Alisa, the house that you have built is our state inside the state. We will share bed with politics, embrace the aesthetics, kiss the reality and eat non-reality. When the ground of the 2-nd floor shakes the ceiling of the 1-st floor, the only thing we want for all false symbols is to become true in reality of what we feel and what we really need. And what we need is a tsunami to take away all the bullshit. We can't wait till the level of world ocean rises enough to flood Moscow. I mean wash away all the scale, greyness and toothless mouths desperately pinching our heels and not letting us go.
Some old-fogies humiliate the youth. These are bad people, cause they are none the wiser – they forgot how we threw them from bell towers and how the ground rang. This old heads want to save society, cause they are cowards and they are afraid to turn into valiant manures. They want to keep their rotten butts safe, which they do not have anyway. They accumulate hatred and void – they can't canalize it in a right way because their rusty pipes arise over their beds instead of the sun.They smoke like burnt adapters, but we don't feel the heat. We know the sun don't shine forever. We all gonna be fuckin' dead. We are the cells with infinite self-renewal that are more important than you. Our death is stronger as we do not afraid of it. And it will bury you. What, relatives? Acquaintances? Let you wives cry in movie theaters and in front of the TVs, not near our brothers' graves. What brothers? Our comrades, who died for the sake of humanity. Let's not be fools, let's piss boiling water when others preserve the traditions by being afraid - traditions that have no place in our future. Old ones, we will smash you skulls like skulls of rodents. We will caress you with the fluff of our bristles and throw you into the most deep abyss. Get lost there!
Actually we counter those old wet jerks with our own diabolic childish and senseless madness cause we suffer a lot due to how people treat the words. Since childhood we used to think that there are sorts of psychos for us to support and not to support. We gonna tie some of them to bed – let's call it compelled treason. The psycho must remain strong and stand up for his madness. He must not let us betray him.
Psychos are frivolous when it comes to language. Sometimes we like it, sometimes we don't. We want to vomit and shit when we feel a great evil is born from your funny wordplay. Fuck the Mensheviks' buffoonery. Karl Kaytsky's infantilism should not be reborn in the most horrible of ways. The poison of your rotten innocent childish souls (supposedly innocent, but pretty scary in reality) flows with serenity making our hair stand on end, and then we just tie you to the bed – everything is fine again. We have hypertrophied sense of beauty. Our hypertrophied joints, reddish lips and perfect black holes of our eyes filter the dispensable bullshit. Collaboration between engineer and artist is collaboration of people who really do care for the future. Dark forces and dark passion for destruction are pushing us to each other.
Depression is the favourite feeling of an idiot. It spreads trying to cover our workplaces, all those sissy chicken-houses. By day's end the thin web of wrinkles covers the sincerity of our view, which does not pierce but spreads over everything and peers through. The forces of nature are against us, and we react by fighting against madness and despair. We believe we can be happy anyway. And that we would stay this way – a human being can do magic even if he must sniff the whole canister of acetone to do that.
Vladimir Aiguistov, Anastasia Ashitkova