Something fun always happens in Russia. Historically, it’s been a place with much more action than any hollywood film. O.k. This doesn’t compare with 1917, but it still was full of passion and contradictions, and all that is so wrong and wonderful with the human soul.

Sasha dropped by the celebration of Red Easter by Alexandre Dugin and his sheep. Russians are not worse than anybody else and so fetishism and gadgets have an appeal with the young and dreaming (of a bright future filled with shiny gadgets) and when a youth has his armpits bandaged with Dugin’s arrows, well that helps contort that intelligent, concentrated look, the one that is dressed in school, when the teacher’s pet looks at her wide eyed and big mouthed, ready to gobble anything that would give a chance to a cakeful life.

But not all of them are vamps:

Young generations gasp in awe: Wow, Count Drakula is descending amidst us in his balloon!

Cops usually are the first to appear at demonstrations to receive wisdom. They listen and observe attentively. But, unlike New York, here, they haven’t resorted to beating. Well, there were more cops at this demonstration than vamps themselves miltsov.org/travel/photosSasha estimated the ratio of 2:1). They must have recognised their kindred spirits in those smart uniforms with funky gadgets and so each cop brought with him a balloon to celebrate Count Drakula’s descent from Romania:

Contemplative Copper

Medieval choir echoed from the beyond and from the before on stage:

Great friendships forged with Chechens and the rest of the world:

The multitudinal masses, too, gleefully celebrate Count Dracula’s descent for Red Easter:

Kneeling before the eternal feminine! And this is why Western feminism will always lose in the face of the unpredictable, the incomprehensible, the humble, yet the free and passionately matriarchal Russian land!

Random thoughts: “Hmmm. What is to be done? Alone again, with my muse hovering over the black skies that I made those idiotic kids with my shiny badges paint. My muse is behind me like the faithful angel guiding me over my right shoulder towards, hmmmm…. towards some red horizon. Why is it red? Hmmmm. Colours don’t exist, so that’s what I’ll tell’em, they don’t exist and so you’ll have to make whatever it is you think you see. Hee, hee, hee, that was a good trick with the gadgets, those sado-masochistic, yearning for the mirage youths… It’s good to be all by yourself, sometimes. Great thoughts visit me then…

…There’s a balloon… Yes, the count has landed…

Grab…

Aha, gotchya. Brrrrrrrrrrrr miltsov.org/travel/photosno not like the gross drooling of the gross Homer Simpson), balloon, whaaaaa

Aaaaaeeend, snap, aaaaand crunch, and ….

… More audience, with the same human qualities as many of our species, such as greed, vengeance, blindness, etc.: