#winged flagpole

[linkandorf]

Who's being raced, and who's being chased..?

Happy Mar10 Day!!

[mr-camhed]

Voting in Western "Democracy" is as effective as thoughts and prayers and the Capitalist Ruling class wants it to stay that way so they can keep their iron fist and jackboots on people's head forever.

In my local cafe run by a no nonsense grandma I met a man who said don't vote it doesn't do anything.

He was a white retired, divorced man with an adult son and daughter.

I was about to protest what he said.

But he continued 'do you think the suffragettes got women's rights by voting, do you think black south Africans ended apartheid by voting, do you think black Americans ended segregation by voting'

Turns out he was a former trade union worker and took part in Britain's largest anti-war protest.

He spoke passionately about the people of Gaza and comment on how everyone needs to continue with protests and boycotts.

It was actually quite refreshing as social media really has demoralised me as a lot of people don't seem to care.

Any way, free gaza until gaza is free and then punish Israel

🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

[90s-music-tourney]

All songs have been chosen for the 90s music tourney

Lithium by Nirvana

Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill

Ironic by Alanis Morrisette

She don't use Jelly by Flaming Lips

Iris by Goo Goo Dolls

What's Up by 4 non blondes

Peaches by Presidents of the United States

Criminal by Fiona Apple

Bitch by Meredith Brooks

Good Riddance (Time of your Life) by Green Day

… Baby One More Time by Britney Spears

Sober by TOOL

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something

Wonderwall by Oasis

Love Fool by The Cardigans

baby got back by sir mix-a-lot

whatta man by salt n peppa

No Scrubs by TLC

Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants

Losing my Religion by REM

Fem in a Black Leather Jacket by Pansy Division

No Rain by Blind Melon

Friday I'm in Love by The Cure

Mr. Jones by Counting Crows

Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Tubthumping by Chumbawamba

Zombie by Cranberries

Smooth By Santana Ft. Rob Thomas

One Week by Barenaked Ladies

Semi Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind

Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer

All Star by Smash Mouth

Buddy Holly by Weezer

My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion

Genie in a Bottle By Christina Aguilera

Barbie Girl by Aqua

Spice up your life by Spice Girls

Steal My Sunshine By Len

Cannonball by the Breeders

Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve

What is Love By haddaway

Follow you down by Gin Blossom

Freedom by George Michael

Nothing Compares to You by Sinead o Connor

Around the World by Daft Punk

Laid by James

Possum Kingdom by Toadies

Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger

Only Happy When it Rains by Garbage

Bullet with Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins

Sunny Came Home by Shawn Colvin

Pepper by Butthole Surfers

Mother Mother by Tracy Bonham

Tim I wish you were born a girl by of Montreal

Voodoo by Godsmack

Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega

Livin La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Just a Girl by No Doubt

Closer by Nine Inch Nails

California Live by Tupac

I will Always Love you by Whitney Houston

Give Me One Reason by Tracy Chapman

Good Day by Ice Cube

Gin and Juice by Snoop Dogg

Dragula by Rob Zombie

My Name is by Eminem

You Get What You Give by New Radicals

No Diggity by Blackstreet

Loser by Beck

pretty fly (for a white guy) by the offspring

What's my Age Again by Blink-182

I want it that way by the Backstreet Boys

Intergalactic By the Beastie Boys

Two Princes by Spin Doctor

Killing in the Name by Rage Against the Machine

Girls and Boys by Blur

Where is my mind by the Pixies

Closing Time by Semisonic

Creep by Radiohead

Say My Name by Destiny's Child

Jump Around by House of Pain

Check the Rhime by A Tribe Called Quest

November Rain by Guns n Roses

The Distance by CAKE

Every You, Every Me by Placebo

The Sign by Ace of Base

Vogue by Madonna

Don't Let Go (Love) by En Vogue

Mm Bop by Hansen

Believe By Cher

Mo Money, Mo Problems by Notorious BIG

Gold Soundz by Pavement

The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly) by Missy Elliot

Common People by Pulp

Doll Parts by Hole

Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio

[mariacallous]

SONNEBERG, GERMANY—First, in true German fashion, the rules were outlined: no alcohol on site, flagpoles capped at three meters, no protesting past 8 p.m. The demonstration followed, with hundreds congregated in the town square shouting insults at the incumbent government; cracking jokes at the expense of refugees, the LGBTQ+ community, and the media; and waving a sea of German flags, with a few Russian ones dotted among them.

“Anyone who dares call us Nazis will be reported to the police,” one of the protesters shouted from a makeshift stage propped up outside Sonneberg’s City Hall, a white mansion built between the world wars. “Germany first,” the protester continued, beckoning the crowds to join in singing the national anthem under a rainy, dark sky.

At 8 p.m. sharp, the crowd quickly dispersed—but they’ll be back next Monday, as they are every week. During the COVID-19 pandemic, they rallied against lockdowns. Now, they call for the overthrow of the current government coalition, and in recent months, the numbers of agitators have started to swell. Many are affiliated with the right-wing party Alternative for Germany (AfD), and although members say they strongly reject what Nazi Germany stood for, a regional chair of the party, Björn Höcke, is on trial for concluding a 2021 speech with the phrase “Everything for Germany”—a slogan widely used by the Nazis. (Under German law, the use of speech, propaganda, and symbolism associated with the Nazi Party and other terrorist groups is prohibited.)

Sonneberg district, home to 56,000 people, is where AfD has celebrated its biggest success to date: Last year, Robert Sesselmann, 51, was elected as the district administrator in a runoff with 52.8 percent of the vote, making Sonneberg the first county in Germany to elect a far-right candidate since the Nazi era. But Thuringia’s AfD branch—where Sonneberg is located—has already been questioning the legitimacy of state institutions and asserted that the Federal Republic of Germany is not a sovereign state, but rather controlled by external powers.

The Thuringia branch of the Office for the Protection of the Constitution has legally classified the AfD’s Thuringia branch as “right-wing extremist,” and the federal office is now deciding whether the party may be classified as a suspected case of right-wing extremism on the national level.

The question is pertinent, since the AfD is gaining in popularity not just in Thuringia, but nationwide. This trend picked up around the time of Germany’s last federal elections in 2021. Nationally, the AfD’s support base has grown to 22 percent, compared to 10.4 percent in 2021. Three states in the east—Thuringia, as well as Brandenburg and Saxony—head to the polls this fall, and a win for the AfD looks likely, as it’s polling around 30 percent in all three states.

“This is a stress test for Germany, and 2024 is a defining year,” said Olaf Sundermeyer, an editor at the Berlin-Brandenburg Broadcast (RBB) and longtime expert on right-wing extremism in Germany. Sundermeyer said that since the AfD was founded in 2013, “the party has continuously radicalized.”

Initially starting out as a euroskeptic party that primarily criticized the European Union’s handling of the eurozone crisis, the party—and its leadership—have continuously shifted toward more nationalist and populist positions, especially since 2015, when former Chancellor Angela Merkel welcomed around 1 million refugees into the country.

The legacy and shame of Nazi Germany continue to influence the nation’s politics, and until the AfD’s rise, German society strongly rejected far-right ideologies. But the economic impact of both the 2008 financial crisis and the 2015 refugee crisis have—at least partially—resulted in shifting public perceptions.

“The AfD has successfully managed to alter people’s perception of right-wing extremism, moving it away from its historically charged stigma of Nazism and thus effectively rendering it socially acceptable,” Sundermeyer told Foreign Policy. This, he said, is exactly what has happened in Sonneberg.

The AfD’s new heartland, a remote part of the countryside, was part of the communist German Democratic Republic until reunification in 1990. Surrounded by hills in the Thuringian Forest, Sonneberg’s cobblestone main street and stately houses date back to the Wilhelminian era before the First World War. The nearest major highway is about a half-hour’s drive.

Since reunification, scores of people have migrated westward, leaving many homes empty. Residents say that young people here struggle with drug abuse; that there are few places for them to hang out; and that public transport isn’t adequately connecting the district’s farther, remote villages, making it more difficult to access educational and job opportunities. Since reunification, the country’s east has been catching up to the former West Germany in terms of economic opportunities, but in Sonneberg—and throughout former East Germany—many people continue to feel acutely disadvantaged.

A group of young men lingering after the demonstration echoed these complaints as they chain-smoked Marlboros and packed up whistles and flags. They had opted to move into practical professions—such as construction work, plumbing, and roofing—one explained, to help “build Sonneberg, and Germany overall.”

Attending the demonstration wearing their company uniforms—grey overalls and work pants—the men were initially hesitant to speak to the Lügenpresse, or “lying, mainstream press,” as they described it. “No names please,” they asked politely after agreeing to talk. (“Lügenpresse,” a term used by the Nazis, has resurfaced in Germany’s right-wing circles, as well as among allies of former U.S. President Donald Trump.)

“People call us ‘rats,’ just because we support the AfD,” one of the men said. “There’s no freedom of speech here, no freedom of thoughts. Our country gets involved in wars we don’t want to be part of. The government manipulates the press, our German culture, and our traditions are vanishing due to mass immigration—food and energy prices have skyrocketed. It’s worse than during the German Democratic Republic, and we desperately need change—we need an alternative.” He paused to take a long drag on his cigarette, then added: “Germany is for Germans first—we can’t help others if we’re not helping ourselves.”

“It’s a possibility that the party drifts too far to the right,” he said, “and that’s certainly not what we want. We don’t want a return of Nazi times, but we need change.”

The party’s policy platform is unabashedly far right. For instance, AfD’s stance on immigration is that “the ideology of multiculturalism is a serious threat to peace and to the continued existence of the nation as a cultural unit.” The party advocates for a “German dominant culture” based on the values of Christianity instead of multiculturalism. Africa, the party’s website states, is a “house of poverty,” arguing that migration from the continent needs to be capped.

During a covert meeting last November, uncovered by independent German investigative outlet Correctiv, AfD politicians, together with neo-Nazis and several wealthy business owners, discussed the “remigration” of millions of people—including German citizen—on the basis of racial and religious criteria.

The group of young men in Sonneberg who spoke with Foreign Policy talked about the need for the “remigration” of immigrants, too, and some even had written it on signs. After the rally, though, they headed to dinner at the only restaurant still open: a kebab house owned by an Iraqi Kurd. Their waiter was a Syrian man who arrived in Germany three years ago.

According to the Federal Statistical Office, at least 28.7 percent of Germany’s population—more than 1 in 4 people—have a migration background, meaning that they immigrated to Germany themselves or were born into families with a history of migration. Migration is on the up, with 2.1 million people arriving in Germany in 2015, and 2.6 million in 2022. Germany’s coalition government has said it aims to attract 400,000 qualified workers from abroad annually to tackle labor shortages and demographic imbalances.

The desire for strong leadership is also on the rise in Germany as Russia’s war in Ukraine continues. Several of the AfD’s members have called for a separation from NATO and even the EU; many have turned to Russia, at least rhetorically, arguing that Germany needs to work with its neighbors. Sundermeyer told Foreign Policy that “the AfD is deeply anti-American but pro- Russian; anti-NATO and -EU, but in favor of turning toward alternative government structures such as authoritarianism.”

Meanwhile, German Interior Minister Nancy Faeser continuously calls right-wing extremism the “greatest extremist threat to Germany’s democracy.”

Still, for all the Sonneberg residents who voted for the AfD’s candidate, Sesselmann—who did not respond to interview requests by Foreign Policy—there are almost as many people who did not. And unless it’s during the weekly Monday demonstrations, people don’t usually flaunt their political opinions. The day after the weekly protest, at a food stall selling bratwursts during the lunch hour, conversations revolved around work, the weather, increased food and energy prices, and even Germany’s reunification—“before it, everything was better,” several people agreed.

“In Sonneberg, many voted AfD out of spite, while others don’t take an interest in politics but cast their votes for the AfD regardless,” said Regina Müller, a 61-year-old Green Party voter who owns an organic store decorated with anti-war slogans.

But, she added, “what many here don’t see is that [the AfD] are wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

#A Childless Cat Dude

Stephen Jay Morris

9/23/2024

©Scientific Morality

Autumn came early to the Catskills this year.  Yellow and brown leaves from the Walnut and Maple trees have already blanketed our front yard. Squirrels fight each other for exclusivity of a tree. I can hear them chattering to each other like the married couple/neighbors on the east side of our house. A family just across the highway has a flagpole waving Old Glory and a “Trump for president” flag beneath it. I wonder if they get paid for that.

I’m glad it’s raining. That family I mentioned includes four boys, a mom and a dad, the latter of whom makes sure the boys engage in daily physical activities, like basketball, pickleball, and riding around on mini-motor bikes. He doesn’t want his boys to waste time playing video games! Almost every day throughout Spring and Summer, you can hear them harping and laughing at each other. The youngest son might have Autism. He runs around the yard, screaming like a banshee while his mother sits on a plastic chair and stares at her cell phone. I have never heard him use any English words. Let the rain fall. I’d rather hear the tranquil rain drops on my windowpane than testosterone-fueled grunts and groans. I am not impressed by masculinity nor with Machiavellian Femineity.

Right wing propaganda lingers in the atmosphere like an elephant fart. You see, White Nationalists are concerned about the White birth rate falling below 65%. White people might become a minority in our country. Oh, the pain!

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, the anti-abortion movement is not about being humanitarian to the helpless, innocent fetus. It’s about increasing the White population. Why do you think they want to outlaw birth control, masturbation, anal sex, and premarital sex? To make America White again! Of course, they deny this allegation. They maintain that it’s all about a fetal heartbeat. Sure, it is. I’m certain that they’ll try their hardest to pass a law providing that if a White female doesn’t have a child before she’s 30, then she’ll be arrested and taken to a Jesus Camp where there are Aryan soldiers waiting for her in the Joy Division room.

So, one Republican, who shall not be named, declared that the Democrats are full of childless cat women. Ever since Eve—from the Garden of Eden fame—took a bite of the apple from the Tree of Knowledge, men have been engaged in goofy misogamy and vicious mistreatment. That, plus their view that if females don’t use their natural equipment to make babies, then they are useless. Talk about a double standard. If a male is a bachelor and has lots of sex, that’s okay. If a woman raises and rescues cats, then she is an old maid.

I tried having kids, but there were physical barriers and medical problems. Both my and my wife’s families have histories of mental illness. We would likely have had at least one mentally ill child. Also, I think I would have been a crummy father. Plus, I don’t have to send my cats to college.

Why do I have an affection for felines? Well, they are not high maintenance, like dogs are. Don’t get me wrong, however—I am a dog lover, too! But cats, they don’t need to be walked, and there is no need to carry around a poop bag because they bury their own waste in an indoor “litter box.” Some say cats are aloof. It may seem that way, but in actuality, they are deep thinkers, contemplating your soul or listening to sounds that are up to two miles away. The only complaint I have about cats is their proclivity to knead furniture. Kneading is natural to them, so we easily solved this problem by providing our cats with a cat tree and other kitty-specific scratching posts.

No way am I anthropocentric, nor am I deontological. However, despite philosophical polemics, I trust my cats more than I would a CIA agent. If I’m missing some money from my wallet, I’m not going to blame my cats! Animals are far more trustworthy than Republicans.

So, in conclusion, I am a Childless Cat Dude and proud of it!

[inbarfink]

List of which songs are included on each Polka under the cut

Polkas on 45: "Jocko Homo" by Devo, "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple, "Sex (I'm a …)" by Berlin, "Hey Jude" by The Beatles, "L.A. Woman" by the Doors, "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" by Iron Butterfly, "Hey Joe" by Jimi Hendrix, "Burning Down the House" by Talking Heads, "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner, "Every Breath You Take" by The Police, "Should I Stay or Should I Go" by the Clash, "Jumpin' Jack Flash" by the Rolling Stones, "My Generation" by the Who

Hooked on Polkas: "Twelfth Street Rag" by Euday L. Bowman, "State of Shock" by The Jacksons and Mick Jagger, "Sharp Dressed Man" by ZZ Top, "What's Love Got to Do with It" by Tina Turner, "Method of Modern Love" by Hall & Oates, "Owner of a Lonely Heart" by Yes, "We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister, "99 Luftballons" by Nena, "Footloose" by Kenny Loggins, "The Reflex" by Duran Duran, "Bang Your Head (Metal Health)" by Quiet Riot, "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Polka Party!: "Sledgehammer" by Peter Gabriel, "Sussudio" by Phil Collins, "Party All the Time" by Eddie Murphy, "Say You, Say Me" by Lionel Richie, "Freeway of Love" by Aretha Franklin, "What You Need" by INXS, "Harlem Shuffle" by The Rolling Stones, "Venus" by Bananarama, "Nasty" by Janet Jackson, "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco, "Shout" by Tears for Fears, "Papa Don't Preach" by Madonna

The Hot Rocks Polka: "It's Only Rock 'n Roll (But I Like It)", "Brown Sugar", "You Can't Always Get What You Want", "Honky Tonk Women", "Under My Thumb", "Ruby Tuesday", "Miss You", "Sympathy for the Devil", "Get Off of My Cloud", "Shattered", "Let's Spend the Night Together", "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" - all by The Rolling Stones

Polka Your Eyes Out: "Cradle of Love" by Billy Idol, "Tom's Diner" by DNA featuring Suzanne Vega, "Love Shack" by the B-52's, "Pump Up the Jam" by Technotronic, "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M., "Unbelievable" by EMF, "Do Me!" by Bell Biv DeVoe, "Enter Sandman" by Metallica, "The Humpty Dance" by Digital Underground, "Cherry Pie" by Warrant, "Miss You Much" by Janet Jackson, "I Touch Myself" by Divinyls, "Dr. Feelgood" by Mötley Crüe, "Ice Ice Baby" by Vanilla Ice

Bohemian Polka: "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen

The Alternative Polka: "Loser" by Beck, "Sex Type Thing" by Stone Temple Pilots, "All I Wanna Do" by Sheryl Crow, "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails, "Bang and Blame" by R.E.M., "You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morissette, "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" by The Smashing Pumpkins, "My Friends" by Red Hot Chili Peppers, "I'll Stick Around" by Foo Fighters, "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden, "Basket Case" by Green Day

Polka Power!: "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls, "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger, "Ghetto Supastar (That Is What You Are)" by Pras featuring Ol' Dirty Bastard and Mýa, "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)" by the Backstreet Boys, "Walkin' on the Sun" by Smash Mouth, "Intergalactic" by the Beastie Boys, "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba, "Ray of Light" by Madonna, "Push" by Matchbox Twenty, "Semi-Charmed Life" by Third Eye Blind, "The Dope Show" by Marilyn Manson, "MMMBop" by Hanson, "Sex and Candy" by Marcy Playground, "Closing Time" by Semisonic

Angry White Boy Polka: "Last Resort" by Papa Roach, "Chop Suey!" by System of a Down, "Get Free" by The Vines, "Hate to Say I Told You So" by The Hives, "Fell in Love with a Girl" by The White Stripes, "Last Nite" by The Strokes, "Down with the Sickness" by Disturbed, "Renegades of Funk" by Rage Against the Machine, "My Way" by Limp Bizkit, "Outside" by Staind, "Bawitdaba" by Kid Rock, "Youth of the Nation" by P.O.D., "The Real Slim Shady" by Eminem

Polkarama!: "Chicken Dance" by Werner Thomas, "Let's Get It Started" by Black Eyed Peas, "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand, "Beverly Hills" by Weezer, "Speed of Sound" by Coldplay, "Float On" by Modest Mouse, "Feel Good Inc." by Gorillaz featuring De La Soul, "Don't Cha" by The Pussycat Dolls featuring Busta Rhymes, "Somebody Told Me" by The Killers, "Slither" by Velvet Revolver, "Candy Shop" by 50 Cent featuring Olivia, "Drop It Like It's Hot" by Snoop Dogg featuring Pharrell Williams, "Pon de Replay" by Rihanna, "Gold Digger" by Kanye West featuring Jamie Foxx

Polka Face: "Poker Face" by Lady Gaga, "Womanizer" by Britney Spears, "Right Round" by Flo Rida ft. Kesha, "Day 'n' Nite" by Kid Cudi, "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum, "Baby" by Justin Bieber ft. Ludacris, "So What" by Pink, "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry, "Fireflies" by Owl City, "Blame It" by Jamie Foxx ft. T-Pain, "Replay" by Iyaz, "Down" by Jay Sean ft. Lil Wayne, "Break Your Heart" by Taio Cruz ft. Ludacris, "Tik Tok" by Kesha

NOW That's What I Call Polka!: "Wrecking Ball" by Miley Cyrus, "Pumped Up Kicks" by Foster the People, "Best Song Ever" by One Direction, "Gangnam Style" by Psy, "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen, "Scream & Shout" by will.i.am feat. Britney Spears, "Somebody That I Used to Know" by Gotye feat. Kimbra, "Timber" by Pitbull feat. Kesha, "Sexy and I Know It" by LMFAO, "Thrift Shop" by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Wanz, "Get Lucky" by Daft Punk feat. Pharrell Williams

[fatickono]

toothless pride flag moment

im gonna scream the quality has been RUINED but yknow what thats ok. toothless but drawn with pride flags of what i identify as

image id below cut

[IMAGE ID START: a dark blue dragon, a nightfury specifically, with light blue lighting and darker blue shading on a light gray to gray gradient background smiling with its eyes closed. it is flying and has its arms bent in a raptor position. its tail has 2 fins at the tip and 2 fins at the base. its head as 2 big horn nubs and 6 smaller horn nubs. one of its tail fins is replaced by a fake red leather tail fin with white markings. it is holding a small flagpole with the oriented aroace flag at the end. the flag has a heart with the bi flag on it. the dragon has a bandana around its neck that has the nonbinary and transmasc flags on it. to the left of it are the words “Me when Toothless” with an uncolored heart doodled underneath it. above the text are two uncolored doodles of the main dragon but without the flagpole and flags. one is sitting with is wings flared, tongue sticking out, tail sticking out, looking at the camera angrily. the other doodle is a side view of the dragon laying down, sleeping. END IMAGE ID]

[aarghhaaaarrrghhh]

A Summer in a Pioneer's Neckerchief/Лето в пионерском галстуке - Chapter Seventeen

Master post here

Chapter Seventeen - The Farewell Bonfire

After the play, the sky cleared; the storm clouds moved on to the east without ever delivering their rain, and around the whole camp, music came pouring out of the loudspeakers. Gentle, bright and lyrical children’s songs from films and cartoons resounded the whole time after lunch, falling silent only before the very beginning of the lineup, so as to allow the Pioneer Leader Slavik the opportunity to command:

“Camp! Attention! To the ceremonial parade dedicated to the closing of the season, forward march!”

Smartly dressed in white shows, red neckerchiefs and side caps, the troops moved in straight columns, three abreast to the plaza. The first was headed by two girls: Ira Petrovna, beautiful and cheerful like never before, and the commander of the troop, Masha. Meanwhile, a mission with high responsibility, bearing the troop’s standard, was entrusted to Yurka.

Proud, neat and tidy, in white gloves, Yurka thirsted to see Volodya soon – he had never been awarded such an honour, he had never worn the gloves, never marched ahead of the column and never been so proud of himself. After taking his place at the lineup, Yurka stared at the fifth troop, who were marching onto the plaza, bringing up the rear of the column. A pleasant warmth spread through his chest when he noticed Olezhka, endearingly worried, his hands noticeably shaking as he gripped the troop’s standard. Yurka shifted his gaze to Alyona, serious in a way unusual for a child, who played the little girl, Galya Portnova in the play, and was now acting as the commander of the troop. And he held his gaze for a very long time on Volodya’s solemnly serious face. Yurka subtly nodded at him when he, having noticed Yurka, slightly raised his eyebrows and smiled.

The bright rays of the sun, piercing through the occasional cloud and the leaves of the trees, through the little leaves of Yurka’s apple tree, fell upon a plaza decorated with little flags. Zina Portnova, pure and white, gazed severely from her pedestal at the pioneers arranged in the shape of the Russian letter П. Behind her, on the flagpole, the flag of the camp proudly fluttered – a red swallow upon a background of cerulean cloth. Overhead, in the pristine sky, the white domes of parachutes wafted down through the deep blue. Far away, almost to the very horizon, the plane from which the parachutists were jettisoned left a white trail, like the spread of the swallow’s wings on the flag.

“Attention, camp! Form up! To attention!” shouted Slavik. “At ease! Troop commanders, prepare and give your report!”

Masha, and behind her the commanders of all the other troops, formed up before the podium upon which Pal Sanych and Olga Leonidovna stood and began to leave the line in turn and give their report.

“Comrade President of the Brigade, the first troop for the parade in honour of the closing of the second camp season is assmebled,” uttered Masha loudly and distinctly, after jerking her hand up into the pioneer’s salute. “Commander of the first troop, Sidorova, Masha reporting.”

“Report accepted,” replied the elder pioneer leader, saluting in kind.

Once all the reports had been done, and the director had finished his speech to open the parade, the podium was given to Olga Leonidovna. She spoke more honestly than at the opening of the season, but from year to year she finished her speech off with the exact same words:

“A swallow is a bird that returns each year from the warm fringes to its home nest…” It was an allusion to the return of pioneers to camp – that they would return without fail the next season.

The elder directress scanned over the pioneers with an unusually tender gaze and a smile on her lips. She was addressing everyone without exception, but Yurka knew that he would not return there ever again.

A needle crackled against a phonograph record and from the loudspeakers, screeching and out of tune, came a melody familiar to every Soviet person from their childhood – the Pioneer’s Anthem. The hands of all those present shot up into the pioneer’s salute. Yurka watched the flag lower and sang along with everyone, “Let the bonfires rise high, the indigo nights.”

He continued to consider the song pointless and grandiloquent, but now he had realised something else: the importance of the anthem was not at all in the words, but in the unison of singing it. Singing the anthem was supposed to unite everyone, from the littlest to the largest at Lastochka. And it really was everyone singing: the old (in Yurka’s opinion) Communists, the youthful Komsomoltsy, the young pioneers and the little Octoberists from the fifth troop, and their counsellor, Volodya, with them. He was standing opposite and looking at Yurka, smiling – affectionately, but sadly. Yurka was struck inadvertently by the thought that Volodya had completely forgotten how to smile without sadness – and that smile, the most important and kindly in the world to him, made Yurka’s eyes sting.

He was tired of thinking about their separation, he was tired of mourning. His eyes, red after his half-sleepless night, stung, and the tension and exhaustion from the play made themselves known. Meanwhile, the weather, as though in defiance of any sadness, added brightness, but it did not cheer Yurka up at all. It was like the weather was ordering him to enjoy his fill of the final day, as though it were saying to him, “It will never be like this again.”

And it really won’t, agreed Yurka. The next summer, he would not go to pioneer camp, he would no longer sing this anthem, and no longer wear this neckerchief. It was without counting, the number of times Yurka had hoped for the time he would tie it for the last time – the older he grew, the more hateful it became for him, that strangling knot. From middle school onwards, Yurka had not felt any pride from wearing the pioneer’s neckerchief, and, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he tried to get rid of it, so that everyone would think that he was grown up. And once he was in actual fact grown up, everything had turned bottom up. That day had come, the day when with burdensome sadness, he understood that he would not return to pioneer camp because of that very same maturity to which he had once striven for so hard. He would not become a counsellor because of his behaviour and his grades, and the chance to return to his childhood, even if in some small part, no longer existed. His childhood had ended.

It had not left when Yurka took up the neckerchief and cast aside his toys, and not even when he came face to face with injustice for the first time and allowed music to be taken away from him. His childhood had ended very recently – that summer in Lastochka, when he met Volodya. Love had swallowed him entirely, with all his thoughts and emotions, it had dulled his senses so much that he did not hear – he and his hearing – how the heavy door to childhood, clanging and crashing, slammed behind him.

As he stood on the camp plaza, at the last pioneer parade of his life, Yurka understood that from that time on, he would no longer be able to open it, even though he knew where and what the key was. Childhood is a time when life is simple and understandable, when there are clear rules, when there is an answer to every ‘why’ and ‘what if’. The key to childhood is in the simplicity and understandability. However, Yurka had ceased to be understood to himself when he fell in love. He came up against questions, the answers to which nobody could give him. Neither was there anyone he could trust, not even his parents, not even the doctors whom Volodya wanted to visit.

It became clear to him then, why adults go in to being pioneer counsellors, why they sang Indigo Nights and wore their neckerchiefs and caps so earnestly – it was all to try and stay, if not in childhood itself, at least very close to it. But Yurka would no longer be allowed back, neither as a counsellor, nor as a vacationer.

For the first time in five years, he sang with all sincerity, “The call of the pioneers – always prepared,” and the flag lowered.

The parade was over, and from the speakers spread the delicately sad words of a song from Yurka’s favourite film, Passenger from the Equator. “Who thought you up, starry country?” sang Yelena Kamburova while the troops went off in little groups. As soon as he had given Ira Petrovna the white gloves back, Yurka immediately left his troop and headed for his hiding place in the construction site, keeping an eye out to either side, to check whether Masha or Pcholkin were following him again, but the Octoberists and Pioneers on the plaza paid no mind to Yurka.

He went down the avenue of hero-pioneers to the crossroads, where, even from far away, his unsullied, beloved apple-shaped ‘V’ was visible. Yurka was thinking about that ‘V’ and the real ‘V’, when, speak of the devil, Volodya caught up to him.

“Yura!” he approached, slightly out of breath. “Where are you going?”

“I’m…” Yurka faltered. In actuality, he wanted to go and muck around with cigarettes again, but he remembered that he had promised Volodya that he would not anymore. And then he remembered that he had broken that promise. But this time, to deceive Volodya felt totally wrong to Yurka and he confessed: “I’m going to get my packet of cigarettes out of my stash.”

“Yura!” said Volodya judgementally. “But you–”

“Yeah, I remember that I promised I wouldn’t smoke anymore. That’s why I’m going now to get them and throw them away! Honestly.”

Volodya nodded approvingly, shook his head and chuckled:

“Well… Well done.” He abruptly changed the topic: “It’s impossible to believe that by tomorrow we’ll have gone our separate ways, right?”

Yurka furrowed his brow:

“Don’t. I don’t want to talk or think about it. At all.”

 “Alright. Then I’ll get right to the point. I just remembered how, after the last time the school bell rang, our class buried a message for future graduates under the tree in the schoolyard–”

“A time capsule? And what did you write in there?”

“We talked about the times we lived in, about our goals, about what we were doing to bring about Communism, and what others were doing. We left it to remember the deeds of the Soviet people. But I don’t want to talk about the message from our graduation. Shall we leave one of our own?”

“To the future builders of Communism?”

“No,” laughed Volodya. “To ourselves, of course.”

“To our future selves?” Yurka came around on the idea. “It would be cool, but I’ve got no idea what to write.”

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be a letter, just little sentimental objects… Like the script of the play, for example – my notebook with all the annotations… Think, what else? We’ll put it all in the capsule and then, after ten years, we’ll meet here and dig it up. Imagine how interesting it’ll be as proper adults, complete people, if I may say so, to hold in our hands things from the season when we were together at Lastochka. What a great memorial for this summer!”

“Yes, something important to our… friendship? For our… Notes!” exclaimed Yurka, having thought of something. “I could put the sheet music for the Lullaby in there! Maybe it’ll still be important after ten years.”

“Of course it will be! Especially once you become a pianist,” squinted Volodya slyly. But you keep on thinking what we could leave in there; it’s time for me to go.”

“But where and when?” asked Yurka, lowering his voice. They were stood by themselves on the avenue, but he was anxious – what if somebody was spying on them from the bushes?  “In the evening? Let’s sneak off from the bonfire – it’ll be such chaos that no-one will notice that we’re gone…”

“Yes, at the bonfire, most likely – I still have work through the roof,” Volodya replied to him in his own tone, almost a whisper. “But we shouldn’t run away, I’ll try and ask permission, if I get the chance.”

“But where, Volod?”

“The willow,” he whispered. “We’ll get to the ford through the forest.”

“It rained last night, the river’s probably flooded.”

“Will you check? I need to run now; we’ll meet at dinner. And don’t forget to bring things for the capsule this evening.”

“I won’t forget,” promised Yurka, overjoyed – they would be spending the evening alone together!

***

How to pass the time? What to do until the evening? How to survive until it? It was unfair – Yurka had to waste time, something he had nothing more valuable than, trying to distract himself with any old nonsense, so long as he did not think about their separation. It was still too early to pack his bag, and besides, gathering his things would occupy him for no longer than half an hour – Yurka had not brought much with him. Should he go for a walk around the camp, say goodbye to Lastochka and then check the river?

Yurka headed out for a walk while reflecting on what he would like to put in the time capsule. He looked around and tried to think, but as soon as his gaze fell upon places, achingly familiar, he immediately lost his train of thought. There was the theatre hall, with which so much was linked, there was the control room in the green overgrowth of lilacs, there was the carousel, which until recently had been drowned in the white fluff of dandelions and was now covered once again with a yellow-green bedding. The sports area – people buzzed all around it: some were exchanging addresses in the old tradition, by writing them directly onto their pioneers’ neckerchiefs with ballpoint pens, some were sitting in embraces, saying farewells. Despite the crush of people, a peace unusual for a pioneer camp, reigned there. The boys looked hushed and forlorn; they spoke quietly, walking rather than running. They’re probably saving their energy for the bonfire, chuckled Yurka, but he also began to feel at peace as well. Just one thing put him on edge – since the end of the parade, he had not bumped into Masha once. As he looked around while on his walk, at no point had Yurka seen her silhouette from a distance, nor heard her voice. “Maybe she’s plotting something,” whispered Yurka aloud, with anxiety in his voice, and he headed onwards.

The sound of music was coming from the benches by the courts – the same radio that he and Volodya took on their excursions was there. The radio competed with the song coming from the camp loudspeakers, while the PUK girls, Mitka, Vanka and Mikha, standing around, took turns to fiddle with the dial to get around the interference. Yurka put his hand through the links of the metal fence around the court and gave it a light shake; the fence rattled. He did not even remember how, in the middle of the season, he had played some excellent badminton whilst angry at Volodya after their conversation about adult magazines.

“Time passes and…–ou’ll forget everything that…–een you a… me. Between you…” came screeching and faltering from the speaker, the song Happy Kids that by that point put Yurka’s teeth on edge.

“Yura! Konev, come with us!” waved Polina. “Let us write something on your neckerchief!”

Yurka thought about it – why not? Let them have something to remember each other by! He took off his neckerchief and offered it to the girls; they gave him their own in return and shared a pen.

Yurka wrote the same on each, regardless of whose it was, without thinking: Thank you for the best season at Lastochka. Konev, second season, 1986. But suddenly his conscience felt a prick – the girls were composing something for him, putting in thought.

“What did you write for him, Pol?” asked Ksyusha.

“I wrote, ‘Inspiration for our pianist!’”

“Then I’ll write, ‘To our best under-counsellor. Keep it up!”

Yurka was abashed. He noticed that over this season, the PUK girls had changed a lot. Or had Yurka himself changed, and the girls had always been the same? They suddenly ceased to seem like thorns in the side and snakes to him… well, maybe still a little. And the thought came to Yurka that he needed to ask them for at least the number of the school where they studied, since they also lived in Kharkiv. And to ask Vanka and Mikha, and Mitka.

He asked.

“Thirteenth,” said the girls, almost in unison.

“Oh, we’re in the eighteenth,” hearing them, Vanka rejoiced. “We’re also in Leninsky District! Not far!”

“Really? That’s near the Southern Railway, maybe we could go for a walk together some time! Do you have telephones?”

Yurka refrained from whistling – no, the PUK girls really had changed! Before, they would have turned their noses up at Vanka and Mikha, and now it seemed like they were even flirting with them.

“By the way, Yur, you promised me one address,” offered Ksyusha, winking.

“What one?” exclaimed Mikha.

“Whose?” Vanka corrected him.[1]

“Vishnevsky’s,” chuckled Ulyana, while Ksyusha frowned.

“Well… I have,” declared Mitka, clapping himself on the pockets. “With me… Yeah. And a telephone,” he added, seeing the perplexion on the kids’ faces.

Mitka had clearly plucked up his courage on the last day of the season – as soon as he was done dictating the address, he led Ulyana aside and whispered something in her ear that caused her to smile and swoon.

“Would you take a look at that Pol,” Ksyusha smiled cunningly and nodded in the direction of the couple.

Anticipating some kind of saucy shout on Ksyusha’s part, Yurka demonstrated masculine solidarity and decided to distract her. But with what?

“By the way, Ksyush, you don’t know where Masha is, do you?”

In a flash, Yurka had realised that he could kill two birds with one stone: help Mitka out and get an answer to the question that was bugging him.

“What, bored already?” smirked Zmeyevskaya. “You don’t happen to be with her, do you?”

“What?! Me and her?” Yurka exploded. “No way, never!”

“Oh, come off it, you. You’re always together.”

“I’m just glad she’s not here. You can’t imagine how much she annoys me!”

“Now, now, ‘Tamara and I go round as a pair, Tamara and I are orderlies’?”[2] It’s obvious that–”

“We saw Masha at the bonfire area,” uttered Polya quietly, cutting Ksyusha off.

But Zmeyevskaya, clearly about to needle Yurka some more, narrowed her eyes cunningly and opened her mouth.

But that time too, she was interrupted. From the court where the fifth troop girls were playing badminton under Lena’s supervision came a child’s voice, painfully familiar:

“You’we up to thomething wwong again!”

Well then, thought Yurka, his clearly pronounced consonants never happened!

Pcholkin came bursting onto the court, getting in the way of the girls playing, weaving in between them, while Olezhka caught up to him.

“Hey, Yuwa!” Having seen Yurka’s company, Olezhka hurried over to him and almost collided with Vanka. “Yuwa! I thaw Pcholkin thteal matcheth fwom the kitchen!” Out of breath, Olezhka looked very distraught.

However, Pcholkin’s trail had already gone cold, while Sashka, chewing something, and Lena, angry, with her hands on her hips, pulled up to their gathering.

“What’s happened now?” the counsellor asked Yurka.

He shrugged:

“Olezhka says that Pcholkin’s planning some arson again, he’s stolen matches from the kitchen.”

Lena rolled her eyes and sighed:

“Oh, the little troublemaker! Always fu–” she began but fell silent mid-word. But with the kids’ knowing gazes upon her, she added, “He won’t leave us in peace even on the last day!”

Yurka chuckled:

“He should go into the construction engineers, he’s always tinkering with something, the little handyman.”

“If only his DIY projects didn’t lead to any loss of limb! Yur, please go to Volodya and tell him, eh? I can’t abandon the troop here.”

“But where is he? Why are you alone with the children?”

“He’s in the woods, helping prepare the area for the bonfire.”

Yurka did not want to go to him. ‘You can’t take a deep enough breath before you die’,[3] but around Volodya, breath was thrown completely out of balance: you could not remember after what it is to breath. Besides, a lot of people would be gathered there, and also that spy Masha was obviously hanging around him… And what exactly remained to Yurka – to just look at him, like it had been for all those days? And that day, on the last day of the season, to be utterly worn out by thinking about their parting? No, it would just make it harder for him. But Lena could not be refused!

“By the way, why are all you strong men sitting around here instead of helping the counsellors make the bonfire?” frowned Lena.

She reminded Yurka so strongly of Ira Petrovna when she was in a bad mood that he got a little frightened. He did not anticipate that she could also be strict like a counsellor.

���Nobody asked us,” Mikha mumbled guiltily.

“Do you need the help?” Vanka was surprised.

Yurka noticed in his peripheral vision that Mitka and Ulyana were edging backwards into the bushes, trying to flee.

“We always need the help! To the bonfire, march,” bellowed Lena and shouted after the departing company: “And tell Volodya about Pcholkin!”

Yurka firmly decided that he would not go to the bonfire. He explained himself to the guys and headed to the path that led to the river. Suddenly, though, feeling guilty for his unexpected outburst, he returned to Olezhka, laid a hand on his shoulder, and said:

“You’re a very good boy! I truly believe you’ll make an excellent pioneer, and then, the best Komsomolets!”

Olezhka burst into a broad, wide smile and declared:

“Thank you, Yuwa! And you’ll make an ecthellent pianitht! I altho believe in you! Pwomithe that you won’t give up music and I’ll pwomithe that I won’t thlack off my thessionth with the thpeech thewapitht like I uthed to, and I’ll twy with all my might!”

“Alright, I promise!”

“And I pwomithe!”

Yurka winked at him, patted him on the head and went to the river.

He left the courts and headed without hesitation down along the trial that led to beach. His head was empty, his soul for some reason quiet. Yurka seemed to have frozen and become mute on the inside, but he liked this state of being. He simply traipsed on through the undergrowth, stepping on square paving stones.

Slipping into despair did not quash his hope. Bright and hot, it burned within him, like a torch in sheer darkness. Yurka was sure that they would by all means meet again, perhaps not in summertime Lastochka, but in a grey, dusty city. It did not matter where it happened, what mattered was that it was with Volodya! And Masha would not be there, and no-one would forbid Yurka from being with him in the way he wanted.

When the grey concrete paving slabs came to an end, a narrow sandy trail opened up before Yurka, short, ten metres, and straight. He descended it to the beach. He turned towards the boat station, planning to cut short the way to the willow, but he could not bring himself to pass by such a memorable place. He moved beyond the wooden fence door, disappeared into the warehouse and came out through it onto the jetty, which creaked underfoot. The boats rocked about in the water. Yurka strode for the same one in which he and Volodya had hidden from the rain. It felt like that had happened a whole eternity ago, but he still recollected that kiss with perfect clarity. Yurka touched the ends of his fingers to his lips – they seemed to grow warm from the memory of warm breath.

Turning around and leaving the station required him to overcome himself. The thoughts that swept over him there were at the same time sweet and painful. That was what he wanted to leave in the time capsule – all those moments: under the tarpaulin in the boat, the kiss in the curtain, Volodya’s warm words, his cheerful smile and quiet, but so honest confessions… To leave them, close the lid on them and bury them in the ground so that he could not doubt whether they would remain to him or be forgotten. So that in ten years’ time, when they met again, he could take all of it out and find himself back there again, in the last summer of his departing childhood.

Yurka reached the willow without issue – the night’s rain, in spite of the danger it might have posed, did not raise the water level of the river much, though Yurka had to hike his shorts up high to cross the ford. The ground beneath the willow’s canopy was damp because the sunrays that came through there infrequently had not yet managed to warm it up and dry it.

Dinnertime approached, but Yurka did not want to go back. He wanted to sit there alone, totally alone and stare unseeingly at the river. He noticed with astonishment that there were remarkably many motions within it: the lazy current, smooth, rolling waves and the bright flashes of the evening sun upon them. He thought that it all seemed not to be chaotic or meaningless. As he guessed how to determine the systematics and dependence of the waves upon the current of the river, and what kind of meaning there could really be in all of it, Yurka remained on the bank until the siren itself. But then, all the same, he got up from the ground and decided to head back – he had promised to tell Volodya.

While he was wading his way through the ford and coming up to the camp, a new siren sound informed him about the end of dinner. Yurka dashed to the canteen. In the crowd of people coming outside, he saw Volodya, who, surrounded by boys from his troop, was looking around and waved he saw Yurka.

“Take this,” Volodya offered him two pirozhki with poppy seeds. “Why weren’t you at dinner?”

Yurka gulped, his mouth watering – until then, he had not noticed that such an appetite had crept up on him.

“Thank you!” And he quietly added, “I went to the willow. It’s all alright with the ford, but the ground beneath the tree is cold and damp.”

“Understood. I reached an agreement with Lena, that she’ll take the kids away from the bonfire and put them to bed herself. I don’t know how I managed it, but she allowed it, so it’s all alright. Let’s sit at the bonfire with everyone a while, and then go to the willow with the capsule. Just ask Irina for permission!”

 Masha came out of the canteen. She noticed them standing next to each other and shot a frown right at Yurka, but he just rolled his eyes and, having remembered, asked Volodya:

“Have you heard about Pcholkin? About his arson…”

Volodya smiled:

“Uh-huh. In reality, it all turned out amusingly: Alyosha Matveyev was asked to get matches to bring to the bonfire to light it. Somehow, Pcholkin heard about this, nicked them from the kitchen and brought them to us, but Olezhka thought that Petya was planning some sabotage and wanted to catch the hooligan. Turns out, Olezhka’s still a partisan! Clearly, he really got into the role.”

“No way! Pcholkin? Heping? How suspicious.”

“I also thought so at first. But then Pcholkin was like, it’s unfair that Ryleyev got all the praise – he did well in the play, and everyone supports him in his trying to get into the pioneers and praises him. But Petya also wants that, and he also things to be praised for.”

“Look at you! You’ve raised him well!” Yurka giggled.

“I’ve done what? I’ve hardly–”

“Oh, yeah,” Yurka nodded vigorously. “You’re their counsellor, like an older brother, you could say. You set them an example. Everyone changes, but when a counsellor like you is around, they can only change for the better.”

A blush came to Volodya’s cheeks, while Yurka grew abashed. He wanted to say different words to him; of course, ‘counsellor’ and ‘older brother’ were not among them. But people were going to and fro nearby. And Masha. Yurka was trying to say ‘I love you’ without saying those words, but by then he had grown so sick of the damned conspiracy.

***

“Let the bonfires rise high, the indigo nights…” sang the pioneers.

Evening had come and it really was indigo. The bonfire, without exaggeration, soared high into the ink-black sky, scattering its sparks so high, they mingled with the stars – you would not immediately guess whether it was a spark dying out or a meteor blazing across the sky.

The troops spent a long time forming rows, a long time walking through the vast meadow to the forest and a long time sitting down on the benches laid out in a circle.

They had already sung the opening song, the anthem of the season, and now they drawled out Indigo Nights again, sitting like first-year kids with straight backs and hands on their laps – that was the official part. Whilst the administration, in the form of the director, the senior directress, the gym instructors, the musical director and other adults were present at the farewell bonfire, the pioneers were bored and felt constrained. But Yurka knew as soon as they left, it was not like a bacchanalia would break out, but it would get livelier. For the time being, they were not even allowed to get up from their seats; all that was left to do was to sing and look for Volodya.

As he had supposed, the fifth troop was sat on the left side of the administration, while the first was on the right, so Yurka did not have to crane his neck looking around, he just had to turn his neck a little. Volodya was not looking at him. His stern gaze was fixed on the kids from his troop, but they were sat placid and sad – most likely, they too did not want to part with their friends. But they were still guaranteed to come back!

Not long after, the administration wished everyone a good evening and made themselves scarce. Before they left, Olga Leonidovna threatened that if the pioneers returned to the camp later than eleven, and the Octoberists later than half-nine, then they would not be taken back next season.

Everyone present livened up in a flash and sat how they wanted, but without breaking up the troops. Someone found a guitar. The instrument made its way between a few kids who knew how to play. At first they sang happy children’s ditties – and it really was happy. Then they moved onto pop music. The PUK girls demanded Modern Talking in unison, but as it turned out, if someone knew the notes, then clearly no-one knew the words. Volodya suggested Time Machine which received an outraged pfft from more than half the pioneers. Yurka did not make any suggestions. Therefore, they sang Pugachova and Happy Kids again.

Despite all the show of happiness, sadness literally burst forth, no matter how much Yurka tried to bury it deeper down. And he was not the only to be feeling sad, so did the majority of those present. After all, that evening was not only his last, but everybody’s last, and they all mourned with him.

The final evening was special in a lot of ways: everybody grew softer and kinder, they all tried to keep what was most important in mind and to be with the most important people. Everything felt a little different from normal: the sky was starrier, the odours more piquant, the faces kindlier, the songs more meaningful and the voices prettier. All because you were seeing it for the last time.

The guitar was given to Mitka.

“Saying goodbye is always very sad,” he said, holding the instrument in his hands. He gave the strings a strum with his thumb and trailed off thoughtfully, “And how about…” He cleared his throat, cast his gaze around the people sitting around the bonfire, holding it on the brave couples who dared hold hands or hug. Laughing, he looked fondly at Ulyana. “This one’s dedicated to everyone who fell in love this summer.”

Having heard the opening chords of the familiar song, the camp began to protest; a wave of indignation passed round in turn.

“Mitya, don’t. Do another!” begged Ira Petrovna, and Zhenya, who was sitting next to her, nodded in agreement.

Yurka also recognised the song and loudly, hysterically guffawed – he appreciated both the joke itself and the degree of its cruelty. At some point he would have played the same prank himself, but Volodya… If not for Volodya.

Mitka strung out in a low, slightly raspy voice:

“You will wake me at dawn, You will leave on your way unshod, You will never forget me, You will never see me…”

Yurka felt something tear apart inside him. He hurt and felt hysterically amused at himself. That song was the final straw, the coup de grace, as though his own thoughts weren’t enough. He wanted to cover his ears, but that would look stupid.

It was still only the second verse, but it felt to Yurka like an eternity had passed. He was unable to control his melancholy any longer, it grasped him in its embrace and the only thing that he could order himself to do was to not look at Volodya.

“My heart will foresee the storm.

I feel like I’m losing you…” the PUK girls squeezed together, lightly rocking. Ulyana’s joyous smile shined – finally, she had the opportunity to sing a song from Juno and Avos – and she was singing Conchita’s part. Even Mikha, who was sat next to Yurka, would now and then sigh mournfully and weep.

“…Unblinking, tearing up in the wind, Those cherries, hopeless and hazel, Returning is a bad sign, I will never see you again…”

Yurka had hazel eyes. He could not hold back – he looked at Volodya with them. He was listening along like someone bewitched, staring into space right ahead of himself. He was mouthing the words, singing along, and Yurka could read his lips clearly: I will never forget you. Volodya was not sending that as a message to him, he was saying it to himself and a complete, utter despair was readable in his look – he was not glad that he would never forget him, and Yurka knew it. His heart clenched from the realisation and for a few seconds it seemed to have stopped. However optimistically he declared that he would always remember him, that he would never forget him, how could he be sure that that was a good thing? After what Volodya said to him in the construction site? Perhaps it really was for the best to forget, to at least try and get it all out of his head, force himself to– No, of course not. He could not.

All the while, Mitka kept on dragging the endless song out, on and on. The faces around the bonfire, illuminated by the crimson flashes, were filled to the brim with sorrow and bright, warm sadness. It seemed that Yurka was the only one who felt that everything bright for him had ended.

Volodya focussed his gaze on him, their eyes met.

“That couple of phrases that have flown away from here Will float and flurry up into the meaningless heights…” the pioneers sang in unison, drowning out the guitar.

“I will never forget you,” whispered Volodya. Yurka could not here them at all, but those words resounded loud and clear, in Volodya’s voice, in his very heart.

And suddenly it hit Yurka – they had muddled the lines up! And now he had to reply to that, to say those words, to promise…

But Yurka did not want to! He did not want to sing, to speak, to even think, but his lips, of their own accord, whispered:

“I will never see you again…”

The song finished and the guitar was taken off of Mitka with outraged exclamations ‘so that he would not sing such a travesty again’. Volodya looked unblinkingly at Yurka, and it seemed like the world around them simply did not exist. Yurka could not figure out what Volodya’s eyes were like then, which emotion they held. It was larger than despair or sadness, Yurka felt almost physically ill to look at them.

Volodya leapt up from his spot, walked up to him and reached out as though he wanted to take Yurka’s hand, but he mastered himself.

“I’m going to help Lena anyway; I’ll take the kids from my troop off and be back right away…” And, lowering his voice to a whisper, he said: “After twenty minutes, leave for the path that leads to the beach, but make sure that nobody sees you. We’ll make a detour, we’ll go through the forest, so that no-one trails us.”

While Volodya and Lena were taking the fifth troop back, Mitka got a hold of the guitar again, but Ira Petrovna convinced him not to sing any more sad songs.

“Then let it be a backwards dance! The ladies invite the gentlemen!” And he began to play The Ferryman, recognisable from the first notes.

Yurka wanted to move seats to somewhere in the far corner of the meadow and quietly await Volodya’s return, but he was approached by Ksyusha.

“Yura, let’s go dance, shall we?”

Yurka did not have the strength left to be surprised. Without thinking, he nodded, took Ksyusha’s hand and led her to fire, where other couples were dancing. Ksyusha held him around the shoulders, and this time not at all like at that disco, not in the pioneer way. If something like this had happened before, Yurka would have burst with pride, but now he felt nothing. He just went round in circles, stamping his feet along to the rhythm of the music, and lightly embracing Ksyusha by the waist, like a robot. He did not even grasp right away the meaning of the question that she had asked him.

“Yurchik, listen… A certain someone told us that, between you and Masha, it’s all turned out complicated and you–”

“If only it were simple!” exclaimed Yurka, interrupting her. “It’s just that there is no ‘us.’”

“Oh?” Ksyusha forced a smile. “And is it true that you argued back then because she was following you?”

“Volodya’s the one she was following, she just happened to be walking behind me.”

“For real?” Ksyusha was so surprised that she bumped into the nearby dancers, Petlitsyn, red to his roots, and Nastya, and stood on Yurka’s foot.

“Yeah,” he replied simply. He cast his eyes around the glade and saw that Masha was sat all by her lonesome on a bench by the fire, staring at the ground, her hands folded on her lap. For a second, Yurka even pitied her, so sad and lonely did she look. But then he recognised right away that Masha’s sadness was nothing compared to that of the separation that faced him and Volodya. And any thought of her was gone from his head in the blink of an eye.

“Volodya? What a nightmare! And how did she get that into her head?” wondered Ksyusha in the meantime; it really was news to her. “What kind of idiot do you have to be to stalk a counsellor? Let alone a counsellor, even just… Where on earth is her self-respect?”

“People in love sometimes act very irrationally,” replied Yurka and for some reason smiled at the thought. He recalled his very first, and most irrational deed, kissing Volodya back then, at the disco, by the control shed. And how would it all end now? Was this fleeting, fast-paced happiness worth it for the painful separation that must then take place, and then to remember it for his whole life?

After the dance, the pioneers began to play thread-the-needle, and then some prepared to jump over the fire. Yurka was also called up, but he refused, keeping a careful eye on what Masha was up to. She appeared to have cheered up a little bit when Svetka from the third troop asked her to play by the bonfire. Thanks to her, he had the chance to slip away unnoticed. Or at least, so it seemed to Yurka.

Volodya was ten minutes late. No sooner had Yurka began to think that they no longer had the chance to meet than he saw a familiar silhouette in the darkness with a rucksack slung over his shoulders.

“Well then, ready?” asked Volodya. “Did anyone see you?”

“Seems not, they’re all playing thread-the-needle; I specifically waited for Masha to lose sight of me. What’s in the rucksack?”

“A shovel, the capsule and things to put in it. And also, a blanket… if we decide to sit there. Shall we go?”

They turned onto the meandering path that led to the detour around the beach. It was dark in the forest. The voices of the pioneers and the light of the bonfire reached them from the glade. Usually when they went to the willow, Yurka walked in front, because he knew the forest better, but this time the way was made by Volodya, lighting the path with his torch. And Yurka could not shake the feeling that he was being led to his doom.

They were on their way to say goodbye. They were going there to spend some last minutes together, to say their last words. And now even the spark of hope that Yurka had kept burning all day darkened and threatened to go out entirely.

Stop it! Yurka ordered himself. We’ll still see each other again, we’re only splitting up temporarily!

He knew that time often dragged on for ages before things you deeply do not want, and the way to the willow should have felt long to Yurka, but lo, they had already passed the swampy backwater and come out of the forest towards the bluff. All that was left was to skirt around it, turn back into the forest again and then it was five minutes to the ford.

He had an urge to stop and turn back. As though if they did not go anywhere, then they would not have to split up, nor to say goodbye. Yurka reached out to Volodya, wanting to hold on to him, but he paused in fright – from behind him came a cry:

“Volodya! Yura! Hey!” Ira Petrovna came bounding after them with a torch. Ksyusha and Polina were walking behind her, and behind them was Masha. “Where are you going?”

Volodya held it together. He silently slung the rucksack from his shoulders and took the capsule out of it – an iron box with a lid, the kind that cereal is stored in, wrapped in cellophane.

“We’re going to bury a time capsule. Here,” he offered her the box.

“And why didn’t anyone tell me anything?” Ira grew angry.

“Wait, Yura, you didn’t ask her permission?”

Yurka felt like he had been hit over the head with a club – he forgot! He began to feel ashamed, since Volodya had warned him that he needed to…

“No… I’m sorry, Ira Petrovna, I didn’t think things through again.”

“He didn’t think things through! I’m responsible for you! What if something happened and I didn’t even know where you were!”

Volodya sighed and quietly asked:

“Irin, shall we take this somewhere else?”

The counsellors moved a few steps away. The girls were silent. Yurka looked sullenly at Masha – just how did she manage to follow where he and Volodya had gone? He had seen that she was distracted! And it was not enough just to stalk them some more, she had to go and get Irina, the bitch! And she brought a tail – why were those two inquisitive little snakes tagging along with her?

It did not occur to the arguing counsellors that, although they were standing at a distance, the wind was blowing in the direction of Yurka and the girls, and their discussion was distinctly audible to them all.

“Vova, if Konev’s got nothing in between his ears, then you might have told me yourself! And this capsule. What a wonderful idea! We might have buried one as a troop. That’s not very comradely of you, Vov; we’re Komosomoltsy, we’re supposed to help each other!”

“Forgive me, Irin, I didn’t mean any harm. It’s just that the idea occurred to me suddenly – literally this afternoon. And there was a heap of work to do, you know… I’m sorry, alright?”

“Alright, alright… Maybe tomorrow we’ll manage…” Ira lightened up a little.

“So, will you leave him under my responsibility? Komsomolets’s honour – I’ll return Konev to you whole and healthy at one in the morning.”

“Vov, one is too late.”

A gust of wind from the river blew away the next part of the conversation, and when the counsellors were once again audible, Ira Petrovna, much more talkative by then, was enquiring:

“Didn’t you say anything to Olga Leonidovna?” Volodya shook his head no. “Look, if someone from the administration notices, I won’t be able to do anything to help you.”

“Do you think they’ll have business with me?”

“Well… to tell the truth, it’s unlikely. But! Vov, if they notice, they’ll remember it when it’s time to write your character reference.”

“Oh, to hell with that. Let them write what they want. So, what, Irin? You’ll cover for me? We won’t be far away, just in the forest.”

“Well… Alright, I’ll cover for you…”

Volodya had already turned around and made a step when Masha shouted at the top of her lungs:

“Don’t let them go! I know why they’re going there! Irina, they’re deviants! They hug and make out with each other! They need to be punished, Olga Leonidovna needs to be told!”

Her shout reverberated in Yurka’s ears like a bell and his eyes darkened. Volodya froze mid-step; his pupils alone ran. His gaze, full of panic, darted about the faces of those present. Irina, her mouth agape, looked now at Volodya, then at Yura. Suddenly, she stared at Masha and frowned.

“Ha!” Kysusha guffawed, almost a roar.

In the forest, enshrouded in darkness, it came out so loudly that everybody flinched. After a second-long pause, Zemeyevskaya overflowed with mocking laughter. Choking on it, she groaned:

“Oh, come on! She’s gone utterly mad! Polya, are you hearing this? No, really, are you hearing what she’s spouting?”

Polina, in contrast to her friend, was serious.

“Ksyusha, it’s our fault. We should have made friends with her, but we… My… I know that people go crazy from loneliness. They talk nonsense and truly believe what they’re saying! My grandma’s like that…”

“What?” mumbled Yurka, unable to believe his ears. Despite his anger at Masha’s betrayal, he deeply disliked the girls’ reaction. But they ignored Yurka.

“Are you serious?” Ksyusha asked Polina, spluttering and sobbing. “Do you think… do you think she’s gone insane?”

“Does a normal person stalk someone and then say something like that?” she replied. “And Masha’s always alone, and she doesn’t get any sleep at night – how many times have we seen her sneaking out after lights out?”

“I…” Masha looked frightened. She stammered and forced out: “It’s the truth, I–”

“Irina, it is true she’s been following Volodya,” Ksyusha nodded, having calmed down. “I didn’t believe it at first, either – well, she sneaks off from the troop, you get thinking. I thought she was going to Konev. And there it is…”

“She’s been sneaking off?” whispered Ira Petrovna, confused.

“Yes,” Polya supported Ksyusha, glancing suspiciously at Masha. “Half the troop will tell you the same!”

“Yes, Irina,” Ksyusha began to nod. “Olga Leonidovna should probably be told. Spreading such drivel is a foul thing to do! She should be kicked out of the pioneers for it!”

“Stop it! That would brand her for life! So… so she got a little obsessed, it happens. She’ll go to sleep and calm down. And I won’t leave you alone anymore, Mashka, so that–” Polina jumped in, but nobody was listening to her.

Masha stifled a sob. Ira Petrovna went up to her and sternly asked:

“Masha, what are you saying? This crosses all boundaries…”

Masha’s lips trembled, her nose quivered, but she could not hold back, and she burst into tears.

“It’s true, I– Iri–”

“It’s absolute rubbish!” cried Ira. “Spreading such a calumny against a counsellor! About a model Komsomolets! How could you even think of this? Making out with… God! How could you twist your tongue to say something like that? To even imagine… that’s deviant!”

Masha cried uncontrollably. Listening to Ira, Yurka was stupefied: yes, Volodya was her comrade and her friend, yes, she thought she knew him. But could what was happening between them be so wild that people could not believe in even the hypothetical possibility of such a love? But people ‘like that’ did exist, after all – there he was, Yurka, a person ‘like that’, and there stood another one ‘like that’, adjusting his glasses with trembling hands and speechless, in a stupor.

Yurka winced – in what kind of world was he living? How very incorrect, stupid, and wrong it was, since it was the world that was wrong, not Yurka.

However, if he had somehow found himself in Ira’s position just a month before, he also would not have believed it.

Masha was by then sobbing in full force, while Ira disapprovingly shook her head and Ksyusha lowered her voice again, and began in a mocking tone:

“See, first she lies, and now she plays cry-baby! What the heart thinks, the tongue speaks, eh, Mash? Go on, tell us, what else don’t we know about you?”

“That’s enough!” bellowed Yurka. “Why are you kicking her while she’s down?! Whatever she said, you shouldn’t humiliate her like that!”

He stepped back in shock and began to pity her. He did not vindicate her at all, she had acted meanly and shamelessly, but Yurka saw how Volodya’s face had changed when no-one believed Masha: his eyebrows bent in surprise, and the corners of his lips momentarily drew upwards.

Ira Petrovna took a breath and took Masha by the elbow:

“Let’s go, dear, get some sleep in the dormitory. I’ll let it slide this first time, but if you continue your tall tales, I’ll take you to Olga Leonidovna right away and tell her all about your abnormal fantasies…” She dragged Masha back to the bonfire. “Kysusha, Polya, come with us. And also keep your mouths shut. Volodya! Have Yurka back in his dorm by one!”

“Irin, don’t tell Leonidovna,” Polian’s voice sounded out as she disappeared off into the distance. “It’s all our fault, we weren’t friendly with her, we didn’t listen to her…”

“In fairness, she really was a normal girl that year when she made friends with Anka…” remarked Ksyusha, barely audible. “We’ll see how she behaves, Masha, if you blab even one word…” The end of Ira Petrovna’s sentence was lost in the forest darkness.

[1] In Russian, Mikha asks Kovo?, the genitive case of Kto “who”, which could be rendered in English as “whose”, but it’s more like “of who”, it’s not the proper word, Čej, which is supplied by Vanka.

[2] A reference to the Agniya Barto poem My s Tamaroj. I read the whole poem and I still don’t get it

[3] A Russian idiom, seems to mean something along the lines of ‘too little, too late’.

[mitamicah]

Before starting some christmas doodles and/or dtiys brainstorm thumbnails i wanted to do a thought experiment and draw down every new tattoo idea I have as if money, time and pain tolerance wasnt an issue 😆 so here is what I would look like if all my ideas got made :3

1) words under right collarbone reading: "write your own story" - at the end there is a peacock feather pen still in the midst of writing the "y". Reminder to myself that this life I am living is my own and I get to decide what story I want it to be.

2) Harpy in a dynamic pose with wings stretched out and top surgery scars. The motive may change since the idea mostly is to cover up a feature i have started to become insecure about (my thigh) and make it into something I can be proud of (an artwork)

3) If I am lucky enough to meet either Jere or Bojan I will ask them to write "Are You" on something that I then want tattooed on me. This is probably the least meaningful i just love them so much i want a part of them on my skin as the parasocial delulu fan I am xD

4) a logo i have made for my own artist persona/singer songwriter persona. Placement may change. Represents my passion with singing and songwriting.

5) Flapjack from the Owl House with a brush in his mouth. Tribute tattoo to my grandmother who passed away last year. This tattoo i do have (made by Christine at Cray Cray Ink in Copenhagen on March 23 2023).

6) Eevee sitting down tilting his head where he wears a tiara with the transgender symbol on it. Eevee was my favourite pokemon and to this day i love the symbolism of the eeveelutions for the trans readings of the whole thing. The tiara just makes it more obvious plus its cute.

7) Bulbasaur with a studded collar. Ngl this one is here because I love Jere and that he fits with Eevee and Flapjack.

8) an ouroboros snake all the way across my arm making an infinity symbol. The infinity symbol is a nod to the autistic symbol while the snake is mostly here to nod to norse mythology. Probably one the tattoos that are mostly here for aesthetic reasons and that I am most likely to drop.

9) a flagpole with a t-shirt reading Ihan Sama on it. A reference to both the coverart and the lyrical content of käärijä's song Paidaton Riehuja (he has put the shirt on a flag pole when taking it off and screams ihan sama aka whatever at his insecurities about his looks at the beginning of the song). Feel connected to the song on both a gendered way and as inspiration to love myself and my body. Still figuring out if it would be most fun to have on my left arm (easier to see) or down my side (right where I have the second most body insecurity therefore being a reminder to love that part of myself)

10) the three birds concept - i mentioned it in another post so I wont go into detail here - will be running along with my left collarbone so the peacock tail is resting on the shoulder

11) my newest idea for a post-op chest tattoo is one of these adorable fox doodles created by Frederikke at Shay Ink in Odense - the fox will be wearing the bolero pointing metalforks into the air. Under it will be written this lyric from CCC: Enkää pelkääkään tätä maailmaa.

12) an ansuz rune on my left lower arm. Represents tons of things from my heritance (dane aka viking), interest in norse mythology, humanity, creativity, interest in language (last three is all meanings the rune has in itself), my autism, asexuality and aromaticism (since ansuz is also an old version of the letter 'a') together with being a nod to the käärijä concert I watched two days prior (the font being related to the käärijä font). This tattoo is one I already have and was made by Caroline at the psycadelic unicorn in Berlin.

Thank you for listening to my venting and I hope you can excuse the bad quality picture :'D

[sleep-token-confessions]

I AM IN A HURRY TO A THING BUT I DID THIS REAL QUICK WANNA SHARE THANK YOU (Photo to ALT please i-can'tremembertheWOORD NO TIME THANK YOU BYE!!!!)

.

Plain Text:

l have only listened to one song as of writing this: Take Me Back to Eden

Crystals or a sword? Two doors on either side of a pillar? Mountain? Beam of Li-? OMF it's a veil! Wedding?!?! Wings? Maybe those are banners or pillars? With swords? No, flagpoles that the veiled person is carrying...on their shoulders!

The veiled crown carries the symbol on their shoulders. I see..exhausted hope walking the path of destiny into existence. Tragic and in love

[90s-music-tourney]

The first round polls

Doll Parts by Hole - Mother Mother by Tracy Bonham

Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers - Sober by TOOL

Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill - No Rain by Blind Melon

No Scrubs by TLC - She don't use Jelly by Flaming Lips

Semi Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind - California Living by Tupac

Mr. Jones by Counting Crows - Believe By Cher

Gangsta's Paradise - Steal My Sunshine By Len

Ironic by Alanis Morrisette - Mo Money, Mo Problems by Notorious BIG

Say My Name by Destiny's Child - Genie in a Bottle By Christina Aguilera

Around the World by Daft Punk - Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something

Intergalactic By the Beastie Boys - Creep by Radiohead

One Week by Barenaked Ladies - Smooth By Santana Ft. Rob Thomas

Spice up your life by Spice Girls - I want it that way by the Backstreet Boys

pretty fly (for a white guy) by the offspring - Vogue by Madonna

Don't Let Go (Love) by En Vogue - Jump Around by House of Pain

What is Love By haddaway - The Distance by CAKE

Good Riddance (Time of your Life) by Green Day - Dragula by Rob Zombie

Closing Time by Semisonic - Every You, Every Me by Placebo

Bitch by Meredith Brooks - The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly) by Missy Elliot

Tim I wish you were born a girl by of Montreal - Tubthumping by Chumbawamba

Voodoo by Godsmack - Possum Kingdom by Toadies

Losing my Religion by REM - Bullet with Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins

Fem in a Black Leather Jacket by Pansy Division - Buddy Holly by Weezer

Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega - Livin La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Iris by Goo Goo Dolls - Just a Girl by No Doubt

Barbie Girl by Aqua - Cannonball by the Breeders

Only Happy When it Rains by Garbage - Criminal by Fiona Apple

The Sign by Ace of Base - Laid by James

Give Me One Reason by Tracy Chapman - No Diggity by Blackstreet

Good Day by Ice Cube - Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer

Where is my mind by the Pixies - Friday I'm in Love by The Cure

I will Always Love you by Whitney Houston - Peaches by Presidents of the United States

My Name is by Eminem - All Star by Smash Mouth

My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion - Closer by Nine Inch Nails

Follow you down by Gin Blossom - You Get What You Give by New Radicals

Two Princes by Spin Doctor - Mm Bop by Hansen

Loser by Beck - … Baby One More Time by Britney Spears

Freedom by George Michael - Girls and Boys by Blur

Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger - What's Up by 4 non blondes

What's my Age Again by Blink-182 - Sunny Came Home by Shawn Colvin

Gin and Juice by Snoop Dogg - Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve

Lithium by Nirvana - Zombie by Cranberries

Common People by Pulp - Pepper by Butthole Surfers

Gold Soundz by Pavement - Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants

Killing in the Name by Rage Against the Machine - Nothing Compares to You by Sinead o Connor

Check the Rhime by A Tribe Called Quest - November Rain by Guns n Roses

baby got back by sir mix-a-lot - Wonderwall by Oasis

Love Fool by The Cardigans - whatta man by salt n peppa

[mariacallous]

In 2000, 17-year-old activist Marta Manojlovic was severely beaten by police outside Belgrade city hall. Twenty-three years later, she saw history repeat itself as security forces again used batons against demonstrators.

Manojlovic was a member of "Otpor" -- a student-led movement instrumental in toppling strongman Slobodan Milosevic, who headed Serbia during its 1990s wars against Croatia, Bosnia and Kosovo.

She was peacefully carrying a flag with a clenched fist, the symbol of resistance against Milosevic's authoritarian regime, when the police rounded her up.

"One of the policemen hit me with a baton on my shoulder, I fell down and I think some seven of them had beaten me," Manojlovic told AFP.

She lost consciousness and sustained 12 stitches on her head, bruised ribs and haematomas all over her body. Manojlovic took 10 days to recover -- but to this day has not let go of the flag.

- On the streets again -

After parliamentary and local elections on December 17, she took to the streets again to protest what she believes is a fraudulent poll orchestrated by  President Aleksandar Vucic, a former Milosevic ally.

Vucic's right-wing Serbian Progressive Party won roughly 46 percent of votes in the parliamentary elections, while the leading opposition coalition secured 23.5 percent, according to official results.

Vucic -- a former nationalist turned pro-European Union populist -- has been criticised his alleged autocratic grip on Serbia.

On Sunday evening, Manojlovic was among thousands of protesters in front of Belgrade city hall demanding the vote be annulled.

Some tried to storm the building and broke windows with flagpoles and rocks, while the police responded with pepper spray and dispersed the crowd using batons.

"History repeats itself in the worst way possible," Manojlovic told AFP.

"My experience told me that conflict was inevitable... so I left just before the clashes started."

Afterwards, she saw images of police beating up young people.

"I felt terrible. This country continues the devour the best people it has, ones that love it the most," Manojlovic said.

"We again, unfortunately, live in an autocracy."

International observers -- including representatives from the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) -- reported "irregularities" in the election, including "vote buying" and "ballot box stuffing".

Several Western countries have also expressed concern.

Vucic has denounced the protests, saying there was evidence the violence had been planned in advance and suggested that foreign actors were trying to stir up unrest.

- Student movements -

Manojlovic's generation grew up taking to the streets to demand democracy.

Her parents protested against Milosevic's autocratic regime when she was just a child. "Otpor" (Resistance) quickly became very popular with Serbian youths and mobilised them for a final showdown that toppled Milosevic.

The current protests are also led by university and high school students united under the "Borba" (Fight) movement which also uses a stylised clenched fist as its symbol.

The movement was formed after the elections from an informal group, "Students Against Violence", that echoed the name of the country's main opposition camp, "Serbia Against Violence".

The movement underscores it is not linked to political parties.

Some of Borba's members are proud to wear their parents' protest memorabilia, like Otpor pins, flags and banners.

"I was born in 2002, and I regret that a democratic transition did not take place then," Emilija Milenkovic, a politics student, said.

- 'Tolerating stabilocracy' -

During the 1990s, Milosevic's Serbia became a pariah state over its role in bloody wars that tore apart the former Yugoslavia. His regime was roundly condemned and isolated by the international community.

Vucic however enjoys external political support and and several EU leaders congratulated him personally for the election win despite the fraud allegations.

Political analyst Aleksandar Popov said protests against Vucic cannot succeed without the support of democratic countries.

"They are still tolerating stabilocracy... and this is where you can see the hypocrisy of the West, especially when they speak about human rights and rule of law," Popov told AFP.

"They don't care about... sky-high corruption, collapsed institutions, suppressed human rights and stolen elections."

[ruffatoa]

A dragon spreads its wings, wishing to fly away. But it knows it cannot.

WOOOOOOO we finally got our mad scientist man back!!! Inspired me to make my first ever public art post and first tumblr post, woo. Love this man, even though he is a madman. Obviously unfinished *glares are flagpole and unfinished flag* but if you guys like it, I will attempt to remake it into something with more than 2 hours put onto it. Second picture is to show off the unneeded effort I put into this dragon, as I like drawing dragons too much. If doc is reading this, A. how do you do this stuff and B. thank you for being my favorite comfort yter and for being a huge inspiration for things I do. Hope you enjoy and feel better after the sickness! doc's eye is one pixel. tiny man.

[ennaku-sirri-da]

I’m as busy as a spider spinning daydreams,

I’m as giddy as a baby on a swing.

I haven’t seen a crocus or a rosebud

Or a robin on the wing,

But I feel so gay—in a melancholy way—

That it might as well be spring…

It might as well be spring.

[ ID: Traditional art that has been colored and edited digitally, featuring Kamal Bora and Dr.Habit from Smile For Me the game.

In the artists interpretation Kamal as a kid is much shorter than Habit. He has short straight hair. He wears a oversized dark purple sweater. Then he has a frilly red skirt which sparkles. Ending with light blue socks and pink crocs. Blue-magneta headphones are worn.

Here Habit is a really tall kid. He has a muppet-like appearance with yellow-greenish fur, very long rose-pink curly hair, pink blushing cheek patches with three freckles, ears stuffed with cotton fluff , deep red nails. His eyes are orange, circled below by red ruffles and have some pale purple eyeshadow. He wears a teal buttoned shirt with wavy darker pants that have yet darker stripes on them. Basically it's Kamal’s outfit from the game. His feet are bare.

We are viewing them from above. Kamal is braiding lillies of various colors and shapes- multicolored, freckled, painted- into Habit's huge hair, now he's at the end of it. He sits with folded legs. Besides Habit's ear lies a Tooth Lily. Habit lays his head back, supported by hands on the ground, and looks at the viewer with a devilish smile-a glint in his eye, one blue snaggletooth showing. His feet are thrown about casually. Between them lies a half-open book titled 'Science Of Constipation' in loud colors and fonts. It shows a page titled 'Importance of taking a dump by Bob Smith' that has been absolutely vandalized by Habit. Bob Smith's photo now sports a hat, devil horns and a mustache. ' Preface' has been struck out and replaced with 'Peeface'. Skull, flowers, star, eyes, and a silly emote with its tongue out have been doodled with a red sketch which lies nearby.

Nature surrounds them. Most of it is springtime flowers that can be found in Boston, USA. Daffodils, crocuses, peonies, roses, azaleas, pansies, tulips, black-eyed susans, trailing arbutus. Among this lush greenery- snails, ladybugs can be seen underneath while dragonflies, butterflies, bees fly above. Some young black sheep graze. One looks ahead, with a white heart-marking on its head. Beside Habit's left leg is a large light orange-brown rabbit, curled up and sleeping. Somewhere among the flowers are two small white red-eyed rabbits nuzzling.

To the far right swaying bushes of cattail grow. Beside them is a clear stream running, host to a male and female mallard duck leading their ducklings, bladderworts, white waterlilies with their pads. Among these waterlilies, a brown frog and tadpoles in various stages of life can be spotted. One duckling catches a tadpole in its beak. To the very front are Habit and Kamal's paper boats engaged in a race-- Kamal appears to be winning. One is pink and crumply, heavily decorated, a submerged tag attached to it reads ' B.H'. The other is neat and streamlined with a little teal flagpole announcing it as 'KB'.

The first version of the drawing is overlaid with a very warm orange filter, the second is unedited. End ID]

Talk below the cut!

PLEASE LOOK AT THIS I WORKED ON IT FOR MONTHS NO JOKE THIS IS MY CHILD WHOM I WAS PREGNANT WITH AND NOW I HAVE PAINSTAKINGLY BIRTHED AND CLEANED HIM FOR ALL OF TUMBLR TO SEE

[ Plain text: Please look at this I worked on it for months no joke this is my child whom I was pregnant with and now I have painstakingly birthed and cleaned him for all of tumblr to see]

🥸[ Glasses-and-moustache silly disguise emoji ]

aNYWAY this is part of a series of drawings where Habit and Kamal are just playing as kids really LOL

I listened to Vashti Bunyan's 'Just Another Diamond Day' album a LOT while coloring and drawing this HAHA also some vintage springtime songs! They were so lovely!!!

This also taught me a lesson to plan out my drawings more I guess but also WITNESS THIS BEAUTIFUL CHAOS AND MAY YOUR HEART BE OPENED TO ALL THE JOYOUS POSSIBILITIES MY FRIEND

[ Plain text: Witness this beautiful chaos and may your heart be opened to all the joyous possibilities my friend]

----

A stranger would not have noticed the change, but Molly could see that the withered earth was brightening with a greenness as shy as smoke. Squat, snaggly trees that had never yet bloomed were putting forth flowers in the wary way an army sends out scouts; long-dry streams were beginning to rustle in their beds, and small creatures were calling to one another. Smells slipped by in ribbons: pale grass and black mud, honey and walnuts, mint and hay and rotting applewood; and even the afternoon sunlight had a tender, sneezy scent that Molly would have known anywhere. She rode beside Schmendrick, watching the gentle advent of the spring and thinking of how it had come to her, late but lasting.

"Unicorns have passed here," she whispered to the magician. "Is that the cause, or is it Haggard's fall and the Red Bull's going? What is it, what is happening?"

"Everything," he answered her, "everything, all at once. It is not one springtime, but fifty; and not one or two great terrors flown away, but a thousand small shadows lifted from the land.

Wait and see."

-- From The Last Unicorn by Peter Beagle

:-) [ smile emote ]

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Manuscript Search Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @primroseprime2019, @oh-no-another-idea and @duckingwriting! :D

Words: torture, talking, time, teeth, wind, float, fly, wing, chop, sweat, soup, glare and corner. These are from Totentanz, The Power and the Glory, Like Snow on Hungry Graves, Gracemeadow Manor, Silver Glass and The Unfortunate Moth:

Torture:

No one who had ever attended Laoivere Academy would ever forget that infernal bell. It clanged to wake everyone up, it clanged to call them to meals, it clanged when lessons began, it clanged when there was an emergency -- real or imagined -- and sometimes it even clanged when a stray spell hit it. The noise it made could never be described. It was like a creature being tortured at the same time as a construction crew smashed rocks with sledge-hammers. Mentioning it to former students would prompt anguished groans. Current students spent much of their time planning to destroy the damned thing.

Talking:

Abi didn't hesitate before answering. On the one hand this made her answer more convincing. On the other, as became painfully clear a few seconds later, it meant she didn't think before speaking. "I'm not talking to him because he's a doctor. He's engaged to Mirio."

Time:

Hariye's eyes had gone eerily distant after he finished speaking. Now he seemed to snap back to reality and he looked at her in shock. "Who do you think you are?" he demanded, for the first time sounding like the prince he was. "You have no right to forbid me to do anything."

Teeth:

He listened intently. Silence all through the house. That silence set his teeth on edge. It was too much like the expectant silence just before a play began.

Wind:

Abi opened her eyes. The ground was far below her. She was above the tallest trees, above the palaces, even above the Silver Palace's watch-tower. From here she could see the entire city and beyond. All the buildings were so small they looked like dolls' houses. The sea sparkled in the distance. A cloud drifted overhead. There was no noise except the wind and nothing near her except a crow flying beneath her. It gave her a bemused look then veered off in a different direction.

Float:

Ketevan stared intently down at the sea. Waves broke against the cliff. A gull wailed overhead. No body floated up to the surface. Not even a mer could have survived a fall from that height. Hitting the water would have been like falling off a castle tower and landing on stone. Probably Hariye's body had been destroyed beyond recognition by the impact.

Fly:

On the very first day of lessons she walked into the room she'd set aside as a schoolroom and found Karandren levitating his books above his desk while he made his lunchbox fly around the room. Such control over magic took years of long, hard study to master. Diarnlan still couldn't do it and she was at least ten years older than this arrogant little upstart.

Wing:

In this form she couldn't lie down to sleep. Abi flew to the flagpole sticking out of the building's wall and perched on it. She tucked her head under her wing as she'd seen real birds do. Then she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

Chop:

Headache cures had a very distinctive honey-like smell, in spite of their unappetising colour, and were the easiest potion to brew. Unless you were so incompetent you confused chopped ice with ground ice -- in other words, unless you were Diarnlan. Her mouth twisted into a vicious snarl.

Sweat:

As they leant over him Hariye caught a whiff of their scent. Rusudan had smelt of wood and flowers and leather, while Ketevan always smelled of horses and sweat and the sea. He knew at once it was Ketevan in the room. She hovered over him and he knew she was studying his face intently.

Soup:

The first thing he saw was a writing pad. It contained nothing but notes on chores (curtains need washed) and meals (fish soup?). Yo-han opened the drawers one at a time. The first one was full of bills, all of them carefully stacked and marked "PAID". The second contained lists of dates and, oddly, a complete list of kings from the House of Vasa. The third was empty.

Glare:

"The real killer just walked off the ship and escaped into Sydney," Yo-han snapped. He glared at the guard. "This man was meant to be guarding him. I expect he can give you an explanation."

Corner:

Hariye nodded silently. No matter how much he tried to think of it as an adventure, he couldn't help feeling more like a hunted animal. He didn't feel like exploring the house just then. All he really wanted was to curl up in a corner somewhere, go to sleep, and hope this would turn out to be a nightmare when he woke.

Tagging @on-noon, @sam-glade, @zmwrites, @enchanted-lightning-aes, @ashen-crest, @basilesroom, @blind-the-winds, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D Can’t be bothered thinking of new words, so just pick any you want from mine! :D

[tinker-tanner]

Getting in your business: 1, 9, 83. :3

Actually 99 too

From here:

The meaning behind my URL: It's a reference to Patrick Rothfuss' work. I've given up on him ever finishing the series, but it's my URL and it's not going anywhere.

Tattoos I want: A radiant angel of many wings and eyes, like Venus in WKTD. She meant the world to me when I first played it and it will be my favourite game forever because of her.

Have you ever glued your hand to something?: Nope. But I have stuck my tongue to a flagpole once or twice.

Have you ever met someone who didn't seem real?: Laverne Cox. She gave a talk at my university and she had the kind of awe-inspiring presence I associate with angels.