Great Vladimir Ulyanov, our undying vocable presence, had a working hat and intention to help for the ages. Formalized force of understanding stretched to unpacific meaning and articulations of action for the future of centuries or timelessness: such the golden path he blazed. In reaction to plus modern wrenching and specified viral fevers and tort, the cannonade proceeds with the thump of marching feet. This scales to greater glory or something closer to terminal in terms of sparks and the moment they exist.
The hat worn by Ulyanov—Lenin, as you know—warms the theories and provocations with due snap of sharp synapses. Trays were passed around as the Congress proceeded with minutely equitable servings of potato soup and bread of the most dire nutritional crunch. Discussion by fostered wordlessness flourished as action overcame the moment and stirred the relics of past success. Smoother arguments were made like giddy winds and pressure system surprises.
A day and barricade, stringent voices, immediate harping snd slogans, feet planted firm and engaged with the People’s blood as living testament. The stage grew crowded and demanded attention. Meaning was unstoppable, like the future. The Congress and the Revolution itself became one voice, to hark or be hark, as the momentum grew.
Question: were the masses jolted? Yes. They heard the words, and pressure, a rough oceanic mewing of meaningful savour inducing a tribal shiver. Workers and people heard the challenge like a ringing bell.
And so The People strive. Karl Kautsky, for one, who helped create the German Social-Democracy, accepted his baldness much as did Lenin himself. Paul Lafargue, on one of the other hands—who participated in the Paris Commune and was married to Laura Marx—absolutely flaunted his wavy hair like the lead tenor in the Revolutionary Chorus. By these tokens and many more one sees the Revolution embraced and culled. Stirring anthems sung by the people in revolutionary rapture and full cockade: it could not be contained.
The sere romance of vigourous slogans and heartfelt rhyming poems brings citizens and citoyens together in the Crimson Fight and Justice’s Light. The people qua people join hands in the glory amidst the very afterburner of today’s fight and number. The future stands ahead beneath the last remaining Tree of Hope. Let now be when a just future amalgamates word by word like a revolution of the very sun. The past has died, today lights the fuse. The future will blaze in syllables full of meaning and sentences full of clauses of the best. Comrades, together!
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