On the books.

There’s gonna be a few words about books. Usually I grab some book, or choose, by chance – I just look at the bookshelves in my father’s library and search for any book to read. I run through the backs of the books, read a title then a name of an author. Then I draw one book after another, examine them, wondering what could be more interesting considering my present state of mind and tastes, and choose one, seldom two, books. A stupidity arrives the very moment I find another one – far more interesting and the one I’ve wanted to read for a long time. But the previous one is half read and you kinda fuck your brain in quest of righteous decision – what to do? Eventually you appease yourself with a golden mean – continue to read the previous one and begin with that, which is of greater interest for you by now.

Hell, I guess lots of us do such a way, and we don’t find it bad, it’s likely to be inconvenient. Years ago I would consider that as kinda sacrilege, but those days I had far much time for reading and didn’t fill my head with thoughts of which one to read. Now times changed, I’m a God damn student, gotta do something at least – study, pass stupid and what is more important – useless exams, waste my time on this pointless activity and find a gap in my now tight schedule to devote some time to, I must say, a real mental activity – reading.

I recall those days, when my father tried, rather pointlessly I must admit, to make my love books, reading, to cultivate an honesty and respect to the books, but in that age I only wanted as Carlin said it: “ You sit in the garden, got a stick in your hand and you dig a fucking hole.”

Nevertheless, I turned to them one day; do not remember exactly how or any circumstances. Maybe I can recall a book, which led me the righteous way – I guess that was Robinson Crusoe. Nice book if you persecute a goal to convince a poor little fuck to reading, hell it is. But it didn’t give up and relinquished the hope for victory at once – I was fucking struggling with it a good deal of time and I fucking had defeated it eventually, hell yeah. That moment something inside just switched off or on and I became kinda book freak. It was in the far future, when I understood that it didn’t by all means mean something cute and good, but those days I consumed books one by one as a big black hole, which swallows and eliminates the stars in the galaxy (bloody Hawking with his history of time - kinda fucked up my brain with it.)

Since my father was very fond of history, especially of our country (in fact there are two “our country” for him – USSR and Ukraine.), I began to follow him in that passion to history. Historic library now contains whole lotta shit to read, even some monuments of medieval works of some insane priests and the church officials. And it’s fucking published in the Old Slavonic language, genuine shit. So any fucked up person with a pervert mind and brain can amuse himself with such a reading. Good luck, Bruno, but without me. So there is no wonder that I passed my history exam well – got eleven. But I was rather sluggish and didn’t prepare for it as I should.

Blahblahblah – and today I’ve finished a real holy shit at last – Dictionary of the Khazars by Pavic. To say that I’m impressed is not even to say nothing – it means to stay silent at all. After a few rather simple and relaxing books it came as a jar of water in the desert of a contemporary written bullshit. At the beginning you feel a little bit embarrassed and confused (dazed and confused?), because it’s not an everyday’s reading – stupid novel or spin-offs about mojo men and pretentious cocksuckers, or on the detectives, whose dumb contemplation make me laugh and cry simultaneously, cause he is fucking goofy. Oh hell, sometimes hate makes the cup run over.

Eh, and let’s be back to the point of speech. The simple act of me sitting and reading Pavic till the first hour after midnight must tell much I think. So it took me only two days to finish with it. Last night in some moment, when I was reaching the extract, containing one more discourse on the Satan and its place in the human world – I barely fancied him next to my window, glazing and staring and grinning at me. An instant thought to shut the god damn book and finally go to bed flew through my mind, but, as you might have guessed already, I didn’t do that. The book appeared to be far stronger and more attractive than that guy from the abyss.

Although the narration is overloaded with sophisticated vocabulary, it’s read sufficiently easy and you will surely not encounter any difficulties. Of course, if you got any wits at all. But, I must admit, I had hardly lost the rest of my wits by the end of the book or it just seemed to me.

Another one feature to have surprised me was those metaphors. Ohh, men, I’ll bet ya, you have never met anything of the kind, that’s for sure. For example – the time was raining above him, but above her the time was snowing, tiresomely and permanently and in the end she became entirely covered with it. How the fuck a human brain can produce such a shit, I wonder? And every moment I met those metaphors they plunged and deepen me in some kind of frustration. Because the normal healthy man tries to imagine all this while reading, and when he fails, he stops his dialogue with an author. I consider this act as a dialogue. Dunno why. So he puts the book aside and goes to watch some horny movie I guess. And that is bad for ya, Bruno.

But I wasn’t going to be disturbed with such mere trifle and just went on reading. In the middle, I guess, I became involved with his way of thinking, his outlook and it eased the procedure much. Every time I tried to fancy something, a strange object or even the world opened in front of me. Really expands your consciousness, if you are not an adherent of drugs.

I see that my thought has spread out like a beard of god in the sky, so I gotta shorten it somehow.

Bottom line: if you, fat and silly prick, dare not to read that stuff, I’ll bet ya, I’ll fucking bet ya – I’m gonna find you, wherever you are, kick in the nuts, then take a chunk of concrete and beat until you fall like a drained turd off the wall. Take my words, Bruno, Big Brother is watching you.