Alexander Ulanov. Love by e-mail

" T s, you open towards me like a fish ... The bodies are in contact and go through each other through the waves, over the surges, breathing is cold, the deck is covered with frozen ... You freeze in arms, and in your eyes the ashes and flames of pompi." But who is it, where, when? Russian Petersburg floats on Petersburg, USA, Virginia. Wife - on the dog. "Suddenly I got married, she knew when I led her to slaughter, on the day of her death I did not want to see anyone, still storing a leash." The time of the phrase is also vague. "Grandmother straightened him upside down with a curly badge, and then died, helped to stand on children's short skis." Where is it? Apparently, on the shelf "with Shakespeare's volumes on Spanish, Cervantes in English, Cicero in Greek." Or in its more modern computer version. In the text.

The heroine Meklin is a writer. Very writing. The text does not leave even at moments when, it seems, the head should spin, and the roof should go. "Your language was deep in my mouth, as if checking, exploring whether I was written in the day ... When you were in me, we seemed to investigate the extensive plot ..." The text is a means of life. "To remove pieces from the text, thus changing life outwardly." The means of organizing impressions. Correspondence is enough for excitement. At the entrance to the electronic mailbox , "she felt how touched the groin, the matter got wet." The world of imagination. "The labia is like darts, seized along the edges, a soft dense fish ridge, a ribbed feeling: the index passes inside." The frankness of the computer game. Virtual sex, always risking slipping - and sometimes slipping - in the description, only description.

"The rage and juices of my body turn into words, and the words fill the page ... After all, love is given to me in order to write beautifully about it ..." . Words, words, words ... Perhaps Meklin repeats it so often because he understands: this is a kind of curse. "Curses" not a poet, but an email and a living magazine. With great problems in contact with extra -spring experience. With great doubt, is there anything at all behind the words. "Aldo told about several scenes from the story" Cheating ", and he, having entered the rage, wanted to repeat something." This line is precisely from the story "treason". The story begins to quote by actions before its end.

In the world of Meklin, one cannot be sure that this is a person, and not another character of the story in the story. What are we dealing with - with the addition of life by imagination or with memory? The dizzying events from the life of acquaintances throwing semiotics and making money on business on diamonds who fall into a psychiatric hospital and shooting boys on the street - are there any?

But imagination is also a reality. And the border is really blurry. Do we not simplify reality, do we make it too motionless with its boring questions about existence, which can have a lot of different options? Are we closing the road to the game? Characters Meklin - play. To photograph in the mirror of the famous hotel your own vague appearance, imagining yourself a little anis Nin. And then no one will stand in a pose, he will not take himself too seriously. Meklin will not build a Taj Mahal from every good fuck (in which D.G. Lawrence L. Darrell reproached).

However, one must be able to simultaneously combine modes of reality and distinguish. Otherwise - longing for human lightness, not paper. Dolls that they love more than people. A man who played in chess of art dealery so that he needs black magic to distract him to love, no less. The cardboardness of melodramatic disasters. "They crashed on an airplane. I also have the smell of their bodies, in me his sperm is still in it, in it - my sperm, and they are no longer there." The doctor is handed over a bouquet from a grateful patient, and she herself has already died at that moment. And the search for a killer sending bombs by mail can turn into a story, show, words. What to do with it? Resolve each time again. Filled with terrifying and accurately transmitted details, the memory of the Holocaust may turn out to be a lie belonging to a person who was born later and in another place - but this does not cancel either the Holocaust or the skill of the narrator.
And the text continues to dance like an acrobat on a rope. "He called Nibelung, bypassed, a watchdog, did not touch, did not know who brought, without leaving a note, was afraid to look, to the black mills a dead horse" - a rhythm and inversion, and really - a candidate for the award of Andrei Bely. Theater, circus, musical, cinema. The spectacle is in contrast to the household nothing. Everything is more transparent and more ghostly. Writers, bankrupt merchants, emigrants are those who are in difficult freedom of uncertainty. Two plays a husband and wife for the American immigration service - and then they really become them - which does not interfere with the presence of lovers and lovers, probably. The phrases are repeated with small shifts, gradually turning them into absurdity. "The work is multiplied by itself, it multiplies with itself - with a slope, a roll - length, some words are supported in other words indicating the same subject ." Infinity and variability of minimalist music. What is a person made of? "After it, a collection of different-caliber pens, 2-3 belts, a folder with photographs of Siegfried, Vladimir, Faust, Italian narrow shoes, is motley, like a Hawaiian blouse ... It seems to me that he thinks about slow Egyptian women, about the funeral processions of the whipping fly agaric in the forest." But after a minute, the set of remaining can become different.

It is interesting to include in the book a review of the biography of Virginia Wolf. Also text - interaction with the world, not only email or story. Despite the fact that the review is also either a good prose, or it should not be at all. And she is precisely concentration on the book, not self -expression. "How much sense can you accommodate how many cups fall, while you read for a long time or just take your eyes on the page?"

The writer of these lines is also a character Meklin (page 249). However, in his reality he was never sure.