Radio Quarantine: Русский пост-панк / Russian Post-punk / Russian Doomer Music Vol. 6 (Oct 28, 2021 Mix Youtube)

This mix was newly posted when I first listened yesterday, only 2 hours old. Even as of this morning it’s only had 313 listens. There is an audience, if on the smaller side. There’s something in the whole mood that’s resonating. It would be interesting to see they geographic analytics. Are they Eastern Europeans? Specifically Russians anywhere on the planet feeling nostalgic for home? Or like me, cultural refugees just looking for a bit of the strange. Some odd comfort. Any port in the storm.


There’s an interesting word. Many refugees prefer the word immigrant but where does the truth lie in that? How bad do your conditions have to be back where you’re from to shift your definition from immigrant to refugee? I mean, you could self-define as much as you like but at some point there is a defined line between relative truth and truth.

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

So… immigrant, refugee, exile. That’s the trio right there! Exile has to be added into it. And of course there is the subject of relative truth. There have been points where I’ve felt like any of the three and I’ve never been anywhere but here. Not all places have a physical space though with defined boundaries and borders, so I will allow myself exile. I’ve been banished from spaces. I’ve fled persecution in others. And I’ve just gotten curious about better opportunities and moved on. These are, of course, all relative truths but the situations in questions sure didn’t feel relative at the time.

How bad does it have to have been?

It’s been bad.

And I’m not the only person to feel like a refugee in the the place where they’re from. Far from it. How bad does it have to have been?

Anyway, just some random thoughts this morning. For today it’s exile, even if it’s self-exile and I’m wandering the planet looking for my place. Or just a place. It doesn’t have to be mine. I’ll rent for a while, or just squat until someone asks me to leave.

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