Dugin sits in his hole and eats mashed potatoes. What can you do, these are existential-chthonic times. We are troglodytes, we are troglodytes, and we care until we are tired and have to go out into the daylight for food, alcohol and tobacco products. And again, per Peter's orders, you will have to shave your beard and take off your red hat. Until the terrible Russian renaissance breaks out again. So it certainly won't seem enough to anyone.