#shostposting

[shostposting]

being autistic is so weird sometimes, like i swear you can be going through a horrific depressive episode and in constant pain every day from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep and you're like. hmm. i need to research the dead soviet russian classical music guy about this. and it actually helps

[alsosprachzarathustra03]

guys guess what i found today!!

I went to the Bolshoi theatre with my mother today to see Tchaikovsky’s swan lake and found a shostakovich bust there!!!! He looks so gorgeous omg😍😍😍😍

There was also a Prokofiev’s bust as well

tho ngl i dont adore prokofiev as much as i do shostakovich i still think looks really pretty too

[theceoofmusic]

WE NEVER DO + LOVE THE DRAWING + LOVE YA + RIP DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH YOU WOULD'VE LOVED GACHA GAMES AND BEING CHRONICALLY ONLINE

[shostposting]

this sucks so bad i need to [remembers sleeping under the stairwell with a small briefcase jokes only worsen my mental health] write the best symphony the USSR has ever seen

[shostposting]

me: i know im hot but do you know who is hotter? dmitri shostakovich

the A&E team treating my heat stroke: you are currently experiencing delirium, i just need you to calm down and hold still ok

me: 15 symphonie AND string quar tet ,

[shostposting]

SHOSTAKOVICH AFFIRMATIONS:

If both my hands were cut off, I would still write music with the pen in my teeth

Love is free

Tell the librettist to fuck off

No arguing with the umpire

It is time to play volleyball

The match will take place whatever the weather

History has charged us, contemporaries of the great battle against German vandalism, with a mission to express the ideals of the fight for the liberation of humanity from the brown plague. To stigmatise fascism, to light up the hate against it, to show by artistic means the real face of Hitlerism, to inspire our fighters. This is what our art seeks. There are no more noble aims. So let our hearts turn to the Sacred War against our enslavers, as do the hearts of millions around the globe. Let the motto "All for the front" become the goal for our everyday work, of all our artistic pursuits. The time to celebrate is coming soon! Let us be worthy of this celebration! Let every one of us, when the war is over and the Earth is peaceful and happy, proudly say that the art of the War period is dedicated to the fight against the bloody fascism, and for the bright future of humanity!

William Tell Overture

[shostposting]

I think about how we wouldn't ever know how kind and gentle Shostakovich really was if it weren't for the people who loved him so deeply that they dedicated huge parts of their lives to preserving his memory. Without the people that loved him, we'd only know the spectacle. We'd only know the overblown legends of his past, the misconstrued and exaggerated tales of his struggle told with no sympathy, of how his talent was held together by dictatorship and shrapnel; we'd never have known the man that so many fell in love with. We wouldn't have known Anti-Formalist Rayok, or any of the other works he wrote that were published posthumously, not even the little waltz that became popular in the West after his death.

Saving the memory of one's entire life is impossible, but there's so much that we know today that is the result of those who loved him too much to let his legacy turn into fiction. And I appreciate every single one of them.

I know I was born an entire century after him, but I hope I can do my part, too. This blog is very jokey and facetious, but I really do care about Shostakovich. I'm very glad to live in an age where I can both share and see that love shared across the world. I'm glad I get to be able to share these little jokes and silly things with people who also care and find them funny. I smile every time I see an interaction with this blog, because I know that people still think about him, even so long after his death. It's beautiful. It makes me feel like love can never die. I'm so happy I get to be a part of it all.

[shostposting]

string quartet no. 8 and left no crumb