Book: Black Obelisk

A knife cannot cut itself.

Women who write poetry, that still consider the horse. Of course, with the exception of the followers of Sappho.

We must respect his faith, and he is our lack of faith is not required.

- Ah, the Treaty of Versailles? Well, of course! - George takes a step forward. It emanates from the aroma of strong mulled wine. - And if the war was won, we, of course, would lie our enemies with gifts and expressions of love, right? Have you forgotten what you like, and you are not going to Annex? Ukraine, briey, Longwy, and the whole ore and coal basin of France! Have we seized the Ruhr? No, we still own it! And you're going to argue that our peace Treaty would not be ten times harder if only we were given the opportunity to dictate to him? Did I not hear you yourself are on this account vehemently in 1917? Let France, they say, will become a third-rate power, though Russia has annexed the vast territory, let all opponents pay a contribution and give real value, yet they do not bleed! And it spoke to you, Henry! Now shout together with the whole gang about the injustice committed against us! Just sick of your whining and screaming about revenge. You always have to blame someone else! And carries samobitnost of the Pharisees; don't you know what the first sign of a real man? He is responsible for what he did to them! But you think in relation to you always only committed some injustice, and you're the only one different from the Lord God - the Lord God knows all, but you know more.

.... The heart is a drum, slow and quiet, and still, this drum made a lot of noise and bring a lot of grief, maybe I am because he will not hear the sweet call of the nameless life that can only be heard by those who do not oppose her magnificently self-affirming "I," those who do not require explanations, as if they have power lenders, not flashed strangers, did not leave a trace.

A Minister of the faith and Minister of science sit in the beams of light, illuminating them. For them the world - not just a vague and tremulous anxiety, he's not nagging the abyss, not lightning flashes in the air horror-based shooter - they are Ministers of faith and science, they have plumb and lot, scales and measures, each with their own, but that they are not worried, they are confident, they have names that they can stick on everything, like labels; they're fast asleep at night, they strive for a certain goal, and that's enough for them, and even horror, even the black curtain before the suicide is appropriate, a certain place in their existence, it is called classified, and therefore was harmless. Killing only nameless or something that blew your name.

... Where is our original face? - I mused. - Initial landscape, before it becomes this landscape, perceived by our senses, Park and forest, house and person? Where the face of Bodindecha before he became Bodington? The person Wernicke, until it called his name? Do we still have some knowledge about this? Or are we caught in the net of concepts and words, logic, and the deceiver of the mind, and behind them the lonely burning of the initial flames, to which we have no access, because we turned them into useful heat in the kitchen and the furnace flame, deception and authenticity, the bourgeois and the walls and, in any case, in the Turkish bath sweating of philosophy and science. Where are they? If they still are elusive, pure, inaccessible, with life and death, as they were before he turned to us in life and death? Or they may now burn only to those who live here, in the rooms behind bars, who sits on the floor or sneaking silently, staring in front of him blankly, feeling the blood in his native storm? Where is the boundary separating chaos from harmonious order, and who can get through that and then come back? But if it is possible - anyone able to remember what he saw? Unless one does not extinguish memories of a friend? And who is insane, noted, rejected - whether we, with our insular and sustainable ideas about the world; or those others, in whom chaos is raging and lightning flashes of sparkles; those who sacrificed to the immensity, as if they were rooms without doors, without a ceiling, if it chambers with three walls and in which fall the lightning and the storm burst and the rain, while we proudly walk around his self-contained apartments with doors and four walls and imagine ourselves above those simply because slipped away from the chaos? But what is chaos? And what is the procedure? In whom they are? And why? And who ever of them to slip out?

I... suddenly again deeply amazed by the things beyond this world so close, there is a huge reality, living by a different set of laws, and that this head, which I can easily get my arms around, sees things differently than I do, - every tree, every star, every relationship between people and herself. It is another universe. And for a moment all mixed in my brain, and I don't know what is true reality - what I see or what she sees or that happens without us, and what we will never know, because in this case the same thing happens that with the mirrors, they are here when we are here, but always reflect only our own image. For nothing, for nothing we do not know what they are, when left alone, and what lies behind them.

Our meetings awakened a longing for something unknown, stunning and at times made me happy, then miserable without any sense and reason.

On an honest colonial merchant of love, which would like to keep one shop and sauerkraut and caviar! Do you still not understand that this sauerkraut begins to smell eggs, but the eggs will always give sauerkraut? I keep them as far away from one another, and you should do the same!

You think too much. It is harmful in all cases.

- And how many words! And who came up with them all?
- Confused people!

I think I finally felt what love is! Is life, only life, the higher rise the waves, stretching to the evening sky, the fading stars, and to himself, - take-off always in vain, for he is the impulse of the mortal to the immortal beginning; but sometimes the sky is leaning towards a wave, they meet for a moment, and then it is not the sunset on one side and denial on the other, then there is no question about the lack and the excess of the substitution performed by poets...

- Well, how? - he asks playfully. - Still trying to fix the world?
I am watching it.
Yeah! It is evident that the philosopher! What do you think?
- Find that for two thousand years Christianity has very little to propel humanity forward mouth.