Postpost

I would write that he was good, but it turned out - he is alive!

The rumor spread that Dragunsky had died. He became dead instantly and so sorrowfully, so marblely beautiful, so deeply significant, humanly attractive, so tearfully needed that now his living, vulgar, exuding a noisy, untidy life is simply intolerable. Living Dragoon is not suitable for Dragunsky - the deceased.

Yuri Nagibin, diary

In the difference from individual friends, in my editions of relatives, I publish on Monday, I write during the weekend - and do not lead the blog (poems and prose - this is my blog). And therefore I could not write a necrologist about Babchenko. In general, as soon as someone died, lay down in a mortal bed, write about it urgently in a room is not the best way to grieve. A marvelous salvation happened, having chewing the mournful works, and we waited on Sunday with a beautiful evening of Wednesday. What a wonderful fate, damn it! In a cold evening, visiting, I said nothing - and was spared from rinsing in networks. And how would I drag the summer Moscow with such a burden? I would write that he was good, but it turned out - he is alive!

In the soul, of course, we are piranha. Such a disappointment is already raging on the Web that God is just forgiving, and they explain - here is the reckoning - other sinful lips with the special operation of Pilate the fact of the resurrection of Christ. I don’t know who had not yet giggled on Poroshenkov’s power, did not call the bazaar circus, did not advise falling, and Koch pulled them severely, and the European seal ... But somehow I will remain silent again on this subject. Already a mass and the elite in this consciousness at the same time: today you write - the bottom is penetrated, but tomorrow it will come out that it is not the bottom. Today, the audience is one (and I am already one with them) that the justification of Ukraine sounds funny than Mr. Bin; The cohort of the villains screens, having mastered an indecent gesture, about thirty -eight parrots and forty -seven sacred victims ... Oh persecution, about dog weddings! And he won’t understand another simpleton that he would have remained silent for a couple of days - and everything will be wrong. Here we giggle, and to hell with us! A new turn will happen - and suddenly it turns out that Herman is an agent of the Kremlin cooks, and they will give arguments, and everyone will be on business, and the spy network will be presented just under the mundial itself ...

From journalistic excitement, my humble disposition is free: what if it turns out the next day, that the prosecutor Lutsenko is right? We recognize the main loss, damage to the critical mind: there is nothing that I do not believe in, and I do not believe anything. Any of us is an intelligence agent, a hostage of undercover fights; Today, and tomorrow is a kind of day, and the day after tomorrow again ... there is no faith in the courage of Sentsov and in Nemtsov’s invariation, not only the word has no weight (with the word “word” I yawned), not only nothing of the saint, but on the panel of the Welzebul. There is no argument above the bully. The era of a general injury came - the era of black swans, hybrid wars, hybrid truth, leaders, ..., “rain”, a dude ... ambush in front and behind; No reputation, no defense, and if anyone does not want to ... - Let him really be silent. There are already few newspapers already, and the final imagines ...

But, by the way, no one has canceled the necrologist yet. So you will substitute in sadness, separate the grains from the chaff - but it turned out, they pumped it out, and maybe not sick. I would not want to lubricate someone on the face with a joke-I am looking for a universal template for a dead man. After all, I myself will once die, and what can you suffer then, interfering with Kinovar and ocher, words of contempt and shame? Already the Lord is overweight: they are used to not daring anything, and the ball rules one hybrid-death is not final. After all, this is even indecent - having cried out at first, to disavow all these kind words publicly. We have addiction to the graves - alas, during our lifetime we are not honey: the deceased was terribly sweet, but only when he was dead. During life, because of all sorts of stuff, everyone had a tooth on him; He was too ambiguous. (Who is unequivocal? Only a corpse). Arkady is also ambiguous in the uneven author’s system, he is scolded by a lot of uncles, but he created the genre, I give a tooth. His example is another science: to write a second one about each personality that if he is alive, then a bitch, and if he died, then a hero.