Book: Media Sapiens. The story of the third term. Page 1

A glass filled with water to half, - half full. Exactly as half empty. It all depends on who looks at it. You know that axiom? Know? OK. Forget about it. In our time from someone who watches, does not depend on anything. It all depends on who is in the glass pours. Who pours, pours like, and most importantly, what's the word he calls a full.

You, me, all of us have different features. Putting on display the best of them, we seem to be good. Putting the worst - seem evil. But are we making ourselves? Do we become angrier or kinder?

We are all, to some extent, sleep, Anton. Until we awake, or until we learn to control their dreams. Or easy to control.

... if you want to know what breathes office - visit first the Smoking room, then the bathroom.

Really, those were the days when there was neither you nor me, or even TV?

Rest assured, if you, God forbid, happen to get off the mountain or drowning in the sea, the first person you see will not Baywatch. No, no. The first will be journalists, instead of holding out a helping hand microphone or a video camera. They do sort of compassionate person will fill your eyes with false tears in order to ask you one question: "Tell the viewers how you feel, being on the verge of death? Yes, and please, in short, we live, we have little time."

Morning is the most disgusting time of day. I hate him. Especially in the winter. I don't know where the old Pushkin could see the rays of the sun, refreshing winter frost and singing birds. It is possible that he is already in the morning began to thump, and a glass of champagne any time of the day charming. I get up to the window. "Last night you remember? The Blizzard was angry. And now look out the window." Looked. Last night was any better. More precisely, there is no difference. The street is dark, dejected people cleaning their cars, taking their children to kindergartens and schools and rushing to work. No this morning, not happy. For me, I would started the working day in Russia about twelve. Still this morning no one thinks.

Stop. If the smoke from the school flows into the head, displacing the brain, then the brain what to do at this point? Flow smoothly into the joint? X*ynya some. This is what, it turns out, communicating vessels, or what?

To serve, Anton, the God whom I believe in... but first you need to understand who he is.