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The Red Square in Red-Dawn Dreams The Red Square is sliding over the icebound river of the red-dawn dreams of freedom. The river beneath the red ice is flowing through the grisly, gormandizing, guffawing caves of retrospective national memory we cannot ever live down, even if we ever will. The universal pattern of nation's memory has been stitched by the poisoned needles of genetic fear which still haunts the rustling beechgrove of the Russian soul all too ready to bow down to any ugly grub, to any uncouthly writhing groveller of a maggot effectively marketed to us as another mustached father of nations for all times to come. The Red Square is gliding over the spellbound pond of the red-dawn dreams of freedom which have been bloodstained by the savagely executed ghosts of willing and unwilling martyrs for the freedom that wouldn't ever come. The Red Square is drifting over the enchanted lake of the red-dawn dreams of freedom. The recalcitrant repressive sun rampages down, through our withered dry cells of minds swiftly sailing on the flood tide of today's ebbing reform and sipping the savory sap of a subtly hypnotizing big business stench, as regiments of dawn-red ghosts are marching on, over the red-brick pavement of the Square of the bleeding tombs and high-flying crimes we have been living by in slavish admiration. The Red Square is floating over the bewitched sea of the red-dawn dreams of freedom. The ancient pavement of skulls and bones is duly placid in its unperturbed indifference welded by the bleak centuries we have been living through, woven by the entropy of Time, this plague of an uncorrupted judge granting the convicts on death row no last-minute reprieve, always sentencing, always executing this sentence that is beyond appeal. The Red Square is being driven by gusty winds over the brainwashed ocean of the red-dawn dreams of freedom. Regiments of red-dawn ghosts are marching on, issuing their jingling shrieks of muted silence, as no words will ever help convey the yawning gulf of their shared woe to the hearts of those who are still alive and whose incumbent red-dawn ghosts will be marching over this ancient stone pavement someday when another trial of repressions has been carried out in full sway. The Red Square is rushing over the frostbound stream of Time in its red-dawn dreams of freedom.
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