Where to and how do I defect now?
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... Web is my escape? Writing.
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2009 :
Where to and how do I defect now?
... Web is my escape? Writing.
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Antohins 100 (Russian): "defection" has universal meaning when we speak about existence today. Defecting is a progress, we are the traitors by position, we have to departure from ourselves in order to embrace the new. America = changes, it became a new "tradition." Betrayl is good!
 Bad Theories, Wrong Subjects View GuestBook Sign
NEW : Why would the defection in 1980 fit the pages about technology? In PostAmeriKa? Transition from Father-Russia. The love story is already there. "Vika" story in SELF. When you return to the same time-event, it has to be narrated differently! Because of the changed subject!... But I am not surprised that I came to the story of my defection -- that was the closest to death moment in my life. If was my death. Death of everything mortal in me.... SummaryThis is about my last anf final defection....QuestionsNo, my final defection is not from Life. Everything what was our human existence leaving Life, I must get all what is rejected by them...NotesK: "I have no single connection with a single other person: I am the most solitary of persons, the (understood in a worldly sense) most powerless" (from the Journals). 2004 & After
Oh, you don't understand. You are in a better position; I don't understand and I am afraid to understand.
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What is my life if not the series of endless departures? I don't even know how many I went through. Should I? I try to write them down.
I need to do it. For myself. For my sanity.
... I have to back, way back in my narrative.
[ the old story ] The Year of 1980: A DEFECTORI do not know why and how this story got into this book. It should be somewhere in PostAmeriKa. Maybe because I write about reckless death. Yes, yes, you will miss it, the death. Life won't be the same without death. I know I will miss it.Moscow -- Rome -- New York... The World.
DIE AMERICAN
Story of One Defection
(from my three books -- African, Russian and American)What was it? My life.
I write the books I would like to read before my defection.
What difference would it make in American life?
Did I think about America in the camp?
I ran.
"Death or America" -- what's the difference? I didn't immigrate. Why should I?... I miss being a defector. Almost a title. Something to be proud of. Only once I wrote about it (in Russian for the paper I had in NYC). Now, how does the story of defection fits into topics? I ran away from the extremes of century to find them fully accepted and institutionalized. Communism was old news for European mind. The Russians were still experimenting with the idea when the West saw it as history.
They found no answers before me? No kidding? All what I saw -- more of the same. But deeper, stronger -- monumental. Was the Cold War a "better" war? Is prison better than a firing squad? What do I have to say, what wasn't said about our times? Do I see a future where a man could be heard? This noble man had his chance to rearrange the world. He used it -- communism. They, the people, would live their lives the way they want. He better think how would he live his.
What's happened to proletariat?
Racial instead of class conflict?
Class roots of PC. A cocktail party neutrality where everyone is agree with anything because nothing matters.They taught you. I can't do it, man. You have to teach yourself. Nobody else can do it for you. You have to find out what you want, you have to define yourself.
There's no school for you. More, everything they taught you should be questioned. They taught you not be yourself. They created an enemy of you in you, the guard to watch you, to stop you from knowing yourself. Make no mistake, you are not free, there's no freedom in their world, only emancipation...
It was over twenty years ago. The skies were blue, as they should be in Italy. It was the summer of 1980 full of sun and air. It was a perfect place to die for somebody from Russia.
And I did.
There were other deaths ahead, but this one I love, because I was young and a rebel. It was right time place to die. You can have only once in your lifetime. You can't repeat it. My American deaths are different. Well, my Russian ones too, of course. Each death is different. Like life. The difference is that we have many deaths and only one life. Many think it is an contraire. I wish I could believe it too...
It's easy to die young, when you know that there many more deaths ahead of you...
I see this night and hear the train coming.
@1995-2004 film-north *
©2004 filmplus.org *
I knew that I have to run -- and I did. Some places were lovely, the places you wish you can spend maybe a day or life, but you have to run, because you know that they are after you. You sense their presence -- and you keep running, or if you have to energy left in you -- you walk.
I was tired, I wanted to take a train,ban, streetcar -- anything. So tired that you can't even walk anymore. And the place was so flat, you can see everything -- and I saw him coming. Far away, the one who was after me. Hr was a small dot in in the dusk. Me and him on this endless flat land. He knew that I am tired and wasn't rushing. He was after me for many years -- and now I have no place to hide, no direction to go. It was the same -- left, right -- and I kept waking, so slow as if I was crawling. And the ground was gray and dry. I walk look back at him, he was there, but now I knew that he was tired too, so tired...
I never ask myself, why he is after me. It was it, the law, I was running away and he was after me. Maybe I should stop and talk to him -- but every time I stop, he stops. Because it was the rule -- not to talk, but to run. I do not know what I tried to escape, who he was, what the whole thing was about. Only the pictures in my mind, the places and people I wanted to spent some time with, my mother, that corner of the street...
It was over forty years ago - the gray day with the gray sky, grey waters of Moscow River -- and the gray faces on the gray street. I was in grey school uniform and I knew that my face is gray too. What future? I didn't see any. I didn't want to be or to become anybody. I saw nothing ahead of me. The future wasn't unknown, it was empty. The whole life was ahead, but I didn't want it. Now, this unknown future is my past... Oh, I got more than I expect then, when I was twelve.
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@2009 -- 2005-2006 Theatre UAF Season: Four Farces + One Funeral & Godot'06
©Film-North * Anatoly. 
@anatoly.org : u21.us biz.vtheatre.net (for now?)
