7 February 2008. Calm sun, touch of haze. Hazaña, late last night. Estevan Echevería--El Matadero. Founding stories as history--or history as a founding story. Matasiete. "Qué mueran los salvages unitarios." Remnants of faith, reapplied--the vicious blade. Celebration of--pure strength--to crush with gusto. Lo peor, todo lo peor...
Al justo aquel por piadoso y sincero,
la Humanidad lo clavó de un madero...
Russian-ness as well. Alexander Skidan, late afternoon. Jumpy hair, taut face, narrow, expressive mouth with flashing momentary smiles inserted into a stream of densely compelling analytic glossalalia. His own words-- "Poetry the only free space." "Lacan, ectoplasm, whose center is e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e." "Very big and very crucial change." "The word as such is useless and ineffective."
Uglich.
Time of troubles. And yet, also hidden within, manifest in flashes, a great hope--like the rumpled surface of a frozen Siberian lake--or the Aral Sea, a wrangly and decrepit motorbike three-wheeler, rough boards and the Pleististocene rock weight of a Central Asian fisherman. The winds, the endless plain, the steppe...
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