"Follow me," said Christ who followed nobody. He had no state or nationality, no family and even no friends. Jesus was a
Jew and lived in Israel and had to die to let Christ live. Oh,
yes, we followed you -- and that's where we are in KOG. I don't
understand why didn't he talk about it and how the disciples
didn't enough love for him to understand his journey from Jesus
to Christ. I don't understand how easy the postmodern discusses
the replacement of the real with its simulation. I left my birth
country and chose America as my identity to escape this
simulation. It's painful to write about my realization that my
new home is not mine and not a home.
The second death is not easier than the first. You know the
symptoms, the process is faster, you recognize the signs. In many
ways my American death is more excruciating than my Russian one.
It was my chosen family, I didn't inherit it, I fought for it. I
had a chance to select out of the whole world and I wanted the
best. The most painful thought that it is the best. I have no
illusions -- I have no place to go. That's how the promised land
looks like. I don't even understand anymore how to call myself.
Am I blessed with experiencing my death before dying? Oh, what a
world you live in, Christ and I pity you, Jesus.
I remember my realization that Antohin has died. I lost my
last name and I have no first name. That's how they address each
other in heaven. They have no "you" -- only thou. That's how I
talk with myself. I need no name to call myself. Do I need a
country to live in? Not after death.
It's my feelings and thoughts but not exclusively my
personal problems. I believe that I only articulate the situation
we all are in. The death of America is a result of the mutual
lost. We, the people, died as a citizens and the government we
have is a simulation....
Sometimes I have to stop and let this thought of the end of
the old world sink into my mind. Do I really witness the
transition from earth to heaven? Of course, the earthy matters
are still present but they are inferior to the powers of the new
reality. I can't believe the timing of my birth. I remind myself
that two thousand years ago I could be in the similar position if
I was born in Bethleam with a name Jesus. I continue to think
about the book of the youth of Jesus, the time of his realization
who he is. In a way, all the books I am writing is the big silent
book. For two thousand years we are writing this book.
I wasn't impressed with the Master's novel about Christ in
the "Master and Margarita." I saw that Bulgakov is a good writer
and lend his talent to his character. What I didn't like -- the
fictionalization. I don't need to travel back in history, I don't
wait for a moment when I can meet Jesus or Christ. Everything I
need to find is in me, if only I could know better road to get
there.
...
.... I remember, I promiced you to write about you. I did. If you are a man. Or woman. We are gone, both.
Reader, since you read my writing, you're the miracle. Between you and me is the impossible, the void; how could it happen -- our contact? I don't have to please you, I make very little effort to make my writing "understandable," I want understanding. My hope that you are burnt by the same desire. That's the basis of my hope for a miracle. What if it's not my energy, but ours -- or even yours that keeps me up at night? What if you, not me, who writes? You, who insists on staying away from the temptation to make it "readable"? You decide, you're God no less than I. Your will what I call my self. No, that's not the collective, not I&I, or the New Age.
I know that you're confused no less than me. You tell me how
you want me to tell you the story of your living. That's why I
have to start from the times when I didn't understand what I
understand now. I want to talk about darkness, when I was this
boy. I still am.
In the summer of 1996 my grandson was born in Denver. It'll
take him another ten years before he will notice himself.
.... (from the file "Destiny")
Goodbye!
Resurrection? I do not see my name on the list. There are so many people I would like to be there, in paradise, the eternity, that I have no time to think about myself. I am a doorman. I open the door and I stay by the door. Come in, get in. The women I have been with, I don't even remember their names, the girl, in the town of Ivanovo, with the Jewish last name "Freedman" -- what's your name? You have to enter the heavens first. "Take me with you," she said. I said that I want everybody I love, to be in the this flying...
Thinking about you, Tanya, the actress from Leningrad, thirty years back, the one who changed my life, the one I defected from, crashing my Russian existence. "No, I can't start another life with her here," I remember it.
....
Good writing! But does it make any sense? Not yet. Not until now...
Restricted area (in Russian) : newrussian.org
web.vtheatre.net -- web-art ?
