Your soup is in full swing

You see - I'm sorry that on “you,” you think they have completely gone crazy: recently they write about themselves and about themselves. And you think that writing about yourself is easy or that it is from vanity. In fact, these are just nerves, stress is relieved by conversations, and so there is so much mat. I know almost everyone, they are actually good. Smart and, mind you, with a sense of civic responsibility. I do not know only Peter Tolstoy - he recently still conducted a propaganda program on Channel One, but it is clear from the conversation that Tolstoy was offended by the arrival of Sveta from Ivanov, and it is not without reason that he remembers her in every answer. He thinks: I served you, and you! To whom you exchanged me, thinks to yourself by Tolstoy, well, all, now your regime is a lid (“yours” - please pay attention to how quickly this happens). Well, I know everyone else, so I understand their grief.

Since journalists are now writing about themselves, I can also, right? .. I am writing this note in a cafe. Here are a guy and a girl. And he asks her if she has a chewing gum, and I thought that when someone asks this in an indifferent voice: "Do you have a chewing gum?" -For some reason, I cannot explain this, it always means the inevitable and fast end of the relationship. They all decided to themselves, but they still can’t say and instead they always ask about chewing gum.

In journalism, it also happens that there is nothing to talk about and we need to finish this novel and begin a new one. You see, they worked like animals for six months, they wanted everyone to be good, and you yourself probably went and wanted. They had the feeling that they would write now, the newspaper would perform-one, the second-and something would happen, and they wrote, and they did it wonderful, only almost all of the same thing. Even such a genre was formed: “This is terrible, the last drop, this is the last breath of the regime, a fatal mistake, it cannot be further” - but it turned out that it could continue, quite another 12 or even three hundred years, and, since it is illogical, it is very nervous. Everything seems to be done as it should, the newspaper performed, everything was said, and by logic (!) Was something to come for two hundred times. But it didn’t and did not follow, and okay, references, repressions - however, was not too late - but, after all, the most terrible, the terrible Russian “nonsense”, 700 kilometer -breeding only “poorly” came out. And all that they did was wrote and went to the square - it was good for moral health, you know, as they say: “Sex is good for health,” but for others, for immense, it was all nothing. What to do with this "nothing"?

A papal situation has developed: conscience orders to write in every note “The collapse of the regime is inevitable”, but it is also pointless to write about something else. Well, how to write about something else, well, what kind of films-books, everything is somehow sluggish. With some effort it can be written, but you yourself see that they are reading now about something else. On the other hand, I'm sorry that again about the personal - I’m listening to the “echo of Moscow” and I hear the sharp voice of the Albats that the regime will not hold on, and it becomes unusually calm, as good as Afobazole acts, but at the same time I understand that this is already dejuiva.

All these columns are also revenge on the publishers, remember, you told us that our personal opinion is not interested in anyone, but it turned out that it was interested. But it turned out that not everyone was interested in, but about 200 thousand people. And then nowhere, the circle closed. And this interpretation of likes in nature already resembles the story of Cortasar about how everyone became writers and everyone writes “cannot be silent”, which, in turn, resembles a perestroika caricature when a huge crowd goes with the slogans “enough slogans”.

They are honest people. They sat down against each other, put their heads and began to say that everything came to a standstill. Because it comes out on everything that we read ourselves; Soon it will have to be like gypsies: good people, sorry that I am contacting you, read my column. Or another option - to bring the number of readers to at least a million.

Million is a magic figure, in almost every conversation in the Afisha sounds: "We need a million." We are read by 200-300 thousand, this is Facebook, and if you read a million, this is already Russia, everything would be different. It is funny that opposition politicians call the same million. A million readers are a good article. A million people will come out - the end to the end.

There is such a person, his surname Navalny, so: he, they say, is already reading a million. By coincidence, Navalny writes articles. Perhaps Navalny - this is the future of journalism, and by the way, it does not seem strange to you that he is one for everyone, engaged in journalistic investigations, about the same Bastrykin - in fact, our work does. Of course, I am not saying that journalism is not important, but Navalny somehow gets well-both investigations and politics, maybe it is worth making it head and release a newspaper? After all, the “good car of propaganda” is a humanitarian project in fact, both funny and massive.

A million readers are a good article. A million people will come out - the end to the end.

Modelists go back and forth in the cafe on the screen. And such music sounds-you know, then Lyai-Lay, then Tydyn-Tyzin, Tydyn-Tyts, Tydyn-Tyts, and I seem to hear this music for eternity, and the fashion models on the screen are already going on for eternity, the old Hottabych would ask Volle: do they never sleep? And here is a revolution, not a revolution-and at the same time the whole economy should go like this in the catwalk back and forth. The paradox of journalism is that it should also go to the catwalk and sound, but at the same time each time. Otherwise, she will fall from the podium. And even if she writes about something very important, she still needs to somehow differently.

All of them tell the truth: that they do not know what to write about now. For about a year and a half, to be honest, I have no reason, because this is a conveyor. To go into the forest, in a monastery (like Philip Bakhtin) is called internal emigration: either you will be sacrificed, or you will sacrifice yourself. And everyone thinks with horror that this is almost the same. The glossy publications have their own impasse: how can the calls for the struggle be combined with this advertisement for expensive Swiss watches? Those that only businessmen and officials can afford - that is, the same people. While it is somehow schizophrenically. Advertising, by the way, is controlled by the same guys.

For some reason, the more money you spend in a cafe, the easier it is to write, as if a tribute must be paid to some higher consumption. The problem of journalism today, this summer, is like writing not for those who read it, but for those who do not read it.

How to write for those who do not read?

Because they read only their own, goodness is poured, but they need a conflict, and they, journalists, feel that this goodness is also somehow wrong, and the process of transfer and compensation occurs. They themselves begin to look for sources of irritation-inside the community, until someone alone can withstand and read morality to everyone, and they are pounced on it, perhaps even fairly, and in this abuse can finally be with all the integrity: Volobuev, as you dare, and it relieves stress for some time-the media-mesh begins, which turns into global from the local.

So I thought for three days, how to write about it, so as not to offend my colleagues that I love, and the most important thing, it seems that you can do it now - tell them it. And as it were, so to speak, that we must be together, because there are still unknown fate. Now it seems to them that they can do nothing in common with Volobuev, although the autozaks will be soaked. For six months, everyone was together, and this was perfectly independently of anything. And I want them to at least not quarrel until the fall.

How to write for those who do not read?

Writing journalism in Russia is like cooking soup in the lake: I inserted a boiler there, carrots-cards, like it, crushed it and wait until it boils, but it does not boil. Why doesn't it boil? No one knows how much soup in the lake is boiling for? They say that somewhere in Tunisia the lake boiled itself, and in Libya it was generally ignited. The old people say about him “Om Mani Padme Hum”, which means that one day, 20 years ago, it was already boiling when everyone brought a boiling water with him. Perhaps only they say, the lake knows when he boils. You need to wait. Others say: no, it is impossible to wait. Let's boil it, I have a soldering iron.

But still, these people are interested in living, they have motivation. The desired million readers can be found among regional journalists, there are about so much throughout Russia. They read Saprykina, and then see the face of their editor, who jokes even under Khrushchev: he has long been in this post, and there is such an atmosphere of suffocating understanding that you either write about the Guber, or out of the profession. And about them, of course, we can say that they themselves are to blame, but, as Olshansky rightly remarked, in Russia there are very unequal conditions at birth. That is, this is not about the fact that they do not have something, but that they do not know what happens differently. And now they will read the column of Saprykin and they will completely understand everything, and everything will turn over, and the lake will boil, and Bakhtin will return from the pioneer camp, and everything will be wrapped in, so you need to write - and what else to do.