Prokhor Ozornin - On the Wings of Hope - Prose

And having that said a man in a white dressing gown bent over me, looked in the eyes somehow semi-malevolently and smiled.

- Now we are gonna to put you a clyster, Ivan Petrovich, and all your diseases - and he smiled once more - they will be surely forever gone …

24.06.2011

So, you must have worked well. I guess that was not easy. Most likely, you are happy with your own result. And whether it was possible to play this wondrous game better ?

It’s thanks to you the world has seen million of new books and learned hundreds thousands of new names. It’s thanks to you was born such a symbolical concept as “best-seller” – something which is being sold exclusive good, bringing you well-earned silver coins. It’s thanks to you each and every self-respected person of intelligent look could respect himself a little bit more thanks to existence of yet another volume of yet another classic in his yet another private library which he, as it commonly goes, started and safely finished reading on a second or a third page. It’s thanks to you the mankind could transform its idea of what a “real literature” must look like. And ceased to read anymore thanks to your efforts as well.

You became a great wall, consisting of one thousand and one brick, connected together by a glue of a thirst of profit. You mixed together solution of din words of modern magazines and best-sellers and transformed literature into a business, having added spices of marketing for better taste. And then you started giving this poison to one generation after another, slowly and methodically killing a sense of beauty in them – because it isn’t so really obligatory for those who will soon come to your about-books brothel to buy a next volume of a next author with so colorfully ornamented cover. Collectors of candy wrappers !

It’s not a question of desire to serve as the conductor of verbal wisdom for younger generations – oh, if only it was that way ! It’s simply a question of profit. Simply for that reason you sell what is being sold better, and if it’s ever necessary to sell something quicker than usual – you put a “best-seller” label on it. Nothing personal, it’s just business. Nothing wise, however, as well. What a good business is that !

And what of the love, honesty, justice, after all – there is no demand for these? But how immense must be a demand for something different ! For all these modern healers with fiery spheres in their hands and gilded nimbuses over their heads, promising wonders of healing in the next dozens of read pages. For all this infinite, as it seems, stream of “fantasy”, riveted day by day by newly born authors in their attempts to glorify own names – it’s a pity, however, that a plot from these books becomes forgotten after a week or so, and except for a plot in a dry rest there is only a philosophy of “revenge and destroy” kind that remains. For all these political investigations, speeches, trends, brands, monographs of the ones-in-power … as if it were not politicians who have plunged this world into a chaos of wars and mutual hatred of nations ! For all these new opuses of “theologians”, who have transformed words of Christ ad His apostles to service their self-interest, and letter after a letter, treatment after a treatment darking and polluting their original primary meaning ! And, certainly, we must not forget the books of about-computers subject, which become outdated in a year or two – just a remarkable source of income on a prime cost to a price ratio. Truly, is it such a good saltwort ? But whether there is much salt in it ?

But even when someone comes to your literary magazines with a request to publish something – not for himself, without money, for those reading your papers – you prefer to keep death silence. Yes, it doesn’t interest you, it’s not in a format of your publishing houses. Who will ever read such things ? Probably, only those who have become indifferent to ones such as you.

Well, continue to sell rather than publish. Continue to promote and enslave new authors. Continue to give birth to best-sellers, moving with a mainstream crowds. All of this won’t help you any longer, not anymore. And if once for the down work of building a great wall people who have flown above it won’t even shake your hands – be not surprised.

18.09.2012

You address I today, power usurpers. My appeal today is for you, ones trampling people with your unjust heel, oh over proud ones. My word is for you, mother Earth on hundreds pieces dismembering, like a killed trophy. My message is for you, wars provoking and world with blood of nations fertilizing. Mighty ones of this world yourself considering, possessing the right to decide human fates yourself considering. Word of mine is for you, politicians of this world.

Like a dirt from human waste emerge you upwards, not sinking, in waters of national ignorance bathing. To the power you go with methods bloody, crafty and cruel, over the heads of people much more worthy going. Slyness you have already learned in that way of regression long ago, considering it ascension unreasonably. To deceit others you have learned millennia ago in the way mentioned of self-interest and human excess. Tyranny and cruelty long have you accepted and adopted, a way to the tops lowest with your elbows punching. Whether much does that knowledge and skill of yours cost for the world eternal, I wonder? Thirty silver coins, and never more.

Laws to serve your self-interest you do write. Flaunt with imaginary bragging you do, as if for world nations truly serving - but suffer those nations still under your rule. For how many times already have you been thrown from those illusory earth thrones, whether you remember? Nothing you do learn from faults of your forerunners! Rob you the nations, to you entrusted, red caviar over both your cheeks stocking. On the graves of children and old men you keep dancing, of the economic growth keep chatting simultaneously. Of the cultural revival you keep babbling, into debauchery with fornication people plunging continuously. Not to revive countries you have come, but to suck last juices, regaling, instead. Deadly poison that moisture is, yet its effect is delayed for a bit. And not a Socrat you are to drink that poison and not to writhe - one way or another to do that you’ll have soon enough.

The uniform world you have broken off and on the pieces torn apart, human foolishness and hatred having exploited. Now pit people of various countries you do, profit own from wars mentioned gathering and counting up. How to unite people are you going? On the basis of hatred and rage only probably. Of patriotism you talk profusely, men sending on slaughters freely and eagerly. Will you desire to go in front lines on massacres mentioned soon, oh peaceful ones, to own country devoted? Terrified you’ll be to do that, and that you know perfectly.

Your nations you have been considering as cattle for a long time already, and treat people you accordingly. Of the justice eons ago you’ve forgotten, and indulge the humiliation of people you further. No more a purpose they are, yet means instead, and despise them you do. But if all people those spit on you simultaneously - whether you’ll sink in that gratitude of those who haven’t elected you, I wonder? Or do you guess, probably, that for long the Earth will suffer your idiocy? Criminals, into the power who’ve crawled, do the Earth need you any longer? Or do you hope, perchance, that dead as a deader the Earth is, and by a human blood in wars you provoke can you fertilize it with no court and punishment? Both the first and the second are upon your heads already, or don’t you feel it yet?