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to come up with a whole science called “Logic.” But, to recognize the logic of nature, too, need to be genius. Why is the people judged by the highest, or rather by their best representatives? Can’t ordinary people be geniuses? Of course, genius differs from mediocre, or talented, or capable, only one thing – the creativity of thinking. Creative beginning. Agnus dei. Which is Latin for lamb of God. The Creator, and in General, being outside the box thinking. The great man is distinguished by the scale of thinking. In short, I walk like that around the house and comes to meet me a guy that lives on the floor above. We don’t know each other. Well, or superficially, maybe. Not that he was bored that night – he looked lost. Moved the meek step – by-step wandering. He seemed confused and frightened. Although, for some reason it seemed all was well. He’d tried to stop me but couldn’t Express what he wants. I couldn’t even say anything. Nothing even ordinary. I took the opportunity to shoot him a cigarette. And then he offered me a beer with him. Frankly, I more just wanted something/anything to eat, than to be filled with booze. Especially, I do not drink beer, and in General, I do not drink alcohol. I told him he should have bought me a gyro instead of a beer. And he, immediately, asked how much it is worth. Well, of course, who will spend money on the first comer. But gyro is worth as much as beer – one hundred and fifty rubles. This is such a huge sandwich, somewhat reminiscent of Shawarma, but not in lavash, but in a crispy cut bun. And the filling is almost the same as in the Shawarma: meat, tomatoes, onions, potatoes, some sauces to taste. And he took the mug of beer and dried fish. We sat down in a diner that is called “pub”. However, quite a decent institution – like a diner. It’s always crowded and noisy. The conversation/that we have flagged. He immediately identified the position of authority, noticing that the fathers fit me. Yeah, I wasn’t really interested in what he had to say. It is unlikely that he could tell me something that is of any value to me. But thanks for the pie. I ate that from/the table could not get up. By the way, it should be noted that he eats like a pig. Casually breaks the fish, tearing out the flesh, instead of cleaning, as do all normal people. Well, come on, we talked about this and that. He mostly talked, and I listened, crunching a bun. And then, unexpectedly for me, he began to consult me. In part, perhaps, he was no longer able to stand my indifference to the conversation. He asked me whether ***** to work in **********, one ******local ***********, that all day ****** ******, * ****** ****** at ****** and ***** ***** welcome to ******** beautiful. I won’t ******* *****, because * **** no *************, Yes.********** from the point of view *********. I answered him, ' of course,“****, for if he could be carried away *********, then it will be a real biblical miracle. He’s from my imprisonment flashed a smile with some cunning. Then he told me he just wanted to ******** with his *******ahhh! Well, ******** *** him, and that ******* from the distant. Typical authoritarian logic. ****** na ****** – ***** in *****. It’s none of my business. I finished Giro, honestly listened to the interlocutor, and went home. Nothing genius in ordinary people I not watch. Everyone has one thing in mind – to eat, ***********, drink, sleep. But the genius of the man just can’t sleep. He is constantly tormented by doubts. He is constantly overcome by aspirations. He is constantly dissatisfied with the situation, or too long idleness. I do not condemn the simple hard workers, and even loafers not judging. Sometimes I do too. However, hard work no longer do. I can’t. I have neither the strength nor the patience. Moreover, I even allow people to be in my presence by themselves. Although and slips at times thought, that many until me, as until moon. A kind of reminder not to get too involved in the company of simpletons, which is given in the morning and taken away in the evening; that on Wednesdays they smile, and on Saturdays they grin. Meanwhile, I’m almost always welcome in all companies, as the decoration of the “table”. Apparently, I cause a festive mood in the public. In turn, willingly I agree to stay a little decoration of idleness, but when we are full to satiety – I leave, having taken with myself something, and even someone who needs a bra for breast support. But what I really don’t understand is the awe of the common man before authority. Not – understand/it is possible, I want to say that I can not despise these phenomena in the psychology of human existence. Everyone wants to be meaningful, to be listened to, to set an example. But what he did for this remains a mystery. Okay, I guess. The adult population on the stock reads. The horror! Me many things, at all, in life incomprehensible. For example, I do not understand why Russian publishers… although, here I am wrong. Of course, Russian publishers do not neglect the works of brilliant writers. They publish classics and in the top lists of the most read works we see half of the names of those authors that for several centuries, and maybe thousands of years, have sunk into Oblivion. Western book publishers, I see, still try to dig up talent among the other crowd. They still try to find a person capable of creating something that has not been seen in the world. And Joyce, you know, actually sat on the neck of some millionaire who wrote him a “scholarship” to create a brilliant novel. And he created such a novel. Justified, so to speak, expectations. Any talented, or even brilliant writer, would be happy if at least someone supported him. Van Gogh used the financial help of his own brother, who traded some garbage, and the money he always had. At first glance, anyone would say that Vincent and Theo’s relationship was almost the standard of brotherly love. In fact, it was all much more complicated. And so I think van Gogh didn’t shoot himself because he was crazy. Well, or, partly not because. He shot himself, most likely because of the refusal of financial support from his brother. And whether it was worth sacrificing the life of such a beautiful artist, if Theo himself died only six months after the death of his brother. Again, human selfishness makes life a living hell. I suppose if they both had a little patience to endure all the trials, van Gogh’s paintings would have been sold safely, and everyone would have been happy. Well, if he didn’t get it into his head, of course, the idea that only after the artist’s death paintings become valuable. No. I just had to wait. Endure all the trials. And this, as you know, is the most difficult to implement. I do not have freedom. I’m tired of the endless routine that surrounds me. From these gyrations. The infinite is the same. Give one. Take the other. Third prompt. The fourth console. As a reward for everything – you look like a junkie, why you don’t do anything, why you don’t work, who the fuck needs your books. Well, someone, you know, needs. Someone/that happens, will sit down in an office of thoughtfulness, will open a file on a tablet or the smartphone, and will sit, will think while behind doors the turn won’t be formed until to it start knocking with a reminder. Who is reading my books, my crap, which I vysmeival, howl, sing. Who/that that/that is for yourself is. I long got tired of reading about love, about war, about knights and suicide. I’ve been living it for a long time. I am a knight, a lover, a warrior and a suicide in one person. I haven’t been surprised by this for a long time. Almost all books about love. Without women it is impossible to create a book. A good book is created only when a woman is near. Inspiration? You look at her smooth skin, shaded by small hairs. You look at her scarlet lips, which you want to suck and not let go. You look into her burning eyes, which will see the reflection of his tortured face. Ask that the woman was near if you want to create “thing”. Then the book will go as easily as you could imagine. Then the thought will trample a machine-gun tape, and breath will become frequent to the level of the astronaut in outer space. She is involved even when she is not there, but her image is inherent in your head. Do you think men can achieve something by themselves? They can just sleep and lie around all day on the couch. They don’t itch anywhere. They barely feel anything. A woman will give everything you need to create a good book. She will write with your own hands, only manage to knock on the keys of a treasured spell that secret from all the obedient sectarian literature read, moving his lips, in the office in thought. If you’re lucky, she’ll feed you after that. It seems as if I’m talking like a hardened gigolo. But all men are, in fact, Gigolos. If you look at the subject in the right light – in the light of truth. The first woman whose man sits on the neck long enough is the mother. When mother dies, he goes to look for a new. Capriciously chooses. Some don’t. I choose. To attentive, obedient, active was. What would did not say too much, too react, all the others despised. All! Further you are already like Christ in his bosom. Normal folk wisdom. At the time it was much more
