorter
As if the worse and stupider
about the quality of mine - scab
And you - the love of my soul!

loved Do you yes - a poet?
Ile empty nonsense
And the dust and grit - a handful of sand?

loved Do you let - me?
At home, his love for me?
laughed at him and teased
piece of grass with his foot mnya

pine tree in front of house attendants
Yes it was my only weapon. And it was my only weapon is that?
languished I'm with you shy
At immemorial summer

Stinks sun and potatoes
Foliage thinned by the heat
I was a peasant boy gavroshkoy
. Are you a white lady ...



* * *

support me in the morning ready to give
So a woman who liked to Gumilev, Akhmatova
from him gone
And my Elena as evil

sometimes manifests itself in the throes of a genuine national hero




* * *

All in the wine-stained tablecloth
And the wind smells of cabbage soup
And I like the old Father
I live now in light of

How terribly lonely!
dispersed all children
sad. Shallow.
I live now in light of



* * *

you penned me in trouble
that skvernopamyatnom year
Bede put a razor-
you to throat singing prayer
And I always adore you
was shocked crumpled
fallen on my thin
knees I prayed to the Great Lena



* * *

And you - dissolute stranger
foolish but expensive
child. Porcelain Doll
Mad goddess Flora
Paris! Spirits! Cafe-Chantal
Posh train was given a lady ...



* * *

Madame gone. She ran
Limonov shit mixed
And the world sang wheel
Well. And we live in!



* * *

How colloquially referred
«Insanely he loved her»
burning palaces and the birds sang
And under the window beast walked

I watched her all night
I would not let her eyes
fool a Frenchman for the bars, scotch
my darling had

I thought clever. For me the big
men. Well gave
A sex
were very simple things you

with the muzzle as the parade
early aging of the hands
you - angry at the front and rear
Throwing feet girlfriends

With an empty suitcase ridiculous
In Milan flew lightly
And I stayed chieftain
let almost died away

I had translated my covenants
A few days Elenushka - Ciric!
Noise Water sinister Years
Here devochkin not hear the cry



* * *

your lover! My God - a nightmare!
Yes mad You what?
Well lover! He's red-haired and old
Stupid. You can with it willy-nilly?

Pull ridiculous buffoon
And for those nasty arms
Eddie Limonov
lead to such torment and crucifixion

Woman! You seem to mind!
Poor creeping Elena
Surely you to him myself
Here went and sat down on his knees?



* * *

smells awful quiet medicine
this summer that I went out to meet
nabyu a sand and clay
Or am Helen mutilated

not give rest in the morning I
zolotokudraya Madame
How awful! Does not rest
Witch! Bitch! What is it!



* * *

Helen! After all, you were great Russian poet
size
Now thieves you hetaera
Oh sorry stricken years

I love your aging hands
reason with you, I'm not trying to
I love you even suffocate
(You will forgive me that night, Sasha)

I know one thing in this world
Where are all simple and easy
love only me - and even children
And above us the sky is deeply

People. Money. Numbers. Restaurants.
and dimensions of sex and place of
all just a mirage in the ray of Uranus
But the planet is yellow empty

In this life that are left
nice gesture. The wound on his chest
sprawling blood Alosta
and hilarious glory ahead

in death will militias
so incredibly young
Somewhere in the Carolina
Or Illinois. Somewhere in them

And others, if not heroes
pass that same - side
I do not know - What do you have such
I alas - the hero



* * *

Sun. Its terrible squares
And its deep-space
I do not know what you are guilty
where the planet is empty yellow

how easily and how eagerly
die in the world for the people and meets
in the world olive
Shaken underripe fruit

I love the sound of divination
In the ancient Roman gold forests
and augurs crossed arms
knives and prayer scope

Seem purple banners
in Central Park feet wealthy
burned. So will inexorably
A flat in the wilds of Lexington
On another you'll recall about it!



* * *

blatnaya my beautiful
Sick your face
In any hour I like
As it was in the land of their fathers

Let's say you did not notice anything
Living with me Considered together
my third wife
So once though ...

However Elemental ally
I recognize now
you had a beautiful inmate
I - villain and a beast

I will not give you a yacht development
not buy
worked in a daze influx
bad article written

I have you never driven in Chinese
to eat shark fin
Towns all of these paradisiacal
I hand you are not pulling

morning I gave two dollars
to have been would you model
wrote you the note naked
Stella you always bed

Being from work at night
your home is not caught
«remove! Do nothing! »
sat at the table. Sigh.

But all these external
I was convinced without the words
Wife I do not have these parts
And relative of the Gods.



* * *

My dear girl had a bad foot

left me like a squirrel
Now do not ask, "Wait!"

Walk the spontaneity and chaos
Bodi Bodi friendship with them
and French red with a tiny phallus
TO PUSH breast

But all these external
myself do not believe you are the most My
you always supernatural
Cause I wretch and the beast ...



* * *

Lena you Elena - an officer's daughter
what you have done - I arranged a night!
Lena you Elena - for what sins
God changed and killed poems

remember occurred in the temple marriage ceremony
kiss icons for both of us are told we
them and kiss passionately, and in the face of God
changed. Lost ring.

I think that the devil is us playing
candle burned down. Noisy curtain fell
Shadows our forever in this church are
Sweet-infinity is Rite

All the ends of the world to you under her skirt agreed
Zarko yes and damp released mucus

What God instead of the hole horror
If you touch it by pressing a little bit?
Lena Elena you in the red hat
its sweet siren for carriageways people

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Eddie dead in the grass reclines
red shirt ugly trembles
cries and cries and delighted you have shown
Lena Helena - My Dream Asian

another girl we will not entertain
This only wish. Let him head off
Lenka! Give Lenka! The most terrible price
's claims that a national hero



* * *

for disclosure of the Lord page
As always, if not follow
there was a bird you just
That put him in a cage and staring

knew I - you're not just a bird
Golden
thin pen I had to pray to the Lord for today
tomorrow and yesterday

I had to brow beat his knees
I had to go to the devil
to the skin on my Elena
Iron touching to see and observe

for disclosure of the Lord page
As always, do not keep track
Oh was you white tonkolitsey
Or you Lemons still asleep?



* * *

We drifts into a blissful edge
Blessed edge is called "Paradise»
There obese cornfields. funny herd
And just happy there is access there

We drifts through the yellow snow
We settled there forever
But pitiful smile Two days later
bewildered friend you give me

And we remember through eternity celebrate
past suffering. former
carelessness of the poor of the world to poor land
Sometimes that Lira is on the table

Sometimes game can sing
and truth and falsehood do not know, but we live
drifts into a blissful edge
And it is good. Remember and know.



* * *

I shout a joyful "Lena!"
She will throw me in his arms and wept
we gradually
And I chewed a piece dresses

And it was gently and madly
Since grew gardens in April
Lightning and silently
But it is without any purpose

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now on the window sill in the morning
melancholy beats New York rain
I wake up early - vaguely
On polumertvetsa like

in an alley at her hand I am not a pale
buffoon of the old tales
She shaggy a thousand birth
arm strokes without safely

She herself gave them
And because those hairy
Beast requires people
My Soul - priceless board

I shout "Lena - I did that!»
She will throw me Throw into the arms of
sad idiot
You do not bite a piece dresses



* * *

Actually I certainly do not know
Can she or can not
fate this may or may not
me grasp the white hands
and lead to tonkoslozhnye flour

I certainly have a goal
just crazy about this body
This fleece on the weak breast
my goals frankly disgusting
My thoughts frankly creepy

and writing you from moisture
and coating of paper you
I'm something of course and I know of
what and whom I'm in you You open
is shaggy and Devil's Island
just sleep under one blanket

American city seems
wind and rain. Ocean giant
Nearby is enlarged Wet
Only it was not a story paper
terrible reality on my pillow
Pale Devil pale ears

Devil roams evenings
powder coated. Clothed stockings
sherstku hide delicates
In the world of men gathers tribute
But after midnight, the devil is
and crawls under the blanket.
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Difference Between Satelite Radio And Hd Radio

Eduard Limonov (photos)




here


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Bloody Skin Tag On A Dog

Eduard Limonov (photos)




here


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Fortified Breakfast Cereals

Eduard Limonov (photo)




here
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