Sunday: Putin and company
I dialed many times before something clicked in enigmatic telecom spaces and voice told: Privet!
It is always miracle to hear sounds of your own tongue as if after morning cup of Sunday coffee over der Standard you make amazing blitz-trip in your past
My Austrian acquaintances demonstrating common competence often talk about countries of former Soviet Union and their politics, economics and history.
Strange is they are deaf for live evidences and try to feed me with superficial knowledge they obtained from TV.
As if sporadic brainwashing can reveal ultimate truth. As if they possess final set of facts about part of the world they never lived in
O, these long distance calls!
I could hear noise in the receiver, as if somebody manipulated with recorder, and told as before during our student times in Moscow: Hey, sergeant, not so loud please! addressing imaginary secret service operator who struggled through spy process with old Soviet equipment.
How it goes with elections, I asked. What is the matter who, they replied me, Putin or Medvedev, or tsar Ivan the Terrible? Such surface political events do not form the flow of life.
Elections everywhere are more of performance, of show. And show must go on.
There is always major piece of reality not reachable for facade interpretations.
It lies in underwater parts of iceberg, tiny tip of which exploited as der Platz for mass media crackle. The genuine material of reality stays unknowable and unreachable for explanation
You cannot perceive it looking through newspaper and drinking beer in Lugner City.
As members of consumer society we can not be sure who originated thoughts we have in our head. Whatever we say is conditioned by chewing gum we consume every day.
You can not be sure you know truth unless you percept it in realm of your own life
