Here always could not pick up synonyms to a phrase “precisely thunder amazed” or “precisely a current has struck”. In a reality after all all not so … nervous shocks look at all so. And here in general an electric current. From it stupidly shakes or distorts, and after all all not so occurs. Sensations are close to that, you are exact from running start face a wall, time and a stop though by inertia and you continue movement and bodies are flattened out in a thorax and then in your life something varies. Instantly.

I remember for a long time still there was a moment when coming back after University, should leave on Belarus while there there was an explosion. Really, I stood at doors and saw the bench crumpled by explosion in the underground and felt myself so, is exact with running start ran into a wall. Something during that moment has changed … though I do not cease to be surprised to myself, in two minutes could not constrain a smile any more, for some reason the sensation of fear causes a pleasure wave in a breast, can do nothing with itself … like has carried by, and you as the fool sit and smile. Well, all right will suffice about sad …

In general, all this considerable deviation from a theme. Here till now I can not fasten with bad habit, read blogs of people earning in the Internet. Also that till now disturbs, that anywhere did not see at people of the description of happiness which was given to them by their earnings. Work, work … earn and earn. But where happiness that?

That has surprised the first, that results of month bring so as if all money which the heavy I (hope) work have received have left in a pocket or a jug and for itself at all do not spend. Гы … and spend money for purchase and prolongation of domains, hostings and payments of other services. A maximum that saw at one person purchase of apartment and at others purchase of laptops. For me a riddle, whether bring it money happiness? After all as a matter of fact, money is one of tools on a way fortunately. One of … Or is end in itself to brag of the sums of earnings? Why the situation is not possible, that I here have earned a drain and a drain, a smog realise old children's dream or drive on rest. And it turns out, so as if people stupidly sit before computers for days on end and cannot come off, it is stupid дроча for the earned sums. Where happiness?

I here from the belltower can tell, that in the near future I can not come nearer on an iota, to their earnings. But I am happy. Drove with the friend on days off at cinema, it was pulled out for limits of the area, has replaced conditions and it is happy. Has had a drink with friends in the street, померз on a cold, but has received such charge of positive emotions, that all monetary weight in pockets will not suffice, what all this business to compensate, and after all it was possible to sit stupidly at home and in a life would change nothing, except economy in means.

Yesterday talked to the friend living in Germany on the PERMANENT RESIDENCE. It has funny turned out, that before it I listened Магомеда Муслимова "Moscow" (I in a course, that it has songs “My Baku” and "Azerbaijan"). Then during conversation we have begun on the sly ностальгировать on that country in which once lived and named it then four header proud letters – the USSR. On a question, where its Native land now? He has answered, that it is not present, is buried under layers of time and disorganised by politicians on small proud and slightly independent republics. A heritage of that huge country try to reconsider and rethink now. What for? What for to touch dead, after all about them or well or in any way. And after all there are people who touches, not being confused at all. Yes, misters, historians about you speech. What for you touch what was to us so expensively, let there are in memory those light instants which this country to us has presented, what for so? What for politicians arrange parade of legionaries Waffen SS or honour memory of fighters УНА УНССО? Have offended someone from you very strongly? Yes?

Then somehow smoothly have passed to those songs, which we will recollect, when we we we we we we become more senior (something type of a disco 80, but for later generation) … And will not believe have come to conclusion, that сейшене will play ours, not that sad гавно which to us sell giving out for modern and actual the priest music. And at all those who could personify the person of that country and our generation, the same Муслимова or Кабзона, and … "Gaza Strip". Not arranging, sat and listened yesterday till late night of a song of "Gaza Strip", exchanging references to the selected songs … remember all these: “ The vagabond "," Lyrics "," the Addict "," Thirty years "," Demobilization ”? Lines it does not know, why even after so much time, they continue to cling and cause somewhere inside close to heart. You sit in front of monitors, and itself you echo, let forgetting words, and not getting to a rhythm, but these sounds … something native wakes up in you, and smells from music as something genuinely the. In the world of total substitutes of all and everything, in the world of substitution of true and falseness it is important. That that wakes up it is accepted to name nostalgia, let so, but she nevertheless – not for callous creation, concept native, kind it for the live and thinking person, instead of for the biorobots, absorbing all that that to it orders advertising and other human crowd.

Even now, walking across Moscow, among Stalin buildings and uncountable monuments to Lenin, you do not test so much emotions, as shuddering under the first chords of "Demobilization" in computer columns (эх to find their cartridges, yes the tape recorder). Here you sit and you think, and to what pulls more? To the favourite city or nevertheless to memoirs? I feel, even if I will leave (at will of ill fate) Moscow, and in many years having returned back, not having learnt it on the first chords of any song of "Gaza Strip", I will understand, that I houses.

Has once defined the rotary period in the life. When we will start to gather with old friends on kitchen in someone's apartment, to get from a refrigerator a vodka small bottle, Russian salads, салатики оливье, we will eat селодочку, cut small with slices and other snack. When, sitting on kitchen, conversations on a family and work will end, we will sit and ностальгировать about that country in which lived, about those places which were transformed beyond recognition and about those people with whom we were connected by a life. There will be drunk conversations, обнимания, red faces, tears in eyes and strong man's hand shakes. Here then we also will understand, that the youth has left, is exact that autumn wind which disappears, taking away with itself warm summer. And here when all it happens also we can occurring to realise all, unique music which will play our columns on kitchen during such meetings most likely and will be that "Gaza Strip" which remembered and loved …

Has thrown off wings. Already will not be necessary. Has accurately sat down on a roof edge. Blinking of the city stretched underfoot bewitched, attracted and in something even deceived. Lines it does not know, that for sensation such, not subject to the description simple human words.

Has got from a bag, the old torn book in leather cover. Has accurately concerned it, feeling as tips of fingers череховатую a surface. My God, how many years have passed from the very beginning?

Sheets … sheets … sheets. Hundreds sheets describing a life, the people, forgotten facts any for a long time. Absolutely children have relaxed, in a Century of Scientific and technical Progress, give out descriptions on a paper … could and архивчик to adjust. Well it is fine, the God it the judge.

Has opened the book, has started to thumb through … reading on a diagonal the opened events. Начла about itself to smile. It is amusing to see all it, especially through a prism of memoirs. Where all these people? How they have changed for all this time? Though nevertheless not about people speech, and about events … because if I have pulled out right now somebody from them from the cosy concrete bowl named them the house. What would I see? Whether unless that is the impudent fellow, who in the fourth class me slightly покалачивал on a main recess? Or now it is the heavy muzhik in hundred twenty kgs of fat, with high temples and in трениках for five hundred roubles, at which and so two boys of madcaps. And its kiddies in the same way someone покалачивает in the fourth class. Unless it costs what it to remember? Is not present … it is not necessary.

And here, the page here is more cheerful. Love … one of. It is said with taste of bitterness in a mouth, unless I can compare this madam to that girl whom once loved. Sensations absolutely поистерлись. What it now? I know what, but it is absolutely not interesting to face it in the street, to feel a smell, to make out her life more close.

Rather a strange feeling, in heart there were not people, and events. Those who were then the person has changed, so that the name and a surname makes related with children's memoirs only, yes can any general lines. All this business of such remote past … that sense even to recollect especially is not present. But what for it I do? What to savour feelings, to beat them in a head on separate components, to enjoy shades … set, a bouquet. Each emotion is a small pearl which needs to be made out, and then carefully to hide in a box in subconsciousness. Sometime and its time will come and then it will be more interesting, after all to one emotion it will be possible to add others, to make a bouquet and to take pleasure on it for an instant in silence.

Has risen, having substituted the person of evening freshness and too has late understood, that the book flies downwards. An inevitable instant. The height too big and even to be torn in to race behind falling sheets any more has no sense. Though what sense … even to try to make it? When in a shower and so something important remains from those days and having pressed now on a button reset, I will not start to live anew and the more so will change nothing, for this purpose what to begin anew … too much me holds, at least these wings. By the way, what for they to me?

I after all and so badly I fly, from one высотки and to another. Even a sparrow the invalid does it without special reflexions. And about заглядывание in windows and other pirouettes, I in general am silent. To me it not on forces, and hardly already will be. Though, I can just have run eyes all life and just with it have left only one purpose?

On purpose … words … “What to begin a life anew” would appear the purpose … In a head as if the heated nail. Has had a look at wings, on darkness below. It would be desirable to shout only that has understood that in vain lived all these years that worried, struggled, suffered, rejoiced, cried and laughed. Only with one purpose, what now all at one stroke to cross out and begin anew in new shape. As it becomes unpleasant the present angel … you knew …

Today villages on a bench back. Foolish, the habit, for some reason is considered, that the back is purer than сидушка, probably because of such here idiots as I … Have got a cigarette, have lighted. Weather in the street rather strange now, like and any more winter, but also spring. A transitive condition of the nature, when waking up in the mornings and having looked at a thermometer you do not know what to dress. Now in the street everywhere облезший snow which thaws in the afternoon and has time to be filled for a night. Still on the thermometer to throw degrees with five upwards, and I would tell, that would be possible and quite to myself not bad to relax in the evening, I here is how try to make.

It is strange, as much I think. Even sitting, and arriving now in the weakened condition, in a head the ten tasks spins, any chains are built, any insignificant facts about an event around emerge. It would be desirable not to think stupidly, know, there is such condition when sitting near the TV irregularly you click channels, even as a matter of fact not understanding, that there is on the screen … only sometimes a consciousness tries to be hooked stupidly for something. Not to think it is impossible … trying not to think have shaken ashes on jeans. Levi’s in due time on them дрочило generation born in the seventieth, now it is simple one of hundreds marks. And so on to recollect though all that connects us really with the childhood … when still schoolboys were, all these games, kefir in the bottles, the first cud, pioneer ties … all this any warm in memory and house. Even it is possible to tell, that any not зацикленное … the life was as a straight line, and now - a cycle.

Amusing definition then we wished to grow and get rid simply of school to become adults, to achieve any purposes. Already фигушки to become more senior is to grow old, and it oh as would not be desirable. But also to return back already never it will turn out, therefore the life starts to go in cycles, work-house-family-friends, sometimes cycles increase, but the chain is not torn, we do not wish to mature already … we simply already we grow old.

And here a pancake, somehow imperceptibly there come any crises having many scientific names, and what with them to consult we try to escape from myself, to make something such крышесрывательное or to occupy myself though with any hobby. But not in that party we aspire, something thinking out new, and it would be necessary to turn back towards the childhood, to recollect what such we dreamt in the long summer evenings or staying trousers behind a school desk at school why not to try to realise them possessing our possibilities now. Whether many remember about the internal child?

All the same in vain I so think much, here to myself and mood have impaired a little, and the wind has blown, somehow absolutely the unpleasant. It is necessary to gather home. Has removed a portfolio, has unbuttoned it, has rustled with a hand on a bottom between empty jars from beer … Has found, the small crumpled wings. Has straightened them, has passed hands in straps and has departed …

Has noticed behind itself strange, I on the sly cease to feel strong emotions. Such concepts as passion, the love, hatred, desire, furiousness … become gradually more and more dim. I look here advertising … and if I the average inhabitant of territory of the Russian Federation the worthless picture appears. From screens of the TV me to something call, like induce to any actions or try to cause desire something to possess, but at all does not touch. It simply is not present.

I see a bright red Ferrari which on idea should cause at least respect for the beauty, costs or capacities, but it is not present … there is a stupid ascertaining of the fact of journey by me the car with the blonde at the wheel and the price list in some honeycombs thousand dollars. It not emotion is гавно any.

I do not test hatred to contenders, I cannot test hatred to that person who has made to me a brain concussion. They simply are not present … there is only any regret and hope, that next time I нафигачу to it am stronger. I am not upset at all when I learn, that on work have disconnected the Internet, me all is in the absolute image does not touch.

I have lost pleasure from meal. I eat the sliced strawberry and bananas, dipping in hot chocolate, or I eat excellent beef with cheese, but гастрономическоео pleasure is not opening or something surprisingly pleasant. I can as there is all aforesaid so or is testing the slightest feeling of a regret from loss or pleasure short-reception. And so practically everywhere, at me the motivation … I has sharply fallen I can want the woman physically, but is not present what desire to put effort what to realise the desire, I can do weight of things, not thinking neither about result nor about what the friend, well made work has ceased to be pleasure.

All that time, yet did not write to a blog, was engaged in that searched for the lost motivation. But stupidly are not … something has changed, I became something like the ideal supernumerary in the novel “1984” or would receive a role of the satiated rake in “the American psychopath”, to me practically all became violet a life is a stupid ascertaining of the facts stretched in time and space.