Were not were. Alexander Kolosov
become immortal and happy. The idea of God will disappear because every living person will become a god.
The Tower of Babel has always been a symbol of human insolence in an effort to overcome the boundaries and limits of being set for it. The Tower of Babel was conceived to use it to ascend to heaven and become gods. Realizing over time that God does not live in heaven, but in the human heart, the need to storm the sky disappeared. But the idea for which the tower was built did not disappear – to kill God and make a name for himself. What is not a goal for which it is worth daring. And continue to build the Tower of Babel, even if now it is called differently.
Your coffee
Here, in one godforsaken hole, metropolitan tourists were brought. They went to a local catering point and ordered, after much deliberation, choosing between coffee and tea, tea. Reasonably believing that they probably don’t know how to cook coffee here, and tea is somehow reliable. You can’t spoil the tea. The waitress brings them some unimaginable vodka in glasses on a tray. Seeing that tea is not tea, they decide to change the order from tea to coffee while they still can. The waitress, with a completely unperturbed face, takes a new order, lifts a tray with glasses and immediately puts it on the table with the words: “Your coffee.”
Spring
– Finally, the smell of spring has wafted, – Galya said happily.
And she inhaled the invigorating aroma of thawed manure and the sweet stink of country latrines with full breasts.
The evening was a success
Then I have a friend named Vitya decided to invite the girl to his home for a “romantic” dinner. With all that it implies. Vitya, I must say, is still that character in itself. He is almost forty, and he has never married. He still lives with his mother. Classic sissy. She cleans him, feeds him, and, ultimately, takes care of him from “all sorts” of girls. And then it dawned on my mother that if not now, then her Vitya would never marry and she would have to hang around with him to the grave. And she wants to live herself. At least in old age. So she gave him full carte blanche for one evening and retired to visit him all night. Moreover, she managed to study Vita’s chosen one far and wide during her timid visits to her and her son at the dacha. Vitya, without a mother, showed enviable culinary ingenuity and bought a fair amount of food for dinner at fast food: two buckets of chicken legs at KFC and several packages of fried shrimp at McDonald’s. And two bottles of the cheapest red wine in the nearest supermarket. A sort of gourmet porn. And now our not-so-young young man Vitya was all in such, you know, extreme impatience, waiting for the girl and getting nervous and nervous: the love vitamin played in him and didn’t even let him sit. To somehow occupy your hands, Vitya and let’s eat chicken legs. I didn’t even notice how I had knocked down two buckets. He switched to shrimp and immediately consoled himself with the thought that the girl would not come to him for food, so there was no need to worry. The shrimp disappeared unexpectedly quickly. There was only wine left. “Wine is good,” Vitya thought, “wine will help in communication. Liberate. I’ll drink a glass.” One glass, two glasses. Look, the bottles are gone. And then the doorbell rings. The girl came. For dinner. Vitya escorted her to his room with all the solemnity of which he was still capable. And on the table set for dinner, there was nothing but a sheet of drawing paper as a tablecloth, two candles and a bottle of wine. “I ate everything while I was waiting for you,” Victor honestly admitted, “but food is not the main thing. And the main thing is our communication with you. So to speak, a dialogue of two loving hearts. Let’s have some wine, it will help us get to know each other better. Only you will have to drink alone, wine does not fit into me anymore. “However, what a uniform disgusting,” the girl was offended, but she didn’t show it, “I was getting ready, you know, I was dressing up. I hoped! And then it’s oh-la-la!” But I decided to wait with the scandal. And she began to drink wine. There was no choice left. The girl quickly got drunk and the “dinner” was already rolling towards the finale planned by Vitya, but then there was an embarrassment. With Vitya. Fast food in his stomach did not find a common language with drunk wine and asked to go outside. And the rest of the evening and almost the whole night, Vitya and the girl spent on opposite sides of the toilet door talking, periodically changing places. And they confessed, they confessed. As they say, there is nothing to be ashamed of on the potty. Everyone knew about each other, as if they had lived together half their lives. When they parted in the morning, the girl confessed to Vita that she had never spent time like this before. Well, what can I say. Apparently the evening went well.
Taste of happiness
Sweets are a universal remedy for adults to solve problems with children. Remember as a child? As soon as you started pestering your parents, they gave you a candy or a chocolate bar and sincerely believed that they solved your problem or at least calmed you down. Probably, on their part, it was dishonest: they kind of bought us off, and we had no choice. We did not know that this is not love, but a deal. And now we are adults. We sell everything and buy everything, from time to time we betray and are largely disappointed. Especially in the fundamental values of this world. But the taste from childhood, the same one, remains the only holy feeling that reminds us of ourselves, the real ones, as we were in childhood. Happy and naive. Sweet tooth.
How does it happen
The following story happened to the poet Fedyashkin. He stopped hearing voices. More precisely, one voice that whispered poems to him, and he unsuccessfully tried to write them down. But the life of a poet is not the work of a stenographer, from 9 to 17 every day. No, it’s not that simple. Climb, for example, Fedyashkin in the shower, and then the voice begins to dictate. He is from the shower to record, and he immediately falls silent. Back to the shower – dictates. In general, not life, but flour. This voice always sounded in the most inappropriate places and at the most inopportune times. And he, Fedyashkin, was torn between the desire to write down poetry and live normally for his own pleasure, like everyone else. Rest. Fedyashkin suffered terribly, but kept to the general line of being a poet. It’s a pity for him, you know, it was to miss everything that came to mind. Yes, and it came, to be honest, all some kind of nonsense. So, zilch, verbal commotion, and nothing more. No one published his poems, and he was embarrassed to read them publicly. He was terribly poor, but he was proud that he was a poetic genius. And here again – and silence. Inside. Dark and quiet. And the darkness is, you know, quite comfortable, and not such that the devil knows what hides: the horrors of the night in all their diversity. In general, the soul is dark and boring. Like an empty wardrobe. No poetry. Realizing his poetic sterility, Fedyashkin decided to return to his former profession. I started working as a proctologist again. In the clinic. He will come to work, look at the patient in one place and wait, maybe someone from there will begin to dictate: “I remember a wonderful moment, you appeared before me, like a fleeting vision, like a genius of pure beauty.” And in response, silence. She spends the whole day looking at patients with no result. No revelation. Out of grief, she will go to the urologist Parnokopytov. Together they will drink tea with gooseberries, they will discuss the nurse Zoya, and go home. Now he lives like everyone else, on one salary. And he can’t understand everything, is he happy or not? As it happens.
Ascension
Here one incident happened. You could say it’s an incident. Well, straight to the chickens for laughter. One little man, in fact no one, took it and ascended. Just like that, in front of everyone and for no apparent reason. And most importantly, if someone worthy, well, then it’s clear. Boss type. Or someone else more important, all strewn there with laurels or wreaths of honor. And so – some rubbish. A certain Cyril. Snot, not a person. I broke away, you know, from the earth and the team, without knowing it, and hung. In the air. From the very beginning, he did not understand that he had lost his foothold. I thought someone was playing a joke on him. Kicking around like some son of a bitch on TV, with no result. Out of fear, he even tried to fall on his back. It still didn’t work. Hanging, you know, like some Indian fakir in a circus.