A translation Attempt from Russian into English with a Reflective Commentary

 

“У нас любое действие всегда нолю равно.

Системы бессистемные, стандарты нестандартные, пространство неэвклидово.

Хрен знает, чьё оно.”

                                                              - Тимур Шаов

“With us, every action always equals zero.
Systems are systemless, standards unstandardized, space is non-Euclidean.
Hell knows whose it is.”

                                                             -Timur Shaov

Reflection: The Theater of Absurd Order

We live in a framework where motion does not guarantee progress, and structure does not ensure meaning. The idea that “every action equals zero” points toward a condition of metaphysical futility—a suspicion that no matter what we do, the equation of reality remains unchanged.

This is not nihilism in the strictest sense, but a confrontation with the absurd: systems that contradict themselves, standards that fail to standardize, and a space—non-Euclidean—not merely in its geometry but in its refusal to behave as expected. It bends not only dimensions but perception, agency, and logic.

The final line, “Хрен знает, чьё оно,” translated loosely as “Hell knows—or maybe doesn’t—whose it is,” encapsulates a modern philosophical anxiety: the loss of authority, authorship, and meaning in a fragmented, post-structural world. We no longer ask what the world is, but whose—and when no answer comes, we begin to suspect that we are dwelling in a world without ownership, without origin, without intent.

And yet, in this estrangement, there is strange freedom. If no one owns the stage, perhaps the performance is ours to improvise.

 

The Zero Principle

In our realm, each action returns to zero—
intent without impact,
effort without trace.

Structures spiral into themselves,
systems born without design,
standards that negate their own name.

Space curves oddly here,
not Euclidean,
not graspable—
a place that is more metaphor than map.

Whose world is this?
No flag flies.
No voice answers.

Perhaps it belongs to no one.
Perhaps it belongs to the silence itself.