The luck of the lack of freedom
on 150 years ago, 19 February 1861, was abolished in Russia serfdom. A memorable date in many respects - but above all, because too many Russians and Russians are still of that time - consciously or unconsciously - to regret.
And not just (or not only) because it is still quite like to have a few or a few hundred slaves would (be honest: Who dreams of us do not like this, especially when the alarm clock shrieks at seven), but - the paradox - because they themselves want to be serfs.
by Anton Chekhov, whose father was not born a slave, is the famous quote that he had "the slave dripping" squeezed off. A tedious, painful work ...
the liberal Tsar Alexander II, who has 1861, the abolition of slavery and vile ventured several other reforms blew up, the grateful countrymen 20 years later, in the air. Children of the terrorists crashed 1917 Tsarism - a modern, "socialist" slavery in the Russian Empire produce. People could not be bought and sold, they were still without rights:
In the famous Soviet kolkhoz farmers, domestic passports taken away, lest they flee to the cities. Similarly, the enslaved were military personnel, enslaved in their own way, had the workers and engineers of the many arms factories feel ... All together they made a lot more than half the national population. A specific population group formed - especially in the several decades of Stalin's era - the prisoners and the prison guards. Could be because of the feel in this list missing the rest of the population is free?
therefore not surprising that so many citizens of the "post-Soviet" Russia have significant symptoms of the phenomenon that Erich Fromm called "Escape from Freedom" - and that in the most vulgar and most desolate form? Before the open society, which is another European thinker, Karl Popper, designed to be a desirable model for the future, terrified the Russians back almost to the opening under Gorby has shown - in the stifling stagnation cell in which you need to risk anything.
So many theorists describe such societies does nice "children" societies in which the "children" merely good, and should listen to Dad, who will care even for the well being of the "children". The well-known Russian film director Nikita Mikhalkov (Academy Award for "The sun, which deceived us"), Urururenkel wealthy aristocrats, which once had thousands of slaves, can be happy today about the "harmony" of the prevailing conditions in which the peasants perceived their landlords with gratitude and awe as quasi-parents. The paradox: in today's Russian society, he need have no fear, as a reactionary or simply occur as a fool. Almost all polls show
in Russia today, that most citizens of the giant empire today, on the 2nd Decade of the 21st Century, the Soviet Union's Brezhnev times - rated as the golden era of their own story - this easy and relatively bloodless flegmatische era of Soviet servitude. Stalin and now a majority is a thousand times rather than Gorby and Yeltsin. Are these people just "children" - or simply slaves in their heads?
is real impressive, and surprisingly the huge interest the story in today's Russia. The talk shows always turn to Lenin, Stalin, Brezhnev, Gorbachev and Yeltsin, now and then to Khrushchev and Andropov. No, a "past" in the German sense of the word is not. The whole country just seems to move forward with the view to the rear. Or is it progressing forward in reality not at all? Correct: It is more likely on the spot, turning in circles and longs for being old Day. Since no help mantras and modernization, etc., which are now heard from the Kremlin ...
Today, Russia has no convincing future project - hence the interest is for the past. Who will have the Kremlin's tear solution from the stool, Russia's GDP "should be doubled by 2020"?
No, it's true but not entirely. Some possible objectives are to Russia see the horizon already: the 2014 Winter Olympics and the football World Cup 2018th
However, this reminds of the old Soviet joke. The early 60's Khrushchev had known, announced in 1980 the Soviet Union will live under communism. 1964 Khrushchev became the Rose Breeding sent to his dacha. Brezhnev came to power. And in 1980 it was said: Communism is indeed 1980 but do not worry - we have but the Olympics in Moscow!
As the attentive reader has probably noticed de.rian.ru long ago if it is under the comments in the "Opinions" section on this website: "The opinion of the author does not have to agree with those of RIA Novosti." I do not know what is "the opinion of RIA Novosti" on the subject. And I confirm: with my opinion, it must not match.
you soon.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Why Does My Pinky Toe Hurt
they say if i keep on watching those violent movies, a might turn out to be a criminal one day
A few hours ago I came back from his grandmother. We played cards for three, went on trips and talk about politics. The grandfather is a heap of misery, has the last two weeks, the pain refused to leave the house. We took him between us and dragged him for coffee. A piece of strawberry cake, he has got, but now the taste yet, he says, strawberries can be eaten only if it is precisely the time for it. When the others are away, he shows me where it is bleeding, his skin is constantly sore that it hurts to breathe still. The grandmother is more relaxed than they were a couple of weeks around him and takes care of his every move. Some Days, she says, is he not, in others it has already attracted the pants alone when I come.
the day before I drove off, I met C of Greifswald, which I had for five / six years (yes, I believe, something like that) not seen. She fell immediately out of the myth of Greifswald, which had hardened with me over the years of absence and has become a geographical embodiment of a standstill. Of course, to move the things we do not monitor, never. At least not in our head. It was always
ambbivalente memories of this city. On the one hand, it was a formative time of music, in the many good things happened, on the other hand, I am with the feeling the run away and then looked back with a hard gaze, which should kill the ghosts.
We were with a boy of that time at an art opening and met by chance another Greifswald Erin. She worked there came up to us, did advertising and we were talking at breakneck speed put us finally on the move between the images through and gasping for champagne glasses in passing. Every two, for the others who had already some, but does not matter. The program was constantly interrupted by friends of hers, whom she kissed the cheeks, walked away and waved, holding her fingers to his ear to say: we call! She talked with the typical Livened nature, bring with them such jobs. Her gaze sweeps the room, the back there is an actor? I think so, not have to watch, I know the face, one day there was my intern, now he has his own gallery next door. The student comes to us, one of those very large, always smiling, handsome men, whose remarks are too smooth, as if that will take them seriously. When asked about his success, he says: It has character and therefore it is still employed. I however have none. This is the reason. I am a boot-licker.
When they sheer excited feelings or the champagne poured into the cut, I went back to the other two and we were sitting on stairs and turned cold cigarettes as before. I remembered the nights in front of Pari with all the wine bottles, the dark-red mouths and rushing faces. Always has been hoped to anyone in particular, only in the evenings quite desperate, because you have been happy about anyone who could sit next to you. I liked those lost in my youth always very happy that you did not know exactly where to sleep, in this city, to the full with the first train back, that was allowed to take driving and always the bottle in his hand and a few Insults on the tongue.
Now suddenly everything is very orderly. Before a trip, a hotel room is booked, the drinks are purchased locally and anyway everything is in perfect safety. In the taxi I think: The life of a cowboy looks different.
A few hours ago I came back from his grandmother. We played cards for three, went on trips and talk about politics. The grandfather is a heap of misery, has the last two weeks, the pain refused to leave the house. We took him between us and dragged him for coffee. A piece of strawberry cake, he has got, but now the taste yet, he says, strawberries can be eaten only if it is precisely the time for it. When the others are away, he shows me where it is bleeding, his skin is constantly sore that it hurts to breathe still. The grandmother is more relaxed than they were a couple of weeks around him and takes care of his every move. Some Days, she says, is he not, in others it has already attracted the pants alone when I come.
the day before I drove off, I met C of Greifswald, which I had for five / six years (yes, I believe, something like that) not seen. She fell immediately out of the myth of Greifswald, which had hardened with me over the years of absence and has become a geographical embodiment of a standstill. Of course, to move the things we do not monitor, never. At least not in our head. It was always
ambbivalente memories of this city. On the one hand, it was a formative time of music, in the many good things happened, on the other hand, I am with the feeling the run away and then looked back with a hard gaze, which should kill the ghosts.
We were with a boy of that time at an art opening and met by chance another Greifswald Erin. She worked there came up to us, did advertising and we were talking at breakneck speed put us finally on the move between the images through and gasping for champagne glasses in passing. Every two, for the others who had already some, but does not matter. The program was constantly interrupted by friends of hers, whom she kissed the cheeks, walked away and waved, holding her fingers to his ear to say: we call! She talked with the typical Livened nature, bring with them such jobs. Her gaze sweeps the room, the back there is an actor? I think so, not have to watch, I know the face, one day there was my intern, now he has his own gallery next door. The student comes to us, one of those very large, always smiling, handsome men, whose remarks are too smooth, as if that will take them seriously. When asked about his success, he says: It has character and therefore it is still employed. I however have none. This is the reason. I am a boot-licker.
When they sheer excited feelings or the champagne poured into the cut, I went back to the other two and we were sitting on stairs and turned cold cigarettes as before. I remembered the nights in front of Pari with all the wine bottles, the dark-red mouths and rushing faces. Always has been hoped to anyone in particular, only in the evenings quite desperate, because you have been happy about anyone who could sit next to you. I liked those lost in my youth always very happy that you did not know exactly where to sleep, in this city, to the full with the first train back, that was allowed to take driving and always the bottle in his hand and a few Insults on the tongue.
Now suddenly everything is very orderly. Before a trip, a hotel room is booked, the drinks are purchased locally and anyway everything is in perfect safety. In the taxi I think: The life of a cowboy looks different.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Yamaha Powered Mixer To Crossover
The myth adulthood
Again and again I meet women (for it occurs to me, especially for women, although it is safe in men as well, only perhaps less surprisingly) not at my age, but some are over it and then totally surprising to me behave like school girls. It was years ago with a previous instructor of mine. How we met at a lecture, or better, we were both too early, I stood and smoked and because I attended a seminar with her, she was a little unsure as to whether this is ok, just help me. I asked in my embarrassment at what she works for and she just said something like causality and responsibility (which I suppose in hindsight, because they then used published a book). At that time it was a subject such as flu shots for me, not even what occurred to me one more question. So I nodded and realized that she is as helpless before me as I do. She looked like twelve, so clumsy, and bit her lower lip. It was not as if we were we were unsympathetic and when it would be an annoyance to meet one another, quite the contrary, we were (so at least my perception) is very interested in each other, just as we do not know how the cat is best at tail grab. In order not muted to stand together, they asked me who I will write my final paper and when I tell her that, she said, good man, as they have made a good choice, and disappeared because of a passing of their colleagues and took her in the entrance .
did today then I have a short e-mail chat with a friend, normally, just as the lecturer, one of the very sovereign women, is facing one tends to be a bit too much respect was and is startled when she sometimes what wrong. She wrote to me, even though we are legally be otherwise with one another, as sick in bed and sent me links to any things which she has in her delirium just reinzog. My God! I thought that is exactly such a child as we all know what is obviously not a very spectacular insight.
But the amazing thing is however, as the myths reason overgrow. Suddenly you're surprised by something you know very well in theory and eternally so. Just a few days before
(or was it yesterday? I can not remember for the life), I listened to a lecture enlightenment. It was the description of someone who is just amazed by a metropolitan center of self-knowledge and so I thought: How many layers and types of knowledge but it is. Typically you would go so out of two: this is the theoretical knowledge and on the other hand, the experience of knowing. But during those two Offenbahrungsstunden did us before so, as though there is a lot more shading and I remembered my Grübel years in which my mind does not get bored, thousands of times to revolve around the same opportunity (you guessed it, it had dealing with an unhappy love affair, but nothing like this). This was possible because I am very old and rancid knowledge always fresh as a daisy and somehow different to the brain fluttered. I'm always thinking: What were you then stupid that you have not understood everything, and when I fetched the books look took out and wanted to see how stupid I was, I found that I was not even an idiot such as thought, some even earlier had recognized a similar way.
You could of course think that this is a memory problem and the novelty of the idea due to forgetting. But I do not think so. Rather, I believe that there are between theory and practice far more complex ramifications, as a suspect, the distinction between knowledge and understanding can be. Shortly after Christmas I was
Again and again I meet women (for it occurs to me, especially for women, although it is safe in men as well, only perhaps less surprisingly) not at my age, but some are over it and then totally surprising to me behave like school girls. It was years ago with a previous instructor of mine. How we met at a lecture, or better, we were both too early, I stood and smoked and because I attended a seminar with her, she was a little unsure as to whether this is ok, just help me. I asked in my embarrassment at what she works for and she just said something like causality and responsibility (which I suppose in hindsight, because they then used published a book). At that time it was a subject such as flu shots for me, not even what occurred to me one more question. So I nodded and realized that she is as helpless before me as I do. She looked like twelve, so clumsy, and bit her lower lip. It was not as if we were we were unsympathetic and when it would be an annoyance to meet one another, quite the contrary, we were (so at least my perception) is very interested in each other, just as we do not know how the cat is best at tail grab. In order not muted to stand together, they asked me who I will write my final paper and when I tell her that, she said, good man, as they have made a good choice, and disappeared because of a passing of their colleagues and took her in the entrance .
did today then I have a short e-mail chat with a friend, normally, just as the lecturer, one of the very sovereign women, is facing one tends to be a bit too much respect was and is startled when she sometimes what wrong. She wrote to me, even though we are legally be otherwise with one another, as sick in bed and sent me links to any things which she has in her delirium just reinzog. My God! I thought that is exactly such a child as we all know what is obviously not a very spectacular insight.
But the amazing thing is however, as the myths reason overgrow. Suddenly you're surprised by something you know very well in theory and eternally so. Just a few days before
(or was it yesterday? I can not remember for the life), I listened to a lecture enlightenment. It was the description of someone who is just amazed by a metropolitan center of self-knowledge and so I thought: How many layers and types of knowledge but it is. Typically you would go so out of two: this is the theoretical knowledge and on the other hand, the experience of knowing. But during those two Offenbahrungsstunden did us before so, as though there is a lot more shading and I remembered my Grübel years in which my mind does not get bored, thousands of times to revolve around the same opportunity (you guessed it, it had dealing with an unhappy love affair, but nothing like this). This was possible because I am very old and rancid knowledge always fresh as a daisy and somehow different to the brain fluttered. I'm always thinking: What were you then stupid that you have not understood everything, and when I fetched the books look took out and wanted to see how stupid I was, I found that I was not even an idiot such as thought, some even earlier had recognized a similar way.
You could of course think that this is a memory problem and the novelty of the idea due to forgetting. But I do not think so. Rather, I believe that there are between theory and practice far more complex ramifications, as a suspect, the distinction between knowledge and understanding can be. Shortly after Christmas I was
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Business Name Ideas For Interior Design
The word for Sunday
for the purpose of exchanging gifts at our man for the film. He was working at the intersection for a friend, a thesis of a nascent cameraman. He played me this thing and I had to guess the object of what is at stake. After just a minute I said, confident of victory, I know it's about nothing. Wrong. The theme was lust. Ah, so the pomegranate, I said. If it fails to tell a story that takes you stop a symbol to argue that it's about what it means. It grew entwined Gespächspfade that led to identity problems and wanted to go as I am, he said, "I wanted to ask you something: How do you tell a story? I sit on a script level, so.
I was standing in his small, musty little room, cap in hand and said that we discuss the perhaps better by email. But he went on, he would have many scenes in my head and write them down, but he felt it increased. He always comes back to a point where it goes no further. I remembered the film project, work on which he and some friends for years. You want to apply to what they already have for funding. There are snippets. When I asked what they say and do because what the world looks like, comes to it, he starts to stutter. All this is still unclear, but of course, blame the other, because that is their role. He would not again, and so on (neuroses). This thing in mind, I told him that it needs a carrier, a superstructure, an idea that holds together the pieces and gives them a direction. Otherwise, the scenes hover in space like a notzlose collage of forms. Ah, yes, he says, he thought, that would by itself. Deduction.
I had to think of his artistic Schülerhaftigkeit because I have just a short film about a supposed film student, stumbled to go in there to be large and essential things that you want to show finally that you are not a flat head. What do you do? What religious, which is always, as the elevation is equal to at and you just have to tinker not only laborious itself. It is about the deadly sins, this time equal to everyone, not just lust. A student subject, I think, such as loneliness, sadness and anger. Something very basal, as we all know and that each is equal to heart. Let's call these students keyword artist. The (momentous) Keywords are placeholders for content or story. Because you do not think what you want to tell her, they build forms around a tag and produce a poster at a time. It is probably what you should expect from such film and art schools: they teach the craft with which one could implement ideas, if you know what would. The ideas, it is hoped, by itself, like love itself gradually into an arranged marriage ceases.
My suggestion to the dilemma between Abi and Art School Three years of compulsory military or related to (for the pacifists) in the soap factory.
for the purpose of exchanging gifts at our man for the film. He was working at the intersection for a friend, a thesis of a nascent cameraman. He played me this thing and I had to guess the object of what is at stake. After just a minute I said, confident of victory, I know it's about nothing. Wrong. The theme was lust. Ah, so the pomegranate, I said. If it fails to tell a story that takes you stop a symbol to argue that it's about what it means. It grew entwined Gespächspfade that led to identity problems and wanted to go as I am, he said, "I wanted to ask you something: How do you tell a story? I sit on a script level, so.
I was standing in his small, musty little room, cap in hand and said that we discuss the perhaps better by email. But he went on, he would have many scenes in my head and write them down, but he felt it increased. He always comes back to a point where it goes no further. I remembered the film project, work on which he and some friends for years. You want to apply to what they already have for funding. There are snippets. When I asked what they say and do because what the world looks like, comes to it, he starts to stutter. All this is still unclear, but of course, blame the other, because that is their role. He would not again, and so on (neuroses). This thing in mind, I told him that it needs a carrier, a superstructure, an idea that holds together the pieces and gives them a direction. Otherwise, the scenes hover in space like a notzlose collage of forms. Ah, yes, he says, he thought, that would by itself. Deduction.
I had to think of his artistic Schülerhaftigkeit because I have just a short film about a supposed film student, stumbled to go in there to be large and essential things that you want to show finally that you are not a flat head. What do you do? What religious, which is always, as the elevation is equal to at and you just have to tinker not only laborious itself. It is about the deadly sins, this time equal to everyone, not just lust. A student subject, I think, such as loneliness, sadness and anger. Something very basal, as we all know and that each is equal to heart. Let's call these students keyword artist. The (momentous) Keywords are placeholders for content or story. Because you do not think what you want to tell her, they build forms around a tag and produce a poster at a time. It is probably what you should expect from such film and art schools: they teach the craft with which one could implement ideas, if you know what would. The ideas, it is hoped, by itself, like love itself gradually into an arranged marriage ceases.
My suggestion to the dilemma between Abi and Art School Three years of compulsory military or related to (for the pacifists) in the soap factory.
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