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Edward Limonov

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This article was first published in The eXile on February 10, 2000

So-called “Russian Liberal Intelligentsia” long time ago have excluded me from the world of literature. They are behaving like I am not existing, maybe dead, maybe never born. It is interesting phenomenon, the only one other such case that I know is case of Jean Genet.

When I established myself in Paris in 1980 I was surprised by total absence of that great writer from social and literary life of France. He wasn’t mentioned in newspapers, no literary critic would write an essay about Genet. I asked my editors and my friends about Genet, is he alive, is he in Paris? Nobody could say with precision that he is living in Paris. They say that according to some rumors he lives in some cheap hotel, populated by Arabs, somewhere near Montmartre. But I never succeeded in tracing him. Then he died, and suddenly every newspaper been talking about Genet, even bureaucrats of Ministry of Culture started to worship him. I remember that I wrote his obituary for French communist newspaper “Revolution”. Foreigner, I wrote about foreigner amongst the French. Later I understand that all fault of Genet was that he was not politically correct. He supported “Black Panthers”, he supported struggle of Palestinian people for its own state, and so on… He rejected silly mode of thinking of his time. So he was living like in quarantine barrack, like a dangerously sick person, isolated from the world.

I also live in my country isolated, as I am dangerously ill person. If I am mentioned in some context by journalist he always excusing himself adding something like, “Of course now Limonov turned bad, but…” My colleagues-writers are looking through me. Because I am presumably dead or never born, it’s easy for them to get their stupid “Booker” and “anti-Booker” prizes, to quarrel at literary cocktails who is number one in Russian literature, to seduce girls… [But it also well known, that the best girls are fucking bandits, businessmen and politicians. So, here I am superior to my colleagues-writers, because as a head of political organization I have better and younger girls than they have.]

It was only one man whose literary talent I have measured as big one, although different from mine and less original than mine: Joseph Brodsky. But Brodsky have died shortly after his readers died. His readers, that quiet Soviet men, have died somewhere between 1986 and 1991. So Brodsky wasn’t needed anymore, that is why he died. I feel little bit lonely because of his absence, I even wrote a poem about how am I lonely without him in the world. It goes like that:

Died even Brodsky, my antipode and rival.

Nobody is here to look at me.

I left alone.

So I am bored without Brodsky. As a politician I compete with Barkashov, but I guess I am winning that competition. In 1992 I have envied Zhirinovsky, but during these eight years Zhirinovsky steadily getting smaller and commonplacer (sorry for such English), that jerk is licking ass to the government. So Mark Ames wasn’t right when he wrote four or five years ago that Zhirinovsky is punkier than Limonov. No way, Mark, I am leader of eight thousand strong young revolutionary party, while Zhirinovsky is leader of 17 corrupted pot-bellied deputies of State Duma. My faction had it places in prisons, for the moment, 18 members of National Bolsheviks Party are behind the bars. Zhirinovsky is a jerk, point. I hope you now will agreed with me, Mark?

I always wanted to be a number one. But now, when I am number one, probably most interesting personality and of course most interesting writer of my country, now approaching 57, I am rather sad. Because I need the rival eyes watching me. Brodsky was a Master, we lived through complicated love-hate relationships. He didn’t like my book “It’s Me, Eddie“, but envied pages of “Diary of a Loser“. I envied his “Ode to Zhukov”. When in 1998 my “Anatomy of a Hero” came out I physically needed Brodsky to read that book. Or somebody like Brodsky. But he was lying in the soil of city of Venice. Why you left me, Joseph? By the way, we both wrote about Venice, my book, “The Death of Modern Heroes” is better than his classical delights about that rotten city-museum. He wasn’t very bright, Joseph, but he was a Master, he could appreciate, he could feel. It is rather rare occurrence, The Master, so who the fuck will read me?

Though, Korchinski will read me! Ukrainian poet, adventurer and soldier, Dmitro Korchinski was founder and leader of Ukrainian Nationalist Organization UNA-UNSO in 1990-97. I met him in April 1999 in Moscow, then last October some comrades from Kiev have sended me his book “Man in the Crowd“. Book is about wars and his party struggle, that is some philosophical reflections in it. I read it with a great pleasure, and understanding. Because it is a book of a free man, cynical and beautiful. Look, what he wrote about Transdniestr: “All of us, organizers and participants of that war made a great mistake. It was necessary to riot regions of Odessa and Moldova, to announce that Transdniestr is a land and refuge of Revolution. To our sorrow was materialized banal separatist idea.”

I agree with him. I took part in a war in Transdniestr. Sometimes he and I were on other sides of a same war as in Abkhazia. I participated in the battle for Shromi, where Ukrainians were fighting on Georgian side and Russians and Chechens on Abkhazian side. My enemy Korchinski will read me. If he will survive, because he is wanted by the Ukrainian authorities. Me also, from March 1996.

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Posted: May 24th, 2015

This article was first published in The eXile on September 18, 2003

On September 11, Great Britain have accorded political asylum to the most notorious refugee from Russia: to Boris Abramovich Berezovsky. I never met him personally. Once, in 1990s, we, members of National-Bolsheviks Party have staged a mass anti-Berezovsky demonstration in front of building of “LogoVaz” — his former headquarters.

In spite of that demonstration, he helped me little bit with money when I was imprisoned by Putin. Then it was a bottle of cognac.

(more…)

Posted: March 23rd, 2013

(This article was originally published April 1, 1997)

On March 26th, communist leaders Gennady Zyuganov and Anatoly Lukyanov been seen entering dacha of famous writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn at Serebryany Bor. What for? We now know what for. (more…)

Posted: August 4th, 2008

Limonov’s next move: organize Russia’s ex-cons

Russian summer is short and unpredictable. The only thing that is predictable about Russian summer is that it is short. Usually, the month of May is cold, July is hot and August looks like an autumn month. In 2008, the months of May and June were cold and this half of July was rainy and cold. Shitty climate, shitty weather, only the girls are pretty in Russia. (more…)

Posted: July 14th, 2008

A year ago I wrote a poem, concerning nineties. I will translate it from my excellent Russian to my broken English as best, as I can.

The Nineties

I drunked “Rakia”

I have fucked Maria

I had my happiness accented

And commandant me “browning”

presented

Such were years nineties

Were populated by the serbs,

the mighties

Were truly wonderful those years!

Near Saraevo, amongst mountaineers

I was Iovan Tintor best friend

And Tintor wasn’t guy with happy end

He was a military chef and he got lost

So president have Tintor fired

from his post

That time I have expressed

by the reportages

With the ecstasies, excesses

and with rages

O, nineties those years!

Maria’s red moisty clitoris

And Serbian silent rivers

changing gears… (more…)

Posted: December 2nd, 2005

Limonov Files

The world has two extremely opposite opinions about them: 1. The destiny of Jewish tribe is terrible tragedy. It is exceptionally tragical. The Jews are martyrs of History. They are persecuted by non-Jews.
2. The Jews are ruling the world with their enormous accumulations of money. Non-Jews are vampirised by them.

In 1997 prevailing first opinion. In the beginning of 20th Century have had prevailed the second. But what they really are, Jews? (more…)

Posted: June 19th, 1997

Few weeks ago, one of my party comrades brought me a present, a few military pennants. I hang them here and there in my apartment. One, with a sword, clenched fist, words “detachment of special task force” and slogan “The best form of word is action” I have hanged over my work-table. It hang there for sometime, then one day I suddenly noticed the name of detachment below. “Vitiaz” – it said. I immediately removed pennant from the wall. As those “vitiazes,” bastards, tried to kill me in the evening of October 3, 1993. Only my luck prevented me from been killed. After taking over the sky-scrapper of Moscow’s Mayor’s building (the former building of Soviet of Economical Mutual Help, or COMECOM) in afternoon on October 3, opposition masses, and me, among them, stormed the buses, awaiting for some reason near the Mayor of Moscow. (more…)

Posted: April 24th, 1997

On the walls of ugly sleeping quarters of Moscow, of all those Tchertanovos, Khimki-Khovrinos Belyaevos and Orekhovos, on the old fences here and there still possible to find the faded away posters. Young attractive woman, wearing some strange-looking, museum Egyptian-style head decoration. With a one hand she is squeezing some sort of scepter. Maria Davy Christos. (more…)

Posted: April 10th, 1997

On March 26th, communist leaders Gennady Zyuganov and Anatoly Lukyanov been seen entering dacha of famous writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn at Serebryany Bor. What for? We now know what for.

Exclusive resort area of “Serebryany Bor” near Moscow in pine growth on the bank of Moscow River is very prestigious land. Ministers, generals, high-ranking officials, all the mighty and wealthy of Russia having their summer residences, their “dachas,” at Serebryany Bor. To live there means to have special social status. (more…)

Posted: April 1st, 1997

On February 4, at 12 noon, I have visited Mr. Dmitri Runzhe, head of Department of Press and Information in Moscow’s Media, in his office on 19th floor of skyscraper on Novy Arbat. His office was new, comfortable, with modern furniture, even pencils were foreign. It contrasted drastically with my own office of Editor-in-Chief of radical newspaper “Limonka.” My so-called “office” have a look of revolutionary committee headquarters in 1918’s Russia. It’s located in a basement. But even from that totally awful place we are under menace of eviction now. Radical bureaucrats asking me to pay a “debt” of 137 millions of rubles. So I came to Mr. Runzhe in attempt to get some financial help. I have received no help, but we talked for an hour. (more…)

Posted: March 20th, 1997

Doctor Limonov studied first-hand love-making habits of different women, that he could compare their qualities, stretching from the time of 70s until now, geography of his copulations stretching across most of northern hemisphere. What follows is result of rigorous research.

Brazilian. Fernanda, 26, was of a Spanish blood. Black hair, darkish skin, with a heavy ass and massive thighs. Too well-educated, studied at university under professor-writer Jorge-Luis Borges. Not very good in bed because unflexible body. Complained of inconvenience of throwing legs too high and of general “cruelty” of treatment in bed. However, lovemaking with her was an intense experience, as she was a daughter of wealthy merchant and Edward-man was poor and unemployed. She called him with hate “Trotsky.” He fucked her with hate and “cruelty.” They met in the East Village of New York. (more…)

Posted: March 6th, 1997

September 12, 1996. 2 p.m. Gogolevsky Bulvar, near metro Kropotkinskaya. I am walking alone. I am returning from a demonstration of protest against shameful, unjust Chechnya peace accord just concluded by General Lebed. Event took place near Russian White House. It was organized by my National – Bolshevik’s party. Slogans were explicit: “Lebed-The No. 1 Chechen of the Year!” “Lebed -to the jail bench!” “For what been killed our boys!” (more…)

Posted: February 20th, 1997

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I have lived through two of them. The first time was in Serbia. Belgrade. February 1993. Mighty knock in the door of my room at hotel “Majestik” at 4a.m. Paratrooper-Sergeant picks me up. We are starting our voyage to Serbian Republic of Kninskaya Krajina, which Croatian regime wants to conquer. I am following sergeant downstairs. It is freezy night. On the neighboring street we enter sleepy old bus, full of peasants, seems to me. Our way is going to be long and dangerous through Balkans. We will follow narrow corridor through Bosnia to Banja Luka and then through Herzegovina to Knin, the capital of Kninskaya Krajina. (more…)

Posted: February 6th, 1997