Платформа 2.

My fan-art on Supernatural.. All text.

"Our last task"...

A short preface.

What is matter? And what is primary – matter or spirit? Christian doctrine asserts that matter is primary. And we have a completely bodily Christ. With his wounds, blood, death. God-man, god-body. Embodied life. Life that you can touch with your hands. A life that is demonstrable, materialized. Our entire science, despite the atheism it proclaims, is also built on faith in the body, faith in “Christ,” faith in the body, which scientists call the primary atom. That is, matter consists of molecules. Molecule made of atoms. Well, the primary atom, which in turn no longer decays into other atoms, consists of itself. Well, all modern science is built on faith in this primary atom, which does not decay into other, smaller ones. The only question is that scientists have not yet found this very atom. And any matter, upon closer examination, brazenly and with impunity continues to disintegrate into these same particles ad infinitum. In a word, we are not able to see matter. So they didn’t find it because she wasn’t there? Or are the microscopes small? One can hope for technical imperfections. There is nothing else left for us. Is the material world real? In all his defenselessness, in front of a sinner who so desires this world? Or is it available only to those who have become safe for it? And those who are dangerous, for example you and me, are left to wander forever in the labyrinth of our dreams, which we so mistakenly call life?

                       Heaven.

Sam's car slid smoothly across the gray gravel. The sun in the distance was slowly setting. Led Zeppelin was playing at full blast in Sam's car. He took a sip from the now empty bottle of whiskey, and, cursing, threw it onto the next seat. Sam slammed the steering wheel sharply and swayed to the beat of the chorus, he even sang along. The usual male hysteria. Tears flowed down his unshaven cheeks, and his hands slammed the steering wheel again and again.“Just don’t stop, just don’t stop,” was pounding in his head.

It was as if the sun, which still did not want to go into sunset, somehow depended on his movement.

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down, the picture outside the windows turned gray, as if it was already dusk, and he saw a brightly dressed prostitute standing on the highway. As if submitting to the new flow of time, without realizing it, he slowly stopped. For some time the woman, as if indecisive, still stood on the highway, timidly looking around, but then she nevertheless headed in his direction.

“She’s still almost a child,” was all he had time to think.

______

- “Look here I’m saying! "-

the elderly officer shone the light of a table lamp in his face. With great difficulty, Sam raised his bloody face. His hands were handcuffed and pressed between his knees. Sam sat hunched over, covering one eye from the bright light, and for some reason even tried to smile at the policeman. Usually this worked...

- Oh, to hell with you! “The policeman was clearly tired of this interrogation and was rubbing his right hand.- Take him away! He commanded, and a moment later Sam found himself on the floor of a dirty and dark cell. It had no bed.

- But does it really matter now? - When Dean was gone, and the sharp pain of memories again cut into the brain, tears flowed from the eyes, and that beer bar appeared before the eyes again.

                                                             __

- Our last task. Dean picked up the glass of whiskey, smiled, and poured it into himself.Sam was sober, and again and again looked around, looking for the slightest danger. He almost hated Dean for his carelessness at this moment, and was ready to swear at him.

“Just a demon girl.” “Dean added, finally stopping smiling.

- Just relax.

Well, then everything is as always. You could say it's a routine. The crunch of broken ribs, the scream of a demon. The task was actually quite easy.

Several blood stains stained the demon girl's long white shirt (who else wears something like that? he thought). She jumped, squealed, and seemed to laugh at what was happening. Sam felt her insides being torn apart and thought he would miss that feeling. He delivered the final, decisive blow. Everything was over. But suddenly Dean, who was standing next to him, swayed strangely, blood flowed from the corner of his mouth in a thin stream, and Sam saw an ax stuck in his back. Dean staggered and slowly fell to the dirty floor. Some man, having dealt him this blow, now simply stood, staring blankly at the girl’s figure.

No need to explain what happened next. Sam dealt with him quite easily, it seemed that the man did not even resist. When the crunching of the ribs subsided, reality inevitably washed over Sam.

- Dean is no more.

-Dean is no more

And this reality again hit him in the temples on the floor of the prison cell.

- God, how stupid! After all, we weren’t even supposed to do this task then. Sometimes Sam became immersed in what had happened and imagined that everything was happening differently. That he, Sam acts differently. And now they are together again, driving in their Impala. At such moments his face took on a confused, stupid look, but then it all came back again. And tears flowed down his cheeks again. Sam had long ago lost track of time, and even under torture, he could hardly say how long he spent in his cell. Maybe a day, or maybe an eternity? A dim light bulb swayed sluggishly under the ceiling, and slightly illuminated the gray walls of the cell, while everything else simply drowned in darkness...                    

                    Hell.

- Well, get up! A door slammed somewhere and Sam saw the policeman who had interrogated him the day before.

- Listen here, bastard, thank this young lady, otherwise you would have to rot in prison until the end of time...

- These damn values ​​are “forgiveness”, I would rot you with people like you, but how can I not obey such a sweet creature?

The policeman took a step to the side, and Sam saw the very same prostitute behind him. More precisely, it seemed so to him. The girl's face seemed vaguely familiar to him. But everything else... A perfectly straight back. Strict pose. Hair gathered tightly. Under the chin is a white blouse collar with a small brooch and a black chopper (do they still wear this?). Dark pencil skirt below the knees. She bowed her head slightly and smiled looking into his face with the trademark smile of an active Mormon...

- We'll save you! - her look seemed to say.

Time slowed down a little again, and Sam involuntarily crawled back a little. His back and shoulders immediately became covered with sweat, but the officer’s voice brought him back to reality again.- Thank this young lady, she said that she will not file a report against you for attempted rape. Maybe you could at least apologize to her?

“He won’t apologize,” she said quickly.

-Can we go?

- Still, Ma'am, this is not according to the rules. But if you really have no complaints, I simply do not have the right to detain you. Are you sure?

She looked at him sternly and did not deign to answer. Sam himself didn’t know whether to be happy or upset, but simply silently followed her deep into the dark corridor after the guard unlocked the door to his cell.

- Marie. She introduced herself with the same smile. She slowed down a little, waiting for Sam to walk around her completely unremarkable light gray car and follow her. The door slammed shut and Marie hit the gas.

-Where are we going? – that was all Sam could say, but the stranger did not deign to answer him.

He tried to open the door, but thought -

- Does it really matter? And he just started looking out the car window.

It was difficult to understand what time it was, but judging by the light gray fog and the faded, slightly bluish sky, it was early morning. At first, the stranger looked at Sam and made ridiculous attempts to smile, baring her white teeth. But then she just began to look thoughtfully at the road. Sam experienced an incomparable sense of peace; he fell into a light slumber, and from this the salon suddenly began to illuminate with sunlight. The light became brighter, almost unbearable, and at that moment Sam woke up. The stranger turned her face to him, smiled artificially, and Sam again felt the peace and grayness that reigned around him. Focusing his gaze on her teeth, he finally woke up.

It’s strange, but despite her attractiveness, he didn’t feel any desire or interest in her at all.

- This is our small community. Mary's car pulled off the road and Sam saw a small two-story house. The facade of the house was made very simply and had a light beige tint.

- John will show you your room. You can stop here for now. Mary put on her Mormon smile again and walked towards the house.

- So Stop! What the hell am I doing?

- Who are you anyway? Road prostitute! That's who you are!

- I'm Sam Winchester, damn it! I'm not going to hang out in your shithole! What do you have there, a brothel? Sam's voice broke into a scream. He turned sharply and headed towards the car. The door slammed behind him, and he slammed the wheel.

-Okay, cry, - the girl said quietly, without moving from her place, but only smiling slightly, this time only a little more sincerely.

                  Your room 34.

- That is how we live. Standing in the passage of the room, John shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

- Are you Sir, without things? You will be assigned number rom 34.

- We have lunch at exactly 12. And please don’t be late. The Madam doesn't like this.

- Sir, is there anything else I can help you with... - but Sam had already slammed the door in front of him.

The sun was already shining with all its might into the small square window, but thanks to the dark gray walls, the light no longer blinded it. Still, Sam pulled the light curtain.

- What would Dean do in my place? But Dean was gone, and Sam began to look blankly towards the window, leaning slightly on the door.

----

- Allow me to introduce you to a new member of our community. "Mistress" stood at the head of a long table

on the other side of Sam, and like everyone else, she was holding a glass of red wine in her hand.

- Sam Winchester!

- Welcome, Sam Winchester! The people standing along the table unanimously tur ned their gazes from the former “Prostitute” to him.

After which everyone sat down in unison and began to eat in silence. And only Mary continued to look at Sam with a satisfied smile.

Only now Sam noticed that Mary seemed pregnant.

“Well, there was someone here to get pregnant,” he thought and began to look around.

The walls of all the rooms in the building were the same gray color as in Sam's room. And in the center of the dining room-living room hung a portrait of “Marie”, and it was simply huge in size.

- Do you like the portrait?

- Oh yes, it’s a pity that the windows didn’t allow you to hang a larger portrait.

- Don’t be sarcastic, it’s not me at all.

- Then who?

- My sister. We have portraits of her all over the house. Her name is Sophie. It’s just a pity that she herself doesn’t deserve to come here. These portraits are my love for her.

-Where is she? He probably works somewhere far from here.

- She's a prostitute. Marie buried her eyes in her plate, and her palms trembled slightly.

Everyonek at the table looked at each other.

- Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. But Marie threw her head back and laughed.

She laughed for a long time, until suddenly her laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

One of those sitting in the hall, who apparently was a doctor, quickly approached her.

- Today is such an important day, you shouldn’t be nervous.

- Am I upset? I am very happy and cheerful. I might even show Sam our house myself. And she confidently rose from the table and led him behind her.

The days slowly passed. Of course he planned to leave. Sam even talked to her about it. Marie answered, anxiously looking away, that if he leaves, the police will arrest him again, since he was taken by her for a reason, but with the promise of a positive influence on him from the community.

Sam Winchester himself will be arrested? – he again remembered the days on the floor of the prison cell, and although the threat sounded simply ridiculous, for some reason he cooled down a little. Besides, next to her he felt the same peace that he had felt then in the car. Dean's death was once again shrouded in veil, and he could listen to it for a long time, enjoying his peace. At first he tried to answer her something, to delve into it, even to argue, but the Lady did not tolerate any objections. And over time, he simply gave up trying.

Besides, where should he go? After all, he is so tired. Terribly tired.

- Demons in your head.

- You must learn to believe in people.

- Community is a collective mind, that’s what will lead you to the truth.

- How long do you think you spent in the cell?

- Everything repeats itself over and over again. She spoke.

At the same time, no matter how important “society” or “society” was, Marie herself was clearly the head of her community.

At her approach, the inhabitants of the house usually fell silent and bowed their heads. Over time, first as a joke, and then out of habit, Sam began to do the same. He even participated in some of the "community" rituals. A couple of months passed like this. It’s hard to say for sure, but “Mari’s” belly has finally grown. It seemed unthinkable to Sam to ask who the father was. And yet, all this was strange and somehow alarming.

                             Safi.

In the end, one day, he just got behind the wheel and drove wherever his eyes led him.

Sam's car slid smoothly across the gray gravel. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, and the radio was playing in his car. Something cheerful. Sam tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music and sang along. He drove for quite a long time, but did not encounter any signs of civilization on his way. No motels, not even gas stations. Tired of the trip, he simply turned back. Sam was dying to sleep. It was starting to get dark, and when he was about to reach the community, he saw that same prostitute on the road, “Sophie” it seems. She walked along the highway, waddling, right in the middle of the road towards him.She put her left hand forward, urging him to stop. And with her right hand she supported her huge belly. Her hair was wet, and her face expressed complete despair. Sam immediately stopped, and at that moment "Sophie" fell to the ground. From her heart-rending scream, he realized that she was going into labor.

- I must take her to the community immediately. He thought.

- I will help you. Wait a minute. He picked her up and quickly brought her into the car.

For a moment she looked at him with the same fear, but then her features were again distorted by a grimace of pain, Sophie clutched her stomach with both hands and writhed in contractions.

- I will take you to our community.

- Just don't take me there.

- Your sister is there. She will help you.

But Sophie, looking at him with genuine horror, trying to get out, hit the car door with her hand with the last of her strength. After which her strength finally left her, and she passed out.

- John, where is the Lady?

- She is absent.

John opened the front door for Sam, and Sam shuffled awkwardly in the threshold.

- Her sister is here! She gives birth.

As luck would have it, a fine, nasty rain started dripping from the darkened gray sky.

- Sophie is prohibited from being on the territory of the community.

- Please wait! But John had already begun to close the heavy front door. Sam quickly pushed her with his hand and burst into the house.

- Hey! Anybody! The house seemed empty. It was as if there was not a soul in it. Sam rushed absurdly through the corridors.

-John, listen, there’s a woman in the car, she needs help.  

- John took the flashlight and walked slowly with Sam to the car. The rain had already intensified and the two of them, a bright orange spot, made their way through its veil.

When Sam suddenly opened the door, there was no one in the car.

                    New Born.

Sam spent the next two days in a fever. Apparently this rain finally finished him off. He was tossing around in bed and delirious. Sophie's broken face would sometimes appear in front of him, and he would again raise his hand to strike. Then he heard Marie's laughter, and at that moment Sophie's face acquired the bestial grin of the demon girl she and Dean had killed once. He grabbed her neck and tried to choke her. A little more and everything will be fine again. But the neck was wet and the hand constantly slipped.

But my neck was wet and my hand kept slipping. He sank his teeth into her neck and growled. A strange feeling of hatred, and arousal at the same time. There was a part of Sam that was afraid of what was happening, but he was irresistibly drawn to it. Eventually he saw himself running along the highway, in the grip of some almost primal horror, and woke up.

- Sam, Sam wake up!

- Good morning! The morning sun filled the room with a soft whitish light. Marie stood opposite Sam's bed and smiled.

-How are you feeling? Today is such a wonderful day, you definitely have to come down for breakfast. Her mood was filled with festive elation.

- We are waiting for you. And she, gently running her hand over his cheek, hurriedly left the room. She no longer had a belly.

-And was there a belly? He wondered.

- Does this matter?

Sam slowly sat down on the bed and began to pull on his trousers.- A hearty breakfast is all I need right now. That was all he thought at that moment.

All these children, these births, all this is just a ridiculous dream. He decided.

                           New Dean.

But already on the way to the living room he heard a child crying. Having entered the room, he stopped. The walls and floor were covered with something white; in the center of the living room there was the same long table, this time covered with a white tablecloth. The sun illuminated the entire room with an even white light.

At the head of the table stood Marie, in a long black dress, holding a crying naked baby in her outstretched arms, high above her head. He was crying heart-rendingly, but she didn’t even think about calming him down. There were men on both sides of her, and the same strange smile was frozen on the faces of these people.

- Salute his father! She said.

- We welcome you! Those in the hall spoke.Sam's left leg gave way and he awkwardly walked towards the "table".

Marie looked up at him and at that moment a shiver of horror ran down his spine from her strange smile.

- This is redemption! She said solemnly.

Sam felt like he was suffocating.

- General redemption! Others in the room spoke. And their hands began to touch the baby’s body.

Obeying a strange impulse, Sam also touched the child’s forehead with his hand. Then, as if waking up, he sharply recoiled and saw fangs appear on the faces of those present. Needle-sharp teeth pierced the baby’s white body, and with a sharp jerk, someone more agile tore a piece of meat from his flesh.

Marie stood at the head, swaying slightly and laughing, flashing huge fangs like spears. Her face was splattered with blood. But Sam was unable to return his gaze to what he saw.

He jerked sharply and threw the first chair he found at some vampire. He was feeling nauseous.

He must run away from here. It doesn’t matter where, the main thing is to run. He rushed away. Oddly enough, no one tried to block his way. He didn’t even remember how he ended up on the highway.

-This highway doesn’t end in this direction. He thought. And he ran in the opposite direction. It was starting to be a clear day. Sam ran along the road, not remembering himself, as if in delirium. Periodically he stumbled, fell and ran again. It is unknown how much time has passed. Suddenly he saw a bar in the distance. “Billy’s” had a window flashing invitingly.

Sam looked around anxiously, looking for the slightest danger. He was angry and ready to hit Dean for his carelessness.

- Our last task. – Dean picked up the glass of whiskey and poured it into himself.

-It’s just a demon girl, relax. He added, stopping smiling. And Sam heard a painfully familiar squeal.  

------------

-Listen, I’m really sorry, we did everything we could… I’m really really sorry for your brother, I’ll leave you for a while. The doctor put something on the table and left the room.

-Sammy, no... Dean was sitting over his brother's bed and tightly squeezing his hand.

Next to his bed there was a device on which a green stripe glowed with what the doctor had just voiced.

Sam lay flat. Before his mind's eye, the gray strip of the highway was already twisting with might and main…..

Собачье сердце и верное перо М. Булгакова, на службе у товарища И. Сталина.

The “dog’s” heart and pen of M. Bulgakov in the service of Comrade Stalin.

Посмотрела недавно"Собачье сердце" Альберто Латтуады. Задумалась. Саму книгу читала давно. Принято считать, что Булгаков высмеивает советского человека. Критикует советский строй. Но я лично прониклась к Шарикову большой симпатией. Как филолог могу заявить. Если Вы хотите понять что действительно хотел сказать автор, и какую мысль он зашифровал в своей книге, почитайте критику и хрестоматию. Все что там написано - кристаллическая ложь. И диаметральная противоположность тому, что вложено в произведение на самом деле. Это и с фильмами работает. То есть - хочешь понять вложенный посыл, читаешь критику и принимаешь противоположное ей мнение. Я уже писала о том, что вся литература, как и "важнейшее из искусств" это обман и манипуляция сознанием масс. Это всегда - попытка вложить в головы людей - люцефирианскую философию успешности. При чем так было и сто, и двести лет назад. Вы даже не представляете, какими схемами манипуляций владеет, управляющая нами власть. Но вернемся к Булгакову. Михаил Афанасьевич испытывал огромное уважение и пиетет к личности Сталина. Между ними даже как-то состоялся телефонный разговор. "Вождь" САМ звонил Мастеру. А некоторые его пьесы посещал по несколько раз. Булгаков хорошо ставился. И ни разу не был арестован. Хотя прости господи "критики" и находят в его произведениях, антисоветчину. Но "критики" находят. А Сталин и НКВД нет. Кому верить? Ужели чекисты себе враги? Ну, конечно же, нет. Итак, Булгаков с большим интересом и уважением относился к личности Сталина, раз. Отцом писателя был не просто священник, а известнейший философ-богослов. И человеком МА был воцерковлённым, два. А теперь посмотрим на профессора Преображенского. Он занимается довольно отвратительной с точки зрения морали деятельностью. Возвращает потенцию, пожилым развратникам обоего пола. Что довольно таки - фу. Ну, и, в конце концов, совершает совсем уж кощунственное деяние, а именно превращает собаку в человека. С точки зрения православной церкви - это апофеоз греха. За которым должно следовать немедленное отлучение. Сам Профессор ведет себя довольно резко. Не проявляя к своему творению ни малейших чувств, даже не пытаясь заниматься его воспитанием, он требует от бывшей собаки абсолютной человечности. Что довольно жестоко. Одним словом читатель на бессознательном уровне полностью принимает сторону Шарикова. И при этом даже не отдает себе в этом отчет. Сознательно мы вроде бы его критикуем. Но внутри... И таким образом Булгаков снимает с нас критическое восприятие с некоторых представителей советского строя. С того человека которого формировала эта система. Вызывая в нас большую лояльность и к социализму, и к Сталину, и к таким вот "Шариковым". На уровне сознания мы, как бы, против. Внешне нам говорят, мол, Шариков это ата та!! А внутри в обход критическому мышлению, мы полностью за. Мог ли быть Сталин против такого писателя? Конечно же, нет! Что думаете? Верите хрестоматиям?  

Iss recently watched “Heart of a Dog” by Alberto Lattuada. I thought about it. I read the book itself a long time ago. It is generally accepted that Bulgakov ridicules the Soviet man. Criticizes the Soviet system. But I personally developed a great sympathy for Sharikov. As a philologist I can say this. If you want to understand what the author really wanted to say and what thought he encoded in his book, read criticism and anthology. Everything that is written there is a crystalline lie. And the diametric opposite of what is actually put into the work. This works with films too. That is, if you want to understand the underlying message, you read the criticism and accept the opposite opinion. I have already written that all literature, like “the most important of the arts,” is deception and manipulation of the consciousness of the masses. This is always an attempt to put the Lucefirian philosophy of success into people's heads. Moreover, this was the case a hundred and two hundred years ago. You can’t even imagine what kind of manipulation schemes the government that controls us has. But let's return to Bulgakov. Mikhail Afanasyevich had great respect and reverence for Stalin’s personality. There was even a telephone conversation between them. Stalin attended some of Bulgakov's plays several times. Bulgakov was often staged. And he was never arrested. But “critics” find anti-Sovietism in his works. But the “critics” find it. But Stalin and the NKVD do not. Who to believe? Are the security officers really their own enemies? Well, of course not. So, Bulgakov treated Stalin’s personality with great interest and respect. The writer’s father was not just a priest, but a famous philosopher-theologian. Now let's look at Professor Preobrazhensky. He is engaged in some rather morally repugnant activities. Returns potency to elderly libertines of both sexes. And he even commits a completely blasphemous act, namely, he turns a dog into a human. From the point of view of the Orthodox Church, this is the apotheosis of sin. Which should be followed by immediate excommunication. The Professor himself behaves quite harshly. Without showing the slightest feelings for his creation, without even trying to educate him, he demands absolute humanity from the former dog. Which is pretty cruel. The reader, on an unconscious level, completely takes Sharikov’s side. And at the same time he doesn’t even realize it. Consciously, we seem to criticize him. But inside… And thus Bulgakov removes our critical perception of some representatives of the Soviet system. Arousing in us great loyalty to socialism, and to Stalin, and to such “Sharikovs”. At the level of consciousness, we are, as it were, against it. Outwardly they tell us that Sharikov is terrible!! And internally, bypassing critical thinking, we are all for it. Could Stalin be against such a writer? Of course not! What do you think??

Интервью Листермана.

Попалось на глаза интервью Листермана о поиске девушек порядочных для "бохатых". Оказывается сейчас у них там новые тренды. Важны "чистые" и без косметики даже. При чем сам Листерманн их профессионально "ловит". И можно даже познакомиться с особо "чистой" так, что она знать даже не будет. И вот кому-то из "бохатых" все это надо. На самом деле надо. По многим причинам.

Частая асоциальность и оторванность от нормального общения "бохатых". Невозможность и боязнь общения и отказа.

Присяга сатане и выбор телки на которую он укажет для развращения этой телки. При этом типажность периодически меняется и ее приходится "менять". То есть это масонская мистерия определенная. Для уничтожения любви как таковой в нашем обществе. Часто такую телку даже пиарят и "светят" для того чтоб эту "присягу" масонским ценностям продемонстрировать. То есть это сигнал, "я мол свой". А это уже подспорье в бизнесе и делах. От лукавого и от "своих".

Энерго вампиризм свежего мяса и его денежной энергии. Точнее ее. Кстати для этого еще и знакомятся с семьей, дабы понять не выпила ли еще семья ее ресурс.

Если девушка не в курсе что ее "ведет" Петро и она у него в базе. Она вроде как дороже. НО, внутри своего Я она ведь все равно все будет понимать, а как следствие, в итоге окажется даже подлее и опаснее той, что на внешнем уровне все осознавала. И непонятно, зачем вообще такая нужна.

Пожары в Калифорнии. Причины следствия.

Fires in California. Causes and effects.

Вот что мне попалось в телеграмм канале "Только никому".

"Новая теория заговоров, почему сгорели особняки звезд в LA. Во всем виноват Пи Дидди. Одна бывшая чиновница сказала, и многие дальше подхватили версию, что пособники арестованного рэпера таким образом решили сместить инфополе со своего подопечного на новые трагедии.

Одновременно пожар - удобный способ скрыть улики. Непонятно, правда, какие. Сразу вспомнилась легенда о подземном тоннеле между домом Шона Комбса и особняком Playboy Хью Хефнера. Которая, кстати, не подтвердилась."

У меня есть ощущение что на этот мартовский пейсах от масиков нас ждёт что то особенно грандиозное. Теперь вот и Канье сюда зачем то приплели. Или же просто возвращают Америку в пучины её привычного первобытного пуританства. Не, ну а зачем рабам свободная любовь? Все только не свободное и тупое.

Еще я обратила внимание что звезды, чьи особняки сгорели, в большинстве своем были причастны к скандалу с Пи Дидди. И версия с уничтожением улик выглядит вполне себе правдоподобно.

И есть много таких нетронутых домов домов.

И есть много таких нетронутых домов домов.

Так же интересно что многие пострадавшие звезды в своих интервью подчеркивают свое сожаление о потерянных, имеющих нематериальную ценность для них вещах. Вот Пэрис Хилтон например сожалела о сгоревших рисунках ее детей. Эрик Крипке подчеркнул что сожалеет о своих сгоревших дневниках, которые он вел с 18 лет. Вам не кажется странным, что имея кучу времени собрать и вывезти все вещи, звезды принципиально берут только документы? А потом еще и "отчитываются" перед кем то о сгоревших вещах. Конкретно их перечисляя? При том рисунки и дневники как раз и могли быть свидетельством тех преступлений за которые судят Пи Дидди?

I have a feeling that something especially grandiose awaits us from the Masiks on this March sidewalk. Now Kanye has been dragged into this for some reason. Or they are simply returning America to the depths of its usual primitive Puritanism. Well, why do slaves need free love? Everything is just not free and stupid.

I also noticed that the stars whose mansions burned down were mostly involved in the scandal with P. Diddy. And the version with the destruction of evidence looks quite plausible.

And there are many such untouched houses.

And there are many such untouched houses.

It is also interesting that many of the affected stars in their interviews emphasize their regret about the lost things that had intangible value for them. For example, Paris Hilton regretted the burned drawings of her children. Eric Kripke emphasized that he regretted his burned diaries, which he kept since he was 18. Don't you think it's strange that, having a lot of time to collect and take out all the things, the stars take only documents on principle? And then they also "report" to someone about the burned things. Specifically listing them? And the drawings and diaries could have been evidence of the crimes?

Vivienne Ward (from Pretty woman) and Valorie Curry (name actress) In character firecraker at the boys show.

Ward переводиться как опекаемый. Что по контексту фильма понятно. А имя Вивьен означает жизнь. Имя актрисы Валери означает жизненную силу, здоровье, что вполне перекликается с жизнь. Хотя уже конечно другое. Так же белый цвет уже отсутствует в костюме, его заменили патроны.

Ward is translated as ward. Which is clear from the context tof the film. And the name Vivienne means life. The name of the actress Valorie means vitality, health, which is quite similar to life. Although of course it is different. Also, the white color is no longer in the suit, it was replaced by cartridges.

Чем закончится конфликт на Украине, или при чем здесь Триер? Опускаем Россию по-масонски.

How will the conflict in Ukraine end, or what does Trier have to do with it? Let's put Russia down in a Masonic way.

Ну для начала напомню Вам финал знаменитого фильма Триера "Нимфоманка". Героиня Мии Гот по имени Р, писает на Джо, лежащую в подворотне, в исполнении Шарлотты Генсбург. Вышло кино в декабре 2013 года, снималось, думаю в 2012. Собственно, этот эпизод наглядно, и заранее дает нам понять, что Россию в этом конфликте"опустят". Что уже начало происходить в Курской области. Я это понимала всегда. Другое дело, что как русскому патриоту, мне все это достаточно неприятно. Особенно, неприятно понимать, что от нас с Вами здесь, ровным счетом ничего не зависит. Все придумано заранее, разыграно. Поставлено, аки хороший масонски спектакль. Вот мол, смотрите, Россия-нимфоманка, Россия-плохая. То ли дело маленькая и гордая Хохляндия, которая всех победила! И не важно, что победа это срежиссированная, постановочная. Имеющая своей целью лишь в очередной раз опплевать нашу с Вами родину... До которой детям ее, дела к сожалению, давно уже нет.

Well, to begin with, I will remind you of the ending of the famous film by Trier "Nymphomaniac". Mia Goth's heroine, named R, pees on Joe, who is lying in a gateway, played by Charlotte Gainsbourg. The film was released in December 2013, I think it was shot in 2012. Actually, this episode clearly and in advance makes it clear to us that Russia will be "lowered" in this conflict. Which has already begun to happen in the Kursk region. I have always understood this. Another thing is that as a Russian patriot, all this is quite unpleasant for me. It is especially unpleasant to understand that absolutely nothing depends on you and me here. Everything is thought up in advance, played out. Staged, like a good Masonic performance. Look, Russia is a nymphomaniac, Russia is bad. But small and proud Khokhlyandiya, which defeated everyone, is a completely different matter! And it does not matter that this victory is staged, staged. The only goal of which is to once again spit on our homeland… Which, unfortunately, her children have long since ceased to care about.

Парк Персефоны..

Вид на гору из заснеженного парка. Декабрь 24.View of the mountain from a snowy park. December 24.

Поздравляю всех с Наступающим!!! Снова родные пенаты, раз Вам понравилось!

Война и Майя.

War and Maya

Мы привыкли считать древних людей дикими. Древние правитель Майя, протыкал свой пенис и истекал кровью, до тех пор пока не начнуться галлюцинации, прежде чем отправить свой народ на войну. Японские Самураи, если их отряд проигрывал, делали Харакири. Сталин отказался вернуть из плена в Германии своего сына, так как Гитлер просил взамен прислать ему генерала. Сам же Гитлер прошел первую мировую, и ослеп на несколько лет после газовой атаки, прежде чем придти к власти. А когда Германия проиграла, наложил на себя руки. Как думаете Путин или Джордж Буш, способны на что-то подобное?)) Ответ очевиден.)) Наш мир чуть более чем полностью лишен благородства. Скорее это мы сейчас одичали.

We are accustomed to considering ancient people to be wild. An ancient Mayan ruler pierced his penis and bled until he hallucinated before sending his people off to war. Japanese Samurai, if their squad lost, did Harakiri. Stalin refused to return his son from captivity in Germany, since Hitler asked to send him a general in return. Hitler himself went through the First World War and went blind for several years after a gas attack before coming to power. And when Germany lost, he committed suicide. Our world is little more than completely devoid of nobility. It’s more likely that we’ve gone wilde now. Do you think Putin or George Bush are capable of something like that?)) The answer is obvious.))

Герберт Арнольд Оливье. Смерть и дева. Herbert Arnould Olivier (British, 1861 - 1952). Death and Maiden.