Recently I remembered the words of Igor Guberman - "today, after drinking coffee in the morning, the wonderful felt peace in himself; it's funny, because I know that I will die, but there is no faith in this," - and I thought: "Why?" There is a premonition, an obsessive thought, the surrounding space becomes alien, and the person himself feels it." There was not a single encouraging answer. Unless you walk down the street and go to a psychologist, hold counseling sessions to forget about the strange event.

The radio said that the city administration, together with the police, had gone to a healthy area, a dome was installed over the buildings, and the gates were closed.

Again, the TV in the living room shows colored stripes, the cat looks at the closet door, although there is no reason for this. The house had never looked so shabby before, and there were people living in the city. I leave the hall, open the door, and go outside.

The city is dead and haunted when the sun rises at noon. And in the house there is order, calmness, but the same mustiness as in other people's homes.

Mikhail Bulgakov wrote the words in the book "the Master and Margarita": "Pay attention to the profile in the moonlight, - the cat climbed into the moon column and wanted to talk more, but was asked to be silent, and, answering: - Ready to be silent. I will be a silent hallucination."

Although I often walk around at night, letting the wind blow through my jacket. So sorry for myself, it's raining in five days, according to the calendar schedule. I continue to give myself a sad mood and remember the past.

Igor Guberman is a person who has printed a lot of thoughts. For example, this one: "Call late at night, friends, do not be afraid to disturb and Wake up; the hour is terribly close when you can’t and will have nowhere to call." This is also true.

Part 1. Chapter 2.

Ivan Bunin wrote these lines: "One day I will disappear, and in this empty room it will be the same: a table, a bench, and an image, ancient and simple. And also will fly a colored butterfly in silk to flutter, rustle and tremble in the blue ceiling. And so will the bottom of the sky look out of an open window , and the sea beckons with a smooth blue to the empty expanse..."

The question is-there is no sea here, because it is a city. People used to live here. Symbolist and abstract artists-the inhabitants did not understand and drove them far away, and they left darling in 1864. A hundred years later, there are others here-those who cheat, frame. And after that, there was no one left.

In the history books of Nederland it is written: "1668-1678 years of England were occupied by the inhabitants of the Tribune. On the night of August 1 to 2, 1668, Gwenog Stewart and a large army rushed into the vicinity of the city. According to the plan of George Martinelli retaliatory steps followed with the greatest impact. Stability was disrupted, and the fortress was returned to the Romans after a two-hour assault.

10.08.1668 the warring States signed a peace Treaty. Now it was allowed to cross the border under special circumstances...»

I remember the day when we were given reports about those events in the classroom, and I showed pictures on slides - drawings and photographs of geographical maps. It was interesting only to my classmates. However, if you find the very places where the battles took place, you can imagine yourself as a great General or a dastardly Archer. But we could certainly go the same way as those who fought for freedom three centuries ago.

One day I started reading the book" the Cairo international", created by Andrey Simonov. The main character, Sergei Kovalev, studied at the University to translate from Arabic to Russian, was looking for a job, agreed with a classmate Azamat about a temporary part-time job, found himself in a desperate situation, settled in the apartment of an old sage to hide.

"Things, even if they cannot be seen, must be disentangled from thought, because if you let them get confused, you can go mad. You should never go too far beyond your thoughts, for only things make sense. And if I don't understand something, or I'm getting bored with it, I always ask myself, "Hey Shay?» "and it all falls into place at once.

Life seemed like a toy, and the ideas he read out seemed like magic wheels: once you spin them, the toy is sure to go in the right direction.

Cowardice has acquired a very special meaning: fear means that a person is hooked on something, and if so, life will beat him for it. After all, a person should be completely free by nature.

They (their peers) had an assertive vitality in their eyes, and a flexibility in their words and movements that more and more often baffled me.

In life, the winner is not the one who knows how to think, but the one who knows how to react quickly. He was glad that there was at least one person to talk to, and perhaps, without noticing it, he was playing a little fatalistic and hopeless; I had assumed the role of an unsophisticated Saint. Sometimes he would insult me with something like, " okay, don't mess with my head," or tease me in front of others, then I would feel that he was duplicitous, like a flat piece of paper that I was reading on one side, trying not to notice what was written on the other. If it hadn't been for him, I probably wouldn't have been able to endure this relentless series of humiliations.

I understood that he was not being hypocritical either with me or with Sedov. Not with anyone else - he was a cat-man. He simply saw what was really happening, without thinking about the meaning of what was happening, and acted without really trying to achieve anything. My thoughts on how to relax and at the same time act on the edge of the possible went far beyond Boxing."

I have written a few quotes from this literary work in my personal diary, not to use them in any conversation, but to remind myself of how people can and do solve problems.

I have worked all my life as a doctor, a surgeon in a psychiatric clinic, and I have noticed that mentally ill people, like normal people, are divided into several categories. In the first group, there are those who have the feeling that they can do something, run away somewhere, and they actually do it, but they have to be returned to their places. In the second - those who are constantly sitting on the beds, picking at pictures on the Wallpaper, and mumbling senselessly. In the third - those who are desperate to be cured, they walk along the corridors, say " Hello!» and they go somewhere. And in the fourth group, everything is unclear - either a living solution, or a dead silence. It's the same in real life, too. When you realize that there is a way out, you are blocked from all possibilities, and when you are desperate, like those psychos, they give you the smallest help.

You ask, “why are you giving me a break? Why do you take away what I deserve?”

Part 1. Chapter 3.

If I'm alone in the city, I'll go anywhere. It was dark, but the desire to learn something new was still there. Sixteenth Avenue was home to a sanitarium, a movie theater, swimming pools, billionaire stores, and then entertainment clubs. I went there, but I don't know why.