Lev Pirogov. Black Mark #2

Black Mark #2
About time and Yatsutko, whose body is on all sides

Lev Pirogov

Publication date: December 4, 2000

Hello, dear friends.

I'm glad that the first issue of Roman Leibov's new landmark project "Black Mark" achieved its dirty goal. The prominent culturologist Kirill Kobrin , who became the first object of our biased attacks, became upset, picked a pimple on his forehead and died. This is what he writes to us:

I am somewhat embarrassed by RJ’s close attention to my humble person and my modest works. First - the tireless Mrs. Bulkina, then - some long-haired (judging by the photo) young man with an equally long surname, now you, who do not have a surname.

Essays, as you subtly noted, are a somewhat optional genre. You may like it or not, but it exists. It is foolish to expect scientific depth from him; but aesthetic freshness should be demanded. (...) If you wrote that Kobrin’s texts are boring, poorly written, rattle like an iron sheet in the November wind, then everything is fine and no complaints. Alas, I didn’t find anything like that in your vague, poorly written review.

The most unpleasant thing in your essay is the cheeky boorish tone, the lecherous gait, the mocking intonation. However, in the depths of RJ, this is (forgive the pompousness) the dominant discourse, set by the writings of Inga Laikina and Amphisbena Shvabrina. Alas.

These were, as you understand, excerpts.

"Woof!.." (c) - Poodle

Let's quickly move on to the next point. The evil and evil project " God's Ass " will be the next moment. The theme of the second issue, practically.

Oh, how good it is to write not from behind a mask! There is no need to pretend that you have something to say. It is enough to imitate the intonations of oral speech and from time to time follow (follow) the wise recipe of Mikhail Kotomin: “An online author is a boor.”

And okay. On the main page of the " Back " on the left there is some kind of Shaivist crap (Indologists, please correct me), which really is the same backside, because it is located in one very secret Indian temple and is turned towards visitors from the other side. And on the side that we see (on the main page), no one except the very, very secret priests is allowed to go.

“Where is the photo from?” - you ask. And this one prominent Indologist (damn, it took me five minutes to remember his simple surname) got in there for four bottles of vodka. Not Pyatigorsky, no. Stavropol prominent Indologist. He is an acquaintance of the cult writer Denis Yatsutko.

The personality of the cult Yatsutko is located on the same page to the right of the deity. But not the butt, unfortunately. But there are a lot of naked Yatsutkos found inside this wonderful project.

What is "God's Backside"? This is a certain aspect of life. Roughly speaking, all sorts of bad things. Death, illness, unpaid wages and crime. The complete list of bad things is located on the right on the page so carefully described here. It's time for you to open it already.

By sequentially poking with the mouse, you will find the table of contents of each of the sections, sequentially poking at them, you will find (oh how fair this is!!!) texts and pictures.

The texts tell mainly about the vision of the wrong side of life by the iconic Denis Yatsutko, and the pictures tell what the iconic Denis is like without panties. True, there are also non-anthropomorphic pictures - for example, " Fire ". Just fire, in kind, but served from the wrong side. In addition (which is not pleasing and cannot but console), there are other naked people there.

And among the text writers there are some very funny ones. Andrey Kolotilin , for example, or me . The main thing is that everything is short. Now about the same thing, but in detail.

* * *

Stephen King has such a novel - "The Longoliers" (not to be confused with "The Tommyknockers", otherwise I personally confuse it). There, if you remember, the passengers of the plane find themselves in the past. Not much, maybe for a second. And they discover that matches in the past do not burn, beer is rubbish, and cutlets do not have a delicate beef taste.

And all because time does not move with space, but along it. Wasted space (including things) fizzles out and fades away. Remember Brodsky: “A chair consists of a feeling of emptiness plus colored matter”? It turns out that it is a premonition (consists).

And, as follows from our first issue (Kirill Kobrin, however, did not understand this), existence, having made a virtual loop, joyfully returns to the arms of this very emptiness, as to its own beginning.

Samsara is nirvana.

They said about the Cubists that they were destroying reality, but they had a presentiment of it. In Cezanne’s pictures, nature is still settling into the vibration of color layers, appearing before a lazy viewer as it was a second ago. Picasso's Tauromachy depicts eight seconds in the life of a bull. Of course, absolute seconds - seconds of the creator.

The appearance of time, as we remember, depends on the point of view. The famous book by John William Dunn is dedicated to this deep thought, but if you have not read it, there is no need to despair and be upset. I'll give you a couple of important quotes from the novel Mucio , and everything will become clear.

* * *

sometimes it seemed that it had a much more complex structure than you imagine, and looking at the picture of the chocolate maker, you imagined that it was layered and layered, and these layers intersected at different angles, forming something beautiful, like a snowflake on Paula’s sleeve: it's cold and it doesn't melt - you can take it with your lips and put it on her nose

* * *

our relationship with time lies in the everyday plane of mutual dissatisfaction with each other

for some reason, people more often attribute to time the ability to go somewhere, and connect all their claims against it with its stopping; Well, with the mucio it was the other way around: either he wanted to be original, or I don’t know, but he somehow trusted the clock more than himself, and believed that since the clock was ticking, then there was no need to prove the passage of time, but it was necessary start from your feelings and take them as a surprise that happened over time, but the sensations were such that time does not stand still, but passes

I explain: a watch, as an object made by OTHER PEOPLE, is objective, but consciousness is subjective to the point of non-existence, and if a lot of sequences of consciousness pass between two glances at the watch, and the minute hand moved only two divisions, it means that time stood still, and you thought, that it GOES; exactly like that: it seemed to the muzi that time was passing

and given the relative constancy of finger fluency and thought fluency, it is easy to conclude that my fingers, and my thoughts, and everything else MINE is much less real than, say, a clock hanging on the wall, or a respected reader reading a real deep thought in a certain unit of time

* * *

The founder of the "Deity's Backside" project is also no stranger to ontological reflections. Once talking about being on the couch with one of the admirers of his talent, he noted a fact that interests us.

Wanting to give the relationship the effect of novelty, the admirer forbade the founder from kissing her boobs. This was expressed in a flirtatious turning of his back to the founder, which he kissed rather lazily, while epochally thinking the following thought: “A person has a body on all sides.”

The “ body ” section in “The Rear of the Deity” is the most interesting for the inquisitive researcher. One of the most impressive works is " Untitled ": note the flip-flops in the near right corner.

These slippers beneficially reminded me of one of Matisse’s favorite paintings, where, remember, a Turkish woman is sitting on a rug with her legs tucked under her, and next to her is an aquarium in which two small red fish are splashing around. And on the floor next to the rug are neatly arranged the slippers of the Turkish woman described above, at the whim of either the artist or my unbridled imagination, terribly similar to the red fish described above.

And if, standing in front of the picture, you properly squint your inner third eye, then you cannot help but think about what comes first in the mirror world of art?.. And either the slippers reflect the fish, or are the fish a reflection of the slippers (in the world of art) ?

Such thoughts often torment me, and people always insist that I am a fool. One day we were drinking vodka at the new O.G.I. with the director of the publishing house Sasha Ivanov and another good and significant person. The vodka was delicious, Sasha drank it the most. I began to express myself in the sense that we are often tormented by thoughts about the dissimilarity of a chicken egg to a billiard ball. A good man tutted at me and said: “If you say such crap again, Sasha won’t want to be friends with you.”

Please do not ignore this other fact with your inquisitive attention. The modest founder of Zada ​​repeatedly drew my attention in personal conversations to the beauty of his body. Empirical acquaintance with this indisputable fact (the indisputability of which I, however, did not doubt) somehow in a special way reminds us of the ability of ancient men to give birth from the thigh to all sorts of things useful to people.

And for some reason, contemplation of this fact makes me think about the toilet, in the context of which Brodsky’s idea that the chair consists of a premonition of emptiness takes on some new, painfully wise meaning.