Это Магия!

The Palace of Farmers

Мысли

В жизни женщины есть 2 пути - за мужиком и за своим психическим здоровьем.

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.

Демоны VS кирпичи.

Пару слов о допотопной архитектуре. A few words about antediluvian architecture.

Когда-то давно снимала комнату в районе метро дмитровская, в Москве, рядом расположена арт площадка Хлебзавод. Сосед по квартире работал там на починке разной электрики, и говорил что под Хлебзаводом существует древний, большой подземный ход, арочного типа. Я даже хотела сходить с ним и поснимать, но как-то ноги не дошли. Там огромное количество строений из красного кирпича. И ход как раз под одним из них. Может он еще как-то с метро связан. Так что подобные ходы под Москвой это не миф.

А вот кстати фото тунеллей под другой тоже кстати арт площадкой, но в другом месте Винзавод.

Интересно что и красный кирпич, и металл, это материалы проходящие обработку огнем, возможно это дает им какую то защитную силу от демонических сущностей. Смотрела ролик на ютубе, о том что наши бабушки спали только на металлических кроватях. Я и сама живя в родном городе, помню что в спальне у нас такая стояла. Я и спала на ней все детство. Примерно так они выглядели. И были стабильно весьма популярны.

Я думаю металл, кирпич, стекло это то что прошло обработку огнем давало нашим предкам большую защиту от демонов. А Вы что думаете? A few words about antediluvian architecture. A long time ago I rented a room in the Dmitrovskaya metro area in Moscow, next to the Hlebzavod art site. My roommate worked there repairing various electrical equipment, and he said that under Hlebzavod there was an ancient, large underground passage, an arched type. I even wanted to go with him and take pictures, but somehow my legs did not get around to it. There are a huge number of red brick buildings there. And the passage is right under one of them. Maybe it is somehow connected with the metro. So such passages under Moscow are not a myth. It is interesting that both red brick and metal are materials that undergo fire treatment, perhaps this gives them some kind of protective power from demonic entities. I watched a video on YouTube about how our grandmothers slept only on metal beds. I myself, living in my hometown, remember that we had one in the bedroom. I slept on it all my childhood. I think metal, brick, anything that was treated with fire gave our ancestors greater protection from demons. What do you think?

Погладить и пожалеть. Моя Мини новелла.

Мне часто говорили что с моей фантазией надо писать книги. Ну не знаю… Честно села писать. Пока есть лишь скомканное предисловие. Но по-моему оно вполне удалось.

Ведь мать есть не бог, это дьявол

Что нежность и хрупкость цветка,

Бросает в объятья пиявок.

Вступление.

Прежде всего хочу развеять ошибочное суждение многих эгерцев о том что посвящена сия история их достопочтимому народу. Понимать ее следует совершенно иначе.

Многие из Вас помнят серию весьма не научных фотографий, сделанную Нун Боргильезе на других планетах. Мне врезалось в память одно их тех фото. На нем была изображена девочка-инопланетянка двенадцати лет, заключенная в клетку. Посвятить этот рассказ автор хотел все же ей, а не окружавшему ее народу, привыкшему принимать похвалы и посвящения исключительно на свой счет. Получала ли девочка достаточно пищи? Были ли живы ее родители? Клетка, в которой она помещалась, была пуста. Что наводило на самые печальные размышления. Ее история лилась на меня и давала ответы лишь самого мрачного порядка. Такого же, как окружавшая ее ночь вампиров-эгерцев.

Погладить и пожалеть, вот то, что невольно приходит в голову при взгляде на эту картину. Неизвестно в какое это происходило время. Фотографии Нун, вещь весьма абстрактная хочется верить в лучшее. Ведь реальность так часто оказывается не столь плоха как нам кажется… В памяти потомков остаются лишь мифы, при чем утрированные и превращенные в сказку, которую так увлекательно пересказывать друг другу. Настоящее же время словно стесняясь своей безинтересности, остается в тени. И будь оно молодой девушкой, просто покрылось бы краской стыда, услышав о том что осталось о нем в памяти потомков.

Stroke and regret.

Me was often told that with my imagination I should write books. Well, I don’t know... I honestly sat down to write. So far there is only a crumpled preface. But in my opinion it was quite successful.

After all, mother is not God, she is the devil. She the fragility and tenderness of a flower, Throws into the arms of the leeches...

Introduction.

In the First of all, I want to dispel the erroneous judgment of many Eger residents that this story is dedicated to their venerable people. It should be understood completely differently. Many of you remember a series of very unscientific photographs taken by Nun Borghillese on other planets. One of those photos is etched in my memory. It showed a twelve-year-old alien girl imprisoned in a cage. The author still wanted to dedicate this story to her, and not to the people around her, who were accustomed to accepting praise and dedication solely at their own expense. Did the girl get enough food? Were her parents alive? The cage in which she was placed was empty. Which led to the saddest thoughts. Her story poured into me and provided only answers of the darkest order. The same as the night of the Eger vampires that surrounded her. To stroke and feel sorry is what involuntarily comes to mind when looking at this picture. It is unknown at what time this happened. Nun's photographs are a very abstract thing, I want to believe in the best. After all, reality so often turns out to be not as bad as we think... Only myths remain in the memory of descendants, exaggerated and turned into a fairy tale, which is so fun to retell to each other. The present time, as if embarrassed by its lack of interest, remains in the shadows. And if she were a young girl, she would simply be covered with shame upon hearing about what remained about him in the memory of her descendants.

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…..

Чтобы быть женщиной, нужно иметь много мужества. С праздником!

Улитка на склоне. братья Стругацкие. Часть 1. Персефона-Нава. Главный персонаж.

Snail on the slope. Strugatsky brothers. Part 1. Persephone-Nava. The main character.

Я опускаю глаза

Считаю шаги,

Я шепчу имена...

Одну звали Лето, другую Осень, а третью бесспорно - Весна.

НО, они вошли в туман,

И не вышли назад.

Попробуй!!! Попробуй их догони!

(с) песня Белая Стена, группа Наутилус Помпилиус.

Один из важных персонажей Нава - это Персефона. Со всеми вытекающими подтекстами. И Бутусов (Кормильцев) и Стругацкие солидарны что Зима это самое "честное" время. Аки все масоны. Ну еще может быть ранняя весна, и поздняя осень. То есть время, когда Персефона честно живет в царстве у мужа Аида, а не предается инфантилизму в гостях у мамы.

Ах да! Причем здесь Персефона? А при том, что именно она, именуемая в произведении Навой, на мой взгляд, главный персонаж, и никакой не Перец, никакой не Кандид, о чем так успешно толкуют хрестоматийные "исследователи". Понять что они не так важны, можно еще и просто потому что их именами именуются главы произведения. А в масонском творчестве название фильма, книги, песни всегда дается в честь менее значимого, дабы видимо компенсировать ему его неважность. Короче не о Кандиде и Переце книга. Вот. Кандид и Перец это 2 масонские колонны, 2 брата. Между которыми Персефона входит в царство Аида. Ну или выходит из него. Если Вы обратите внимание, в масовой культуре очень часто мы встречаем творчество 2х братьев. Которые, как бы противопоставлен друг другу. Братья Стругацкие, Самойловы, Вачовски, ну и др. Вполне возможно, до того как стать "женой" Кандида, Нава была "женой", ну или невестой Переца. Но это не точно.

Точнее женой-дочерью, так как ни о каком интиме здесь речи нет. Задача колонн проводить ее в царство Аида, "раздвоить". А для этого нужно максимально оторвать ее от реальности. Создав "Наву". Явь и Навь, в славянской мифологии это реальность, и мир снов, мир загробный. То есть из Яви мы создаем мир Нави. Отправляя живое в загробный мир, то есть убивая.

Кстати, на обложке издательства АСТ (художники Е. Ферез и А. Ферез может быть тоже братья?) изображена именно Нава.

Персефона в мифологии проходит путь из царства Аида, и обратно. Замыкая календарный год. Когда она в гостях у матери - это лето, весна, осень. Природа радуется ее появлению. Когда ушла к мужу - зима. Как-то так. Почитайте, кому интересно.

Ну а текст Стругацких вот.

Мертвяков даже Гиппоцеты боятся, подумал Кандид. Кто же их не боится? Где бы их найти, которые не боятся?.. Мухи ревут. Глупо, нелепо. Мухи - ревут. Осы ревут…

Мама! Прошептала вдруг Нава. - Мама идет… Она стояла на четвереньках и глядела через плечо. Лицо ее выражало огромное изумление и недоверие. И Кандид увидел что из леса вышли три женщины, и не замечая мертвяков, направились к подножию холма.

Мама! - завизжала Нава, не своим голосом, перепрыгнула через Кандида и направилась к ним наперерез. Тогда Кандид тоже вскочил, и ему показалось что мертвяки совсем рядом, что он чувствует жар их тел…

-Что еще за Молчун? - сказала мать Навы. -Это мой муж. - сказала Нава. Смотрите какой он хороший. Он меня от воров спас. -Какой еще муж? - неприязненно произнесла беременная женщина. - Не выдумывай девочка. -Ты что, - сказала беременная женщина Кандиду, - действительно муж?

-Да нет конечно, - сказал он. Какая она мне жена. Она мне дочь… Он хотел рассказать что Нава выходила его, что он ее любит и что он очень рад, что все так хорошо и удачно получилось хотя он ничего не понимает.

Вместе с Навой Кандид проходит из одного мира в другой. И сама природа вокруг меняется.

Местность опять стала повышаться. Но сырости не убавилось хотя лес стал чище. Уже не видно было коряг, гнилых сучьев, завалов гниющих лиан. Пропала зелень, все вокруг сделалось желтым и оранжевым. Деревья стали стройнее, и болото стало какое-то необычное - ровное, без моха и грязевых куч. Исчезла паутина зарослей, направо и налево стало видно далеко. И трава на обочинах стала мягче и сочнее, травинка к травинке, словно кто-то специально подбирал и высаживал. Было до странного тихо.

А теперь внимание - вопрос Из мира Нави в мир Явь, ведет Кандид Наву, или наоборот? И почему?

Если этот пост наберет больше 10 лайков, размещу вторую часть.

One of the important characters of Nava is Persephone. With all the ensuing subtexts. Both Butusov (Kormiltsev) and the Strugatskys agree that Winter is the most "honest" time. Like all the Masons. Well, it could also be early spring and late autumn. That is, the time when Persephone honestly lives in the kingdom of her husband Hades, and does not indulge in infantilism visiting her mother.

Oh yeah! What does Persephone have to do with it? And given that it is she, named in the work by Nava, in my opinion, who is the main character, and not Pepper, not Candide, as the textbook "researchers" so successfully explain. You can also understand that they are not so important simply because the chapters of the work are named after them. And in Masonic creativity, the title of a film, book, song is always given in honor of something less significant, in order to apparently compensate for its unimportance. In short, the book is not about Candide and Pepper. Here. Candide and Pepper are 2 Masonic columns, 2 brothers. Between whom Persephone enters the kingdom of Hades. Well, or comes out of it. If you pay attention, in mass culture we very often come across the work of 2 brothers. Who, as it were, are opposed to each other. The Strugatsky brothers, the Samoilovs, the Wachowskis, and others. It is quite possible that before becoming the "wife" of Candide, Nava was the "wife", or bride of Peretz. But this is not certain.

More precisely, a wife-daughter, since there is no talk of any other here. The task of the columns is to take her to the kingdom of Hades, to "split her in two". And for this it is necessary to tear her away from reality as much as possible. By creating "Nava". Reality and Nav, in Slavic mythology this is reality, and the world of dreams, the afterlife. That is, from Reality we create the world of Nav. Sending the living to the afterlife, that is, killing.

By the way, it is Nava who is depicted on the cover of the AST publishing house (the artists E. Ferez and A. Ferez may also be brothers?).

In mythology, Persephone goes from the kingdom of Hades and back. Closing the calendar year. When she is visiting her mother - it is summer, spring, autumn. Nature rejoices at her appearance. When she went to her husband - winter. Something like that. Read it, if you are interested.

Well, here is the Strugatskys' text.

Even the Hippocetes are afraid of the dead, thought Candide. Who isn't afraid of them? Where can I find those who aren't afraid?.. Flies are roaring. Stupid, absurd. Flies are roaring. Wasps are roaring…

-Mom! Nava suddenly whispered. - Mom is coming… She was standing on all fours and looking over her shoulder. Her face expressed great amazement and disbelief. And Candide saw that three women came out of the forest, and not noticing the dead men, headed towards the foot of the hill.

-Mama! - Nava screamed, not in her own voice, jumped over Candide and headed towards them. Then Candide also jumped up, and it seemed to him that the dead men were very close, that he felt the heat of their bodies…

-What other Silent One? - said Nava's mother.

-This is my husband. - said Nava. Look how good he is. He saved me from thieves.

-What other husband? - said the pregnant woman with hostility. - Don't make things up, girl.

-What are you, - the pregnant woman said to Candide, really a husband?

--Of course not, - he said. What kind of wife is she to me. She is my daughter… He wanted to tell her that Nava nursed him back to health, that he loved her and that he was very glad that everything turned out so well and successfully, although he did not understand anything.

Together with Nava, Kandid passes from one world to another. And the nature itself changes around.

The terrain began to rise again. But the dampness did not decrease, although the forest became cleaner. The bottom of the snags, rotten branches, heaps of rotting vines were no longer visible. The greenery disappeared, everything around turned yellow and orange. The trees became more slender, and the swamp became somehow unusual - smooth, without moss and mud heaps. The cobweb of thickets disappeared, it became possible to see far to the right and left. And the grass on the roadsides became softer and juicier, blade by blade, as if someone had specially selected and planted it. It was strangely quiet.

And now, attention - a question. From which world to which does Candide lead Navu? And why? What do you think? From the other world to the world of the living or vice versa?

If this post gets more than 10 likes, I will post the second part.

Протест для отведения глаз перед выборами.

Недавние протесты в Башкирии довольно активно освещались нашими СМИ. Мне показалось это довольно странным, как правило настоящие протесты против власти обычно замалчиваются. Этот же был показан нам, при чем под соусом "против Путина". Словно люди выступающие против приговора своему земляку и он сам что то против "режима" имели. Какой удачный протест для пиарщиков власти, Вам не кажется? Живет себе такой вот обычный российский обыватель и совесть о том что режим он не меняет периодически его тревожит. Но тут он видит как бы бунт, и ответственность с себя за такую власть на какое то время может снова снять. Очень удачно прямо таки к выборам вовремя.  Так же вспомнился недавний "захват" бывшего повара Путина, Пригожина на нескольких танках "всея Москови". Опять же все следили за этим шоу, и свою ответственность за происходящее в стране благополучно могли с себя снять, хоть и лишь на какое то время. Вон ведь революция мол и без меня делается, так что можно и дальше жить не пытаясь что то делать. Ну а те кто не имеет своей политической позиции, могли бы склониться в сторону режима, испугавшись потери стабильности. Наиболее прочно всегда стоит та власть, что умеет создать в головах людей иллюзию оппозиции, дабы в нужный момент снять с них ответственность за их гражданское бездействие. Если власть это сиденье табуретки, то оппозиция это одна из ее ножек, которая несмотря на свое перпендикулярное положение, по сутти просто дает сиденью поддержку.

Это мое фото сделанное на ВДНХ на выставке "Россия". Нейросеть показала как бы я выгледела в рабочих профессиях будущего.