Yuri Markeev. Psychologist and a psychopath (№ 391968)

Night called Irina. Interrupted a dream where I was talking with Socrates about the benefits of ritual in the work of dealer meat market. I argued that you can not see the pork heads and the smell of blood, and to bear philosophical thought. He laughed at my naivety. And convinced not to surrender to the slavery of the animal shop. Isn't flowing there, as on the battlefields, blood, and sweat? No, I smiled, this is not a battle. It's a ritual of pagan sacrifice. I am a priest, not a slave. I cut and I cut a sacred product and not dismembered corpses of animals. Play sacrifice, hone ritual, as Spinoza magnifying glass. But my heart remains untouched. Blood of alien ritual comes to my mind. A robe? Well. Bathrobe will give in the wash. Or throw it like a snake casts of its old skin.
- Do not dissemble to himself, ' replied Socrates. I swear to dog, you won't be able to protect your inner peace from the market of the stench. You're too weak for this. Too vulnerable, though not a poet. The meat shop is not for you. Go to Church and nephrosis temporarily as a watchman. It's yours.
- In the Church? Hmm. As a watchman? But it is impossible to grind lenses. It is impossible to sharpen a ritual where Christ drove out the beach vendors. In the Church you cannot be a worker. You can only serve. And I'm not ready. I swear to dog, Socrates, I am not ready. If you want to live in freedom, to learn to serve. Little patience, Socrates. A lot of ease and very little patience. Perhaps I'll take the wording of the text of the play. And benefited from it. I'll think about it.
And then the phone rang Irene. A dream come true.
Disturbing voice she said,
- Daughter problem. Locked myself in the bathroom crying. Evening came drunk. Said that I raised her wrong. Said I took away her opportunity to be happy. She will never be happy because I taught her happiness. How does it feel to hear of your mother?
- Why all this? Have accumulated? Or reaction to the event?
And reaction, was accumulated. Some Director gave her up. Told her that she is young. And it needs to be taught everything. And what is everything?
- What? Oh, this Melpomene. I believe, not theater arts. Where is she now? In the bathroom?
Yes. Quiet. I'm going through. Wouldn't have done something with us. Silly.
I got out of bed and approached the laptop. Opened the email, found a file with the text of the play "Suicide".
What is there in the play? - I asked. - Don't have time to read. What's up with the heroine?
- Opens the veins, - a small voice said Irina. - What to do? To break down the door?
Break. I'll sit on the phone.
.....
People fell in love with acting. Actors - founders of the mod. The mummers - house on the sand. Open the news feed and rested his eyes in the murk and the husk, which is called life...
(Psychologist and a psychopath)