MaydayMarko
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just a young writer enjoying coffee and good books (and causing a bit of mayhem)
2023-09-25 Se unióGlobal
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MaydayMarko12drespondió a MicroraptorCh 53 American Dream- MaydayMarko1mthrespondió a MicroraptorCh 51 The Georgian in the Russians skin
- MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a Microraptor
i like the black ice and his hair in the current :-)
"I think it's poetic." Vitia said again, taking up the conversation he himself had left off. "The third Reich is just like this...you can't see the outside world, although you're sure it's beautiful." He paused. "And although you hear and know that things are going forwards you can't feel it, not in the slightest. Excpet for the bumps in the road...those you feel very strongly, and every time they almost throw you against the enclosure which might creak but won't break..." Malinkow's explaination had taken a toll on Alistair. He started to feel the same way. He regarded his aquaintance with a new desire to learn more about him. The Soviet was obviously a writer, or even a poet, and not a bad one at that. Alistair, intrigued, waited for Vitia Malinkow to continue speaking, but the Russian didn't. He simply rested his head against the side of the wagon and stared at the wall. His eyeballs moved gently from left to right, as if he was watching the world race by outside. For some inexplicable reason, Alistair had the feeling that Malinkow could see the world outside. - MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a Microraptor
are you starting now? which major?
"I think it's poetic." Vitia said again, taking up the conversation he himself had left off. "The third Reich is just like this...you can't see the outside world, although you're sure it's beautiful." He paused. "And although you hear and know that things are going forwards you can't feel it, not in the slightest. Excpet for the bumps in the road...those you feel very strongly, and every time they almost throw you against the enclosure which might creak but won't break..." Malinkow's explaination had taken a toll on Alistair. He started to feel the same way. He regarded his aquaintance with a new desire to learn more about him. The Soviet was obviously a writer, or even a poet, and not a bad one at that. Alistair, intrigued, waited for Vitia Malinkow to continue speaking, but the Russian didn't. He simply rested his head against the side of the wagon and stared at the wall. His eyeballs moved gently from left to right, as if he was watching the world race by outside. For some inexplicable reason, Alistair had the feeling that Malinkow could see the world outside. - MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a Microraptor
I couldn't call myself that, my poetry is far too terrible. I'm like Vitia Malinkow, somewhere in between :-)
"I think it's poetic." Vitia said again, taking up the conversation he himself had left off. "The third Reich is just like this...you can't see the outside world, although you're sure it's beautiful." He paused. "And although you hear and know that things are going forwards you can't feel it, not in the slightest. Excpet for the bumps in the road...those you feel very strongly, and every time they almost throw you against the enclosure which might creak but won't break..." Malinkow's explaination had taken a toll on Alistair. He started to feel the same way. He regarded his aquaintance with a new desire to learn more about him. The Soviet was obviously a writer, or even a poet, and not a bad one at that. Alistair, intrigued, waited for Vitia Malinkow to continue speaking, but the Russian didn't. He simply rested his head against the side of the wagon and stared at the wall. His eyeballs moved gently from left to right, as if he was watching the world race by outside. For some inexplicable reason, Alistair had the feeling that Malinkow could see the world outside. - MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a Microraptor
hahhaa haven't heard that one in a while :-)
At two-thirty he left his office, swung the coat over his shoulders and marched out onto the streets of Berlin. Let the old friend be anyone but the Gestapo, please. Alistair prayed. - MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a MicroraptorCh 48 Old Friend
- MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a MicroraptorCh 46 Bundeskanzlerin Bittinger
- MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a indyw2003
- MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a MicroraptorCh 45 A brief discussion about planning
- MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a MicroraptorCh 45 A brief discussion about planning
- MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a MicroraptorCh 44 Herr Braunschweig
- MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a MicroraptorCh 44 Herr Braunschweig
- MaydayMarko2mthPublicado por
I'm writing this book for the sake of my love and interest for history. It certainly won't be every man's cup of tea, but I allow myself to believe that people as passionate about history and current wordly affairs as I am might find it worth the while. I apologize for the (sometimes) late updates. Ich bedanke mich bei allen die es lesen! Und viel Spass :-)
- MaydayMarko2mthComentado por
I highly recomment this book :-) one of my all-time favourites
He compared himself with Rodion Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment. He felt similar, as if he was dying but not sick, as if he was delerious but at the same time the only person who knew and saw the truth. He wouldn't have been suprised to see Hitler walk into his very room, and he would have welcomed his company with open arms, but he'd refuse to speak to the doctor, the man who wished to help, and his headache worsened when he saw his wife. He knew the end of the story; he was simply upset and in shock of himself and his own doings, it had nothing to do with the doctor or his wife. He felt judged by his loved ones, felt unworthy of them, felt like he had no where to go anymore, no where except back to Nazi Germany. At the same time he knew that these feelings were exactly what Hitler wanted him to be feeling, these were the sentiments that would turn him into someone that Hitler could use. He was a doomed man. - MaydayMarko2mthrespondió a Microraptor
yes exactly!
In his writing however, the german dictator was very different from Stalin. He was no poet, no man of beautiful words who could woo his women with carefully crafted love letters. But once in a while a pretty line would cross his mind and he'd jot it down to send to his beloved Eva.