Father-Russia *
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| Russia in the 1990s: "The rate of annual population loss has been more than double the rate of loss during the period of Stalinist repression and mass famine in the first half of the 1930s.... There has been nothing like this in the thousand-year history of Russia." --Sergei Glazyev
* Century of Antohins (new 2005) 
Look, I am the first to question my judgement on Russia. I left twenty years ago, I am not about to return -- and this finality reflects in my vision of Russia.... You know, it helps little. I go back, way back to the times, when I was Soviet, and I see the same -- I see nothing. I see no Russian Future. Yes, there is Russia and will be some Russia, but the Russia which srived for past three century to be a civilization. Oh, Russia got that far that we all know about Russian Culture. The Soviet Era was supposed to the last part, the "Roman" part of the task.... I have a very practical reason to think about it; I think about myself and I am in this history. I believe that if I understand myself, I can see why the Russian Idea has failed. Okay, Anatoly, you will understand -- and then what? And then I'll die in peace. That's all.  GeoAlaska: Theatre & Film
"The eroticism of Russia partly vanished, I think, when she was revealed to be little more than a vulgar, backward version of America. It was as if, when she finally emerged from the penumbral depths of her once closely guarded abode, our inamorata turned out to be not a soulful beauty, but a tipsy sloven. She wasn't humming airs from Prokofiev or even Borodin, but grotesquely mimicking Madonna or Abba. She wasn't remotely interested in talking about Gogol, she just wanted to see Terminator II and invest in a time-share apartment on the Costa del Sol. It was disenchanting. Eros fled.
Когда я задумывал эту книгу ("Пахан Раша" по-русски?), я знал что надо былобы написать не только о 1992-94, когда я занимался Русско-Американским Театром, но и о свей моей советской жизни. Не знал как. И сейчас не знаю, хотя "Сто лет Антохиных" может ответить как. И о детстве и о тех, что до меня. Много работы. Надо найти главное -- и писать о самых важных событиях. Конечно, не о декадах, а только о тех моментах в истории, которые меняли жизнь Антохиных... Что важнее -- как отец и мать встретились, или как началась Холодная Война? Что они знали об этом? Но ведь это-то и есть СО-бытие! Незнание. По-русски, это на страницах об Антохиных. Здесь буду дописывать по-английски. Отношения двух языков я не понимаю. Даже в "Войне и Мир" двуязычие мне кажется придуманным. По-английски я много предупреждений написал -- прозы не будет, будут записки. Даже подписи к фотографиям не времени дописать. Нет времени, да и не знаю как -- не чувствую стиля этих электронных заметок. Жду, когда пойму. Оставляю очень много пустот. Похоже на монтаж, когда остаются только кусочки, которые не понять, пока не сложить... "Коллаж" называют такой метод постмодернисты. Я их разлюбил, декадентов. Зачем мне картинки? Фото-альбом. Помню, как мама перелистывала страницы и говорила, говорила -- А это... Тоже хотел бы так же, просто. Не-художественно. Откуда у меня такое отвращение к писательству? Думаю от боязни вранья. От слов, которые как только не крутили до меня. Все равно лучше чем Пушкин не сложить. Хорошо, если бы можно было сны (кино?) дарить. Телепатия? Да, мы не ангелы. Приходится обьясняться. Я не против, если кратко. По привычке, я стараюсь "писать", надо говорить. А езще лучше просто думать. Думать вслух. Чувствовать вслух. Как в театре. Это непривычно. Импровизация. Хочется вернутся и поправить... А этого по закону сцены и жизни нельзя делать. Почему нельзя? Потому что невозможно. Я ведь и читать не люблю. Думать -- да. И чувствовать. Я и читателей скорее как актеров без текста вижу. Что тебе Антохин? Что Москва, если ты китаец? Чтобы про тех, кого не знаю, кого еще нет, было, пишу про себя. Меня ведь тоже не будет и когда-то не было. Пишу так, словно меня еще нет. Нет, но буду. Как ребенок, когда вся жизнь впереди. От того и начаю такие большие "книги", которые никогда не допишу... А вдруг тебя и не будет? Вот так и пиши, словно не будет. Как молитву о жизни. И не подписывайся. Не буду больше. Май 2005, Аляска. antohins 1980s
2006: my updates
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The texts are at the GeoAlaska, but the web-project "Father-Russia" is here!There are many reasons why my books are not finished. One of them is that I have too many to write.
I do not know how to get out of this trap: there are many pages in FR, which do belong to PostAmeriKa manuscript -- and the only way to keep it clean is to write the other book simultaniously.
At the time of the Y2K election it will be 20 years since I am in America. This thought doesn't help me either; there are too many political references, too much of the present.
I do not know how to help myself. The web-Father--Russia is for the same reason -- not to overload the book with the texts I can keep in electronic form. I even began eDiary to keep my extra-thoughts away from the book....
The editing is the curse. Mine, at least.
.... They say that it's impossible to be honest with yourself. Could be. Because if I am to be honest, I should say that I don't care. Will Russia live or die... like the rest of us, those para-Russians. It's the same everywhere. In America this attitude even more obvious; move on! Just keep going! Put the ideas into technology! Forget national ideas, even as super-national one, like Communist Russia. And say it, say -- I don't care.
It must be so. I lived in Peredelkino, not far away from the Pasternak's dacha -- and even then I often thought that "they" (he was dead already) and "us" are different. In principle. I would walk from the railroad station, especially at night -- and this thought would come to my mind again. They had different relations with the country and the culture. They were Russian after being educated by English and French governers and teaching (read the great Russian novels) -- to serve Russia. Because Russia was serving them.
Well, the class thing. As if we can be master, when there are masters and slaves. We can pretend and be cutural bastards and keep selling and resellng whatever was left. Maybe it was fun in the twenties and sixties, but not now.
We are the slaves of this equality ideology of the poor. We want it both ways. We want Pushkin to work like everybody else and be an exception and genius. We want all to be like that. Why not? That's how we know Russia. Oh, go to America then!
So, I did.
Actually, I always was an American, a non-master. I was born American, a free to work. Provide for myself, take care of myself and etc. Hey, I am not advocating any changes, relax, I am stating the facts. I have a situation and I try to talk about as straight as I can. Understand? Some are born tall, some short, some big some small. "Short and small" is the situation. Of course, I can be a master of my own life -- and this is about it, my own only, nobody else. I spent my entire life just for that goal alone -- to be free from others. Big deal! As if this was the freedom they wrote about!
The Greeks thought that slavery was a result of a compassion. We of course can't see love in it. We, Americans of all possible colors and shapes, do not believe in love. More, we do not know to "believe"! We are into "knowing"....
We do not understand Russians. Now you see why I have to write another, American, book. Everything about Russia is the past. I lived enough in America to write about the present. The rest of my books are about the future, which is here already and you can see it, if you are interested. The only "Russian" heritage I can hope to keep is my relations with myself. I have plenty of American habits in me, I manage myself and sweat myself in labor -- and I should have some Russian bone in my body to be an aristocract in treating myself. BTW, that is what my writing is about -- I do it for myself, this is perhaps the only free noble activity I still have. It's not work, not obligations, it's for nothing. I just use the hours of the American Anatoly for the little Russian he keeps. The parasite, you might say. Because this little doesn't provide even for himself. He feels, he talks, he writes. It's okay, I can afford him, I don't have money for two of them (there is an artist-Anatoly, too).
Look, I try not to feel sorry for the Russian or the Russians. They entered the world where the rest of the humankind is. Should I feel sorry for Indians? I can't. I do not have time. I better be straight and I try -- I try to serve him, but without sentimentality.... Well, the books are not written because I do not serve him well. I am not dedicated enough, I am a bad slave. He needs all the time he can get, all the attention, all my energy! He doesn't have anybody to help him. It's just me.
You see, he needs a lot of attention, love, admiration and etc. I am too busy to give it all to him. The Little Russian lives on it, literaly. He needs to be in love and to be loved and the only way he can get it through me, the American. Who on earth even knows about his existence! And stupid me, I treat his as my pet, when in fact he is my master. This useless in all practical matters creature is the best I have, he is the best of me. I am sorry, man. I really am.
©2004 filmplus.org *
Конечно, есть у меня и часть первая и главы, по старинке, но кто по порядку будет читать, когда на экране? Кто по дороге грибы собирает? Поэтому будет как в нехоженном лесу, где хочешь, там и иди...
2005-2006 Theatre UAF Season: Four Farces + One Funeral & Godot'06
Film-North * Anatoly Antohin
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