The lights of the room flicker.
Three dead men appear on a piece of paper spat out from a groaning machine. I disconnect the wire and look upon my work. The men have come out perfectly, or as perfectly as one could expect after having been jostled from camera to printer to flickering box to electronic id and back again.
One of the men was named Josef Stalin.
Grabbing the sheet of paper and a pair of scissors I head to my room. I immediately cut out the photo of Stalin’s predecessor and set it aside. I will be caricaturing him, sure enough, but I need Vlad only as a reference.
It is Stalin who I cut out. From the photo of the past, carried across so many mediums across space and time, he seems to emerge once more, the sure edge of my scissors almost bringing him back to life, once more.
One more journey, Stalin. Only- I’m not sure you’re going to like it.