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Konstantin Bogomolov published a necrophiliac essay for some reason, where he called emigration a painful death. A retelling by Victoria Hoogland


This is the first time I've seen the vengeful phrase "you'll all die there" stretched into sixty-two paragraphs.

In passing, Constantine generously suggests that we should not dwell on the reasons for the current emigration from Russia - because "there are infinitely many of them" .  And.... Suddenly compares departure to a heart attack.

(Infinitely many? Notice I'm keeping quiet. Keeping pausing out of my last breath like bloody Julia Lambert).

He's interested in the "ugly epidemic" that has "wiped out the Relocants''. The author is frustrated by this and is eager to get to the bottom of it. Constantine's exercises, unfortunately, are layered in writing and with the persistence of an exhibitionist, are flung open to a stunned audience.

In the author's opinion, emigrants are distinguished by a treacherous unhealthy blush on the cheeks and a "sharp gleam in the eyes". They don't  display these symptoms without having a good  reason, but only when they get news of drones over the Kremlin or an attack on Belgorod.

Because - and here we add a hysterical Medvedev note - all these post infarctions, but still near-death freaks who have left have only one aspiration: "that in the end life here in Russia should stop flowing."

Konstantin Bogomolov

Translated from Bogomolov's language. The crowd of stupid, bloodthirsty morons have finally gone mad, scattered over a bunch of countries to eventually die a horrible death (it's an important thesis for about twenty paragraphs). But beforehand, collectively dream about how the remaining one hundred and forty million will also die. Live on the emigrant media.

And that, my friends, is not good. Constantine condemns it.

You see, it's such a competition to see who dies first. Zombie apocalypse Bogomolov style. The hearse goes rusty in the garage and the soul demands a parade.

And that's where the interesting stuff begins. We're not talking about ideology now, the writer indicates, but about something else, much more important......

The idea is that after a good intrigue, there should be a great denouement. Philosophical, perhaps, or even deeply satirical. You could still salvage the plot.

But no, the moderately inspiring prelude is crumpled, the hero-lover shamefully twitches, hides his eyes and ungraciously spouts another homeland-mother chorus. "Your motherland. No matter how much you hate the authorities in your country, you are human and this is your land." You get the idea.

Is that all, Kostya? There's been a lot of talk.... I wish you’d never show it.

The bottom line. Brodsky was good, because although he left, he missed a lot, 'wandering around the city of the dead' . Nabokov is OK too, because he mocks the world of Russian Berlin. Very much underlined italics, impossible to read. You can't recreate it in emigration. I am. Mother earth again. A Russian man cannot voluntarily leave his homeland (the word is repeated seventeen times). It is impossible to break with the past without becoming dead.

And death, as well as life, the author admonishes to finish this talentless obituary, must be lived with dignity...

I wonder which death? Of the notorious émigré, or maybe in a trench, closer to mother earth?

Elena Milashina was beaten by men with polypropylene pipes and forced to eat earth for a sacral act, too, I think. You eat your motherland until you die by the side of the road somewhere near Grozny. Then it will be "dignified".

And the girl Lisa from Vinnitsa, who was torn apart in front of her mother, Kostya, what was her death on your scale, dignified or not? Average? Did the twins from Kramatorsk do better? Can we have a text on this subject?

In general, you can read the full version on RIA Novosti, but why? Reading Nabokov would be better.

Cover photo: Elena Troitskaya