Vyacheslav Kuritsyn. Kuritsyn-weekly from December 10

Kuritsyn-weekly from December 10
Vyacheslav Kuritsyn

Publication date: December 10, 2001

Darkness

There are a lot of scary things in St. Petersburg. For example, vodka acts differently. If in Moscow, after the second bottle, I gain extraordinary firmness in the contour, Mendeleev’s strength, then in St. Petersburg the villain with the sticker cuts me down.

Take last night. I walked home at night staggering like an alcoholic from a cartoon. Walked, he really understood that he was disgusting, he was afraid of a gang of teenagers profiting from drunken pockets. Instead of teenagers, a large cop stepped around the corner. Of course, it stops me. He takes the document and says that I will go with him, because I am very drunk and generally look suspicious.

And the cop is absolutely right. I really look, so to speak, not easy.

However, I cannot go with him. First of all, I just want to go home and sleep, and not go to jail with a cop. Secondly, I have a pistol in my pocket. Without bullets, true, but it still lasts for several years.

I had found the pistol on a park bench a couple of hours earlier. It is clear that there was no need to take it. It punches a hole in the energy sector and is not needed at all. But I'm a fool, so I took it. With a thought such as in the evening at home, you should carefully examine it - and only then throw it away. Well done, in short.

I explain to the cop that I don’t want to go with him, but I just want to give him money. And I try to hand over 160 rubles that I found in my pocket. Doesn't take it. You, he says, are so drunk that you will come with me.

And I have another hundred bucks. Well, there’s nothing to do, I start giving him a hundred bucks. And then he completely gasps and says: they don’t give that kind of money so easily. I can't let you go! Weapons-drugs? And he reaches out to pat me on the sides and is practically touching the place behind which I have the unfortunate gun in my inner pocket.

Here I, a fool, reacted like a smart one. He tore at my coat, saying to search it, and dumped what was in my outer pockets into my palm. And there is another set: two mobile phones and a voice recorder in the shape of an incomprehensible stick. The guy is completely out of it, why, he whispers, two mobile phones, and what kind of thing is this... And I waved my hand, put a hundred in his breast pocket, carefully took the passport from his hand and left. And he remained standing overlooking the Mikhailovsky Castle.

I ran to the canal and threw the gun into the water, or rather, into the slush of snow that was there instead of pure ice.

Lord, why do you keep me? Please keep it for more.

Potemkin

Little can be added to the above. Perhaps the poems of Maximilian Potemkin, winner of slam number two...

The rain creeps along the window, blurring the glass quietly.
It's not the sound of a clock - it's a millstone, but what's the point?
I am worthy of what I smoke and what I am inspired by.
I live in July, I worship November from afar.

I'll go half-drunk hexameter straight to tomorrow.
With an epileptic's fingers, the vine will bend suddenly.
A mediocre poet told me in a binge at the station
That I, of course, am not there. I nodded nonchalantly.

So what am I talking about? I'm lying there, lounging like the neighbor's bitch.
The day crawls with its knees into the mud from nighttime leisure.
In the gray wilds of the soul, either a muse is circling, or a larva.
The rain, crucified on the stacks, is blissful. Golden freebie!

***

... I see a river that is paler than the coming moon,

Bigger than the sky, where the stars are numbered,
Where is the golden pillar, without noticing the purple ridge,
Will touch the ground where our footprints are not ...

... Suddenly a seagull breaks loose, pushing the parapet away from itself
And - as if into water. And only a shining trail
For four moments he will dance on the river skin,
Like the thought of you at the end of the night's sadness ...