published by Dodho magazine




S. Beckett – Waiting for Godot

…we know, long time, even though, but time is up, the whole world will not save us from the time of Godot, which is close and vague, implicit, out of voice, itching, and harlotry, all life gushes out the skin, then a temptation without a body, although unknown, not accurate, and we have continued in silence and laugh at the time, in the mist of the notes and epaulettes, commanders, without fear or dust beneath the ABC of the world – we will play a crescendo of white noise and the anthem, it is dangerous to stand, not keeping a silence, even lying is useless, but letters – they didn’t create a time, took over the novels and letters, no meaning, no malice of law would have failed tomorrow, yesterday – useless, clearly, we believe in the madness, gambling, and hat, easy birth without a cry, immortality, faith, reason, and there are always unknown, foreigners, war, heroic epics, gloss, and happiness, but while we talking, despite the terrible noise and quiet of ash, our wind up with a loop and funny report, and grinder with banker are trading by word, dream, and fire, and we disappeared over the pit as if we are saved, but in case with a lady, although the road with the ravine is almost impossible, but was attempted to get by the word, and needless to say, – gold, in vain, have defused the canons, but humans…

Everything in the existing world seemed strange to him; it was as if the world had been created for some brief, mocking game. But this game of make-believe had dragged on for a long time,for eternity, and nobody felt like laughing anymore.” 

 Andrei Platonov, Soul 

The Idists historically gathered on Thursdays, this gave them some time advantages over the town militia and fishermen. There was nothing easier than identifying them from the rest of the town's residents - by a black square with a town number on the sleeve. In pursuit of fashion, some idists wrote their blood type and personal number on the back with the same paint. That day Lyss finally made up his mind to do it with his coat. The risk was considerable, because the residents buried such committed idists exclusively in parts. Lyss finished the careful process of painting his number and quickly fixed the paint with the iron. By all rights of town, he became a "black idist", which used to be equated with "the last enemies of Town", but recently the hatred factor was increased again. 

- The gallows-birds of this town won't get me no matter what, they can take a dick, but not the Square, - Lyss exhaled a deep breath through his teeth in front of the mirror and started putting on the coat, which was a redesigned version of the father's old\shabby greatcoat. A small bundle, lying on the floor next to the mirror he slipped into his pocket. Right on the way out of the house he bumped into a new white banner stretched across the street. 

«To each his own – own life, own language, own tears». 

Lyss spat on the frozen ground and quickened his pace. It was already a cold autumn, one could feel the smell of rotten cabbage, old wooden boxes, alcohol and salty sweat from the sea. Against the sunset sky, loaders were creeping around the regular cargo barge from the combat armada "ABCfrontline ". Fifteen hundred fast steps through the narrow maze of lanes not far from the port – and the familiar wall of the idist’s cube already was seen. Lyss entered the hall and took up his usual place - he bought it a long time ago in the front row. It was freezing, because coal, like fires, again become relatively rare in town, so no one took off the outer warm clothes. This time, the idists asked the Death to come over. The distant relative of town on the Founding-father's side. She was sitting in a side chair, to the left of the presidium table, she hunched up a little bit and leaned forward – and was looking straight ahead at the floor. A very nice middle-aged woman, with short sparse hair, sad face, big blue eyes and thin, tightly closed lips. The chairman rang the bell, and the 321st meeting of town idists began. During thirty-three minutes everyone were traditionally sitting still. Keeping quiet. Listening to each other's coughing and the creak of old chairs. 

- No! – Mulligans, the Chairman of the club took the floor. 

- No, because of the no – Mulligan, the deputy, cut him off. 

- No, whereas no and no! – feverishly countered his assistant Mulliga, rising from the presidium table. 

- No, but no and when there is no...- strictly countered her husband Mullig from the second row. 

- No, just when no! – Mally, the secretary of the community thumped the big table under the green cloth. 

- No, because of no and won’t be no – Mull, the main poet of the club rose from his seat. 

- No, precisely because of no and that is why no! - Mal fervently supported his elder brother. 

- No, although with no, there will be no – from the back row bulky Ma leisurely stood up. 

- No, let it be no! - summed up the dull voice of the retired veteran M from the last row. He couldn’t stand up. He has been living without legs for already 15 years. 

All the others in the room stood up and looked at the Death. Remained silent. Lyss stood up and stepped up to the Chairman’s table. Gently took out of his coat pocket a carefully and tightly folded poster, unfolded it and showed to the audience. «Death can die!» - the audience began to repeat these words in a whisper, like a prayer. The buzz of voices grew louder. Suddenly there came chaotic cries from the audience. 

- R-i-i-i-ight decision! 

- We will support! 

- It is high time! - It is the best way, and there's no other one! 

- By all means! 

- We’ll take care of everything! 

- Glory! Glory! 

At 25.26 minutes 10 seconds, the body of Death muffeldly fell on the floor. The Chairman got up from the table and started chanting: - Ding-for-dong! Ding-for-dong! Hundreds of voices picked up this cry: - Ding-for-dong! Ding-for-dong! Thus began the idist revolution. However, no one died for the next 24 hours. Everything started later, when everyone found out that the Death in town A may die or may not.    

Translation by E. Podgornova

Published by Privatephotoreview

Under the still clouds, the wind blows the city.

Alejandro Jodorowsky All stones. part 1 

Dream 1 

The Emperor ruled in this town. His post was the spy- supplanter. He loved birds, because they are easily tamed and rarely live long. Slept by day, Pyrred by night. When was sad – turned wine into water, for them to keep their faith and fear. Mixed up. It was a mistake, but no one in town paid attention to it.

Dream 2 

The residents of the high part of town differed from the low part in vocabulary knowledge. Not everyone knew the complex words, but simple words were enough for lives of the majority. That is how everyone lived- some had complex words, harps and radioactive counters, others didn’t have, that’s why they always lived low. 

Dream 3 

Death for love in town is the most respected because it is devoted. Only Sybarites are not allowed to do it, because they are despised and there is not enough air for them. They look at everyone to death and death ignores them. Because if it notices them, it will stop the clock, but it shouldn’t happen. That is how the clock goes countersybaritewise. 

Dream 4 

They were drawing in coal and crystals. Those who wanted to devour the most – went drawing the first. The others could starve for the long-term health and look out the House. Usually drew dreadful, but detailed. Everyone was drawing everything, but they never confessed, because how you could explain coal and crystals. 

Dream 5 

The anthem of town was the march from the left bank for a long time. The left foot beat off tact, left shoe – rhythm. The right shoe was drowned on the raid before the performance. The anthem was completed by a ritual salute of the Mausers. Witnesses wrote that alive with emotion, the drummers often shot the conductor. 

Dream 6 

Everyone knows that The number Pi is approximately equal to 3,1415, but in Town Pi was equal to 4. This led to the declaration that opening tin cans by firearms was admitted illegal and dangerous. For the application of citizens and to consolate the mathematicians it was decided that one-armed pianists now have to play for free in town. 

Dream 7 

Best ideas in town were brought by the sea wind with the scent of the phreatic peaks. Then you could bite being and cantillate canticles. At night, the bravest were gathering one by one to cantatinate cantatas and steal settee at the friends’ fairway. And minded the platinum rule – don’t ask, otherwise they’ll come and ask you. 

Dream 8 

In town, beautiful people were packed into packages. Transparent, to watch through, durable, not to tear them apart. One must not live in the package, dying was forbidden there. Three days – and the packages were sent to a warehouse, not to spoil, slip, squander, skip the beauty. 

Dream 9
In town, there was a freedom of speech and discussions. Everyone could talk about death. Action was prohibited because it’s a freedom of speech not a freedom of act. Those who liked to talk about life had special signs – black squares embroidered on their clothes. They were called Idists. Nobody loved them. Their bodies were buried every Sunday piece by piece.
Dream 10 

The monsoon season in town coincided with the Arbor Mundi ancient schedule. The best people of town multiplied the world by rain in mind, and then they subtracted metaphysics and puddles. There remained rheumy, redolent slough of water and truth, which were driving many people crazy, but keeping everyone from dropping dead. 

Dream 11 

That year the shade of wine in town was measured by the shade of lipstick and face powder. Decadence came in town alone, direct and dry, with an armful of roses for squares and sighting slits. Morphin exorcised the snow, dauphin relied upon the Crux. Scarlet wheel spun the solid death. 

Dream 12 

The major export in town were pickled bananas, violoncellos, Baltic herring, petroleum, fresh nuts, gas and triple expression oil for faith. All this boiled in large oak barrels and then exchanged for scarce gold spanish ducats. Dream 13 According to the results of the zero day: there were 11,6% of Geniuses. The Goliath of Spirit were-20,5%, there were 26,4% talents in town, 31,3% of wise men were registered. The rest percent decently considered themselves as central creatures in town and propagate self-portraits non-stop. Women un town were judicious and didn’t took part in census.

 (Original text was written in Russian, translated in English by Ekaterina Podgornova)