Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Two Stories

The best-documented stages of Gena Schneiderman’s mysterious creative path include his effort to decipher the colloquial speech of the Ancient Sumerians, as well as his personal participation in the digs at Khersones and Olvia, as an independent archeological contractor. His only surviving poetic opus to have reached us, in my opinion, is deserving of being preserved among the age’s cultural annals. I cite here the complete text: It would likely not be erroneous to say, that from the moral standpoint, and from the intellectual and practical ones as well, Gena Schneiderman was a complete idiot. Not in the sense that constitutes a textbook case of congenital mental retardation, but that state, out of which, like a pearl from inside the sleaze-slathered slice-wound of a mollusk, issues the tongue of an unalloyed genius. I know this is difficult to believe, but Schneiderman’s two-meter long emaciated organism was entirely missing the organ of fear. He feared nothing, and never. Behind this, lay no shadow of some supernatural courage or the proverbial “madness of the brave”. In my observation, Gena simply didn’t understand – Oh, my fogs, my dear old fogies, And the rain is pouring down… My jacket is, for one thing, torn, And secondly, it ’s been passed down.


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