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Memories of 90th
prose [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [ariusvirtus ]

2011-07-16  |     | 



Memories of ninetieth

That following text, its language, expressed feelings etc., all this belongs to the past to the distant now the nineties. Now, it is all different, so much, that I would say that this is a portrait of a man who is not**. But I knew him ... I knew him very well.



/ Written in the 2004th /

These random sketches are written within a few days, without purpose, simply as a result of what began to happen to me then, namely, purification, catharsis, sort of. Since that time has already passed three hundred years, and now, if I would started to write, I would write a different story. However, in essence, all the same. I really did not think then that it will read someone. I was just writing, not even for myself. My past... During those few days, it struck me by red-hot blades, swept through the icy wind every part of my being and then, suddenly dissolved, left me only clarity and new-born freshness. No past, no future, no even present, everything is amazingly ephemeral and transparent. About something I was writing down, but it is just a few smallest parts of what was going on. About many things I cannot express in words.
It was like a disease, with all experiences of those years, it was coming out of me, leaving my heart at last along. Here, only the truth, truth of that strange time and place, and if at least some smallest value of what is written would be, it probably would be just that.


"For so many years, it wasn't giving him peace of mind". Now, I quietly smile to this phrase, but beside it, years of agony, permanent war, depressions, insights, moments of life and moments of death, etc.

I said 'goodbye' to childhood and found myself in the deep darkness of my early life circumstances – in the district of workers, in the ex-proletarian city, which began reeling from the first wave of post-Soviet period. The twilight of my life began to gather. I plunged into the night, and began to feel restless itch behind my back. This was the forerunner of the itch of madness that began to grow in proportion to my understanding of my unfortunate situation. "Youthful spirit of extremism", as commonly believed, put me in opposition to everything that I saw, heard and felt. I began to feel sick from the stench of lies and incredible absurdity of the environment. And in the darkness, somewhere, from the bottom of my sol, my new star has risen – unutterable nostalgia for the truth and freedom. With painful force it threw me into the centre of the arena, on these distorted by lies and stupidity disfigured faces. And with my crucifixion, I lashed out at "all human", was going crazy just to stay alive. Boiling blood of my adolescence would not let me take the path of reason. On the other hand, around, everyone was well aware about what is
"true", being in "great harmony" with The System. I could not look at it and fell into my madness.

Adolescence ... thirteen, fourteen years old ... At that time, in that reality, for me there was no decent music or fiction. In my worldview, I was completely on my own, one to one with the circumstances in which I was. Alas, there was no one around who would say something like, "Listen, boy, I know, from what your veins burst", and would give to me a volume of old Hesse, Baudelaire, Lautreamont, Byron, Goethe, Camus, would put the King Crimson or Pink Floyd, or at least accidently would said at least one of these names... but around me people where different. That was my situation, these were my first life circumstances.
I breathed deeply, only when I was on the street, and somewhere quite far from 'my home'. At fifteen, I was already spitting and contempt for all this idiocy around. Again and again I would go and enjoying the cool quiet of autumn streets, free from the hubbub and bustle of the slaves, wandering among my thoughts on the meaning and its absence, the strength and weakness of the first mad love, etc. At that time, I have found only this kind of freedom available for me. From me, it demanded only one thing – always be in good physical shape, always be prepared for a fight or stabbing for example, with witch* streets of that city where full all the time.
I accepted this truth. And was falling out of my apartment on the street, almost choking on the last step, deeply inhaling the fresh autumn air, and leaving to another district, to my first, "breathtaking" girlfriend. That was one of the really "heavy" areas in the city, there were no young people who, when asked about the time, kindly would give you an answer and will go beyond yourself. In the library, for example. No, that place was different. Each puppy here was born already cerberus, with a broken brain, and almost without any feelings. Once in the "conflict" with one of these, in five minutes, you could be in heaven, stutter by twenty thugs. All of them preferred to be in herds, calling it by warm word "family" ... But all of them had also blood in veins, and one by one just were turning into a whining puppy!
I was inhaling autumn air of the streets, the air of my youth, the air of first freedom, first love, the first fraternity, the first loneliness... It demanded only one thing – be ready for this freedom, renunciation of its kind. And again I was outside, and I was spiting out when looking at the zombie citizens, or in the eyes of Cerberus, that I'v met. I despised those and others, due to their relationship with God and their proximity to the animals. Someone went through all this without much noticing all this, me – not. Wherever I went – for me, it was everywhere. If I would leave the house just to the Philharmonic and back, than, perhaps, the time and the city may have appeared to me in a different light. But all have their own reasons... Beside, painted, written, and even played was never enough for me, always I felt that the most important thing was remaining beyond touch of art. Then I felt the first fragrance of alive liberty and truth of cold streets of my youth. Take a deep breath and blow! And, assuming that you – alone, as all this generation, I crashed into my own opposition.
At fifteen, we were already mature adults. At fifteen, was the first breathtaking love and first bloody knife fight.
Of course, I sent to the hell, "my home" and everything what I've heard there. And again and again I was going away, in nowhere, in the dark streets. Those cool evening streets, always were refreshing me, cheering me up and would not letting to fall into the general permanent lethargy. And I was prepared to pay any price for the two flavours of my youth – for that fresh air of late streets and that divine flavour of my first girlfriend, which I remember clearly even now, after fifteen years. On everything else I was absolutely spitting, since all this circus was appearing to me totally meaningless!
I was quite sure that will not live up to sky-high twenty-five, and was totally agreed with it. I knew and saw that death is always near. Life of adults, from the outset, seemed to me to complete idiocy. Among us was despised only one thing – the weakness!
Wildness of the streets ... In that time and place, only a few people were not affected by this. Affecting it was quite often very noticeable, that is – brutally: today, someone broke the skull, tomorrow, someone was beaten to permanent disability, someone was just killed in a fight, someone's girlfriend was raped by niggers, etc, etc, etc .... I had a feeling that I was at war, where, clearly, not to relax. For some reason, I saw it all, and me personally, this has touched a bit more than my friends who have always been far more prudent to me; scuffles and few clashes.

With this "transitional stage of the system" all the worst kind of the dregs have emerged. In this strange city, for many of us, the streets turned into carnage. And, with the same force, another part of our generation, caught a wave of creativity and inner searching. Me, this strange place, was connecting with those and others equally.
And the former ones were straying in the herd, fuelling their aggression and spilling it on the others. In this city, with 1.5 billion population, were shot seven people per day, though, it's only my view, probably still more. Daily. And it were murders, not random bus arrivals. Two thousand five hundred fifty-five murders in a leap year! However, it wasn't affecting the population density. Amazing reproductive, an enviable zeal!
Others went through inner explorations, insights and creativity through the light and the darkness, trying to find answer to the main question and to get to the truth.

All that surrounded me, was completely alien to me. I was losing myself and was trying to find myself again and again, wandering the streets of my city. I had no choice, in a sense that only on the streets I was meeting some kind of truth, while in any other places I was choking of lies, stupidity and weakness. And so, I preferred to stay outside, rather than follow cute proposed system, the tracks that never let anyone lead to the truth, nor to the freedom. Also, wasn't going to live a long time – I wanted to live in freedom! And I sent to hell imposed by the system, and went to my own adventure, with the sole intent – come closer to the truth. Intuitively, I fully entrust myself to this filling or need, and was violating all sorts of so "reasonable" approaches of burgers who have sorted out so nicely all questions about life and their role in whole this incredible farce.
Thus, at my seventeen, I found my first blessing in this life – the blessing of the cold air of dark streets, of first love, of street clashes, of loneliness, of renunciation, etc. And in addition, I gained a sense of the only one true way out – the way without any compromises.

---
Once, at the usual winter evening, from great lines, as I remember it was Goethe, a call from a friend has interrupted me and I've got an invitation to miss a pair of glasses and relax a bit. Well, wonderful! At the party, for a nice conversation with one of the birds we decide that we together will be much more interesting and go for it. Night, I was decently dressed with "Stolichnaya", we catch the motor. But in the car are siting two healthy bastards, and fucking prick begins to tie with my girlfriend damn unpleasant conversation. "Hey - I say – 'darling', siege, yet you can!", Well, etc. The bustard offended. "Right now - said - you have to fill us up!" The car stops. "Right now – I say - I'll fill you up, motherfucker!", I got off the car and smashed of** the pillar my precious bottle of beer. Quickly, almost finished one of them, but still got wrong, and the second came from the back and stroked with heavy reinforcement, so I disconnected. Darkness I woke knocked off my feet, getting another blow, and with surprising freshness and clarity, instantly came to understand that the next blow will be the last. No doubt about it! Absolute clarity! In a moment, swept my "last" thought that I didn't spent my time so inept – I felt love to a woman, and to freedom, and did not betray myself. For me that was enough. To death, I had long been spit! Remembering that sometimes I was telling this to my friend, now lying face down on the red snow, I was convinced. Spit to the death! I'm leaving. Enough! In general, it was not a bad attempt. But the miracle is decided and instead of final attack, I hear the shouts: "Ready! Dash to the hospital!" One of the bustards was definitely in blood, in a bad way. They have decided that I finished off. Slamming doors, the car dart of and leaves. The girl is hysterical. All around the place on the white snow there is blood of my and of that motherfucker. But I, sobered up, with incredible clarity of mind and quite calm, get up and taking a deep breath in clean frosty air, sanctified by my "last moment of life". Spit to the death! The funny thing about this story for me then was that the next three days, with this wonderful girl, we did not get out of bed and tumbled to the point of exhaustion, stopping only for sleep and food... But sometimes she cried, looking at my to hell with a broken face.
I was calm. It was usual for this time and the city episode, death is always near. "Today you have got the bear, tomorrow he has got you", I guess, they say.

However, it is the streets of my youth, gave me strength to gain, not lose myself in the upcoming labyrinths, they have taught me a lot and much more important thing than they teach in schools.

---

I was born right on the other side and with an unbearable sense of nostalgia; at once I felt a big lie, and I badly disliked it! But in the beginning still hesitated – maybe it is me, who don't understand something in whole this spectacle?! I really did not understand a lot in in it! First, the frantic desire to fill my chest with clean air, free of lies of people to themselves, turned into a brutal confrontation, and then, into an endless search for the truth of what was fucking going on around. Intuitively, in order to get the thread of it in this darkness, I rushed to the contrasts are so great, as far as only been possible to just break the damn cage relentlessly squeezing my mind. Life is kindly provided me with everything you need to do this, and then, often, to me has remained only a meaningless pile of bones, to which immediately flew vultures. I broke up again and again, but it was never important. Important was the only one – to find the truth among all this farce, penetrate into it and even go beyond it.
The land of dwarves and barbarians. System Individuals... disfigured by centuries of weakness and slavery! For me, it was like hot coals and burned my legs unbearable... But someone thought I was dancing. And someone who was fond of saying, "Yes, I also know you ...". Every minute, you try to do only one thing – survive! To survive, when you go in the dead packed the bus, to survive, when once again hopelessly trying to speak to those who close to you; survive, when you see her eyes, to survive, when you drink ... just to survive! And do not get mad.
And at seventeen, I got that book... It doused me by a clean wave, and I went into the water, which has once I already knew, and I breathed the air that I already breathe once. I took the first step in my metaphysical journey and felt the breath of truth and the freedom which then only had to gain by going to wander, through the endless labyrinths of reality. It was as if I jumped off a cliff, forgetting about myself in order to find myself – to find the truth. Poetry, philosophy, metaphysics, etc., etc. Thus began my return. Sometimes, finding new pieces of myself, I nearly wept with happiness. Sometimes, I was sitting with a razor in my hand. Thus began my metaphysical journey, which, among other things, always kept crazy amplitude of emotions, madness, strange circumstances, impossible contrasts, and more. And it was just a beginning.
And one day, she came... And in the golden city, we whirled by autumn sky, foliage, autumn river, whirled, and filled our hearts with unspeakable love and joy. And then, when also, as if by magic, it suddenly disappeared, dissolved, the autumn sky is what only remains... and this grey inevitability. And I returned to the illusory world which I have been understanding now even les. Again came the cold truth, and again, I went away, and again walked along the way on which there is no going back... among strange people, having understood so well what is life for.

Freedom and eternity... like in the appearances it was coming to me sometimes, and then I was in love again... like I was touching eternity, but only for a moments, again and again crumbling and leaving me in an indescribable and unbearable closeness to the truth, playing with me and building a new labyrinths, which was necessary to pass.

The inside ineffable nostalgia was tearing me from inside, as if all that is needed was just to remember. And I was trying to remember, walking among disfigured by weakness and stupidity.

I did not spare insides of myself, leaving them in a variety of contrasts of the conceptual, empirical and emotional labyrinths, by all the forces trying to reach out to the cause of that burning nostalgia. Pretty soon, the belief in the words flashed and was gone, and with it, hope to express the goal of my way or hope to reach out someone. Again, jump, and again the abyss, and again the hopelessness and inevitability. Then I could be found in any of my friends places.. For half a litter for two of us some food, "Vander Graaf Generator", "L&M" and talk about life on the whole night. Or at night, at the streets on which I wandered, inhaling the aroma of my autumn, which mingled my feelings and thoughts with which my nostalgia was weaving. Or, sometimes, a with a girlfriend… and wine, cigarettes, Crimson, sex, cigarettes, CAN, cigarettes, wine, and the world to hell! These were wonderful moments, but instead of wine, I drank the blood that spilled from my own veins and begins to boil. Somewhere deep inside, I believed that only in this, uncompromising way I have a chance to discover the truth and gain true freedom. This way blessed me by the moments of happiness, which offered up to heaven and open space and freedom... and slipped away in the next moment... And inevitably, and again I rushed down.


One day, waking up by those wonderful moments of "little insight," I walked on the streets of my autumn. Autumn, in these moments, timelessness has been touching my heart, and like a lover, I was losing track of time... I wandered to my friend and if, by chance, he is too, wasn't wondering in his own delirium, through the alleys of his labyrinth, then cigarette, wine, conversation... But not a word about it again we will not say. Only the casual glance, to the accompaniment of the next meaningless phrase, as always, about something else, will say the most important and the same thing. And we both know all this game so good, but each time, drawn by the restless spirit of absurdity, once again I'm trying to say something. And inevitably, I'm leaving again, and already night, and again, I am in my delirium, going to into the autumn, inhaling the aroma of my eternity, crossing dark but real streets of this strange city.
In these rendezvous with my autumn, everything around me was becoming a bit more transparent, slightly cooler was becoming the proximity of Eternity.

I remember that the decision spun around the role of perception and imagination. And, somehow, on a winter evening, suddenly came my friend, and brought in his magic basket some mushrooms. And by candles and a wonderful album of Morecheeba, I immersed myself in my psychedelic experiment. What I was presented then, in general, reduced to the fact that this entire world, whole universe is only the imagination! And there is nothing beside it, and so there is nothing whatever what you can to separate, isolate, identify, distinguish, compare, etc! Impossible even to poke at something with your finger and say "Here it is!" Metaphysical abyss! Schizophrenic hallucination! "Existing" as a all-embracing, all-pervading Great Nothing!
This little discovery quite shocked me. I have reached the edge of my universe and fell into the abyss! Gradually, my little epiphany became a calm background to my madness. Among other things, I began to lose the ability to even pretend that I am at least to something serious, from what people are doing, how they live, what they think, talk... In conversation, as a rule, I carried a complete nonsense, even more incredible than them, without understanding how I can help them at all and whether this is possible.
But that wonderful trip, I remember, in the morning, we have polished nicely with charas and a magic album, Manu Chao. In the space and light, we were relaxed, filled with love and free, but only for those moments!

I felt scorn toward blinded, but the background of all those years was the idea to shake at least some of them. I rushed into the air – books, music, metaphysics, etc, as it usually goes. And then, jump on a cold wild streets, where for one wrong word, you can be killed or you can kill, all the same. I dived and surfaced in the contrasts are so great that different people knew me as a absolutely different person. That amplitude was really crazy! I've been here and there, and always, not with those and not with others, trying to break any walls in myself, to drill a fucking hole in my head! At times the consequence of this was almost facet of madness, at times – moments of ineffable love and freedom, which, of course, amidst all this nonsense, were filling our lives and youth. But again and again, ripping off clothes, I was jumping off a cliff with only one aim – to get closer to the truth.

Always I was thinking about writing the book which can help, gave a hint at least to someone. The book... I never had time to write, as the head of my own life scribbled by someone with an enviable tireless! I would have envied the zeal, of course, eclipsing the author's talent. During the ten years I have lived all fifty and since then have lost a sense of age. I only wanted one thing – to wake up from this delusion that others take for life.
At times, we were overwhelmed with love and genuine revelations. Love splashing in our glasses, but when I was drinking it, its taste always was remembering me about something more important, alas, transcendent and ineffable. Our lives were in full swing, when around us all was swarming by dead. It was a time of love and war. Someone wrote poetry, some pictures, someone was playing rock on the violin. But someone died in seventeen, because of cancer... while others – in nineteen... also the cancer. Someone jumped out of windows, while others – from the roof of the university, the state of someone was considered too harmful to the system, and there was an automobile crash... etc., etc.
Around was a mess and the system was trying to give us only one choice – to accept all this shit. And I was going crazy just to survive for one more day, and do not disappear in it and its warm fucking lethargy. I preferred to die than to sleep and live like a machine. I prefer to roam through cold streets, than to live among the blue toilets and empty reflexions.

"Abandoned in this world, some of them, will wander…", lost in the darkness, among the hosts of sweet zombies, combed thugs, insensitive pigs, vultures, oh, and of course, well-bred people. Until they find, until they realize, or until they perish. Wings torn out, the pain not subsides. Suddenly accidentally we meet, but what can we say each other? In the heat of the moment, I start talking about Picasso and Eluard, but, eyes to eyes... and I see that you have walked on this trail and I do not know why yet, but this already does not worth a damn thing for you. But you do not lose heart, and made from the wings a magnificent mohawk.... and kind of hilarious at times... if not drunk.

It was all about freedom and the search for truth! I felt war in my veins and to the war the world has turned for me. The war, which sometimes die ...

My young neighbour, a jew-girl... In those days, I did not know a person with more pure heart then she had. We were just neighbors and our lives were quite different, she was pure, like a pearl, and I've seen too much dirt. And not just seen. But sometimes, we met on the mug of tea to miss, as if we were taking time out, from our life-stories, and we were talking about something else... And in her beautiful nineteen she married. But, after three months, suddenly, she died of cancer. At the funeral, there were many relatives and her friends whom I never knew even... but it happen, that I was throwing the earth on her grave, through the veil of my eyes, burying her… Why she died?!!! For me it was the same question and still the same pain.

And someone was walking with a razor blade, clutched in his pocked. And someone was holding it for themselves, while other – for others. Someone died... and lied under the ground, and someone died but continued to "e-x-i-s-t" agreeing with it all, or just gradually ruin oneself with drinking.

To me, late at night, calling my friend and quietly, stumbling, again said that all this is not worth a damn thing! And I cannot understand with what he is charged more now – with vodka or with pain.
- I know! – I say – take a good sleep, tomorrow morning we will meet.
But that morning never came again…

And all around, these impossible people, distorted by weakness, slavery, aggression, etc. They were equal to animals on stupidity, dead on the weakness and Cerberus out of malice. But is it really the people and the human race?

But even the water of this decaying reservoir has been poisoned for me, I spit on all and was breaking through this crazy time and lived to enjoy by available to my understanding at that time freedom, by youth, by love, by revelations, and even by war. But amid all this, the truth and freedom has always been the only one single aim.


Life as a continuum, had no value, were important only moments of love and freedom. After which always was following a small death.

I always was carried by some kind of force, and always, at such a rate that everything around in my life was ruining. Intuitively, I fully entrusted to it, because somewhere deep inside, I knew that this power carries me to the truth. Sometimes it carried me so strong, that the head wind was tearing the clothes, skin, pieces of meat ... as long as there remained not a thing.

Youth was about freedom, I breathed it, and was possessed and filled to the brim with the longing for it. My great-grandmother was a gypsy and from her wild veins the broth poured into my blood. I was born and die in my agony - I was carried to the absolute freedom and to the perfect love. It was like stamp of some kind of a "holy" madness. I wanted only one thing, though, burned to ashes in the fire that was burning in my veins, but to reach the source – the reasons for it all. I was living like this and nothing more has never had the slightest value. Well, beside women of course. It overwhelmed me so much that the blood was boiling and bursting my veins. I wanted only one thing – complete insight into the nature of what is happening.
I was getting drunk and beginning to see clearly from communion with the true creators of thought, poetry, music, and so on. Only they were giving me strength and inspiration, and our hearts were beating in unison. Our thoughts and feelings, our lives, tried to one thing – to realize the nature of life.

--

The old man, Henry Miller... How incredibly close he was to me then! At that time, I lived alone in the capital. I had the impression that except for a couple of my friends, no one here seriously, the question of why they actually live, not asked. Fifteen million fed, narcissistic, obedient and arrogant burgers! Ringing chains of these people, enslaved by snobbery was just defending me! Well, maybe it is like anywhere – there is a majority and the rest. But here, I was sick of the powdered lies. There's where I came from, people do not like it. Especially when it's beginning to call "a morality". Illusions and true morality are incompatible. However, this sugary capital revealed to me my new freedom of my solitude, different from the time of "my first youth", with a huge gulf between me and others, with great intimacy with Miller, Kortazar etc. I was full of ideas and thoughts in the circle of those with whom, though at different times, our hearts were beating in unison, whose blood, as well as mine was pulling away of veins and beating as a fountains. I was often been happy at that time. And as often as this, I was ready to cut my wrists.
Where was the real freedom, then, it's in my stomach. I devoured it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It emboldened me incredibly, not letting go to sleep! It did incredibly emboldened when I was walking, through waving hundreds of smells pompous refectory. It emboldened me incredibly, when I saw these powdered faces and walked through the empty human variety. It emboldened me incredibly when I saw the shadow of twine beggar and who was looking to my eyes.
"Could you explain, please, what sort of freedom you are talking about?" - I hear from someone - "a social, moral, or what?" I was drawn into vomiting from them! From the nice kitchens of their cardboard morals! What freedom, you fucking prick, I'm talking about? Excuse me, please, I'm afraid, that it's from very different dimension, so I will not be losing my time. But one thing, maybe I can tell you, darling. To fucking hell your "morals"! That's for sure. Shove them into your throat, together with your dry concepts; it will shut up a stench of lies, that is coming from you as from a hog! "Freedom in the knowledge" - Trying to tell me one dude in hundred glasses. The hell with your knowledge! Not in your eyes, nor in your heart you have the knowledge, believe me!
Yes, in the knowledge, you, the guardians of kitchen morality! Yes, in the knowledge, you, lovers of knowledge, with withered hearts! Yes, in the knowledge! But not with that knowledge, which you use to stuff it in your throat, and chokes then, and die, alas, without any understanding of what it was. Freedom in the true comprehension of the nature of being – your own nature! With recognizing of this nature, true freedom and pure love are blossoming out like a flower in a spring! Love and Liberty is the very nature of being! But, damn! What you have done with all these words! How it became distorted in your cardboard hearts! Freedom in awareness of the nature, where the pure love blossoms, like the fragrance of it! This is freedom, you, guardians of "the truth", with crisp hearts, sliced, "a bit salted, darling", "the truth" of warm kitchens!
*

Women... They were coming and going in the story of my life. They were definitely prolonging my life, for eternity or just for moments. They were writing poems, paintings, prose, playing rock on the violins... They were drunk and mad with life, insights, moments of love and freedom. In contrast to women I encountered, I was far from being an artist, except that my canvas was me myself, and especially outside different types of lobbies, sterilised apartments and companies. Again and again, I was leaving, going outside, breathing the fresh air and going outside the lines, walking out of time.

Byron, Baudelaire and Eduard, Kortazar, Dostoevsky, Hamsun, Miller, Goethe, Joyce, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, Khlebnikov, Camus, Frome, Jung, Bass, Borges, Lautreamont, Picasso, Bosch, Rimbaud, Rodin, Mozart, Puccini, Sartre, Melarme, Proust, Verlaine, Celine, Rachmaninov, Gary, Maurois, Kerouac, Heidegger, Boehme, Akutogava, Jung, Frome, Eckhart, Plotinus, Belle, Senagon, Frisch, Shakespeare, Bacon, Vian, Berdyaev, Brodsky, Montaigne, Kafka, Hesse, Kesey, Vonnegut, James, Maugham, Tarkovsky, Bergman, Antonioni, Homer, Zuskind, Mesima, Salinger, Socrates, Dante, Plato, Gide, Celine, Eckhard, Montaigne, Swedenborg, Bass, Pavic, Kundera, King Crimson , Pink Floyd, Van der Graaf, Cobain, CAN, AUCTION, Mike Bashlachev, GrOb, T-Rex, J. Airoplan, Beethoven, Doors, Lou Read, Mercury, Blackmore, FREE, Zeppelin, Simon, Jethro Tull, Waits, Joplin, Yes, ELO, Emerson, Hendrix, Love, Bacy, BBKing, Rainbow, Deep Purple, Bach, Dylan, Gentle Gaint, etc. All these guys were also damn really helping me to survive!
--

True creativity comes from realization of the nature of being

Beauty – is an expression of Truth. It is available only to those who can surpass the "human". To the one who is capable of more, opens the perfection of being.

--
And why do I remember this very day? There is no reason, it just gives me a good smile now.
Morning... Hunger and erection – my call me over the rising sun of this world today. To start the day with a meeting with a woman! Fecit! The least I could expect was a good breakfast, good coffee and good cigarettes. And, of course, the conversation, I think all the same. Maximum possible, which I mentally added - good wine in bed with Doors playing on a background. Well ... "And with a good red wine!" Wonderful! Let's go. Since we parted, we were well treating each other.
Breakfast was excellent. Gorgeous expensive coffee and, in general, pleasant conversation. But suddenly, to my great chagrin, she came up with a terrible idea. She began to insist on the fact that I have to get in the easel (sit before the easel and try to paint how to say it in short?**)!
- Look, I know, I'm sure you absolutely need to try to paint! No – she did not listen to my protests - it is vital! Absolutely necessary! I know you'll see, believe, me!
I was all upset. I was pretty exhausted by my labyrinths, and I did not like at all once again plunge into my entrails in this wonderful morning. What I certainly like is to see is that our conversation continued not for paints and brushes. But. In anticipation she has left me alone in her studio with all my hopes fading away. And I was one, definitely, preferring to keep the pristine beauty of a clean sheet! The last time I remember, I was painting at the lesson of Fine Arts, first class, i.e. fifteen years ago. Then, I remember, I drew a wonderful swamp... Apparently, the order has been inspired by... Actually, it was a great swamp! And I think it was the only experience of painting art in my life. I sat and stared at a blank sheet. Twenty minutes later, I picked up a brush and made the first gesture, breathing in the life to my forthcoming masterpiece! This time, I decided to paint a storm in the sky. I was fascinated by the idea that the magic game of unearthly hues will fascinate the viewer so that it is possible, even something would move in his mind. I spent about two hours, losing track of time, feeling, and, in general, a sense of my world masterpiece. When I was interrupted in order to give an abstract view of the true creator on my "brilliant creation", Well.. for a few moments I was actually fascinated... but in the next, very upset, because i understood, that besides the fact that I will never paint the "Madonna" or even, damn "Square", I realized that I was waiting for my deep disappointment sensitive friend, a woman she was very subtle... I was so upset about my creation that I did not stay at the proposed dinner.
I remember us... At the time of our novel, accompanied by good wine and good cigarettes, talking about creativity, freedom and so on, flowed nicely into a mad dance of beauty and feelings, and in the morning we again met with the wine, Baudelaire and Eluard, world - to hell! Sex and the Doors! Wine and poetry! It was a glorious time. But we broke up. We talked about freedom and beauty, but her house was always too clean for me. Gosh! At the kitchen table I saw my reflection! All this talks were for me - a reflection of that ineffable of which my veins were ready to epode. So, to feel it again, I had to go away, again be alone and out of the warm flats, blue toilets and French cigarettes. But she was a wonderful person.

I was wandering through the streets of the fall, listening to the lonely rustle. What-is-this? Perfection. This word had cut me off from all their kind – from good, bad, moral, evil, intellectuals, good-natured, simple, "polite" and others. It cut me off and plunged into the infinite loneliness and search.

--

Of these slaves is always a lie, all the smells around them, all around them penetrated by it. They actually afraid of the true freedom!

I am hopelessly lost myself somewhere behind the closed doors of the heart, when i heard what they were saying.

Sense of reality melted away in a violent thirst to penetrate in its essence.

Nostalgia of loneliness for eternity ...

Your "morality" is floating on the river of the sociality. It has nothing to do with truth, there is nothing about true freedom and love!

I've lost track of time, since fell in love with Eternity.

Touch to the women… It is like a touch to the truth, to the very nature of being. Women... appearing poems of eternity!

To get into the harmony necessary to break the system

You define the world around yourself, and then live among your definitions. In the definitions of slavery is born. Thus you have really very little chance.

--

The moment of the spring I lived...
I feel this elusive truth, like the taste of blood, like an echo, like nostalgia. I feel it, but everything around was trying to hide it from me. I am choking. This flavour does not going away, does not stop for a minute! I throw myself off a cliff again and again! I load Pink Floyd and leave you in your world! Where is this cursed damned imprint come from? To hell your fuss! It is really, in essence, worth nothing! Some choke in their animal stupidity, others, daffodils freaks, lose their soul in their own "highly intelligent inventions", building cages for their minds. You are becoming so mechanically beautiful! Yes, and, please, run faster, it helps me to stay focused.
Sometimes I can see the flashes but only from afar... And it always escapes from my hands, leaving me among the wonderful world of lies!
My friend is trying to escape, but the fire burns him. Damn! And you, my friend!
Find music, a symphony of life ... To hell with all the definitions! The hell with all attempts to express it! I just go! I just fly! My harmony and truth outside of order and chaos! Outside of your "yes" or "no." And the next moment - I fell into the abyss! Go to hell! Thus only I live! You try not to talk about it and not think. I tear and pull out the chain! Beyond! I'm flying... to damn rock, and with all my might! Bang! I cannot keep silent or give you a silt lie that everything is "Ok"! Wake up, damn you! Wake up, beasts! Uu-oo-Hmm. "It - so," "it - not so!", "Yes," "beyond ...", feelings .. concept ... two ...three ... not two ... And you still think that your "knowledge power" so much makes you different from animals!
"Freedom - is a recognized necessity!" - What an incredible nonsense! Hey you! you thousands of years, but you are in such an incredible delusion! Your great "Yes!" - In "Genesis ..." but your "genesis" broken into countless pieces by already so limited perception, out of which, like the hog, you would not want to get out! It is sad? It's funny? Or may not be important? Even the rejection of the "yes" or "no" is false! As well as the adoption of the "yes" or "no" is also false! Try to find where the truth! So - does not mean the great scholars of life, try to find where you are wrong!

--
The path to the freedom – it is the path of self-awareness, of comprehending the nature of being, our own true nature. Everything else – true love, true freedom, true morality, true honour, etc. - appears as a consequence of developing of this realization, because they are all present in the pure nature of a human in a natural manner, so all this qualities, in their true form, invariably accompanied by a clear vision of the nature of things.
*
When the strength becomes superior to morality and wisdom, the personality starts to degrade quickly and inevitably and finely, in essence, turns to weakness.

--

Morning emerges from a night... In this inter-temporalness, in which hung this incredible like the rest of the world room, with sketches of faces on the wall that was not there yesterday... or not-was-not-today... was-not-be... not was... Unfinished poem on the wall... I read the line: "And you can be..." Or cannot be! Or be-like-not... Not-be-that-be... Something like that. Are you still awake... I barely touch your face, close my eyes and inhale the smell of yours... Pauses for moments... There is no me. You have written these lines in our unearthly nights… In our strange dance with you, your poems are interwoven with my madness – the only thing that I left myself in this world... rather, in a timeless vacuum of these days and nights... and you swam in it, like in a familiar dance. Sip of morning wine, Pink Floyd and first cigarette... We are both, in our own ways, feel that is not put into words... Woven of the senses... Both of us - mad with this nostalgia, with this smell of eternity, pursuing us. We left to this so bright, but so empty world outside our detachment... and to each other - tenderness... and this moments in another dimension, with poetry, wine and insights...
I stuck the knife into all my past, and threw it into the abyss! This maniacal ravings of years about the truth and freedom! Now, now I'm out of the time! Out of the space! Outside of the thought! Beyond words! I left myself just wine, old and good Pink Floyd, cigarettes, and I do not know whether it was yesterday! I'm looking at you... on your insane live dance... breathe in your beauty... which catches me again, inevitably, takes me to essentially inexpressible…
You open your eyes ... their tenderness I breathe.... I touch your lips…
You wonder - "They're all crazy lunatics, is it?", and smiling.
We catch highlights of our eternity in moments of happiness.
- Do you remember, I said, I'm sorry that we are from different myths? Now, I think we, actually have the same fairy tale.
- No, mon amour, they are different. But it is better.

--

*
Man has exchanged the greatness on the pride and limits, on lust and aggression, on the "tolerance" and "acceptance" of all (alas, all in a row). The man became weak. Especially a white man, who lost a unique quality of being a warrior and sage at the same time, without which, in this world, he has not much time left.

--

I remember the autumn, its smell, the sky, the first cold... a small glimpse between the worlds in which you seemed to peek out from the transience of life in what is undying and waiting for you somewhere in the eternity, to which you can only touch now, almost unwittingly, walking through this golden park... But then everything spun again - days and nights, life and death, along with this not leaving nostalgia for the truth and perfection, by the fact that you have once knew, but now you are here, and the fresh scent of falling leaves and the cries of birds flying away, leaving you in a few days in this mystical gap between past and future, between life and death, between love and loneliness.

--

Why you are trying to mix the beauty with your weakness? It will not save your world. First, you would need to surpass yourself in everything what is "human", to really be worth it!

Pure and shiny transparency of being…

"To be" possible only now or, to be more precisely – beyond the time.

To reason is not so difficult, more difficult to be.

--
I went out to the kitchen ... under my feet rustling of fallen leaves yesterday's talks, and I, like the bare poplar in November, standing in the middle of them... Pure and holy! I'm kicking the pile of dry leaves and fly up into the air Bohme, Borges, Bosch, Joyce, futurism, surrealism, symbolism, women, frustration, music, endless cigarettes, laughter, silence... Wakes up a friend, I hear him trying to crawl out from under the sofa – the dark abyss into which he put himself voluntarily. "Nobody loves me ..." - I hear his 'offended' verdict - "I wake up under the sofas and forever - in the dust". He is coming to the kitchen. "You see?" - He says - "The dust is all what is around us!" - And adds to himself - " And I am a dusty marginal". It turns out the character a third and, puzzled, coming, looking at us and It is evident that our appearance worries him. So with a determined look, however, swaying slightly, goes he to the refrigerator. Slowly and solemnly, with the grace of a ballerina, and wary groundhog, he opens the door, and a few moments later, extracts the vessel, the radiant brine. Victoriously, lifts it over our eyes and the morning star shine, reflecting, bursts into our transparent souls. We enthusiastically applaud and committing the Dance of the Morning Star, in recognition of, and sympathetic joy for everyone. From this bench from our cups, we highlight our strength. Glory! Glory! And aqua regia turn comes at last. We spill. We tray. We look. We see! We drink and sound of approval and praise for the sun and sky, for this wonderful drink, and for us and them. And then, the grace comes down to every one! That's it! We load T-Rex, lights a cigarettes, and begins the third or fourth day of our alcoholic nirvana.


Here and back again the wind, with rain drops and an evening freshness in the cool of autumn twilight sinking into the streets. As if that is all something real in this world. He invites me to continue on my path labyrinths. And I agree, and I know that I have no other way. How is unbearably close together but elusive the truth! I'm back on the road. I'm walking through this dank evening through the deserted streets, through my love and my war. Oh, how it is useful to keep quiet! This saves power and allows you to not fall asleep. It seems that in my pocket still something left. On the last of my money, I buy the "Cahors" and a pack of cigarettes. I sit on a bench by the pond and this cool evening offers me his company. Good, I cannot drink alone. By the way, I absolutely nowhere to go back. In addition, of course, to my labyrinth. Today I have seen something very familiar in a face of dirty homeless beggar, in his own way not consistent with the System and its fucking values. Heck, even a passing thought about the system, makes me gag reflex. Let's drink! For the real artists and creators, for example! "Cahors" damn good! And 18 degrees very useful in this cool evening! So, where were we stopped there? On the fact that "this is not a damn thing inexpressible!". Another dead end. Oh, the book... Huh.. And where can it begin? And to what end? Direct language has lost power long ago, I think Rimbaud too has noticed it, the man is strongly fortify himself in his mechanical reflexion. Where everything is turned upside down, you have to get out more than an acrobat to break through a distorted perception of people. I'm starting to get cold, lighting and will be warming up myself with a cigarette. Why? All around make things much more absurd. They spend a third of life working as a mules to create comfort, for instance, among which at someday they will turn into a corpse, passing the baton to their progeny. The system obviously knows man much better than himself - he depends on his desires and uncontrolled reflexions and do not understand this, and the system uses the situation to the full program - it uses man and after throwing him out. Sometimes, along with the some childish illusions about 'self-realization'. When man thinks that everything in his nor,al life is very complicated, in fact, everything incredibly simple. How good to meet again a wonderful my autumn! It's getting cold. But, I'm with the "Cahors" and a cigarette. I'm ready. I go out on the road again, where freedom is waiting for me, or death.
--

I was not stopping, I was never getting off the path, so that sometimes everything was collapsing around. I was giving myself a respite, perhaps, only with women. But, after some time, when I was waking up at one of those mornings, again, I had to go.
--


After twelve years of my search or war, I have arrived to the place where I found what I was looking for since my birth. I feel now like I 've got a new birth or perhaps, this is the only berth I had. All that 12 years of war was just an prenatal period. Yet, the tough one. Whatever. I leave my past, as well as all completed within the labyrinth of searching for the truth. I have nowhere else to go anymore, because, I have arrived to my home, and as they say, "there are no roads in the sky".

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