“Do you want to know what I did yesterday, sometime past midnight? I lay on the Red Square. On my back … From cobblestones rises warmth, it slowly and inexorably fills your body, and then it invades the head. I sink into quiet patriotic orgasm. I’m laid up on a giant altar. My spinal cord catches thousands of historical signals. Now I’m trodden upon by the rough feet of Polish-Lithuanian invaders, and now those are driven away by the partisan brigades. Just a short while later the mincing footsteps of Napoleon are heard, and the shuffling feet of drunken Frenchmen. Finally, the clatter of Marshal Zhukov’s horse’s hooves, and the rattle of fallen German battle flags. I feel the knocking against my chest of decapitated heads rolling off the executioner’s block on Place of Skulls, and in my back – the rapping of Russia’s buried leaders’ fingers… Next time I definitely will have to turn on my belly… In general, if I’d been some kind of a bigwig on the other side of the Kremlin wall, I’d certainly encourage and promote this “laying down” in every way possible. I’d allocate some special hour for it, preferably late at night. I’d be bringing military cadets here, right after they took the sacred oath, so they could cling with their whole body to the sacred cobblestones. Because a citizen who even once lay supine on the Red Square – he’s quite a different kind of citizen after that. He’s been in direct contact with the Motherland, without any intermediaries. And, as an honest man, he is now obligated to marry her, and never to cheat on her.”

Dmitry Sokolov-Mitrich, Russian journalist


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