Show at Sheremetevo

  …from the quill of Antisthenes the Younger


We wrote about Snowden before: – Defenestration! on 17-06 and  Glorifying Snowden on 29-06. I think it is probably too early to know what is it all about; about fifty years too early. We know or ought to know about the games spies play and disinformation they ply. It used to be the two-way mirrors, opium smoke and The Daily Worker; now it is the internet, The Guardian and the internet.

 The internet information is not to be trusted in any matter, but especially not in the matter involving the secret services of Russia, United States and China. Yet, that’s all we have and thus has to be taken with a stakan or two of vodka. It would seem that Edward Snowden hardly ever finished anything, perhaps because of watching too many episodes of Get Smart; and was just intelligent enough to be a computer expert. His explanation of his motives resemble an eight-year-old boy shocked by suddenly discovering his parents have sex. For him that happened when he “discovered” that USA spies on everybody. He was obviously too busy, perhaps planning his career as a male model, to read any history books or at least the right blogs. From the time immemorial rulers spied on enemies, friends and own subjects alike for very good reasons. Recent nonsense of political correctness provided an excuse – in order to avoid accusations of racial and theological profiling, Western spy agencies simply collect it all.

 So this darling of Western media, who saw nothing wrong with falsifying his resume in order to get a better paid job, somehow acquired conscience and ran to the British extreme left tabloid, The Guardian, with his “new” proof of the United States duplicity in order to set the world right. Good grief, as Charlie Brown would say.

 Perhaps he is a CIA plant sent to infiltrate the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation (FSB), better known as KGB; after all he was left steaming in his own borscht at the Sheremetevo airport waiting lounge before a FSB lawyer could fit him into his busy schedule and come up with an asylum of one year duration. Perhaps he is a Chinese dupe – his “revelations” came just in time to provide an excuse for China to ignore US complaints about its own electronic spying. Perhaps he is just an up-dated, digital Walter Mitty. In any case, nobody is likely to envy him his future, even if it is just a year, in the USSR, sorry, The Most Democratic Putin’s Russia. Well, maybe the other victims of self-delusion and self-importance like Brad, now Chelsea, Manning or Juli Assange possibly could have.

 Russians pity him: Russia Times:

 As former NSA contractor Edward Snowden finally sets his foot on Russian soil after weeks stuck in an airport terminal, RT’s Irina Galushko, adept at surviving in Russia, sends him a warm warning… sorry, we mean a warm welcome.

 Edward, welcome.

First, I’d like to warn you about our summer: we don’t have one.

Three weeks of heat, five thousand Twitter and Facebook moans about how damn hot it is and then back to moderately frostbite-inducing weather, complete with just enough humidity to make your limbs get all puffy and sausage-like in appearance.

By the way, you’ve already missed the allotted three, but so did I (coincidentally, in the same locale, though I did get to spend a day in Cuba, so thank you for that) – see? We already have something in common.

Secondly, no matter what your plans are, where and however you want to settle in – most of your time will be spent in traffic.

You see, you’ll probably acquire some friends very quickly – what with all the notoriety and knowledge of spiffy ways of getting around computer networks, I’m assuming there is already an army of people who are willing to bend over backwards in order to get your attention long enough for an Instagram-Twitter opportunity. They’ll pick you up and take you places. Hold on to your glasses.

Your friends will explain that Russia sucks, Moscow does, too, and on a grander scale; the only place to be is Strelka (meaning Arrow in English, but also a kinda prison-slang term for a “meeting”) – a bar/restaurant/art institute for the hip, intellectually-upbeat and disdainful. But the cocktails are splendid.

You’ll get dragged to a seemingly endless number of bars, restaurants and cafes – you see, Muscovites have just passed through the either McDee’s and Cola or oysters and Petrus stage of culinary evolution (depending on the budget or whoever happens to be looking at the moment), and have finally evolved into species capable of understanding that cuisine can involve a bit more whim and fancy than a blob of mayo and some caviar on top. They’re incredibly proud of a myriad of such establishments popping up on every corner in Moscow, and are loudly proclaiming certain neighbourhoods to be the closest thing to Greenwich Village east of Long Island.

After you’re done eating, the same bearded, boviating Strelkatians will quickly snatch you out of the hands of any encumbering security minders (or ten, or twenty, depending on the day and overall political situation in our neck of the woods) and will stream you through an endless arcade of exhibits, festivals, events, talks, open tables, discussion panels, ping-pong games, and interviews.

Relax – everything you say and do will be used against you in the court of public opinion, and every little sneeze will get as much criticism or admiration as Manet’s painting with a naked chick and erroneously dressed men on a picnic in a park, back when it was unveiled much to the chagrin of the (ironically also) bearded men at the Paris Salon.

Girls will throw themselves at you.

So will boys.

And older men and women.

If that all happens simultaneously, worry not – it just means you’ve happened to walk into the Moscow Metro system during rush hour.

You may have heard about it. You may have seen pictures. Your new friends will explain to you that the Metro is just for tourists and provincial mendicants who cannot afford a proper set of four wheels. But the explanation, no doubt, will be delivered over an extended period of time you will spend in one of Moscow’s infamous traffic jams – harking back to where I began my welcoming toast.

As a person who did her share in these life-killing, soul-eating spit-ups of civilization, I warn you: either live in the Kremlin, or DO ignore anti-metro slogans and use it. Chances that you’ll be recognized on there are zero.

And in winter you’ll have an incessant cold and stuffy nose – so there’s a solution for the whole “it reeks of high heaven” argument.

Basically, it’s as follows: it’s gonna be hard. You won’t find an organic anything that wouldn’t cost as much as a human kidney on the black market. Everyone smokes, but periodically quits, because of the law, and because it’s kinda trendy now.

Everyone runs – also, because it’s fashionable to be healthy. Communists spent 75 years trying to impose the idea of a healthy lifestyle onto the populace, but as soon as the USSR collapsed, that idea was promptly thrown out the window – only to make a grand comeback in recent years. Like a lot of reasonable ideas, really, but that’s a whole other story. 

Burgers will cost around 30 bucks at Starlite Diner. Drinking won’t be that big of a deal anymore – the country doesn’t really support the idea of a “last call” but if you want to buy some vodka between the hours of 11pm and 8am – you’re out of luck. 

Most things written in English will be misspelled. Yet, most things written in Russian are misspelled also, so that’s really not worth pointing out.

Books to read – Dostoevsky is grand, and all, albeit rather depressing. Not to mention it’d be a good read on a 13-hour flight to, say, Cuba.

But I strongly suggest reading “Twelve Chairs” and the “The Golden Calf” to better prepare for the pandemonium that is the Russian psyche, also known as the Mysterious Russian Soul. And, of course, “Master and Margarita” – for all its otherworldly beauty, placed a hair-splitting pitch on that side of sanity, soaked in the mystic oil of the supernatural, a tragic farce, a comedic drama – really, it’s all there for the taking, and I strongly suggest you read it as soon as possible.

And if you need anything – just give a shout out to your fake twitter account. You won’t believe how many serious people still believe it’s real.


About Antisthenes

A Greek philosopher, a pupil of Socrates. Led a revolt, with Diogenes, against the demands of the city-state and the sophistication of life. Accepted the interrelation of knowledge, virtue, and happiness; and sought the ideal condition for happiness in return to primitivism and self-sufficiency. Rejected all social distinctions as based on convention, scorned orthodox religion as a fabrication of lies, and studied early legends and animal life in order to arrive at a true understanding of natural law. The individual was free and self-sufficient when he was master of his passions, secure in his intelligence, impervious to social or religious demands, and satisfied with the poverty of a mendicant. Needless to say, a person who on the Fog of Chaos adopted the Athenian philosopher's name has nothing whatsoever in common with him.
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4 Responses to Show at Sheremetevo

  1. Helga says:

    So pathetic! I mean the media.

  2. padre Dimitry says:

    Serves him right. I hope, as his father does, he’ll stay there till his death.

  3. spy infection says:

    Dishonest people are everywhere.

  4. ZI XIU TANG says:

    All part of a scheme to destabilize America and to help Obama.

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