But you can forget the bad things, Leaving only good things as a legacy. After all, you can remember wonderful people, Convince yourself that they are not fiction. You can put it in a backpack Something real, worthwhile, without flaw, Images of those who make you smile And live, sing, laugh. After all, probably all this is possible - All of this is possible. Step on the road in sunny summer, Having survived so unexpectedly, unexpectedly, Gloomy winter days.

The Alyabyevs were walking with their corgi; here is a wall with a large hole. Well, why not take a look? They were about to approach, and from there a huge dog’s muzzle stuck out, moved its black wet nose, sniffed the air, then sneezed. The Alyabyevs' corgi barked. Looks like there's a golden retriever there. Oh well. Let's move on, enjoy the walk, and so we were given a generous ten minutes for our last wish. A corgi minces, behind a jeep rides with a platform and a soldier ready to shoot.

One of the most unusual disciplines of modern philosophy of science and technology is “media archaeology,” which examines art and media through analysis of the technologies that convey them and their origins, rather than content, thus “unearthing” the material experience of the modern world for clues to understanding its intangible aspects. Given the limitless oversaturation of today's everyday life with media technologies, this critical and investigative method is very relevant and flexible.

On March 20 at 19:00, the M'ARS Center invites you to an exclusive Art Evening, where we will introduce you to the innovators of contemporary art and show their best creations. The headliner of the evening - JADE.project - will greet you with a unique performance. Original music, a symbiosis of live and electronic instruments, in the most modern sound trends, combined with the ethno vocals of Tati (Tatyana Ukhina), will reveal inner strength and incredible energy in you.

We dance around a man who is impossible to really see, because as soon as you focus your gaze, everything blurs and slides to the side, and the eyes hurt and double, but we still laugh, although cold sweat flows down our backs, and the city sun roasts the backs of our girls’ heads.

Bykov in his work draws an analogy between the main character and society, or rather between Russian society - cruel, merciless, greedy. Thus creating two sides to the conflict - those who steal and live well and those who live honestly but poorly. The main character and his father are representatives of the second type, and the hero’s mother and his wife are of the first, this is clearly visible in the very first scene, when we are told that Dima and dad repair the bench almost every day.

Sometimes it's worth falling into an endless hole to find new ground under your feet. * And then it will be and so on, and then, you see, nothing will happen. * Conscience is ancient legs, and how you act is how you will reach the goal of the future. * In the infinity of the labyrinths of thinking, the indisputable is a dead end. * To get to the point, you need to laugh. * Man is an empty creature, inflated by Darwin's ego game.

Two men and a woman told me about the desert, then I also saw a video of people, distant acquaintances, rolling on the sand in insane happiness, choking with delight. Instagram acquaintances, crushed by gravity and supported by earthly punishment, also swam in the endless snows of Murmansk. Of the entire flow of information, I was most impressed by the old man’s story. Approaching sixty years of age, he had gained so much weight that he could hardly bear his weight.

A girl of about ten years old in a light dress was noticed on the third floor balcony. We watched on other days; the girl stood in the same place, in the rain, snow, cold, until spring. They opened the apartment, the family was sitting at the table, long dead, decayed. No one can be seen on the balcony - from inside, from outside, from the neighboring house - please. I told my wife that yesterday a girl waved at me and called me a fool.

Translation by Stanislava Lartsina, edited by Elena Georgievskaya [1] I, the High Priestess, I, Enheduanna! There I raised the ritual basket, And there I sang a cry of joy. But this man left me among the dead — Enheduanna, 23rd century BC (Translated from Sumerian by Betty De Shong Meador) What happens to women? I've been writing about this for decades: the press is filled with discussions of books written by male authors.