Творческая жилка присутствовала всегда, но не всегда ее удавалось повести в нужное русло. Люблю литературу, язык, свой и любой другой.

Dear ladies and gentlemen, kindly find my interest associated with literature and language from all the points of view.

Эссе “Accordance”

Word is a double-edged sword

The first blade is entirely hidden and

I am pretasting the cut of world

Standing over the second

I say the word, it clings to the other. Behind it is the third – goes itself. I weave webs. The fourth word someone says instead of me. On the fortieth a stranger’s speech flows like water from the tap, but for me I am thinking of a next thought. I stop. I open my mouth again to give life a next thought. This  moment I am enmeshed with a verbal web. All secret things are hidden in analogies.

Here is a picture. There is a circle on it. And the another circle with a dot in the middle. And then – the dancing man. The author is a boy. How could he guess? I am speechless. All secret things are in analogies.

All things are similar with each other. A web with a point, a glass with a water, a word with a word.

I want to speak, to speak, to speak. No need to keep quiet. Silence is limited. But silence is fertile. It gives birth to the word.

Here is a woman. She moves. She floats in the air. I hear music. How to describe it? I hear the perfect music in her movements, and it is loud, it is dazzling! The movements of the arms, legs – and the music at the same time. All this seems to be true. But it’s like a secret. This is the secret. How are connected the sounds and movements of the body? Very simply – here they are, here’s the link. What could be simpler and more obvious!

“I” – is the web. This is the point in the web. “I” – is a meeting place. The legion of things decided to ally for 50, 60, 80 years – this is the “I”. Then the elements disperse. “I” will disappear. “I” – is the point, a small point in the whole space, but it is solid and united. For a while. Time will dissolve these threads, and will bring them to another web.

Accordance. And the disaccord.

Death is painful as a web break. It is easy like a web break.

People are going to the agora. They are coming from different sides. And I’m going. The person who has gone now, was going also. We are on the square, it blew from all directions by the same wind. Agora stays, one thousands of  “I” come and go away. The field is the same, and stars are changing every night.

All things are not what they are. The beauty we listen, the passion we eat. I feel the heat, but there is no heat in the hand. Where is it? It is. It accumulates in the “I”. It derives from the “I”. “I” is warm. Hand is not.

I am on the surface. I carry my body by force of the little finger. It’s scary to think how thin this connection is. One knock – and stop, coolness runs through the back, takes course through the head, then it starts to be gathered, and – the fog and the darkness. This is the end, nothing more. But the music continues to play.

I pick up my body in a great hurry, like an abandoned child from the fire, I take it and run away.

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