Translated material
Projects of the unity of the nation. Snow.
Where I am now, it is snowing. Snow is not the first day, gradually noticing the hated by the prosecutor, although this is from another, of course, opera, and the sending looks even vulgar.
Nevertheless, he notice. In fact. Seriously. When I was little, I sat in front of a black and white TV and watched the news. In the news, America was often shown - it was nowhere else, only in the news. In black and white America it was snowing. Snow was a disaster for Americans. America calculated billions of losses, the cars got into some "traffic jams", the power lines collapsed. Funny blacks in ridiculous hats made sad faces. In general, a potential adversary, who was not supposed to regret, underwent nature. God was for us. God was with us, and the snow was with God.
Although God was written then in books, there was no. I went out somewhere for a while.
Here are fools, ”I thought then,“ these Americans. ” - Also me, disaster, - snow. And we have snow. We have snow more often here. And more snow. And nothing. We live.
Since then, much has changed. America, as it turned out, really exists, and for some reason many friends went there to live there, leaving us unpleasant memories. Or pleasant. It doesn't matter. We learned something from America. Snow, for example, turned into a disaster.
Snow falls, and where there is at least one car in Russia, a traffic jam occurs. Cities are buzzing and glowing, people are late, curses, exhaling curses and steam. People curse their snow. Our snow.
We, like Americans, begin to be afraid of snow.
But he is so beautiful in fact. Or, or rather, no. He is not - he is the water, just frozen, her last name, I read from the poet, who will have to remember again below, Serova, in itself - no, but surrounding the landscape, when the snow comes, acquires completeness.
You look around, you understand: all this arose, formed, built, by the way, when snow, the difference between artificial and natural objects dissolves, all this exists to cover it with snow.
It is strange that he sometimes melts.
Here-now-now, saying “here”, I do not mean the specific place in which I am currently in, it is just in the snow, and looks decent, no, I mean the homeland as a whole,-everything is quite non-casual here. We love, of course, touched, but this, if you are honest, the result of training, the generation of generation got used to touching, now it is somehow embarrassing to betray them, but seriously-terrible here. They will cripple, then collectivization or modernization, then the king just goes to the rebellious outskirts, along the road, the non -fragmentary center of the Karai, too, for the future.
Well, it’s dirty somehow or something. And why, by the way, to be applied if modernization, collectivization and garbage with inevitability forms again. Garbage is formed, it will require a bribe.
We are distracted.
So, when the snow, it gets dark or faster, and this is connected not only with the transition of the Fatherland to the winter time, of course, and then - all this is not visible. No signs of modernization. No graves, no garbage. And the king, if anything, does not reach. Getting bogged down. It will stuck in a traffic jam, and flashing lights on the hats of the oprichnaya army will not save.
When snow-calmly somehow in the Fatherland, you can stop, think. In general, not even scary. If people have not yet been indignant. They have snow, you see, trouble.
People should just calm down. Remember or understand that snow is just good. This is exactly what should be here. And for as long as possible. We need to love our snow again. The federal target program can be approved, for example, to allocate a budget, to steal a budget. It doesn't matter. If only the snow remained.
Love, they say, unites. And the nation could probably erase the lost unity by beloved by his snow.
By the way, something pleases. Here is the window, outside the window, in the yard is snow, and in the snow - children. Children are happy. They run, catch, - I promised to remember the classic again - snowflakes with fingers, scream. Not "winter", and not in English, of course.
“Fucked,” the children shout, “fucked up!”
And they, it seems to me, love snow.