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PostPosted: Fri Jul 15, 2016 9:00 pm 
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Russians raping German women during the WWII is well known, like, VERY well known, just for the record.


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PostPosted: Fri Jul 15, 2016 9:42 pm 
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But the fact what soviet soldiers freed the whole Europe is a lot less known (and please don't tell me about Normandy landings and stuff).

sanvean wrote "all countries who engage in war have a small group of soldiers who commit atrocities", but when western people speak about Russians they only exaggerating these atrocities, mysteriously forgetting the whole "defeating the Nazis" part, which is seems like a very weak attempt to humiliate your enemy in the never-ending Cold War.

27 millions of soviet people (and that's only officialy) were killed by the Nazis, about 14 millions of them were civilians (they were tortured, raped and ruthlessly slaughtered by those animals) - and that was a sacrifice to stop Hitler from vanishing the whole nations. Is it too much to ask for some respect for them, and stop name-calling Russian soldiers?


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PostPosted: Fri Jul 15, 2016 10:20 pm 
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This is a music board guys...

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PostPosted: Sat Jul 16, 2016 2:50 am 
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Don't think I've ever dreamed about her, but I do know I'll never able to pass a Walmart anymore without thinking of "The Community of Hope" :D


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PostPosted: Mon Jul 18, 2016 4:58 pm 
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DrDark wrote:
This is a music board guys...



spot on DrDark

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PostPosted: Tue Jul 19, 2016 6:16 pm 
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Kuk91 wrote:
But the fact what soviet soldiers freed the whole Europe is a lot less known (and please don't tell me about Normandy landings and stuff).

sanvean wrote "all countries who engage in war have a small group of soldiers who commit atrocities", but when western people speak about Russians they only exaggerating these atrocities, mysteriously forgetting the whole "defeating the Nazis" part, which is seems like a very weak attempt to humiliate your enemy in the never-ending Cold War.

27 millions of soviet people (and that's only officialy) were killed by the Nazis, about 14 millions of them were civilians (they were tortured, raped and ruthlessly slaughtered by those animals) - and that was a sacrifice to stop Hitler from vanishing the whole nations. Is it too much to ask for some respect for them, and stop name-calling Russian soldiers?


Sorry for flogging a dead horse... but sometimes I wonder if the internet wasn't created wholly to facilitate the interminable arguments that rage among people of different nationalities about who did what in WW2!


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PostPosted: Wed Jul 20, 2016 6:31 am 
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The thread was getting dangerously close to Godwin's Law:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Godwin%27s_law

Let's keep it about Polly.

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PostPosted: Mon Aug 15, 2016 6:23 pm 
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I dreamed last night that Polly and I were going to visit Bob Dylan and he lived in a hotel basement in a suite decorated by Marianne Faithfull :laugh:


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PostPosted: Sat Nov 05, 2016 8:20 pm 
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I had another dream of Polly last night, and where else to share it but here. I was holding her new book, The Forest, in my hands. The design of the book was very similar to The Hollow of the Hand, the font used was the same, and the cover was sort of blurry and purplish/pinkish in colour, it sort of looked like those reddish pictures of the universe you see, really. The bio inside the book said that she had a son named Dimitri, which surprised me substantially. I can't remember any of its other contents unfortunately.


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PostPosted: Thu Nov 10, 2016 7:48 pm 
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Mr. Badmouth wrote:
I had another dream of Polly last night, and where else to share it but here. I was holding her new book, The Forest, in my hands. The design of the book was very similar to The Hollow of the Hand, the font used was the same, and the cover was sort of blurry and purplish/pinkish in colour, it sort of looked like those reddish pictures of the universe you see, really. The bio inside the book said that she had a son named Dimitri, which surprised me substantially. I can't remember any of its other contents unfortunately.


Brilliant. We will have to wait to see whether any of this is prophetic.

You have encouraged me to share my only Harveyan dream. It's quite long as I have learned it off by heart!

I and she are in a small cottage, owned by an older woman who I never see properly. It's decorated inside in a twee sort of way with little china ornaments and small pictures on the walls. Polly and I are sat opposite each other at a small wooden table, writing in notebooks (I don't have any clear idea what I'm writing about). She is as she was 25 years ago, a black-clad art student with her hair in a bun, which is very strange as I never think of her like that at all. It gets darker and darker outside, not because it's late in the day (it's mid-afternoon) but because the sky is becoming overcast and stormy. Eventually it gets so dark I find it hard to write. Polly seems to have no problem at all and I can't work out how she's carrying on. I soldier on until I really can see nothing and pluck up the courage to say, 'Look, I think we'll be able to see better if we put the lights on.' She puts down her pen, sits back, folds her arms, and says in the most sarcastic voice you can imagine, 'Oh, you think?' I am driven to protest, 'Look, don't blame me, it's not my house, I didn't like to ask!' The lights are put on and we continue working with a bit less tension.

Next, it's daylight and we are catching a bus on an urban street. It's a double-decker yellow bus and I wonder whether this part of the dream is set in Bournemouth, where I grew up and where the municipal buses were yellow. It's very crowded and we are squeezed onto a long seat running along the side of the bus towards the back: Polly is on my left and to my right is a sandy-haired man of about 50 in a black mackintosh with glasses and a brown attaché case. He looks at me and says with a very supercilious air, 'I suppose you were so keen to get on the bus because you're worried about being deported'. I reply 'I and my friend [my friend!!] were both born in Dorset so I think it's exceedingly unlikely that we're going to be deported'. Polly remains scornfully silent throughout this encounter. Actually until now I hadn't realised that she's in a pretty bad temper throughout.

Finally we end up at a party in a large house. The surroundings are vague but there is a series of big, high-ceilinged rooms without much furniture, and lots of people milling about. I'm aware most of the partygoers are significantly younger than me and I wonder what I'm doing there. Suddenly I'm aware that Polly has disappeared. 'I'd better find out where she is', I think, 'It would be awkward if we lost one another'. Then I spot her on the far side of a room talking to a group of young women so that sets my mind at rest. I wander outside and sit by an ornamental pool in a paved garden. 'I could do with a drink', I think, and then notice that there are tumblers of orange juice on the bottom of the pool - yet the juice stays in the glasses. I'm reflecting how odd this is when I wake up.

Where is Dr Freud when you need him?


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PostPosted: Fri Nov 11, 2016 12:18 pm 
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That's truly fascinating. I imagine Dr Freud would have a field day with it.

Meanwhile, I had another one! I dreamt I was at her show on this current tour. It was taking place in a forest clearing. The last song they did was one that does not exist in reality, but in my dream it was supposedly an Is this Desire? era b-side. I can faintly remember the music and the melody, but the lyrics are quite gone now, although I remember I knew them in my dream.

I do dream epic technicolor dreams every night, but I bet Dr Freud would be amused by the frequency of my Polly-related dreams.


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PostPosted: Mon Apr 17, 2017 8:05 pm 
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There is a room with pale coloured walls. I look up, and see on the ceiling a bird-like creature, sandy-coloured with a strangely human-looking face. I can’t work out what it is, which frightens me: then I realise ‘It’s an owl of some sort’, and decide that if it’s an owl, it’s not going to do me any harm. As it moves, it looks more like an owl. It flies out of a door or window, into a woodland landscape just outside. It sits on a branch to the left of a black-clothed woman, whose head and upper body are framed in the bushes and trees. She turns in my direction – it’s Polly. She looks grave and serious. I think of calling out to her, but am too nervous. She turns and disappears into the wood, and the owl follows her.


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PostPosted: Tue Apr 18, 2017 1:44 pm 
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AineteEkaterini wrote:
There is a room with pale coloured walls. I look up, and see on the ceiling a bird-like creature, sandy-coloured with a strangely human-looking face. I can’t work out what it is, which frightens me: then I realise ‘It’s an owl of some sort’, and decide that if it’s an owl, it’s not going to do me any harm. As it moves, it looks more like an owl. It flies out of a door or window, into a woodland landscape just outside. It sits on a branch to the left of a black-clothed woman, whose head and upper body are framed in the bushes and trees. She turns in my direction – it’s Polly. She looks grave and serious. I think of calling out to her, but am too nervous. She turns and disappears into the wood, and the owl follows her.


Sounds like a divination of Polly's forthcoming poetry collection to me!


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PostPosted: Thu Apr 20, 2017 11:22 am 
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That thought did occur to me!


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PostPosted: Sun Jun 11, 2017 11:48 am 
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I have another Polly dream to report. There she was, playing a new song from the next album. It was a solo piano song, with a fairly long intro, and it did not sound like White Chalk at all. It sounded like something Debussy might compose if he were living now. She was wearing a black sleeveless vest and had her Let England Shake haircut. Before that, she read some poems from her new book. The tantalising part of all this is of course that nothing remains in my memory, but a few bars of the piano and the general atmosphere.


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