Lugovo biography briefly

The Kremlin is visible. In the dim room - smoke. Who, when forbade me to be young this night? Young, but seeing everything, who understood everything to the bottom. This was done by our Moscow, blue spring. And the hotel is also called “Moscow”, and below they beat the asphalt with waterfalls of spray, as in the spring in a thunderstorm. An amazingly joyful wind comes from the river, the windows are wide open - the open spaces do not know longing ...

Konhabes, mercy on my heart and my will, because I dream of bonfires in the Zaporizhzhya Spring Steppe. I hear - the horses are snoring, I hear - the smell of hot horses. I hear long -standing songs forever lost days. These horses are decayed. And these dreams are very old. And from the blood of the dead, like a wound, a sunset was stuck. Maki - flame scarlet to the sea. Maybe this is old age, spring, Zaporizhzhya steppes of oblivion?

This is the dreams of the revolution, it is my immortality. He is demonly drunk. Raising the Venetian glass gilded, he toasts, proud, says. An heavy chandelier burns over the owner. Nepman Zvavich, like a bayonet, polished and clean. Who is visiting him? And the beauty wife is like a belief dawn. Nepman Zvavich walks, and I will keep it! Nepman Zvavich walks. He hammered the loan.

And the apartment in seven rooms, like the sea, is noisy. He glorifies fate. He, the speculator, has seven spans in his forehead. He is a solid and speech. And the Rabfakovets in the Dremes takes trenches. Ballerin's bangs hang to the eyebrows. And Zvavich admires his wife’s shoulders, and the Rabfako man sees Kronstadt dreams. Nepman Zvavich is ascended. Cognac on a striped English jacket is poured.

He talks contemptuously about Russia. He is America, neglecting. What is America to us? Rockefeller did not break into the frozen station. Nepman drove fixed capital with a bullet. He was shooting, and a scam, and cats were eating. He saw things as a wise underworld. He became immensely great, was small to the sorrow. That is why he celebrates the celebration itself.

And they called him the great on the exchange. The guests knocked over the glasses to the bottom. Bended over them and looks at the country.

The guests open a shower. Guests are leaving, breathing with frost. And Zvavich and his wife will remain alone. Sleep will come. Those who lived in hot insomnia from tension, on every day they went stubbornly, as they were going in battle. On the Afghan border and on the Chinese border, I saw your burned faces with the sun. After a quarter of the century, their young faces carried the actors to the screens.

And for this, a brutal fate was not asked. Each conscience disturbed his tireless care. And he lived a quick and proud of his youth. Only one stove throws red glare on the walls. Moreover, in the open windows the moon pours squares and pulls purple shadows. Rural school. Smells of chalk and desk. February said goodbye. March begins. We are sitting at the stove, we say slowly about Egypt, Brazil, Yamaiku Island.

Like the Snow Maiden, the night outside the window is good, and red bunnies run in prison. A heavy hair knot on the back of your neck is thin, a dark -skinned tenderly bends. And in the furnace state, embraced by fire, a fragile series of gold cities dies. And our centenary goes and goes, reaching its uninhabited heights. There is no more mysterious space on the winter night than an empty, deaf, silent school, where there are no more children, where there are no children yet, where moonlight is floating and a little audible in classes grunts.

Exactly midnight on small school watches. You are portraits, in curls, in beards and in the mustache, the forces of the new Russia, like grandfathers, size. For a hundred miles behind the wall, centuries -old forests, and the children of the voice froze on the walls. Here is the stronghold of the state and our immortality. Why will you teach them, my dear, - severity, pride, truth il Krivde?

Which of them will be a book of Genesis, who is a blind comminity in a illegible font? We set great goals to them, the earthly wealth left them. We knocked about empty litaurus, we were so difficult and silent for a long time. But according to our traces, along the bonfires and ash, the generation of the young goes on the ground. Tomorrow morning we will cross the call and in the sun in the month of spring, without late.

And on the redfits of the fire, embraced by fire, all the little men run and the building collapses. At school, we speak before ancient fire. A lot can be seen from here - both at night and day. She lives in a high -rise house, with a kind husband. He built her cottage, he is jealous, he kisses her hair permanent. I even need an address, even the phone does not need her. After all, the one that I knew does not exist.

And it was so that the evil sea was beating on the shore, thundered deafly, tight, like an oriental tambourine, rushed to the threshold of the house where it served. Then she loved me so fiercely, repeated that we would be by the wind, the sea will be. After all, it was so that the evil sea was beating in the shore. Then, on the slopes, the Ozliznik grew prickly, and for a month the rain darted around the ground.

Then, under each from the sea, a unexpected case from the sea and this woman, and was like light, song, and ringing. After all, on the slopes of the Ozlutnik grew prickly. We were poor, young, I understand. They ate stiff as a sliver, pies. And if I said then that I was dying, she would have reached Ada, reached Paradise, so that her friend’s soul was torn with greedy hands. We were poor, young - I understand!

But the power over her neighbors ate her so menacingly. Like vile cancer, live tissue eats. Everything that was torn in her soul, rushed, sang, - everything passed into a beautiful tight body.And even a frantic strand of it, from the school years, is a gray -haired, from the hairdressers, the embellishment was gilded. That woman lives with some greedy grief.