Читать книгу Русский паркур / Russian parkour - Евгений Типайлов - Страница 29

I’ve always talked, before and now,

My tongue has baked the verbal dough,

I’ve cooked up showy monologs

And written spicy posts for blogs.

I want your attention, I claim it,

I offer my innermost plainly.

Brief, like the Rubaiyat’s lines,

Or in endless receding rhymes.

I want to start a verbal fight

For what I still believe is right.

Tik Tok – around the clock,

Run Lola run – through Instagram,

A videoblog – forget Pushkin and Blok,

Inner world – behind a password.

Pop art, pop music, pop up ads

Are on the line that never ends.

Thoughts are compressed, expressed, suppressed,

While feature films are in regress.

While Ernst is serious about

Making TV a knockabout,

The viewers seek an endless hype

And Peter Piper plays his pipe.

Image is everything there is,

Unreal and fleeting like a whiz.

Tik Tok – around the clock,

Run Lola run – through Instagram,

A videoblog – forget Pushkin and Blok,

Inner world – behind a password.

A million little devils laugh

At what their net presents as gaffe.

We thoughtlessly accept a fake,

They make – we eat, they give – we take.

Can I oppose my sound mind

To tons of bullshit unrefined?

Can anyone still hear my words

Through nonsense fed by million cords?

I feel like swearing every time

I read or hear a crooked line.

Tik Tok – around the clock,

Run Lola run – through Instagram,

A videoblog – forget Pushkin and Blok,

Inner world – behind a password.

No password’s safe for someone cunning,

And Lola’s selfie is always running.

Social racists on the rise

Awaiting our next demise.

Connected to an SNS,

You’re separated from the rest:

From land, from history and bonds,

Dependent on the net’s response.

Revolt against this new dependence!

The wounded truth deserves a vengeance.