Waiting for the end

June 17, 2015, Vladimir Nadein

From the "Daily Journal."

In Dresden there is a very remarkable Orthodox Church of Simeon Divnogorets. She was erected in the last third of the sexix, and many famous compatriots-universes put the soul and donations into it. And in this Dresden temple, Peter Stolypin was baptized, around the century since the death of which there were a lot of noise about five years ago. Putin performed then, and more than once. He promised scholarships, scientific conferences and even a monument with a view of the Moscow White House. And then somehow everything suddenly subsided.

Meanwhile, Putin had reason to pay tribute to Stolypin and outside the gloomy anniversary. The temple of Simeon Divnogorets is the only Orthodox religious institution in Dresden, where Putin spent five years of his final spy career. The temple is located on a busy highway a few minutes walk from the Central City Station. The railway station, as in almost every German city, is the center and soul of Dresden. And wherever the senior operator Major Putin went about his business, not to pass this prayed place for him. In addition, an architectural monument.

But no matter how much the leaf on the first person’s book, which, under the dictation of Putin, prepared for the presidential election of 2000, three now famous journalists from the Kommersant newspaper, you can’t find any mention of Orthodoxy or, especially, about the forecaster of Divnog. Let me remind you that the reporters were selected and divorced for special prefabrication personally by Boris Berezovsky, then the owner of Kommersant and the indefatigable organizer of the Putin election campaign. Colleagues did their job diligently. The book contains a lot of cognitive and about the charms of Dresden beer, and about the waist of Major Putin, who had a one at once 12 kilograms, and about the desperate courage of the major, ready (fortunately, did not come) with weapons in his hands to protect the secrets of the KGB from fierce anti -Soviet anti -Soviet anti -Soviets.

But about a noticeable Orthodox temple - not a sound.

I dare to express a timid guess that Orthodoxy in those distant times of Major Putin, as it is customary to say, was never interested in. It was more worried about whether there were enough accumulated in the foreign business trip to the purchase of the Volga car. And then they saved up, saved up, and then take the Berlin wall and baked. Very inappropriate. But enough, thank God. And soon, fate lifted the successful major in the first assistants to the impressive and narcissistic St. Petersburg mayor. Then such an account went that there was no one bothering with little things like the creaky “Volga”. On the tables, under the tables, in floral lawns and moom - pounds, dollars, stamps were lying everywhere. The euro, however, was not, they were not invented then.

Then the Last Judgment came. Putin, who led the election campaign of the mayor of Sobchak, lost everything. The new mayor Yakovlev indecently sent Putin (which, of course, would be remembered later), a criminal case was brought to Sobchak, the horizon was covered with clouds, a stupid lightning flew out of one, and the Putin dacha in the cooperative “Lake” burned down.

Judging by the book, this was unpleasant, but thoughts about heavenly craft, about the angry arm of the Almighty in the brains of an unemployed lieutenant colonel then did not arise. The creature of the highest category at that time was Chubais. Yes, he is the most, A.B. He handed the afflicter hand to the suffering hand, attaching in Moscow to a decent place.

For what? With what types? By whose conspiracy? Most likely, just like that, just in case. Let it be. Putin stood a small, thin, with his disarming unrequited smile. Chubais sat luxurious, authorized, omnipotent. Ah, let it be. And the rope on the road will come in handy.

To know all of us ahead of time, to whom we will bow in a year, how much less it would be in the world.

And very soon, but already on the very threshold of the first presidency, the public found out that the power of the Soviets, the Party of the Communists (the Bolsheviks), and even the Alma Mater’s office for Putin, is nothing. And to live on the holy covenants is all.

This is so natural. You imagine yourself. Your life flows, leaving no traces on the face of the world. Not life, but longing for beer. Only it seemed to be leaning on Fart, like all dreams to smithereens. Either the Berlin wall in dust, then the elections are damned. The darkness is ahead, the lights do not burn, and there is nowhere to go, except for managers.

And suddenly: one, two, three - and, oh, miracle! You are the president. One-two-three. You, Lieutenant Colonel, Pogoreletz, “Obklub,”, as used in the garrison, is the president of a huge country. Here is Europe, there is America. Bush on the right, and on the left is another, and also Bush. And everyone loves you, no, they love. Disinterested. Everyone is asking for something. Disinterested. The service is round -the -clock, Kremlin. They are treated, to eat with the wrongdoing. There are no problems, and if which is from oversight, you will invite her to take a walk back and forth along the Muscovite bridge-and again quietly, again without problems.

Well, how can you not believe in a good and fair hand of providence? After all, not everyone is given to feel such immense goodness on themselves. There, upstairs, go, they know who is worthy of what and to whom is not supposed to. Moreover, fate further creeps in the red velvet path. Friends are rich, enemies cough. And all without delay, on time. It’s as if someone is carefully interested in: how much do you make a barrel, Vladimir Vladimirovich? Sixty -five? Please sixty -five. Or maybe world football with home delivery? Let's do it.

And so, as if conspiring, our everything walked from luck to luck. Abkhazia is behind the boot, Crimea - ours. Sometimes he will look at the path traveled: well, am I really so brilliant? Really nowhere and did not make a single mistake, not a single significant miss?

No, I did not allow. Even pleasantly pleasant.

This is how it lasted to the joy of all true Russians until July 17, 2014, when Boeing from Malaysia was shot down in the east of Ukraine, under the village of Grabovo. From this day - as cut off. All his magical fart melted, drowned, disappeared. Crimea Zakis, the bridge is not built, there is no money, they dispersed FIFA, Obama is impudent, in the Governor's corps, pediculus, China is greedy, rockets fall, and even the gloomy Merkel pretends to be understood in German.

From all the books that are described in recent months at Hitler’s headquarters, the abundance of details and commemorative scenes distinguish the memoirs of Speer. No wonder: all the comrades of the Fuhrer were hanged and only to Speer, for sincere repentance, they gave 20 years in prison. So he became the only one from a close circle who had enough time to remember and state.

Speer claimed that in recent months the most popular word in the main bunker was “Providence”. The will of heaven, the mercy of the Almighty became the last hope of adventurers, when everything and everything was lost. Occasionally, the Fuhrer was covered by a violent thirst for activity, but even more often he sat, silently staring at an invisible point. The former beam of fate, a tramp, who became the ruler of half -world, he simply waited. Waiting for it to end.

The languid expectation of the inevitable end does not necessarily pour into the deaf apathy. You can take events. Say, Russian tanks rumble near Maryanovka, and in the hall with golden columns the highest authorities solve the problems of domestic grammar. Or announce the weekend for all days until OPEC lifted the price of oil.

For six months now, no one has been managing a huge country. On TV, they show how someone shows something to Putin. Aircraft fly somewhere. They are also shown. Just opened by the aircraft of Le Bourget near Paris. For the first time in half a century, Russia is represented only by cardboard layouts like “not to touch your hands”.

In the mid-80s, when Major Putin serenely rode a tram past the temple of Simeon Divnogorets, he was unlikely to fade that something mysterious and omnipotent, for which many Orthodox noble people got rid of the charms of Zlata, decades and immobilized him himself decades. Tsugtswang, the damned state of soul and mind, when it is urgent to find a way out, which is not. It remains to persuade yourself, threaten with unrealistic revenge and referred to with all your strength, which is less and less left every day.

http://grani.ru/blogs/funnycouple/entries/241998.html

Creator on a business trip

A pair of phrases (on a pair of phrases ) 06/17/2015

At first, in the XVIII-XIX centuries, there was no need to somehow specifically resolve the issue of training personnel: representatives of the aristocracy and the service class, by definition, were the most educated people of their time and at the same time “servants of the sovereign”, carriers and conductors of state policy, were the pioneers of public art. The Soviet government, abandoning the estate, introduced the principle of "nomenclature" - a system of total education in the spirit of state tasks. In its best manifestations, this model of personnel policy was distinguished ... by such useful things as, for example, the obligatory "creative business trips" - the immersion of creative workers in the reality of the country's daily life for which they work. By the end of the year, our new project "Personnel Potential" should earn. This is the first attempt to form a personnel reserve in the history of Russian culture, but it still inherits the experience, achievements and lessons of the previous centuries.

Vladimir Medinsky, Minister of Culture

Fadeev and Stalin talk about "creative business trips" , distinguishing between the "Service writers" and "large writers" . It turns out that "large" on such business trips is difficult to rock . " “They don’t want to go,” Stalin said . And thought - "Does it make sense in such business trips?" The writers answered in chorus what was. Here, admittedly, Stalin suddenly looks somewhat more intelligent than three famous leaders of the Writers' Union. “But Tolstoy did not go on business trips,” Stalin said, “ and Fadeev also gives the most peculiar of his remarks: “ He’s on a business trip all the time, ” Fadeev said about Sholokhov. And a little earlier, Fadeev objected that “ Tolstoy wrote just about the environment in which he lived in Yasnaya Polyana. ” The interlocutors were just more far from irony. “Breecious” is an epoch -making way to acquire life experience.

Leonid Batkin, historian and culturologist. " The dream of reason. On the socio-cultural scale of the personality of Stalin "