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A Voice: To whom you are grateful, Edward, to Jesus Christ?

No, I am grateful not to the humain-like God, but to unnamed cosmic force, to the same force what have created the Universe and all those awful planets, made of iron rocks, all those macabre Saturns of the Universe. I am grateful to Unnamed force for pleasure to be. But I am angry with that same Unnamed cosmic force that I am not provided with understanding of my supra-humain goal, if such goal is existing. During last decade, I am often thinking about making planet Saturn my God. It is pretty awful looking planet with its famous ring around his waist. This terribly but also stylishly looking planet perfectly fits to be my God. As to the humainlike and humain centered Gods, I don't trust them precisely because they are humainlike. I cannot trust someone humainlike. Men are limited.

A Voice: So, you want to worship an iron rock in Cosmos, called Saturn?

I also want to worship a humain semen, a sperm-bearing fluid, because it contains a miracle of reproduction. I want to worship both dimensions: Saturn and Sperm, Sperm and Saturn.

A Voice: What are you, Edward, grateful for?

I said that I am grateful for the pleasure to be. For pleasure of life. For pleasure to love and for pleasure to fight. To love girls, their tender bodies, to enter them, to make love to them. I also grateful to Saturn for a pleasure to fight my wars. I have had a pleasure to fight my armed wars in 1990-1993, as well as my political wars after. If you want to know, I even grateful for my prison term.

A Voice: It sounds stupid to be grateful for a prison term, Edward.

Not at all. My isolation from the world of ordinary citizens was also an isolation from the world of profanes. My prison days have had monastic taste. Extreme austerity of prison was for me a sort of religious asceticism. It was my purification after worldly life. In some perverted for profanes way I can say that I have enjoyed prison. I enjoyed rustic interior of Saratov's Central Prison. It looks like it was designed by Philip Stark. You know, iron beds, the iron clad toilets, the floor painted deadly green. In prison of Engels [town of 200,000 habitants on the Asian side of Volga] they had iron banks and iron long tables painted blue in prison cells, as well as a quadratic wash-basin made of bullet-proof metal, painted red. At first I was sure that creators of such furniture were influenced by Philip Stark's works. Then, I decided that Stark himself was influenced by Russian prisons design.

Then all those brave irrational Russian officers serving us prisoners. Each of them is a mystery in himself. Those nights, always illuminated by yellow lights! Those dreams about naked girls! Actually I have adored my prison days.

A Voice: Edward! You should hate those nasty people who puted you in prison, but instead you are adoring your prison days. You are a strange man, Edward. Isn't so?

I hate men, who puted me into prison, as they have committed violence on my person, yes. But my prison life was extraordinarily mystical, ascetic, austere and because of that was exquisite.

A Voice: OK, let us to change a subject. What is your Thanksgiving Days? End of November, May, June? What do you celebrate?

Every day. I am thanking Saturn and Sperm for the pleasure to be. Each day -- Thanksgiving day. I am not tired to thank them. Glory, glory Alleluia! Every day I hold my saturnalias.

A Voice: Are you serious, Edward?

Of course I am serious. What I am saying is that "bad," "unhappy" events in our lifes are as necessary for some men as "happy" and "good." The "bad" and "unhappy" events are more stimulating than happy ones. They are moving forces, they push us towards discoveries, towards victories. After hard deprivations of a winter 1620 to 1621 the harvest reaped by Plymouth Colony was good. Four big turkeys were served at Pelgrim's first thanksgiving feast. So I had: sufferings, deprivations first, then happiness of a spiritual feast.

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