Lev Pirogov. The paper suffers from 6.10. Mortal Combat

The paper suffers from 6.10. Mortal Combat - Booker vs. Bestseller


Lev Pirogov

Date of publication: October 6, 2000

Revolution is not a cat you will be born with. Yesterday I drank at the cost of my life with Gena Komarov and found out everything. Gena is the most correct person among the Booker jurists. He does forty pull-ups on one arm (this is the first approach, after the second decanter there are already forty-two).

In short, brothers, girls and friends, calm down. They won’t give it to Slapovsky , let Slava not lie . They will give it to Shishkin . Which, of course, also sucks, but you already know what to fight against. In a word, this... In a minute, first I’ll go to the bath, and then I’ll report on the schedule. And we will draw an arrow on the map.

Vox populi - voice of God

Why don't people understand? Because they're goats. According to my strictly scientific observations, the generation of literary owners, whose kents have not only earned Money, but have also lived to the point of insanity to give this money, does not absorb Concepts.

The literary prize institute turned into a cross between a small-town shop and an almshouse. Such awards do not bother the literary process and do not participate in it in any way. To earn something, a writer does not need to try or think. You just need to blow a lot of snot, pretend to be a rag and wait for them to “help” you. And this is not good (bad). It’s good when dudes don’t stand still and keep their snouts in the wind.

Gena is a good guy: he throws money around the table and treats the right people. He will get credit for this throughout his life. But according to concepts, it failed. Like the rest of their lame Paleozoic crowd. Like - yes, there is no novel, because today there is no adequate language for this genre. Pushkin’s tongue already sucks on many issues, but the new tongue, covered with life-giving bactericidal saliva, is not yet there.

Then I happily listen to an hour-long tirade about how the problem of language is a great one, and that the expressed thought is a lie, and that the gap between understanding and faith is painful. A respectable man, a physicist, he published all the poets, but he sits and says this, you know.

When I am interested in observing the birth of a new truth, I propose that some old truth be considered correct, such as the fact that language has “aesthetic and communicative functions,” and we drink to this discovery in enlightenment. I hold poststructuralists in vain in the interests of the third decanter. Plus - for the sake of the future Revolution, so as not to get hit in the face prematurely.

Stop. I medicated myself a little with beer and, it seems, I’m already starting to lose my mind.

Gena is good. The point is that, like all megaliths, he is trying to talk about “language” within the framework of discussions about genre poetics. And when it doesn’t work out (in the absence of a categorical status for the concept of “genre”), the megalith begins to reinvent the wheel of the bicycle. Here he has a hard time, because he doesn’t know how to speak in indexes: all the philosophical thought of the last century has passed by.

He doesn't even know what "discourse" is.

The position of the megalith, in general, is expressed in the fact that it is necessary to encourage the writer who is trying to find the boundaries of the notorious “new language”. But how do you know who is trying to grope and who isn't? Where is the criterion of the unknown, ah min.

Philosophical thought, having passed by the megaliths and paleolithics, has so far settled on the fact that speaking about language in concepts associated with the spheres of its primary competence is impossible. Deconstructionism is over. Philosophical thought has left the trenches of linguocentrism for the merry makhalovka of sociology.

Beer "Russian" is cheap, but bad.

And an advanced critic today cannot afford to mess around in the same puddle with a literary critic professing a hermeneutic approach. An advanced critic must be a sociologist and must speak the words "positioning", "manifestation" and "cultural field". I must understand that the birth of a language is not a problem of Pushkin or literature. This is a problem of society, ethnicity, nation - who gets what.

This means that a literary work should be considered not from the point of view of its “immanent” qualities, but as one of the functions of social, excuse me, construction. The modern project (with all its attachments) ended, literature again ceased to be a personal matter and again became part of a party-wide matter. My little sister is a smart girl, even though Olyushka got the trick right .

Since communication in language is primary (even if Stalin is stupid, or if Ricoeur and Habermas are smart, it doesn’t matter), then works in which aesthetics overshadows reason (The Taking of Ishmael, for example) should not be considered “progressive.” Progressive is what is understandable. Not you, the smart one, and not me, the donkey, but - damn him... well!.. the people.

When a tragedy dies, what remains is not the actor - what remains is the chorus. In this sense, the slogan “art is dead, the artists remain” showed all its bohemian-impotent bareness. As a result of which the artists also died of hunger - there was practically only one people left. Which is divided into the people proper and the people in a certain sense... Who are you with, masters of reading “Paper Endures” and “Ptyuch”?

Muzzle clenched into a fist

Now that you and I are mentally prepared, I will present the main news. A press conference has just taken place for a new literary award called “National Bestseller” (did you think I was actually lying in the bath? Ha!..). This bonus, I’ll tell you a terrible secret, is part of our Plan.

Well, I said last time that we will wet them.

And so a few right people (in the interests of their safety, the names are kept secret for now) chipped in a little money and decided to bring a new order to literature.

The press conference took place yesterday (this is for you) at 13.00, in Domzhur. In a crowd of perplexed and unconvinced literary suckers. Vitya Toporov-Petersburg was taking the rap, and I was on ground control.

It’s funny, by the way, I was watching my friend Vitya from the control. At one time he danced at almost all awards. And here you are, hello!.. He, like, represents his own. The suckers, of course, sunk their teeth into him: “Whose money, what are the names of the founders, where is the ambush?” Vitya was sweating and pretending that everything was clean. Like we'll chase another bullshit like Booker. Taking, like, it sucks, assigning him four thousand bonus bucks and using the fund to promote him to a circulation of 50 thousand plus as many more nationally readable copies as he can fit.

(Just so you understand: “National Bestseller” is awarded not for the book that became this bestseller, but for the one that should be one.)

Well, they say, don’t worry, citizens, everything sucks and is bullshit, but I won’t tell you my last name, simply because I don’t know.

But, of course, Vitya lied (as planned). There are such surnames that you wouldn’t mind dying. However, it’s too early to reveal the cards, let the bets still rise. For now, I will tell you, as relatives, the official information:

The National Bestseller Award will be awarded for a work of any genre (except column), both published and presented in manuscript . The first presentation will take place on May 25, 2001. Money is rubbish, as I already said, the main drawback is that the laureate automatically becomes a master of minds and a national hero. And it’s not far from the Elections...

I was joking. I won’t say anything more for now, it’s interesting to first read what they will bark from the enemy camp. But do you already understand where it all goes?

Look at me!..

Little nothings of life

However, not everyone wants to hang out behind my broad back; some clearly want to die a heroic death. I recently warned Igor Zotov that I would not review Ex Libris for free. But he pretended that he was not local and escalated a previously lost conflict. Yesterday morning I didn’t find a fresh “ Ex Libris ” with an envelope either on the kitchen table or on the work table.

That's the whole review for you.

And for the right people who paid, I inform you: don’t worry, I have you all registered. You will go private. On Monday, sort of.

The second point is a purely anti-alcohol trick.

OGI at Chistye is switching to a card system. It doesn't concern me, I guessed it. Because, according to my observations, such money as as much as 35 bucks exists in nature only among waiters. So contact them. I drink everything I have honestly.

It will be funny if, having become completely insolent and gone crazy from stupidity and piggishness, a year later the pie shop on Pyatnitskaya howls about the card system. There you have to wait two hours for food and they take tips straight from your pocket while you’re lying under the table in culture - don’t go there! It's bad there.

Summer is a small life...

Ehhhh.