Under the black veil

Colta.ru continues to publish the diary of Dmitry Volchek, journalist and writer. Other fragments for 2016 can be read here , here , here , here , here , here and here .

December 4, Houston

In the middle of the night, B. calls the phone. We cannot fall asleep for a long time; When we fall asleep, he dreams that his mother died, and to me - that in Karlovy Vary, a backpack with money and documents were stolen in a taxi.

They promise showers all day. We decide to leave for Dallas, where there is no such rain. In the tragically empty, despite Sunday and free entrance, the Museum of Contemporary Art is a huge exhibition of Bruce Weber, including a photograph that I loved so much before - “Bruno and Edwardo in the room of 500 Kopakabana Hotel”, an enthusiastic look of a well -shied blonde. Weber is too brainless to be a good photographer; Look at the serene faces of Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell is unbearable. The Fort Wert Museum amazes with its scope. Exhibition of Kit Herring, nicknamed Kavs (gigantic sobbing Mickey Makes), steel birch in the yard, an excellent Bacon self-portrait. In the neighboring building- Kimbell Art Museum -paintings that should hang in the Louvre: Cardigers of Caravaggio, “Temptation of St. Anthony” of 13-year-old Michelangelo, “Skeletons warming by the oven” of Ensor and other treasures. The most interesting thing in America is European art. For the first time I meet Russians in Texas: the grandmother looks reproachfully at the Mother of God and announces: “And the boy is without panties!”

Dinner in the cowboy district Stockyards . In the arena, where Rodeo ended, smells of horror. Everywhere ugly half -dead souvenirs. Mexican fools sell a tin on the door: We Are Politically Incorrect . At the neighboring tables are mestizos with the faces of the killers who have just fallen off the zone, and their tragic heifers. And again they pour me lemonade with ice.

December 5, Dallas - Washington

I get sick from foul ice, in the morning I almost can’t speak. In the supermarket I find pills, temporarily erasing symptoms. We go to the square, where Kennedy was shot by 53 years ago, and now the sophisticated trade in souvenirs dedicated to the murder is deployed.

The city museum in the red building of the former court. In Dallas, pink cadillac, elegant clothes for pregnant women and a calculator were invented. We pass our red Ford, B. flies to Atlanta, and I am to the capital of the world where young A. He first came to Washington in his car, frightened by traffic, the police drove him off the parking lot, his hands were shaking when he tries to turn off the scoop. On my plane, I laid my ears so that I hear my voice as if from a rusty pipe, and the whole scene turns into a clowning. A. was driving for an hour, and by midnight he needs to return to Virginia. We go to the Ethiopian restaurant "Queen of Savskaya." He does not like pancakes, he eats nothing, I. The waitress asks him Aidi and refuses to bring beer, since he is a minor. Ethiopes are unhappy with us: they bring not ready Doggy Bag , but a box and a spoon. We go to Dupont Circle , where Lesin died, smug gay roams around. The gap in the subway is similar to the nostril of Ai Toyon, into which the capitalists sucked the Soviet air. On the way, A. reads the poems of his friend R. We walk in circles around the Shaw area, similar to the Hague, smoke self -circle in the car and listen to Arseny and Glintsheik. A. looked on my advice the “theorem” and did not understand why Terent Stamp is him. My hotel on the next street, there is no sign, but the welcome old man opens the door of the mansion, a strict black woman appears behind him. This is a copy of the house in which I lived in Ayov, everything is clogged by a meaningless Brikabra. A. wants me to come to him in Virginia tomorrow. Why not? I don’t know what to do with things, and I decide to throw a bag with all the clothes in Washington. Why is this junk? There are no pockets in the coffin. Heydar Jemal died in Moscow. Dudinsky survived everyone.

December 6th

On foot along the Dutch streets inhabited by the sad Africans, I am going to the National Gallery under small rain. Here you can spend several years here, but, having passed the halls with the figurines of Degas, the standard sculptures of Rodin, the drawings of Rembrandt, Venetian painting (two beautiful paintings by Pietro Longs: playing the pot and fake fainting), the retrospective of Stewart Davis, 40 years old imitating Picasso, I calculate that it is time in Virginia. I am immediately taken by a harsh black woman on Toyota Camry does not utter a word, does not even react to a secular remark about the rain. The downpour begins, the sad Virzhinsky fields are not visible behind the streams. A. Waiting for me in college, he skipped a lecture, we eat Kish in a village restaurant, travel on wet roads, drink tea. He says that plastic people with plastic wives and plastic dreams live here. He wants to become someone else, but does not know who and how. It would be nice to earn a few million, and then take a loaf for five years. He was born in Walpurga Night and marked by the highest force. Under dramatic rain we say goodbye forever. The airport sells things with Trump erysipelas (buy a mug with his stroke) and Hillary Items with a fifty percent discount. The plane is half -empty, I get a whole row, I go to three seats at once and fall asleep.

December 7, London - Tallinn

Alarm day. The transition from one Khitrov terminal to another is one and a half hour torment. On the way, I read the old collection of Khodorkovsky - his tortured correspondence with Strugatsky, Ulitskaya, articles about the left turn. In passport control, as luck would have it, the iPad sees, and instead of the landing coupon, Khodorkovsky’s book arises. I threw all the things in Washington, there is no luggage, the driver in Tallinn meets me instantly, until the hotel is 15 minutes, I even have time to shave before the interview.

Khodorkovsky turned around. He has a good mood: the court unlocked 100 million dollars that stuck in his accounts in Ireland. I forget almost all the questions that I planned, except for one thing: why does the cat keep a rabbit in his Facebook picture. After the flight from Dallas, an ear is laid to Washington and gurgles in my head. I go to drink Vana Tallinn with a khazov cassia and a soup, and then at the Khodorkovsky awards ceremony. All this happens in some kind of “county”, the audience is motley: Masha Slonim, which I have not seen about 20 years, Gevorkyan, Bozhena Rynsk, Kostyuchenko, Huyo Zeppelt, Wright Shuster, Arkhangelsk and there was a mass of provincial journalists. Everything is slightly conspiracy so that the NTV shakes do not penetrate. In the hall, round tables decorated with flowers seems to be either for a wedding or a corporate party. The presentation is wretched: cynical consent, terrible infographics for three kopecks, brainless magazines that are unable to utter anything intelligible. The worst of all are people whom the MBH hired to work in their movement: mediocrity hits them with fountains. Some fool will be engaged in culture. For lunch, “beef cheeks” are served, which I do not eat, and “sweetness”, which I do not stand before, because I am going to a beautiful basement with Pavel Sobolev. It turns out that he is not a Jew and not an Estonian, but the Russian, and his Russophobia is Self-Chat Red . My company has moved to the Hell Hunt bar. Here are people from the Serebrennikov Theater, I see Blond Nikita, who was in love with the student. Andrei Loshak offers a drink Vana Tallinn . I drink too many, I shoot cigarettes and return to the Khodorkovskaya hotel Telegraph.

December 8th

Under the Estonian rain we have been going with Cassia and Super for a long time to a huge museum of contemporary art, where there is almost nothing good. At first, Estonians timidly imitated Munku, then Picasso, then Warhol. The most important non -conformist, Yolo Stoster, is very bad. I only like Peter Mudist: people standing around gray emptiness.

We are waiting for the Uber on the wet porch of the house of Peter I. I buy a Christmas tree toy from the famous Nazi set in an antique store: Red with a swastika. I have not been in Tallinn for 25 years, just then the Soviet Union was dismissed. We are going to the airport with Elena Kostyuchenko and Masha Trotskaya from Brussels, who makes beads from the magazine "Spark" and confuses Masha Slonim with Masha Hesse. From Tallinn - to Brussels, from Brussels - to Prague. The ear, seemingly thawed, was again laid.

December 9th

I think about imminent collapse, and in all directions. Need to leave immediately again, but where? Unless in Paris, on your retrospective. Around Christian dirty tricks, Christmas concerts. In the left ear is a crack and squeak.

December 10

I re -read the diary of Ilyanen in search of extra commas. I agreed with Nugatov on the translation of the Atlantic Island "Duver and send an application to Minuit . I, like an old monkey in an abandoned zoo, jump in an unlocked cage.

December 11th

I translate five pages of conversations with Bowls (funny stories about Tanger psychopaths) and go to the film of a Kittykova’s film about the crazy artist Jacob Sea. Red threads are tied to his back, the performance was put in a mental hospital Bognitsa near my house. Eva Kotyutkova speaks extremely quickly, like an excited bird, I understand from the strength a third of her Czech words. I drink ginger tea in the Louvre with S. and discuss political anxieties. The Secretary of State seems to be appointed Putin's lobbyist.

December 12th

Too late discovered that Varlikovsky shows Apollonia in Warsaw. Of course, no tickets. But it turned out that he puts Iphigenia in Garnier at the end of December, and why wouldn't I go, and from there - for the new performance of Adasinsky to Dresden?

The trial of Bukovsky: on the computer - thousands of photos and films with boys 6-12 years old. He says that it was a hobby, like collecting brands. I buy rights to the Atlantic Island. ISIS (organization is prohibited in the Russian Federation. - Ed. ) Again took Palmyra.

December 13th

I wake up late, I'm late for the Czech lesson, but I transfer two more pages of Bowles. Rex Tillerson was appointed Secretary of State. The ear did not pass.

From G. in a Thai restaurant, then in NOD , we drink, as they gathered, a lot of pink wine. In Berlin, he was hanging out with Bruce Labrus for three days: the Fiken-3000 club, amphetamines, the random e*la, already prescribed a Russian doctor in Prague and spent a day with him in bed. Takes pills from bipolar disorder and looks like me in youth.

December 14, Antwerp

I had to get up at 5, my head is cracking from yesterday’s pink, I did not get enough sleep. The plane in Amsterdam is detained for 40 minutes. On the way to the airport, I find out that Yufit died last night.

But why am I flying to Amsterdam? This is madness, I need in Brussels, from there half an hour to Antwerp, and two from Amsterdam. I buy a donut and dump all the sugar powder on a jacket. On the way, I read the "black veil of the pastor." At the station, like Trentignan in the film "Trans -European Express", Lily and Kostya are waiting for me. We eat soup from the pare in a vegan restaurant. The Museum of Contemporary Art is terrible, 5 floors of wretched photographs of the 70s, some Beliberda of cardboard, Iranian samizdat and bread masks made by an artist from Antwerp, traveling along North Ossetia. Where are they Delhi Ensor and Magritt? We go with a lily in boutiques, buy Drykorn pants and a David Nyman jacket, all this climbs into a bottomless backpack. We have dinner near the same museum, a mussel pan and Belgian beer. Karina Karaeva with a retinue appears and leaves, Kornienko appears and joins us. We are almost late to the church, where the performance of Castelculi is satisfied, we need to enter the yard on another street. Willem Defoe appears in a black veil, we are all given prayer books, we sing the anthem. Defoe reads a preaching written by Kastelulcy's sister Claudia. From beer, mussels and insomnia, I also have a black veil in front of my eyes. I am terribly weakened and will die soon, so the new jacket will go to cynical migrants from Yemen. We are sitting in the front row right in front of the definos, who tells from the amvon that he was visited by a winged creature and handed over the key. We repeat the words of prayer after him, he leaves, and behind his back the cascade will go out.

For two hours we drink coffee and argue about political correctness. I find a letter in the garbage mail that there is no porter in the hotel after 23 hours, and I, unlike definos, did not bother to take the key. The phone does not answer, but a crumpled witch appears and unlocks the door.

December 15

I sleep 10 hours and pass the hotel breakfast: for the better, because nearby is an optimistic cafe illuminated by the winter sun.

Andrei’s son is lost in India, but then is located.

In the Rocoxhouse Museum, an amazing puppeteon of Fouquet, an erotic crucified varavoy, darkened Gauda cheese, similar to Krazy Kat in the scene of the fall. In the cathedral - the boring Rubens and the excellent "seven sorrows of the Mother of God" of 1910. Again, a mussel pan in Provensal and beer. Great Museum Mayer Van Den Berg with Jesus, lovingly hugging the Apostle John, and the hall of Brueghel with a “crazy dress” - I know all her toads since childhood. Two hours with a transplant, I’m going to a scheme. It is necessary to buy tickets to Paris, Dresden and the Prague Spring (Göbbels was bought on a few hours on the first day of sales). How much spring will the old man see?

Everywhere photographs of the suddenly deceased Yufit (thrombus). In 1985, he had a completely empty room, and a note from the magazine “The Court goes” with the history of the Hanover’s strangler hung on the red wallpaper. Then, during the time of bourgeois freedoms, they went to All - Male tour trips with Sokurov and returned embarrassed, but did not say anything, although I was terribly interesting.

December 16th

Yesterday I was too lazy to buy tickets to Paris, and today I paid - they are already 3,000 crowns more expensive. But there is no way to go anywhere, because there is already a ticket to Garnier on Varlikovsky.

I finish the editing of Bowles, and then I begin to sneeze. It's worse and worse: it seems that I got infected on the plane, the virus breaks, turns over, knocks out bulkheads. In the evening I was going to have dinner with G., but now I have to cancel, and I think that these Higher Forces do not specifically allow us to communicate for some reason: the last time they even broke his train.

December 17

In the morning even worse, the temperature under 38, you can forget about dinner with G., tomorrow it flies away. I buy tickets for Prague Spring. Maybe the Higher Forces commanded me to release the 69th issue of the magazine (just gone today) and die? It would be elegant.

December 18

I wake up quite healthy. I’m starting to watch the first film by Ulyo Lommel, it makes no sense in it, Fassbord wanders in a lilac shirt, Eddie Konstanten mixes something in test tubes (it seems that this is a parody of “alphaville”), but all together, since then, beautiful people have removed from production. It is necessary to finish the magazine, read the Juando, but I can only look at the ceiling. In the head of the inexorable rumble of machine tools.

December 19

The film "Tickled" about a crazy millionaire-millionaire, who, posing as a woman, forced the boys to tickle each other. There is a demand for this, and another intelligent person who removes porn with a tickle bought a decent house with a pool. People who can realize all their sexual fantasies immediately go crazy (so Bowls Bishoff said).

Portraits of eminent customers, unknown pop stars, TV presenters and actresses, I know only the conductor of Beloglavek, were posted in the foster gunshide. Some pose directly in devices that measure myopia and pressure. I have 16x18, and from modesty I hide from the doctor that it is inconvenient for me to read with glasses for reading. It seems to begin with farsightedness.

In the Arch, Black Buto: the performance of Min Tanaki and his girlfriend, whom I first take for an exhausted boy. They suffer among stones and barbed wire. We have dinner with Tolya in Chez Marcel : a tiny onion soup, like for a doll.

In Ankara, an elegant man shot the Russian ambassador at the opening of the exhibition, and in Berlin right near the TSOO, where I took place five thousand times, the villain crashed into the Christmas market in a truck. In addition, the 99-year-old Jar Gabor died.

December 20

Michelle Morgan also died.

For the whole day I did absolutely nothing: as soon as I start doing something meaningful, the wires begin to buzz in my head. I decided to go to Berlin, where they catch the killer, and go to the violin concert in the Philharmonic. At the same time I will watch the films of the Omer Fast, Boros C Ollection and Tarrell's installation in the cemetery.

December 21

The Kostreleva film about a Sosnor, he is beautiful in old age, but has already turned into a bush or flower. Walks in diapers, 80 years old. Why do I need this? We must buy Nembutal as soon as possible. I fall asleep, then I wake up and I want to do something, but I do not do anything.

December 22

It is necessary to pass fingerprints in the police, I have never been there, it’s behind the park, but in the morning I feel bad, and it seems to me that the park will not succeed in crossing the park: I don’t know if this is a fantasy or in fact a disease. I walk along Milada Khorokova Street, I buy two cupcakes of mochi on the road in the Asian store and tea from artichoke. This is a police department for references, a small reception department, everything takes 10 minutes, I will have an idiotic face until 2026, but I do not expect to survive. Now you need to make an American visa again.

I run away from work to Tom Ford about the suffering gallery and violence on the way to Marfu, not bad.

December 23

24 years from the day of the death of Wittkop, who committed suicide or just died in disgust the day before Christmas. Reprinted the collection of her poems. All day I edit Juando's book about animals. It’s more difficult to read: the orchestra rumble in my head, something gurgles and squeaks. I could not recover, a runny nose and weakness. Разглядываю куртки из новой коллекции Acne . Лучшая стоит 2200 евро. Когда-то это казалось гигантской суммой, сейчас уже не поймешь.

24 декабря, Париж

Оказалось, что мой рейс — последний в рождественскую ночь. До аэропорта ходит только один кривой автобус в зимней пустоте, и я — единственный пассажир; все закрыто, и магазины, и рестораны. Целый день болит голова — кажется, отравление орехами, а может, что-то с давлением. Погода меняется, мелкий дождь.

Рамка в пустом аэропорту пищит, мой билет не читается сканером: возможно, это предупреждение, что грядет какая-то пакость. Надо сидеть дома, купить роскошный матрас и целыми днями читать Чехова.

Сложными путями добираюсь до Сакре-Кёр точно к полуночи. Наверху звонят рождественские колокола, а внизу молодые арабы слушают рэп и курят марихуану: не знаю, вызов это неверным или им нет дела до младенца Иисуса и его приключений.

Встречаюсь с Марусей и Лилей. Они хохочут, нарушая рождественское благолепие. На мессе не так уж много людей. Наверное, робкие христиане боятся терактов. Много индусов и латиносов; неистово трогают куклу младенца Иисуса в вертепе, суют пальцы в чашу с водой, щупают статую Богоматери: тактильная вера, как у Фомы. Вылезает недо*банная американка, похожая на воблу в сиреневом свитере, и молится в микрофон по-английски. Пора спать.

25 декабря

Разбился военный самолет с хором Александрова, журналистами трех телеканалов и доктором Лизой, потом умер Джордж Майкл. Я же иду пешком до Помпиду, единственного работающего в городе музея. Выставка Сая Твомбли гениальна, хожу, как кот вокруг сметаны, по залу, где висит цикл о злодеяниях императора Коммода, 50 лет назад возмутивший критиков. Выглядит это так, словно маньяк напал на картины Бэкона и долго лупил по ним шваброй. Еще четыре часа смотрю сначала советское искусство из коллекции Потанина (Пригов ест курицу и поет арию; сколько стоят теперь «гробики стихов», которые он мне дарил?), выставку египетского сюрреализма, а потом работу, которая получила приз Дюшана: фильм и инсталляцию, посвященные воображаемым конечностям и фантомным болям. Только к четырем часам, когда снова начинается мигрень, понимаю, что забыл пообедать. Заказываю овощной суп и ризотто в бессмысленном месте, приходит Маруся, двигаемся к опере, разговаривая о судьбах всемирных фриков. Веселкин просит милостыню, Донских фон Романов хотел жениться на Татьяне Никольской, Франсуа Жибо уже 90 лет, но у него новые любовники.

Мигрень с адской силой начинается в опере, ко второму отделению делается нестерпимой, а потом резко прекращается. Варликовский перенес действие из храма Дианы на курорт для старух 50-х годов, разгородил сцену огромным зеркалом и раздел призрак красивого Ореста догола. Никогда еще не слышал столь сокрушительного свиста и буканья.

Очень воодушевлен и по дороге на площадь Клиши подпрыгиваю от восторга: я еще жив! Правда, от эспрессо бешено начинает стучать сердце, но решаю не обращать внимания. В телефоне пристают страшные люди, в том числе серопозитивный индус в гротескных очках.

26 декабря, Париж — Прага — Дрезден

Хочу дойти пешком до Северного вокзала, но сворачиваю на Монмартрское кладбище и фотографирую могилу Виктора Браунера. Вот пугающая судьба: он несколько раз рисовал себя с вытекшим глазом, а потом ему и впрямь выбили глаз, правда, другой. Такая прямая шутка тех, кто над нами надзирает. Голова не болит, но чувствую себя ужасно, почти как в Бергамо (сглаженная форма панической атаки после крепкого чая). Самолет задерживают на час из-за спущенного колеса, и я представляю, что мы валимся в море, как вчера путинские музыканты. Но успеваю доехать до дома, купить в пустом после праздников ресторане пиццу, а потом, засыпая на ходу, добраться с Серебряными в Дрезден (наконец-то открыли весь автобан, который строили 30 лет, и теперь ехать всего полтора часа). Ужинаем в Хеллерау, выпиваю два бокала розового чилийского вина. Derevo продает барахло в комнате, превращенной в блошиный рынок, бродит Адасинский в костюме бомжа, и никто на него не обращает внимания. Труппа исчезла, он превращается из клошара в мнимого покойника, прародительницу Еву, Демиса Руссоса, сгорает на адской сковородке и становится новым существом, сотворенным из звездной пыли. Кажется, это уже конец, прощальный спектакль, но черт знает.

Из Баварской оперы пишут, что Варликовский ставит у них «Женщину без тени» и «Меченых» в июле. Придется ехать туда из Карловых Вар. Жизнь еще теплится в остывающих печах.

December 27

Доделан журнал, все исправления внесены. Наверное, это последний номер, нет сил собирать еще один. Звоню Божене Рынской, которую хотят лишить гражданства, как Троцкого.

28 декабря

В кунстхалле города Эмден выставка Николая Аструпа, о котором я читал в «Гардиан». Рядом Бремен, так что можно навестить Суперфина. Больше ехать некуда, Европа закатилась. Засыпаю, так и не доделав Жуандо.

29 декабря

Кастеллуччи ставит «Тангейзера» в Мюнхене. Обама высылает российских дипломатов, целую стаю. Говорю с финансовым аналитиком Демурой, который больше не предрекает падение рубля до 125, потом иду стричься и беседовать с парикмахером, потрясенным смертью Джорджа Майкла. Весь день туман.

30 декабря

Начинаю читать замысловатого педофила Энгуса Стюарта о Танжере и воспоминания Марины Абрамович. Опять мигрень непонятной природы.

December 31

Сбегаю с работы в кино, на фильм «Arrival» про инопланетян, думаю, что впереди старость, а вокруг идиоты, ужасный Путин, ужасный Трамп.

Ужинаем в ресторане Carmelita , который летом мне нравился, а зимой разонравился. Закрываются они в 23:30, идем на берег Влтавы, нет шампанского. Скучные люди отпугивают свою смерть, запуская шутихи. Поскорее домой.

Неужели удалось дожить до 2017 года? Анальная клоунада не кончается.

To be continued.