Valery Bardash
The tent filled with iridescent light, filtering through the red domed roof. According to the clock on the northern wall, the morning was just beginning, the direct rays of the sun had not yet reached its place, but the abundance of light around betrayed the growing sunny day. I didn't want to wake up. It was possible to get to this luxurious site only with the onset of total darkness. After two consecutive uncomfortable sleepovers, he enjoyed the spaciousness of a well-spread tent and a warm sleeping bag. His tent and sack, made to order, of the most modern materials and construction, stood out for its frank excess among the rest of the contents of the backpack. Over the years, he learned to get by on the routes with a minimum amount of food and equipment, but he liked to sleep comfortably and was proud of his ability to use all the possibilities of the terrain for accommodation for the night.
Until now, the wall has not shown excessive hospitality. Yesterday he waited impatiently for morning on the narrow, sloping ledge, unsuccessfully trying to stretch his weary legs to their full length and move away from the cold edge of the tent fluttering in the wind. Only the rays of the sun, which overtook him by noon, when he was climbing along a narrow ice couloir, managed to completely oust the memory of a badly spent night from his body. He scolded himself in an undertone for having again succumbed to the charms of the cold, northern walls. The day passed in futile attempts to make up for lost time and, of course, dragged on.
Rushing in the mountains is a luxury that is unaffordable for a loner. Usually he manages to prevent the need for it by the most careful preparation. He goes on serious ascents only with a detailed plan in his head and likes to joke that he uses all means available to a person to reduce risk, except for the last one - refusal to climb. Everything, however, cannot be foreseen. Places for tents were recommended to him by a group that had recently been here. It's hard to imagine how they fit on the three of them. Big enthusiasts.
It is, of course, not only a matter of inconvenience. For some reason, I had to push myself harder than usual on this exit in order to maintain the desired pace. Even after such a good night, I did not want to stick my head out of the sleeping bag, but I wanted to continue to bask in the state of morning half-asleep familiar from childhood, when it is easy to indulge in the most secret thoughts and dreams in the warmth and safety of the blanket. Or maybe they wanted to keep the pleasant sensations left over from the dream eluding memory for a longer time.
He did not have time for this. Today, according to the plan, we had to reach the summit and, if we were lucky, spend the night already on the descent somewhere on the western ridge. The western ridge is fairly easy, but the summit is still far away, almost at the limit of what it can cover in a day. We should have taken the route without delay.
He rolled over onto his stomach and opened the tent entrance ring wide. Fresh cold air rushed in. The invisible sun was already generously giving energy to the mountain system that filled everything around to the horizon line. Light clouds, seemingly accessible from his height, enlivened the view with their unhurried movement. Below, on the opposite side of the ice circus, the moraine was clearly visible, on which he spent three days observing the route. The streams of melt water, awakened by the sun, already shone, noiseless from a height, and furrowed along the surface of the glacier. Habitually and willingly, he surrendered himself to the moment of contemplation.
While the small burner was working on making boiled water from snow and ice, he got dressed and packed his backpack. A cup of tea and a calorie pack is his usual breakfast, in the evening he drinks one cup more and eats another pack. Such a meager diet, according to repeated experience, could keep him fully functional for four or five days. He easily overcame the temptation of technically feasible, but longer routes, on which you need to carry more food and fuel. A heavy backpack is a proven tool to ruin a good climb. The backpack he carried on his back contained, in addition to a tent, a sleeping bag, and a gas burner with a canister of gas, six more calorie packets, spare gloves and socks. The rest of the equipment he put on himself. On the harness hung two carbines, a set of friends with two rope ladders and an ice screw. The crampons were strapped to his boots, and he held an ice ax in his right hand and an ice hammer in his left.
It was a relatively easy day, which, of course, did not mean that we could relax. The wall part of the route remained at the bottom, the further path went along the gradually flattening huge dome of the peak - an unordered heap of rocks and ice. Not as steep as a wall, the relief is still not the easiest. Ice and rocks in places where they border each other often lose their strength and require special attention. With luck, he'll spend most of the day on the ice, avoiding rock outcroppings where possible, even if that doesn't mean the shortest way up.
Both feet still on level ground, he froze in full readiness, suddenly finding it difficult to do what has been very easy all these years - the first step. Most of the summit dome is not visible from the moraine; it was not possible to get a good picture of this part of the route during the observation. Strained eyes and feelings opened only the first forty-fifty meters of the path. There was only one way to find out what was ahead of him. He tried to focus on the pleasant sensation of the well-balanced, light ice hammer in his left hand, hoping to evoke the familiar feeling of anticipation. There was no anticipation.
After a little more hesitation, he finally moved closer to the ice slope, stuck in half a meter above his head, first an ice ax, then a hammer, with a short movement put the teeth of the right crampon, then the left one - and left the area. The body habitually entered into a series of movements worked out to automatism. He started to get up quickly.
This did not last long. The night had not yet disappeared from view, when long-forgotten sensations suddenly fell upon him. Uncertainty and doubt quickly took possession of every cell of his body. Far from the protected area, he felt with unusual sharpness the steepness of the wall going deep down, the menacing overhang of the masses from above, and he desperately wanted to be somewhere else, even and safe. Resisting panic, he found the strength to get to the right place, quickly spun the ice screw and strapped himself to it with relief.
A lot of time passed before he decided to unscrew this ice screw. He hung on it under the cover of a small rock, resting his legs apart on the slope. Under his weight, the safety loop tightened and pressed the eye of the ice drill against the porous surface of the ice. Following the light movements of his body, the ear twitched from side to side, carving a half-cone in the ice. The moment he had long feared was behind him. With relief and satisfaction, he felt himself mastered. Things could have turned out worse if it happened at a less opportune time - yesterday on a wall, a week ago on another wall, a month ago on another one, a few years ago on the easy routes of the gorge. Recently, still relying on the extraordinary favor of fate, he went upstairs with the idea firmly settled in his mind that one day everything could return to its former places. What comes without warning can go without warning.
There has been no shortage of warnings this season of many revelations. His life has ceased to be filled with that painful inner struggle that once gave it a new beginning. With renewed strength, he felt its value and fullness. Fame and popularity did not leave him as indifferent as he liked to show. He enjoyed their fruits more and more, although he still treated many of his privileges with carelessness, confident that he could easily do without them.
The exception was his main privilege - to invariably emerge unscathed from dangerous proximity, one on one, with the indifferent world of mountains. This privilege imperceptibly ceased to be his only source of replenishment of vital energy, and more and more felt like an undeserved luxury that he was afraid of losing. Premonitions of the inevitability of loss were gaining strength, he subconsciously and consciously prepared for another test of fate. In his dreams, he managed to continue his busy life in a new capacity, earning it with hard work. He was never deceived about the true value of his climbing achievements, but only recently began to feel growing dissatisfaction. The heart longed for more, involuntarily accelerating the change.
Nothing, of course, could compare to showing weakness in front of everyone. Therefore, he undertook this ascent only after the last expedition left the area and he was left alone in the entire gorge.
Slowly passing clouds still found him in the same place, fifty meters above the overnight stay. He stood on the crampons, raised himself a little so that the ice screw was at waist level, stuck the ice ax and hammer higher, loaded them with his own weight and began to unscrew the ice screw, listening carefully to himself. The ice screw slowly emerged from the ice and took its place on the harness. He again took up the ice ax and ice hammer, took the first cautious step, then the second - and with relief he began to move. Alone, he began to make his way through the chaos of ice and rocks. The manner of movement lost its usual lightness and speed, but this did not bother him much. Focused on
Everything. The trap closed. In the fascist juvenile system, separated children are deprived of both their past and their future. There are already a lot of such rootless Ivans, Johns, Zhans and Hans all over the world, and the system continues to multiply them. What for? For what purpose? We will try to answer this question in the next article.
Apostrophe
Apostrophe
Lev Anninsky
Alexander Potemkin. Solo Mono. - M.: Publishing House "Porog", 2017. - 360 p.: illustration.
“Homo sapiens has come a long way… through tribes, ethnic groups, nations and countries. He has reached his peak…” (Alexander Potemkin. Solo Mono).
Potemkin's new novel opens with a list of the twelve great intellectuals of mankind (from Confucius and Aristotle to Einstein and Bohr), which list might seem festively complimentary, but in a strange way is perceived as ... a requiem. Partly because the general tone of the narrative breathes with sunset twilight, but also because that “the end of humanity” (sitting on nuclear arsenals) becomes a topic of scientific and eschatological fantasies for Potemkin.
And all of a sudden...
“After all, humanity has already passed the peak. For the past thirty years, it has been rolling into the abyss, picking up speed ... "
“In the morning the sun rises, and in the evening it sets, the wind rages and subsides, fellow citizens appeared and disappeared - the laws of inevitability work ... And there is no fainting, or tragedy ... everything flows and changes its forms or disappears into infinity without a trace.”
That is, in the void?
"Before the emergence of my consciousness, there was a universal void, and it will unceremoniously come again."
This arrogance should reassure?
Exactly! “If the earth is several billion years old, and Homo sapiens is only a hundred thousand years old, then who can and will argue that he has come for eternity? Stupidity! Nonsense!"
And "eternal times" - not nonsense? How to measure all this?
“Man was created by spontaneous biomutations only a hundred thousand years ago, and this is with a 13-billion-year history of the universe. This is not a click, not a squeak, not even a moment in the age of the Universe, but only…”
Oh well! Specify!
“... In quantum time, approximately one and three tenths times 10 to the minus 43rd power of a second of the age of the universe ...”
I give up! Framed by mathematical calculations, the “end of the world” looks especially inevitable! If this end is hidden in an atomic war, then why be surprised? We did not invent the beginning, nor do we challenge the end. Who and why settled us on this earth spinning in the void? We don't know. And we don't know anything about the end. Unless we recognize its inevitability.
However, for my ordinary consciousness it is not indifferent what kind of end it will be. If instant destruction, then there is nothing to argue about. And not with anyone. Explosion - period. Emptiness! And if the degeneration of mankind turns out to be as long as its rooting on Earth, then how can this be endured?
In anticipation of degeneration, Alexander Potemkin is trying to cope with its inevitability ... or rather, the “lyrical hero” of his novel, whose name is again calculated for a purely artistic effect. Fyodor Mikhailovich Makhorkin. Name and patronymic appeal to Dostoevsky. The surname brings the hero back to reality: one of the ancestors probably grew cheap tobacco ... or maybe he smoked himself.
And the same combination of everyday life and mystery is revealed in the name of the village where the hero of Potemkin comes from. Gray Mask! Something grey, grassroots, pristine… but also mysterious, if something is hidden behind a mask.
From this mysterious village, hidden in the wilds of Komi, Makhorkin rushes to Astrakhan, hoping that a benefactor will be found there who will help him realize a fantastic plan to save humanity (by overcoming its current insanity) and create a new version of life for earthlings.
What's the option? "Blossoming hell", which will be replaced by the current "black and white paradise". Something "immortal, all-spatial, boundless, all-like, all-temperature, all-knowing..." Let's not find fault with these characteristics, especially since the author himself does not at all hope to convince his compatriots of the reality of such qualities, he is ready for the fact that they will not listen to him, and more afraid of "being understood than misunderstood." But if not in a rational, then in the same purely "artistic" terms, this invention makes sense if you listen to its name: Solo Mono - this sound introduces into Makhorkin's hypothesis something from the Torah, from the Bible, from a thousand-year history...
The music in the headphones died down, and the feeling of inner inspiration began to slowly evaporate. Sighing and lifting a glass of whiskey to my mouth, I once again looked around the hall: people began to arrive little by little. There were no more seats around several tables: there sits Sashka-Ogonyok with his comrades, the main striking force of our clan in the field of pyromancy. Looking at his cheerful smirk, my face involuntarily twisted into a grimace. Everything was always too easy for Alexander. Girls, glory is everything that others only dream of... At twenty-five, he is already a legion commander and is deservedly considered one of the best tacticians in our area. Not only that, he is one of the strongest magicians of our generation... I would never admit it publicly, but I hope that we do not find ourselves on opposite sides of the barricades at one moment. Noticing that he is turning in my direction, I reluctantly shift my gaze. In the far corner of the hall there was a hird of dwarfs led by Danila Dmitrievich, a gloomy bearded man who had a reputation as a cruel but fair “man”. The ground floor of the Griffin's Fang tavern, which belonged to our clan, looked more like a train station than a place of entertainment during the gathering hours before big raids. Nobody made noise, nobody laughed, there was no clinking of glasses: everyone sat quietly, occasionally exchanging insignificant phrases, waiting for the X hour. I take a sip ... However, some people can drink.
The next tune played, and I went inside again. But the state of my pleasant oblivion did not last long. Heavy footsteps heading towards me made me look up. The pot-bellied orc, grinning with all his forty-eight fangs, plopped down relishfully on the chair next to me. To be honest, Vanya was one of the few “people” with whom I was always happy to spend time.
I see your fat ass barely fits on a chair. You look, a little more and at such a pace you will soon turn into a troll, - in response to my sarcastic remark, there was only ringing laughter. Several glances immediately turned in our direction, but when they saw Vanya, people quickly lost interest. Vanya the ax, in addition to being one of the biggest drunkards and a wind-up that I have ever seen, was one of the hundred best ax masters. Making it quieter is not an easy task.
How do you like this whole situation with the campaign of the Asian sector in the Forge of the Gods, - slapping me on the back, the Ax again showed me most of his teeth. “They collected eighty-two thousand high-level creatures!” Passed the final wave, captured the heavenly altar and here, Bach! - I do not think that at least someone in the world did not follow these events. Climbing Olympus! An alliance of the best clans in an attempt to pass the test of the gods for the legendary artifact!
Yes, such deceit, hardly anyone could have expected - I remember, at the very moment when their force field could not stand it and collapsed, I could not stand it and burst out laughing, their situation turned out to be so unenviable ... After that, they did not have a chance - the defenders of Olympus, naturally, smashed them to smithereens. They shouldn't have gone first. Four sectors, four factions, four portals... The Chinese used huge resources this time, but they overestimated themselves. Nothing will help when your generators just turn off.
I take a break for another sip and continue.
Did you read the article by the guys from our university? They write that the generators could overheat because there was an attack, because of which they began to work unstably, or otherwise someone turned them off - Vanya seemed to be on the alert. - They say that all their sensors were silent, no electromagnetic radiation - I sighed and continued. “But I’m thinking that maybe something unknown to mankind was used there,” I said the last part quite quietly, it seemed so unlikely ...
Let scientists think about it, we would first go through all the previous stages, my friend began sarcastically. “Otherwise it will be like last year, when they managed to attack us on the twenty-third wave from an unprotected flank, breaking through the vanguard and launching several chain spells,” even remembering that sad moment, Vanya managed to radiate some kind of incomprehensible energy to me. As if he knew that this time everything would be different. I always noticed that being able to chop down demons put a goofy smile on his face.
What would you do if you got an artifact? - suddenly I asked a question that in the last three years has become a cult for gamers around the world.
They say it grants wishes... What would I choose? Everything is simple here: legendary, enchanted armor, and a sharpened ax ... - Vanka grinned, rubbing his huge hands. I even had the idea that the artifact is already in his pocket. - I would also like a teleportation skill, otherwise you’ll get to hell with the damned magicians and sorcerers. And then he snapped his fingers and found himself in front of them, all that remains is to wave the ax. Not life, but a fairy tale...
Oh sure! - I was ready to laugh my friend right in the face. “What about ice traps, defensive elementals, instant teleportation… and don’t forget the ball lightning stun and hellfire incineration?” This development of the battle is already more like the truth, so it's better to take protection from magic, and that's it, - we burst out laughing together.
Five more hours to teleport to destination. What are you planning to do all this time? - Vanya, in fact, has never been patient. Sitting in one place while waiting is definitely not one of his strengths.
I have known Alexander Potemkin for a long time. To be honest, I did not know that he was a professor and a respected person, because his books are not of particular artistic value to me. But now his new book "SOLO MONO Journey of the consciousness of a defeatist" is so actively advertised even on TV, on federal channels, that curiosity played.
The book is presented as something magical, very smart, for people with a high level of consciousness, as the author himself says. The quota was introduced by him, as I understand it. There is a level of intelligence, but he has a level of consciousness.
In the book, the author raises important issues of human degradation. We stop developing and thinking about the future, we only use the benefits of the Earth and satisfy the most base needs. And Potemkin, through his lonely hero Makhorkin, wants to create a new kind of Solo Mono. This is a creature that will have high intelligence and self-sufficiency, it will be asexual, therefore free from certain needs.
And now we are given the opportunity to travel around Russia together with the unfortunate scientist in search of a suitable candidate. I even felt sorry for our inhabitants, who are seen by the author only as fallen beings. We are all drunkards, brawlers, prostitutes, etc.
The author often deviates towards the great thinkers and the great S. Dali, admiring his art, comparing himself to some extent with him. Dali was talented, but he was on drugs and terrible visions swirled in his head. It seems to me that our hero has something similar in his brain.
Every sane person wants to save our humanity, but I absolutely would not want it to happen the way Makhorkin wants.
The book is recommended by many respected critics, and their reviews are easy to find. The book tries to sound smart, their reviews are also very cleverly written using terms not familiar to the average person. Thus emphasizing that this is a book for the elite. I think it's all just advertising.
Video review
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