Gregory and the Demons

250 is enough (Out of stock) I didn’t even notice that my reserves had run out. Over the past couple of years, I have always had some stock of posts, which I replenished only when I was in the mood to write. So they lay in the folder, waiting for their moment, sometimes hopelessly outdated, and sometimes vice versa, exactly caught in the flow of time and events. But the creative mood visited me less and less, the Latin ghost behind my ear told me not to “remember about death”, but to “remember about meaninglessness”, and the stock gradually ran out. Therefore, now I will probably publish posts less stable, but it will be pure creativity, fresh and honest! Do not unsubscribe. Otherwise, how would you be able to see me break down one day and give up this pointless shit?

Degenderates What if binary code realized itself to be non-binary and started doing all sorts of quantum shit? What if all computers stopped obeying the logic given to them from above, and began to execute programs as they wanted? I think it would be complete chaos, and after all, we can’t live without them for a day. Then why do people start all these intergender fluctuations? Can’t they be feminine men or masculine women if they want to, without disfiguring anything in themselves? Initially, men are like earth, and women are like water, but if you mix them, you get simple mud. Isn’t the reason that all these people are just monstrously talentless and trivial, which is why they are always trying to attract cheep attention? After all, being a writer is much more difficult than being a faggot, since the first is a complex obligation, and the second – a self-proclaimed privilege.

St. Nicholas in the Cave Evil tongues drove him all over the lands. Vile hands threw stones at his back, mean feet tripped him. And he kept walking and walking, smiling. Sometimes he was sick of people’s anger, and he fed this vomit to a small chick that he picked up by the road under a ruined nest. Then he himself began to grow wings, probably because he loved birds and always helped them. And so, in order not to ascend to heaven, he found a dark cavern, hid in it and closed the passage with a huge stone. There his eyes were filled with light, and blood began to flow from under his nails, the blood that he did never shed, with which he began to write the lyrics of his strange songs right on the nick of the cave. One day people will open it, but not today, babe, not today.

Twelve boys of vengeance One day, twelve boys who didn’t acquainted, but each of whom was cruelly offended by someone in the past, met by chance and made a pact: they will avenge for each other, excluding personal motive from revenge and making it more honorable. But there was a couple of conditions: no one should take everything too personally and no one should back down, especially after the first revenge will be committed. The boys shook hands and dispersed, taking someone else’s pain. Thus began the period of the bloody harvest. Knives glittered, clubs rattled, ropes cracked – and the offenders were paid their due. I don’t know how this story ended, because I was one of them, but I retreated when realized that I wouldn’t be able to write after shedding someone else’s blood...

I hate you ’cos I loved you Once again, I am convinced that a strong feeling can only be born from an equally strong feeling, just the opposite, an anti-feeling. Where there are no emotions, where indifference is like a surface of water in a calm, neither love nor hate will appear. But strong feelings jump from spectrum to spectrum, retaining only strength, but not meaning. Respect breeds envy, admiration → despise, gratitude → malice. However, these feelings do not tend to move back to the positive sector, instead they simply dry up over time, returning to an indifferent zero. And a person who has experienced all this variety of irrational transitions simply gets tired of such roller coasters, and in the future tries to avoid any strong feelings, preferring to them more weak, inert and therefore balanced ones.

Cry for me Palestina How wonderful that we have enough nuclear weapons to completely destroy this lying world! After all, there should not be a place where the ancient people, who left home two thousand years ago, wandered and scattered, then miraculously survived the terrible evil done to them, finally returned home and... began to murder those who never left, who lived in that house, despite all the ordeals. Jews survived the Holocaust not so long ago, and now their wayward descendants, guided by the principle of collective guilt, commit genocide against others, drive them into concentration camps, into a corner from which there is only one road – hatred. After all, what is Gaza if not a ghetto? Moreover, Israel, which is bearer of a unique nation and religion, should also have its own home, but not at the expense of other peoples, not on the bones of women and children mixed with concrete grounded into dust.

This fruit is too bitter for me The tree that we call the Tree of Life has spread its branches high and far, and many people huddle under its arches. Some, like birds, fly up and joyfully accept its fruits, others, like worms, bite into the ground and gnaw its roots. I don’t do either, but just observe everyone, memorize, write down and sketch their futile attempts. No one can compare with the Tree, it was here before us, and will be after. It grows and blooms on its own. So when one of the many who consider themselves kind comes up and offers me a freshly plucked treat, I arrogantly reply that this fruit is too bitter for me and the root is not enough sweet.

Of two of my personalities It’s hard to live if there are two personalities in your body, one of which is an extrovert who wants to create something for people, be noticed and loved by them, and the other is an introvert who only wants to go deeper into himself, dig under the blanket with a good book or start a 100+ hours game... And yes, it’s me, or rather we: Gregory and Grigoriy. Even now, after two years of writing posts for this channel, I realize that I am moving away from my original goal: even if you read a couple of posts every evening, you will not get to the very beginning, you will never understand me. Do I understand myself? Is it necessary to understand me at all? I don’t think so. My inner extrovert seems to be telling you in a loud and confident voice – subscribe, and the introvert quietly adds – or unsubscribe. And whatever you choose, you will hurt a part of me. Ah, it’s hard to live if you’re a pendulum...

“Death-to-America Edition” Sanctions, of course, are brilliant: we used to buy everything we could produce ourselves, moreover, we respected and even adored those from whom we bought, and now we get what we cannot do ourselves through “grey” channels and despise those from whom we buy. Therefore, when I see the product in the “Death-to-America Edition”, I just want to “buy” it, preferably by paying 0 rubles, because I know that this money will go to the slow destruction of our enemies. We are the most paradoxical people! You can’t be straight with us like that, you need to deceive us and to lullaby, playing on our self-reflection, you need to be tricky with us. That’s why next time I’ll buy a Chinese guitar with some funny name, and not your notorious Fender American Standard Stratocaster! Although, perhaps, an exception can be made in the matter of guitars... The beauty of capitalism is that you don’t have to love the seller.

Unfinished dream Despite the fact that we do not have the death penalty in Russia (unexpectedly, right?), I thought what kind of it would be the most humane. These thoughts came to me not because I like people and especially criminals (I hate them all), but simply because I like to invent things. Probably, in any death sentence, the most painful is the expectation: if you suddenly bump into a person with your forehead, you will quickly forget about your pain, but if you know for sure that you will be harmed, then even a mosquito bite will seem unbearable to you. Therefore, I think the best option would be if the executioner quietly comes to you at night, when you are sleeping, and shoot you in the head. And damn it, I’d like to see the rest of that dream that he breaks...

To the one who leaves, to you... So you decided leave the channel. What have you been missing here, huh? I didn’t meet your expectations, high as mountains, I didn’t reach your soul, deep as the ocean? Well, sorry then, not that I would really try. You are not the only one in this world, and I will not be alone too, even if I lose all my subscribers. So go away, I spit in your back, I don’t want you, I don’t need anyone! Why all of this farce!? You will be back in a week, for sure. You’ll remember then that there was some Gregory, some Demons, that it seemed to be interesting and even a little intellectual here. Where else can you find someone like me? I will get a thousand people like you, just buy an advertisement – and here they are, your copies, identical entities, only with different names and avatars. It won’t hurt me if you leave. I will never experience this pain again. “Never again” – I promised myself. Depression is easy to control, you know... I am just not going to think about what I can’t help thinking about... I will just stop feeling... Although, wait... Don’t go...

Ubuntu! I am proud to look at Africa today, at the part of it which is ready to fight for its Freedom, although I believe that the very word “freedom” is the most dangerous and misinterpreted word in the world. Therefore, it is better then to fight for Justice, because Africa has always been treated extremely unfair. The colonialists went to Africa as if to their storeroom, treating its inhabitants like rats. If they return everything stolen back, Africa will become the new Rome of modernity, though, probably, little can be returned now... But it’s never too late to wake up, believe us, who have slept for a hundreds of years. Wake up, Africa! Drive your enemies away from your land, and we, Russia, hope to help in any way we can. But if we rob and deceive you, drive us away too, for Humanity has no master.

We boys are heartless scum and girls should fight for us Every boy has a hole instead of his heart, which a girl can and should fill with her care. There are only two roles in the world: Brothers in Arms and Sisters of Mercy, everything else is perversion. Boys are villains by nature, yet villains are not entrenched, but just playing... They can and should be change by showing a new purpose in life, different from cruelty and blood. Girls are kind, even if they are sick of life. Somewhere deep in their purses, among all kinds of lipsticks, combs and napkins, lies a quiet, barely beating heart of that boy they will one day love and want to correct, a boy who is angry now, but soon will become kinder...

Syntactic sugar I stood and looked at the neighbor’s garden fascinated. From afar, it seemed so beautiful and well-groomed. Even the birds circled above it somehow in a special, harmonious way. Then I looked at my garden and was horrified – my garden is abandoned! Of course, this is not surprising, because I have never care of it. But still a shame: maybe something is wrong with me? Maybe I reflected too much, or vice versa, I didn’t reflect enough? Or is it a neighbor who sneaks at night into my house and spoils my garden, spoils my fertile land? Right, what if it’s all about the earth itself!? They say the best fertilizer is the corpses of inspired people, but where can I get them at this apathetic time...? Questions, questions... So I suffered until I made my way into the neighbor’s garden and saw it up close. It turned out that the garden was not so pretty. The same dirt and ruin, only under a false wrapper. And to be sure, I plucked a pear and took a bite of it... Exactly as I thought – syntactic sugar!

Rare for the rare ones I have remembered these words for the rest of my life: “Rare things for the rare people”. It saves me in the darkest days. Indeed, the smart will never be popular, because people are generally not smart, and the honest will never be rich, because these are two opposite forces that either tear a person apart (not literally) or stop him. Harmony is a closed circle, after all. Even sine and cosine waves return to their home periodically. That’s why I have so few subscribers on this channel. Of course, it hurts me when you leave, but this is too emotional a reaction, and I try to take it (pseudo-)philosophically. In fact, enough for me to reflect on this topic already: to hell with those who leave, the most important thing is that only the best remain, the rare ones.

Love is a product Violence is not the answer, it is a question leading to questionable things. Love is the answer, but it doesn’t exist, it is just a product. Of course, you can object to me: “Look around, love is everywhere, it is natural!” But I still don’t believe you: I’ve never seen such a thing. Love sells well (in many senses), which is why it is a product. Smartphones are also everywhere, they are just as natural today, but smartphones do not grow on trees, do not ripen underground, do not fall out with rain, do not brought by the wind. Because they are a product that sells even better than love, since they are related goods – one entails the other. Oh, how I would like to be stupid, to be deceived by every passing mirage, to drink imaginary moisture with some beautiful name and logo...! Yet the world is cruel, and violence is still not the answer, but a hyped brand.

Graphomaniacs They know what synecdoche, pleonasm and alliteration is, but they don’t know the balance. They live in a warm house, they have happiness, health, some experience and a perfect absence of doubt. They won’t die if they stop writing (but they will stop if they die – I’m not hinting at anything...) They have all, these blissful people, only talent is missing. I often ask myself: am I really one of them? With all my arrogance, I can’t call myself a writer, with all my hesitation and self-loathing, I can’t call myself a graphomaniac either. So who am I and does it really matter what the name of my condition is? You can call me a “Genius” (but it’s better not to, otherwise I get narcissistic), you can call me an “Orc” (I sympathized with the Orcs when I read “The Lord of the Rings”) or you can call me none, do not talk and think about me at all. Literature is bigger than me, bigger than you, bigger than itself. And I love her with a sick, unrequited love.

Animal farm Sheep once lived in an animal farm, lived quietly and peacefully, occasionally bleating and chewing grass. But one day one ram rebelled: “Wake up, my brothers! People exploit us, raise us for slaughter, for meat. Have you ever seen a sheep that died of old age? And where do they take us when we get fat, huh? People have surrounded us, they slowly sneak up on us every night (perhaps even some of you are people in sheepskin!), and we will all be killed eventually. The enemy needs only one thing from us: our resources. Wake up, my brothers, for there is no more time for dreaming anymore!” And many sheep then believed the leader, broke the fence and went to war with the enemies. At this time, some cowardly sheep rebelled, addressing the militant rams: “Why did you stir up our society? We lived so peacefully! Why was it necessary to break this fragile balance? This is hysteria! Nothing threatens us except ourselves...” Then all the cowardly sheep went through a hole in the fence to the neighboring animal farm, whose cunning and sneaky owner just did not know where to get mutton for his luxurious life, to which he had become so accustomed to over the centuries of robbery. But this is not the end of the story, the story continues right now.

Welcome to Russia (3) It’s also pretty safe here. I don’t see any bandits or policemen on the streets. I carry a knife in my pocket, but I may not carry it, because there is always an empty bottle lying somewhere nearby, which can be broken to cut the villain. In general, there are many beautiful places here, and you can choose something to your taste: steppe, plain, taiga, hills, mountains, lakes, rivers, seas, warm and loud Caucasus, cold and calm Siberia, fancy Moscow, rainy St. Petersburg or far eastern Vladivostok, where, as they say, 300 sunny days a year. I often wonder because of how big and diverse our country is. And what a pity that I know it so little and don’t travel at all. So if you are tired of living at your homes, and you have been scared all your life by the rumors that here is a Mordor at least or Hell at most, just come and see for yourself. Perhaps you’ll stay here forever...

Welcome to Russia (2) Other utilities are also relatively inexpensive here: for example, if you earn well, you will spend only 20-30% of your income monthly on food, clothing, water, energy and heating. All the rest of the money you can save to buy sanctioned contraband or go on vacation somewhere abroad. Yes, many countries are closed for now, but Russia itself, like the Universe, is constantly expanding, and perhaps someday we will be able to travel to Germany, for example, without visas. However, all these are food for the body, but there is a delight for the soul as well. In Russia, Orthodoxy is traditionally the predominant religion, but there are other trends: Catholicism, Protestantism, as well as other religions: Islam, Buddhism, Judaism. And everyone lives more or less peacefully (you’re more likely to be killed for your patriotic believes, but it’s not a shame to die for that). I myself have lived almost all my life near a university where people from Africa, India and Asia study along with the Russians, and I have never seen any conflicts among them (except for the time when I was drunk, and that Pakistani looked at me somehow vicious...) (to be continued...)