The old new

I know what I definitely will not talk about here. I will not talk about Gaza and Gaza. And not only because there is a lot of or less talk about it, willingly and with varying degrees of slurred.

I will not say anything about Gaza, because for me this problem seems indisputable. I am used to believe that when a rabid dog regularly rushes into your yard at your child, you are confronted with the need to firmly decide what is more expensive for you - speculative condescension to everything that is or, nevertheless, care for the health and safety of your own child. The conversations that a rades-to-do, attacking your child, also suffers in its own way, or that it may not be furious at all, but is simply sure that this court is its territory, of course, interesting and even instructive, but only if they are at a safe distance from the mentioned dog.

I am especially nothing to say about the gas, because I do not understand at all what is happening there and why. The more I read and listen to it, the less I understand. The perception of all this growing viscous absurdity fits into the common formula "either he stole, or he was stolen from him." And there is nothing in this situation in this situation, the puzzled alarmed Europe, except to be confused by the index finger in the temple.

After ten days of the holidays, my colleagues and my colleagues came to the editor, where the air temperature was discovered, if exceeding street, then insignificantly. At the same time, one of the colleagues who visited these days in Kyiv assures that in the house where he stopped, it was not just warm, but even hot. If you follow the logic traditional for our latitudes, built on blessed negligence by causal relationships and spatio-temporal context, it is already difficult to understand where and where this gas flows and who the crane was screwed from from which side. In general, some kind of nonsense.

Talking on this subject, including public ones, is characterized primarily by increased conspiracy therologization, which serves me with a clear sign that in the fatal misunderstanding of what is not alone, I am not alone.

Previously, during the time of pure and in its own way of the simple-minded Soviet agitprop, it was easier with this. You will see in the newspaper a note entitled “Winter will strictly ask from the mismanagement”, and even better, “a hapug to the answer”, or you will run a caustic feuilleton diagonal “Ivan nods at Peter,” and you can live on with the feeling that life and its simple basic values ​​are unspired. And here ...

In general, I will not write and say anything about all this, but I will simply congratulate my reader on the New Year. And there is no need to say that I was somewhat late with this. From an early youth, I was used to considering the old New Year, or more, correctly, invariably loving him for his unofficiality, for the absence of general secretaries, presidents and painfully bonded grandfathers and their squealous granddaughters, for his rebellious alternative, for cozy privacy and insecure, quiet festivities.

Happy New Year, friends.

We wish each other the main thing: to survive. Not just to survive physically - this, of course, too. But to survive as we are, that is, those who have not lost the sensations of inner freedom, an unbiased view of life, the ability to dialogue, to sober analysis, to saving common sense.

Let's go to the fact that all those with whom we are always interested and fun will remain alive, healthy and vigorous, as far as the circumstances will allow. Well, we will also go to circumstances too.

Turning into a mortal, but still sin of self -citing, I will allow myself to say that "the most important thing is to find the most adequate form of sympathy for each other." Let's try to succeed in this matter.