Dmitry Prigov: The only European

Dmitry Prigov

With great delay, I visited Egypt. And he almost cried, again with an unkind word, removing Soviet power, which ruined a good sculptor in me. If at one time I had the opportunity to see all this ancient Egyptian (as, in turn, a collection of Etruscan sculpture in Rome), I would not have become a soldered avant -garde, but would have grown in a solid sculptor. Come on, I'm not talking about that.

What is striking in Egypt? I am not talking about antiquity, by the way, many spoiled by early Christians. And in this regard, we must pay tribute to the Muslims about their completely correct attitude and preservation of local attractions, to which, by the way, they have neither national, nor racial, nor religious, nor cultural attitude. Unless geographical. But I'm not talking about that.

So, a crazy, inconsistent amount (unless, of the size of a fundamental-terrorist threat) all kinds of police officers, military and other militarized guards at all kinds of intersections and checkpoints protruding helmets due to armored shields at the entrance to the hotels and simple stores is striking.

Well, there is no thing to go anywhere, the wretchedness of the dwellings of the local poor among either crumbling, felts of crumbling clay semi -bar. Their gray-fucked look, in the color of the deserts approaching from everywhere, contrasts sharply with the juicy green color of the vegetation. And buses with tourists rush past all this wretchedness, like some shining angels. Like Beme: an angel among hell flies in his cloud of paradise.

It is clear that the centers of cities are full of all kinds of luxury and brilliance of modern life. Yes, it is not for you to explain it to me. But I'm not talking about that.

I am rather about Bakshish. About this word, incessantly hovering in the air. Local barefoot inhabitants instantly run to the stopped tourist bus with the shouts of “Bakshish!”. According to the half -pushed explanation of our guide, this is not even begging, but an officially rooted way of functioning local life. And, having paused, he asks at the end of the tour to leave in specially prepared envelopes of Bakshish to all surrounding us. This is not accepted to hide. One of the mentioned militarized guards, peering out from behind his armored shield, pointed with his gaze at the simple ballpoint pen that was seen in my breast pocket: “Bakshish!”.

In the temple, the caretaker of a regular, not closed compartment with a mysterious look shows you a simple detail that you yourself would find and examined. And, again, asks for this money-Bakshish! As if the caretaker, say, in the Tretyakov Gallery, conspiratorially beckoning you with a finger, showed Surikov’s picture. And she asked for that tips. But no. It’s wrong with us.

Although I'm not quite right. Judging by the last noisy criminal affairs in the highest spheres, everything is in order at the top, and even the dimensions of Bakshish are determined. And considerable. The grandiose are simple. And this is called a rollback.

According to, so to speak, to the Western canons live just all a social trifle.

So another Russian myth has been destroyed that our government is the only European. It turns out that the only European has a people.

Dmitry Prigov: The only European

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