What an intelligent Shvonder

Thanks to Mikhail Afanasyevich!

Once again I restored the picture of the world and put everything in its place.

I confess that I am a sinner. Before this, I was sometimes tempted by the revolutionary appeals, directness, sincerity and simply boyish ardor of Eduard Veniaminovich Limonov. And somewhere he was indignant with him.

How did it happen that we, seemingly intelligent people, so mediocrely squandered the wave of sublime and romantic protest? It began in December last year, it has subsided, and we have to raise a new one. Obviously, this will be more difficult to do.

In some of his endless sermons, I found simple answers to complex questions that worried me. I won’t hide that Zakhar Prilepin, who I read, also had a master’s hand in this.

Now I understand that I was mistaken. And it’s not about Navalny and Nemtsov, who were betrayed by revolutionary anathema. This happens sometimes in politics, even between comrades.

But why touch the great Bulgakov? His talent has been tested by time and generations of educated people of my country. I remember the puppy delight in the mid-70s, when I, an eighth-grader, read a samizdat pack of tissue paper with “The Master and Margarita” in Novosibirsk Akademgorodok.

A person who calls himself a Russian intellectual cannot say about “Heart of a Dog” that it is a disgusting and vile novel that sows social discord.

Well it can't!

I started to compare.

Indeed, universal resentment is driving Eduard Veniaminovich further and further from common sense. Without noticing it himself, he turned into a kind of intelligent Shvonder.

Like Bulgakov's hero, he confuses innocent, dog-like souls devoted to him and not just balls, but sincere, touching and pure young people.

I know what I'm talking about.

I know! Yes, and Limonov knows.

And perhaps this is the saddest thing.