I want to try an exercise in exerting my imagination. And in reconsidering the stereotypes that have ingrained themselves into my mind. For this reason. I will try and write about things I don’t know a thing about, places I have never been to and people I have never met. I will phrase the notions like facts. In this experiment, I will expose my ignorance and be vulnerable. I can be laughed at, be shocking, painful or simply annoying. I want to try this because this is how things happen inside my head.
Russia, my love. Women with scarves and rosy apple cheeks. Deadly winters and samovars boiling with tea. Wolves that howl into the dark nights. Emaciated, drunk and ugly peasants. Moscow with hushed secrets and desperate crime. Petersburgh with zombie men and foul-mouthed drunks. Tramps that sing and love the rain. Children that speak like poetry. Amazing minds that eat nothing for days and pick coal. The Volga that flows like the spinal cord of nostalgia. Ancient family dinners and carved meat. Snow and boots. Pain, disease, war and love. Beauty that overflows from sewers, graveyards, wounds and pallor. Inspiration that falls from the stars, breaks in the ice and explodes from the mines. Lost, suicidal aristrocrats. Ideals and dreams that coexist with poverty and heartbreaks. Animals that talk and emote. Naughty children like Mishka and Kolya. Beautiful women like Sofya and Alexandrovna. Names like Nadezhda that exist only in epics. Insanity and reality. Russia. I would have been so dead without you.