Стрій з Житомирщини. Овруцький район.

Welp...

I did fandragon of Madara Uchiha...

Someone should really stop me 'coz I can't stop myself from growing up new brainrots.

I don't want to have many dragons. Like, 50 is my comfort amount. But I want to do at least 3 more g1 projects. And this new breed... Ugh.

What have I done to myself?

Тамблер чомусь шедов-банить мій книжковий блог та не відображає у загальній стрічці за теґами. Як це з'ясувалося? Бо на нього навіть порно-боти не підписуються! xD

Тамблер, що з тобою не так? Чим тобі відгуки на прочитані книжки не догодили?

Christian Griepenkerl (1839-1916) ~ Death as a Rider, 1897, oil on canvas

a folk song from chapayevka village, chornobyl region

this type of song is called голосіння (holosinnya — "keening"), and they are usually sang by women over the dead body during the period between death and funeral. in this song, the woman is mourning both her dead son, and the land that they were forced to leave due to the chornobyl disaster.

translation under the cut

We went there

The houses are overgrown

Can't see anything over the weeds

Oh my God

Thirty years had passed

Now I can't even recognize

Neither my house, nor my village

Oh my God, oh my God

Oh my son, my nightingale

My son, my little dove

How far they brought us

And I will never come to you again

And will never see you again

Oh, my land, my golden one

My land, my dear one

Oh, how far they brought us

That I can't come to you

Our roads, our paths are overgrown

And our houses, and everything

I can't even recognize

Not the village, nor any of our backyards

We got lost, can't even find our houses

Oh my God, oh my God

Horn furniture, 1850-1859

Crying over this tiny Ukrainian flag amidst ruins after russian strike.

Yeah woke up in a cold sweat this morning because of that air attack. And it was like that the WHOLE NIGHT.

So uh, it’s 6am I Kyiv, and there’s another ballistic missile attack. It’s the kind when you hear (or feel) the hit/explosion even before the air raid alarm goes. That’s how fast that shit is.

Waking up in terror of noise, grabbing cat & dog and running.

Today explosion wave fucked up my window and my plants.

Oh well.

Staying up for the news updates and more possible attacks.

a devastasting video from occupied left bank of Kherson region. A woman and her children plead for evacuation but rescuers nor Ukrainian soldiers cannot physically reach them. orcs left them to die along with other 22 000 - 40 000 people. russia must burn.

Why Ukrainians didn’t produce a Tolstoy?

there are a lot of things that can piss me off, today it was this tweet:

and all i wanted to do was to ask this person, why the fuck do we need a racist misogynistic piece of shit as a standout author if we have Shevchenko as our prophet?

but you don’t know who he is? of course, you don’t. that is the thing with imperialism: you destroy other cultures while promoting yours as the only way to legitimise your rule. even if those territories are of higher cultural development. but there is always a way out of it: kill them all. kill anyone who poses an existential threat to your hegemony. throw them into jail. forbid them to write and paint. send them to gulag. kill them. torture them. execute them.

if you don’t know Ukrainian literature, it doesn’t mean that it‘s nonexistent. if you don’t know "a Ukrainian Tolstoy", it means there is a Ukrainian Bahrianyi, who was sent to the gulag but ran away and was the first person in the world to openly criticise USSR in his pamphlet Why I am not going back to the Soviet Union. "I don't want to go back to the USSR because a person there is worth less than an insect"

there is a Ukrainian Symonenko and a Ukrainian Stus. there is a Ukrainian Lesya Ukrainka and Olha Kobylyanska. a Ukrainian Kotsiubynskyi, Ukrainian Drach, Ukrainian Olena Pchilka and Ukrainian Lina Kostenko. and so many more of the bravest people who despite all wrote in the Ukrainian language about Ukrainian people and for Ukrainian people.

there are thousands of beautiful texts that weren’t translated because this would’ve harmed the empire. that is why you are reading Dostoevsky and not Khvyliovyi.

but there are also thousands of texts that were never written. just how many more poems would’ve Stus written if he wasn’t killed by the Soviet regime? how many more texts would have Pidmohylnyi, Semenko, Yalovyi, Yohansen, Zerov written if they weren’t shot at Sandarmokh?

just have many texts have the world missed out on because Khvyliovyi committed suicide as he couldn’t live in the world with Stalin’s repressions. "today is a beautiful sunny day. I love life - you can't even imagine how much", - he will write in his death note as he shot himself with his friends waiting for him in the next room.

or maybe there was a Ukrainian Nobel Prize in Literature waiting for Tychyna? maybe, but he submitted to Soviet authorities and started writing hails for the regime, suddenly forgetting his own literary style and living his entire life in fear. fear of what? fear of getting caught. of getting destroyed just as all of the previous Ukrainian intelligentsia.

I’m tired of my people being silenced. I’m tired of my poets being undermined by "great” russian literature. it’s not worth a single Symonenko’s poem. it’s not worth a single paragraph of Bahrianyi‘s prose.

the greatness of russian literature lies on the bones of Ukrainian writers. to be this high, they killed hundreds and they are still doing it today.

the body of Ukrainian children’s writer Volodymyr Vakulenko was found in the mass grave in Izium in September 2022.

there will be a Ukrainian Nobel Prize in Literature, and there will be more Ukrainian books. there will be Ukrainian Zhadan and Zabuzhko, Liubka and Izdryk, Sord and Kidruk. there will be Ukrainian literature.

another funny thing is that this person is Indian and let me tell you: the fact that you stand up for one empire even when your own country has suffered from the doings of another is evidence of deep colonial trauma and I hope you will cure yourself soon