Æíèâà àáî Xëiáîðîá 2

Êîëè ðóêàìè ñï³ëü çáèðà äóõìÿí³ñòü õë³áà,
Î÷èìà ùåäð³ñòü ðîçñ³âຠäîáðîòó.
 ð³âêàõ äîëîíü, ìîâ íà ïðîòåðòèõ ñ³ëëþ ñêèáàõ,
Âñèõຠñîíöå - ïåðåâîäèòü çìîãà äóõ.

Ìîâ ï³ðàì³äè, çâîäÿòüñÿ ñíîïè - ³ çåðíÿ
Ëîïàòîþ âïë³òà êàãàòè ó ñóâ³é.
Ïðîõîäÿòü áîñîí³æ ïî êîñòðóáàò³ì òåðí³
Íàñòðîìëåí³ñòü î÷åé, ãðèìóº ï³ò ñòðèæ³é.

Ñåðïîì ïîãëàäæóº íà âèñòóïàõ ñóòóë³ñòü.
Íåñå ó çáàí³ ïðîõîëîäà ç³ð êðèíèöü,
 êîòðèõ á`º ñïîê³é - ëóíÿòüñÿ ðîêè çîçóë³,
² íåáî ðîçäÿãຠïîãëÿä ãîð³ëèöü.

1 Ñåðïíÿ 2006

ìè ñï³âàêî òàêî-ñÿêî
--------------------
( Þð³é Ëàç³ðêî )

ïîñ³ïàêî
ìè ñï³âàêî òàêî-ñÿêî
ïîâíî-áàêî
î-ºñ
äóïî-òðóñî
áîìáî-ãðóäî
³ ñêàêàíòî
ÿê ìàêàêî
î-ºñ
çàêîðäîíî âèñòóïàíòî
çàáàâëÿòíî îêóïàíòî
î-ºñ
ïîô³ãàíòî
íàïëþâàíòî
áî êàïóñòî
çàãðåáàíòî

áåç áàëàêî
ìè ñï³âàêî ó êàáàêî
ùî äî ñìàêî
î-ºñ
íå ñîáàêî
òà ñòàâàíòî íà êîë³íî
÷àñòî ðàêî
î-ºñ
çàêîðäîíî âèñòóïàíòî
çàáàâëÿòíî îêóïàíòî
î-ºñ
ïîô³ãàíòî
íàïëþâàíòî
áî êàïóñòî
çàãðåáàíòî
î-ºñ

ãóáî áàíòî
íîãî ãëÿíüòå âèäíî íåòòî
âàì ãàðàíòî
î-ºñ
íàøî áàíäî
ìóçèêàíòî ãîëîñàíòî
åëåãàíòíî
î-ºñ
çàêîðäîíî âèñòóïàíòî
çàáàâëÿòíî îêóïàíòî
î-ºñ
ïîô³ãàíòî
íàïëþâàíòî
áî êàïóñòî
çàãðåáàíòî
î-ºñ

Growing diamonds
CHAPTER ONE. THE SCIENCE OF WAR
People were cleaning weapons.
Edik Pyzhlyetsov was relieving himself on an anthill.
A muggy and feels-like-home fir forest kept smiling about it at an early autumn eve-star till the star rushed down, falling to the roots.
“See, couldn’t it fly long enough?” Kivertsov said enthusiastically. “And, over there, find the huge one!” he pointed his finger at the sky.
“Who fackin’ cares?” hissed Edik. “You better give me some fire.” And he tried to reach Kostya’s lips with his sticky sausage-like fingers.
Kostya Kivertsov wasn’t a serous smoker, but some ordinary cigarettes could always be found in the depths of his generous uniform pants. Surprisingly those cigarettes were clean and not crumpled, long and urban, like the Petersburger’s Kostya.
“Hey, chaw-bacon, are you deaf?”
Pyzhlyetsov was born in Odessa…
"Private Pyzhlyetsov!" the deputy platoon commander, sergeant Muharov, released a buzzing sound…
“I’m coming…”
His worn towards crotch boots awakened the smell of rotten leaves. Some emptiness of evening October universe wafted momentarily together with the smell of kersey.
"Just stop farting around, all right?" said a gibbon like Muharov, who was from Oryol city and older for six years, than other platoon cadets. The rest – last year school graduates… He finished a civil engineering technical college, earned the soldier experience in army. His posture seemed to be made of cement. It was visible in each protrusion of his body. “Man is Wolf to Man,” he wrote in his notebook. The notebook was always visible to everyone. Nevertheless, this has never been herd, so that he ever lost it… or it was gone… or stolen… Muharov was a wolf who claimed to be the leader of non-wolf pack.
“Pyzhlyetsov, what are you doing?”
“Peeing, comrade sergeant.”
“Who gave you permission... mother?
“Yes…”
“Mother… land,” said stingy on the words Kivertsov.
“Eddie, there is always some grub in your bag lying around. Do you have some cookies?” asked Muharov and childishly-cheeky reached Pyzhlyetsov’s slippery-thick bag pulling out a moldy donut. “And something else? Wow, waffles!”
The entire recently purchased pack of «eats» was vehemently stripped and went into a greedy hole. Its paper clothes together with the sweet crumbs of body, hair, and eyelashes fell spontaneously on the anthill… Ants felt sweetness…
“They like both – urine and waffles…” frowned Pyzhlyetsov, kicked with his boot the ant society, and swallowed the eye-smeared sugariness.
“Ill-bred…” threw a word Muharov. In his own way, he just knew well only people. He felt strong in this area. Everything else – organic and inorganic nature – means in order to live. The same applies to wolves. They're lazier because their genes have long understood the problems of eternity, finale, and death. Muharov needed the same waffles for his Alfa-leadership, so that the brain force of thinking could flourish – to think about death, or consider to self-program own body to get rid of the appendicitis of consciousness once and for all. To get high from this power-life and… hell knows. And floating downstream you can crush dams, if the current – a waterfall, and you’re an oak log, at least. But paradoxically he saw only people.
“By the way, formally, they’re purely Christian principles,” wrote in his «Diary» Loa. “Strange.”
“Who knows what is better... Not to love nature - it does not mean to hate it,” whispered an old Spruce and fell with thoughts to its roots, where nearby grew up a Mushroom. The Spruce thought waked up the complacent sticky bun’s world.
“Above all, the process should be without pain. Who cares that someone hates me! Well, so someone kills and eats me, so what? This Game will likely find its end a bit earlier!” he shouted. “It will be the end for all participants.”
“Pain – that’s something stupid, stupid, stupid…” a woodpecker repeated its pecking sound on the Spruce. “You can force yourself to love it applying self-hypnosis.
“This is masochism,” said Konstantin Kivertsov, pointing to Pyzhlyetsov’s boot a covered with ants. “They bite. They will make a Pyzhlyetsov blob out of you!”
“You know, Kostya, there are such scientific theories, or whatever – some forecasts show that if these bitches were the size of cats, they would… or may become the lords of the world…”
“Yeah... those who, by the way, doesn’t have brain, can pull objects in many, many tens of times heavier than themselves.”
“This «cat» will hold you by the balls, throw the body behind the ears – and pull as a building material or toy for their small bastards. Imagine that, what bitches they are!” mumbled Edik while shaking his ant-covered foot.
“Over there, do you see it? Another star,” showed Kostya in order to divert the «comrade’s» attention. He wasn’t so much versed in nature, often didn’t pay attention to it, which was very reasonable. Kostya had an exceptional memory, was excellent – always and everywhere, real, apparently lazy, clumsy, gently-earthy omniscient, at least in terms of physics and mathematics. Big and unsportsmanlike, he nevertheless was an island of hope for souls, which felt barbed and windy, or childish and insecure in this Existence. Well, what else was making him different? Aha, he wasn’t an artist – maybe 90 percent, or more.
“People are divided into artists, less artists, and not artists at all,” wrote Loa in his «Diary» and added, “And into those who can take off masks ... and who can’t.”
“That’s nonsense,” objected Sun! “There is only one division – the physical and spiritual. All other divisions are relevant only within a particular system. Overall, people are all the same…”
“And you know, if you look at a big city from a plane which lands, it is very much like this anthill. Everyone is crawling and in rush. Everyone knows their business, boundless in the past and future, conscious of where to move. And from the sky it looks like total chaos.
“For sure, an anthill,” confirmed Boris Voytsytskyy, who just came. He also lived near a «window to Europe», was a smart and quiet «street kid», whose grandfather was a ranger-beekeeper somewhere back in some Belarusian forest. “Night, stars, flowers, and honey is dripping from white bread on your Destiny chest. And you want to lick-and-lick, but instead – preparing-and--preparing… And this painful process to prepare is remembered longer than the process itself,” in his words. “Happiness is a touch. Whatever follows – pain…”
“Memorizing touches… memorizing hits…” Loa wrote.
Voytsytskyy was honest, dimensionally thin, and with almost girlishly-pretty body... Oh no, there wasn’t even a modicum of a deadlock taste, the one, when it’s reached – dramatically changes any system poles, like a pendulum in a clock with a dead loud cuckoo.
Since the begging of his life he haven’t cherished any uncommon-homo-or-any-other, sin-based under the laws of the orthodox religions of the world, tendencies. A bit romantic Petersburger, Boris, was close to nature. He loved his city and grandpa apiary. Two masters served him, or so…
LOA’S DIARY
The normality for «people who love nature, those feel their Motherland in souls, the land where the wind the souls is buried. »
“Why do you write your «Diary»?”  Grass asked Loa.
“Yeah, that’s just some raw material for another Program. Perhaps I’ll come up with something more interesting. I have grown old in this shell.”
Grass said nothing for near one of their own something was happening.
Pyzhlyetsov pulled out from his bag a bottle of cologne he carried hell knows why. As the son of military man, Edik Halilyeyevich could, for example, smear a peace of butter on his boots, or score a goal with a piece of bread straight into soul of a sentimental simpleton. He reached for the bottle of cologne, lifted blinded by tree-needles gray stone, and broke his expensive cologne over the anthill. Pyzhlyetsov slightly crouched and like an old dude spread his feet.
“What are you doing?!” Voytsytskyy shouted and rushed to him. But Edik's beautiful silver lighter, which was also always in reach, quickly demonstrated its essence. The blue fire flashed and black wax of bog-warm eve burned the artificial indifference of machinegun hardened barrels.
The anthill caught the fire.
LOA'S RESEARCH CENTER
“Oh wow!” yelled confused Time. “I didn’t think that it could happen so quickly.”
“You don't know how to play this computer game, partner,” answered to this Space.
“Old Loa comes up with such amazing programs!"
“How about if you yourself become a programmer, to check it out what is better... And the computers we have, by the way, are not the latest and greatest of models."
“There are much better ones…”
“Yes, recently we established an email traffic,” Space confirmed.
“But that cost a lot of bucks, I guess. Today, even the Academy of Sciences isn’t rich enough,” Time complained.
“We must, we must at least catch up with other countries, if not capable to set the tone.”
“Can you see it? Look at the monitor! What they do...”
The computer screen was clouded with smoke. Dispersed by breathing Pyzhlyetsov's blood spurted through the smoke – Voytsytskyy punched him in the nose. Blood quickly curled and rolled down the glass, as if torn mercury.
“What are you doing, bitch?” Edik shouted and swung a machinegun towards Boris. Voytsytskyy in the heat of anger hit again. Damaged on the tip tooth crunched, and was spat out with saliva, mucus, and bloody juice right on the blazing anthill.
“Guys, guys! We're dead meat!” one ant was bugling in the company of its co-drinkers. “A nuclear war! Entire ant-hood is perished! It’s the Doomsday!”
“Apocalypse! Apocalypse! It was written long time ago by prophets!” a grandma-ant, who was taking care of her grandchildren, cried and grabbed own antennae. The kids were already silent…
“Oh God, oh God! God save us!” it rang everywhere.
The ant world was disappearing like a gaze.
"The End! We are doomed! Who is this? What is it?" was breeding in chaos. The consciousness of the brightest of the ant colony representatives was blazing faster than their bodies.
“Cadets Voytsytskyy and Pyzhlyetsov! For you two - two cleaning-cooking orders in a row!”
“Ha-ha,” sneered Repyahin from Konigsberg, who was often angry and hard working person, with Arian blood in his ears and green pupils.
Cadets surrounded the mishap, waiting for a spectacle for the bread, but the words of their homo-commando cooled them down.
LOA’S DIARY
In closed systems all natural-beast inclinations of people spread some corpse smell. Army in peacetime – one of those the most closed places. This is worse than a prison, since in jail a person has an unwritten right to be proud of own sins and dark deeds. Men come to a military school to be happy in the future, and therefore… to become if not a good one then at least communicable… A healthy happiness implies freedom and the freedom – openness.
“Okay guys, what happened, happened,” said Kivertsov patting Pyzhlyetsov and Voytsytsky on the backs. “You know, I saw an English movie about nature. So all that ant kingdom-state was filmed there. They (the ants), it turns out, don’t see large objects at the distance of a meter, or so. Practically they don’t need it.
“So, does it mean they didn’t even see Pyzhlyetsov?!” shouted charcoal-eyed Russian Tatar Musahardinov, who was an energetic and tenacious man.
“It turns out that yes!” Hilburdt, the bright, volume-wise-good, with a body-like a butterfly larva cadet joined the conversation.
LOA’S DIARY
People are smart enough to comprehend a lot of things. What should be done with them in this case? Maybe they need to be destroyed? Maybe the whole thing has to be reset?  One way or another, it’s a pity… and I’m tired of this creative torment.  I’ve got older.
LOA'S RESEARCH CENTER
The old artistically inlaid, yet not lubricated for a long time, door squeaked. A couple walked into the Computer Center – Accident and Fate.  She (Fate) was in a brightly white knitted coat with very long red scarf and held an autumn bouquet of wild flowers. He (Accident) – blond and boyish.
“What do you guys play?” Accident addressed Time and Space. “Well, who’s ahead?”
“As for right now – Space leads,” Time answered.
“And did you assemble the wise Loa's program?” Time said, looked at his watch, and reached for a cup live of delightful coffee cooled by the hazard of this game.  “Somehow the people behavior is strange here.”
“And what is your task here – to destroy them quickly, or vice versa – to keep them intact as long as possible?” asked «Iron Lady» Fate.
“And here is the thing, one player plays their souls in Space game, the other - in the core, I mean, someone wants to bring humanity beyond the planet Earth and settle them in the Out Space, and someone – leave, so to speak, in the cradle, “ Space answered.
“Loa, of course, wants to keep them alive as long as possible,” Time added.
“Listen!” his colleague gasped, and touched with his transparent mouth a long like a sunray and plane like a sea ring. “Why you..?”
“Did not see that they aren’t strangers? It has long been known that Loa’s wife died. The whole Universe knows it.
“But to say more…”
“Nothing to worry about, be afraid, or embarrassed,” anxiously-flirty Fate handed to Time Accident’s and her own and ID. “We are here in order to ask you to reveal the last Loa secret.”
“There is email for everyone who needs to know,” confirmed Space.
“We can’t sit all the time next to computers, as you do. You’re programmers. That’s your energy.”
“In short, don’t cultivate bureaucracy!” gently babbled gorgeous yet with character Fate.
“Well, I wonder... How you can possibly stand against her?” Time winked to Space and handed him some official note with an emblem of sun in the middle. He passed it to Fate with a barely noticeable delay when his fingers were touching her. Meeting no resistance Time playfully embraced Fade’s slim figure. She freed herself with some effort, gave an air kiss, and pushed in front her home servant, Accident. Space snapped own fingers as a sign of farewell. The door closed as if it grasped the property of being windy. A sweet-valley aura of Fate stayed in Loa’s Center like an eternity in boundlessness.
“What we have on the screen there, eh?” Time cut the silence,
“Just look, do you see that? What do they think, bastards!? Thanks to intuition, some of them very much, somewhere down at the gene level, realize their unity with everything – from star systems and to atoms,” colleague reviled his concern. They use the inductive method. They cleverly transfer the anthill model to human society and begin to understand that understand nothing! That’s great!”
“How about to create some artificial formalities?” Time passionately grabbed a seat next to one of the computers.  “Well, for example, to set a World War II mine for any of these cadets?”
“For whom?”
“For Storozhuk… He coming back… ”
MILITARY SCHOOL
Some awkward and cunning like a woman cadet was shuffling towards platoon. He was from Krivyi Rih, the city dweller from every point you look, but outside – a badger, who disproportionately pumped up the part of body above waist. In addition to all these trades and qualities Storozhuk was a kind of person who is not entirely lost and mostly reliable, due to the fact of being a toady and hard nut to crack at the same time. He might even take a side and stand for it… Maybe?
“Brothers!” he opened his hands… and that was the moment of blast under him!
After a minute – eternity; only fresh and frightened tree-needles were licking the spot where Storozhuk stood.
LOA’S DIARY
What a terrible situation, the terribly banal one. Now everyone will be speechless and imagine himself in the place of the torn apart man. Everybody will become closer and even as one entity for a moment. Too bad that with the same realization the entire humankind can’t be combined in this burst of soul. What kind of life energy would radiate!? The founders of world religions, such as Christ, Buddha, and Mohammed did a lot for this strategic plan, yet it would be nice, of course, to create a unified (syncretic) religion of humanity. This would give a certain type of energy, however, pale and blunt, because sometimes indeed it would be treated as opium... The world's great poets-"unbelievers" like Byron, Shevchenko, or Dante provide , of course,  a bit less live energy, nonetheless definitely of better quality, because its flow is paradoxical, masochistic, and extraordinary. Christ shares even more… At the time when a religion is born... In short, I realized that the divine unit provides millions of times better quality energy than a crowd in its adoration of the unit.
I don’t want new ways-religions, which, after all, in their own ways are good, however I want more divine units!
…Again paradox. Only Paradoxes give energy, and this is a mystery…
MILITARY SCHOOL
Trees, shrubs, and herbs were also hurt after the explosion. Yellow celandine blood was dripping on a young plantain. A dandelion shook off its seeds, some of it got stuck in Storozhuk’s blood... and might even sprout there.
Somewhere far highly fallen star, then the second, third...
In the hollow of an old and fragrant spruce sat squirrels. The spruce and squirrels shared the same property – they were quiet fluffy. The hollow was warm and indolent. Especially the contrast with reality you could find in winter, when silence in the terrestrial universe was cut by hanky-storms and blizzards, cold and sharp as blood on glass of a dawn.
When it was hard on the soul, the Creator wanted to be that squirrel in the hollow.
“Oh no! It’s better to be a marten, better to be a marten...” murmured a squirrel, fearing the explosion and not knowing what to do with itself and its children – to flee aimlessly, or wait out the people.
LOA’S DIARY
Squirrel wants to be a self-enemy, because martens have all the advantages of squirrels as well as they are carnivorous... That means a marten is almost not afraid of animals. Victims would like to be their killers. The predator for a predator-marten could be only a human. Humans destroy entire life on the planet and multiply in a stunning pace. Yes, at the beginning of the twentieth century Earth hosted about a billion people, which enjoyed almost identical mechanisms since their appearance – rolled a wheel.
In 1945 the first atomic bomb exploded. In 1961 – rushed into Cosmos!  And so on… and et cetera…  Now, the population is over seven billions. Along with technology boost – boost in population. As expected... Mankind – cancer in the body of the planet.
All these expedited processes give, of course, enormous energy – war, sport… Bio-soul-based energy… Second-the-best one… The Premium One – a high emotional flight of unit-personality. The first is a stone, the second – a diamond.
LOA'S RESEARCH CENTER
Gray Time came up to a yellow-blinded and rain-treated window. He looked at his noble seal of the ring and said, "The golden one, and the Old Man needs a diamond..." The purple e-mail wire, like a spider web, glassed his gaze into the early spring. Time waived away from it…
“Drink some coffee,” elder Space, who was bold yet foxy, approached him. “The rules of our game seem to clear up. In the most demanding terms someone needs to squeeze out everything that is possible from the planet.”
“It’s a very thin hair, on which everything should be held. On the one hand: we need to bring the earth to self-destruction, on the other – to keep it safe for as long as possible.”
“It’s a paradox.”
“Yes, so as a genius. Genius is also a paradox…. a diamond,” Time was walking around the room, bending his noble head. Finally, the Old Man made got it that spiritual personalities are the base, but they can’t be grown without a "normal" milieu, abnormal and highly conflictive situations, and the environment.
“In our nineteenth-generation computer a lot of geniuses have already been recorded,” Space delivered a feminine smile.
“Yes, but there are a lot of rabble-rousers, which Loa will in any way destroy on the Day of Judgment, turning them to dust. “
“And the criteria are shaky...”
“Until they were shaky, the Day of Judgment was not known. Now finally it became clear that those who carry the least spiritual energy and don’t contribute to its production in others (at least a thousand mega-wings) will be destroyed.”
“I propose to reorganize the "Earth" laboratory to grow pure diamonds – Dante, Shakespeare, Mozart, Byron, Shevchenko...”
“Experience shows, my dear friend, that under sterile conditions only artificial diamonds are grown. And that how it works.”
“Aha. Well, back to work...”  Space patted Time on his back. “Let’s go and prepare the data for the Court. The Old Man can't wait to sum up the passage, so he could start the second order.  Maybe we will slightly change the terms and conditions of the game ... and prayers...”
MILITARY SCHOOL
It's been a month.
Human bodies lay down on the sea sand. Some are sandy, others are wave-foamy, and some – heavenly... They get out of the sea, move slightly, moan, catch the sun, play cards, and take care of their athletic and bellied shells. At the same time on a green and fresh hill, about ten minutes’ walk from there, the bells of an ancient church with its timeworn garden and graves of distant servants of the Lord are ringing.
Following Lieutenant Colonel Zakorodny’s command and obeying to Sergeant Makarov‘s principles of chain reaction the armed people got rid of their uniforms quickly and popped into the water. A few minutes later, the command was heard, “Halt! Stop bathing!” Everyone, like someone under fire, jumped out of the water. Normal civilian people stepped away.
The machine guns were in shape of pyramids, each of which was guarded by two people.
People were taking shifts, the weapon remained, and the bells rang, like pumping blood hearts.
“And do you go... went to church?” Voitsitsky asked one of the soldiers.
“When I was a child, with my grandmother,” he answered.
“Do you believe in God?”
“I think…”
“There is nothing to think about, scum bag. It was thoroughly thought through without us long time ago,” interfered jelly-like Pyrhlytsov. He pulled out of his bag a cheap compass (drawing tool) and like a penguin moved closer to the soldier.
“Do you want to have a tattoo?”  Pyrhlytsov pierced him in the back.
The soldier twitched and moved away Edik's sticky even after the seawater hand. The cadet was several times physically better than Pyzhlytsov, but no one could make him angry, lead to the point when he would curse, or hit anyone. But at the same time it was a sponge to absorb everything that was fascinating in the world, a kind of vampire, a fairly self-sufficient system. It was something happening with Pyzhlytsev, something near him. He practically didn’t control himself, it was managed by some other force which wanted to break any balance of the soldier’s soul-system.
Again and again Edik, as a wave on the shore, was rolling up with a compass onto the soldier, and in stupid-nasty way – trying to stab him painfully. The soldier mysteriously smiled and tried to avoid the attempts... In a few minutes it became clear that deep in his heart he experiments on Pyzhlytsov’s soul, somewhere losing a bit his patience after a stronger strike.
Pyzhlytsov’s appeared-to-be-friend and baroque-ocular Yablokov was lying on the side. It seems, the only common thing which connected them was their love to pies.  Clearly Yablokov was surprisingly elegant, with aristocratic manners, and a pretty gesture with ring finger to correct his dandy-like barely shaded glasses. Still, strangely, he was a combo of slightly dusted crystallinity and own soul-body’s egg slipperiness. Yablokov lay on the side and waited for the result of a psychophysical experiment, waiting with some rough eagerness, because the result of it was to become a cake. If the soldier should react with cursing or fist – the cake belongs to Pyzhlytsov, otherwise – Pyzhlytsov buys it.
Who knows for how long this experiment would last if not a shameless bee, which started buzzing over the lying down cadets, probably being lured by the natural and sharp odor of Pyzhlytsov’s sweat. He jumped up and start walking along the shore, although the most natural direction to pursue would be toward the sea. Edik was afraid of sea at a genetic level.
At that time Dukhmatov approached the crowd.
“Guys,” he said. “Enough to mock and laugh at the poor Pyzhlytsov. Who is off duty tomorrow? I invite you to visit my place. I am a Petersburger…”
A few seconds later the chain command was delivered, "Halt! Dress up!" And it triggered some chaotic movement at the sea line.
LOA'S RESEARCH CENTER
“Listen, maybe we could change the picture a bit? “  Space said to Time. “I’m personally tired of those cadets. Unstable material for theories. Closed system.”
“Let's have another episode to scroll down. And how much I’ve to tell you? There is no such thing as grateful and ungrateful material. What is in one system – a plus – in another – a minus – and vice versa. The balance must be maintained,” mostly calm Time responded.
“Equilibrium, you say... I studied it at school. And what about the species of plants and animals which entirely disappear from the Earth? What to do with them? What or who will replace them? What is its bio-soul-mass? (You could hear a tiny signal from one of the Research Center’s computers…) Hey, did you hear that? Someone again broke through the electronic protection with a prayer. Someone's prayer is recorded. In nowadays it’s rarely the case.”
“Please, light up the screen and show me that file ...”
“Oh, this is the prayer of a deceased person for the happiness of his still alive on Earth child. In this case the program provides a compulsory assistance. Record this case. For sure we will follow up later...”
“Even more, look – gene 24-X-315. It also appears in the file which we are currently testing and playing with in the new program.”
“Oh! Do you mean that it’s present in some of these armed men?”
“Sure…”
“Turn it on, my friend. Let’s take a look at Dukhmatov’s visit.”
“Okay…”
MILITARY SCHOOL
Dukhmatov's apartment impressed with its artistic inside. It was big, semi-stylish, and somewhat medieval one – with spider webs of scars and scars of webs in the corners. The living-in-disorder was so deep and cultured that it was so cozy, modestly-poor and cozy. Such apartments would have to impress especially young people from forest distant villages during the first months of their stay in large metropolitan areas, where everything should be so different, rich and heavenly.  The apartments of this kind guide them, as if they were naked, inside of a sheepskin coat, and then – into a hole in ice…
The anti-impression was amplified by the fact that Alexei Dukhmatov's father was a professor at the St. Petersburg University, and his mother – a conservatory musician. For a rural boy it's something highly spiritually-cloudy and materialistically dazzling monthly wise. But according to the law of extreme passage in its opposite the soul, like an egg or ball in bearing, strategically tunes and adjusts itself on some genetic level. The smoky and slippery body of the soul gets quickly infiltrated by some orgy-orgasmic and unfamiliar atmosphere of high poverty-disorder.
“Boys, common boys! Everyone comes here, please, everyone,” Dukhmatov's mother chirped. “Here are some light sandwiches with tea. Just relax a bit, music... Oleksiy… Oleksiy, play to your friends something classic.”
Everyone entered a small room where Dukhmatov Jr. used to live. I was totally submerged in old time, where an ancient yet good-quality piano grew. The room owner’s small size paintings were hanged on the walls that have long sought to repair. It would be worthwhile to say something about the undisputed talent of the author, as in such cases, but... the pictures were abstract as we say – avant-garde...
LOA'S RESEARCH CENTER
Here comes covered with rain beautiful and eternally young Fate. She bends over Time, “Look at that... Do you see how those people’s souls work and radiate? The wild energy especially comes out of 24-X-315.”
“He really wants to appreciate everything related to art. But how you would appreciate something that is missing? After all, in art the main thing is art.”
“As one old professor said,” noble Time interrupted, “I don’t know if this is a cow or cloud, but as a stain – it makes more sense...”
Everybody start laughing. Everyone laughed in his own way.
“Look, can you see what kind of energy this 24-Õ-315 emanates. Over here, he is with Voitsitsky. They stepped a little bit out from the group,” Fate’s voice sounded like a jingle.
MILITARY SCHOOL
“How would you rate this painting named as «Drawn Dust»?" Voitsitsky asked 24-Õ-315.
“You know, if there really was some dust, I would appreciate it. Yet, here I see some dots with geometric figures – a claim...  If a talented poet wants to be appreciated in everyone eyes sincerely and truly, let him show a traditionally rhymed stanza about love, and then let him show his own versification cases... Similarly, an artist – let him paint a simple tree outside the window, or a portrait of your cat, or me, or even you; in the end, that person I see, I know, and later...  Do you know that anecdote about Picasso? When he was robbed and made some drawings for law enforcement of his belongings, the police brought two vacuum cleaners, a washing machine, and a pen...”
"Are you against any avant-garde?"
“I am against talentlessness. Talent is from God. That's why it's funny to praise an artist for his talent, just like a pot for a delicious soup. The pot can be praised for the efforts which allowed this soup to be cooked well and save; the artist – for his character, for something purely universal, and not for the divine, because perhaps this something is his punishment, not a reward. “
“Do any conditions affect an artist or not?”
“Like a fire on a saucepan. Fires can’t effect soups directly. Souls need to work and struggle, therefore in sterile conditions only artificial souls can grow.”
“You mean that not everyone who has a big and painful soul is an artist, but every artist is an owner of a great soul.”
“More or less… But in general, all these things are a sphere of deep intuition, something that connects us with the heavens, which we are not given to know such as those ants about the people who are walking around their anthill. Not given… and basta...”
“Guys, what do you do there? Let’s have some tea,” nodded Dukhmatov. That was the moment when Voitsitsky gained some strange feelings wondering about how come he didn’t notice before Alexei's terribly flexible and flashy manners.
Dukhmatov played some classics on the piano; it was felt that behind him his entire professor apartment, St. Petersburg, and all the ages of his noble family tree, but the heavens... The heavens weren’t with him.
The highest schools and home atmosphere gave a lot. It brought him to a brilliant abyss at the expense of thousands or even millions steps of perseverance and reason, of the aristocratic and subconscious desire to come to fruition and fulfill own destiny. But it didn’t allow him to take another step (a little, yet very different than the previous) – because there was everything… Only Loa pushes into the abyss of talent, and probably even before a man is born...
Who knows how many steps are made by hundreds to the brink of collapse? Heaven knows… And as far as size, the last step is identical to the previous one, but its value – «heavens and earth», made by only a few – the diamonds grown by the creator.
Dukhmatov’s mom peered at the door and smiled just like mothers do. Dukhmatov has finished his not so hearty performance as if without giving this play any importance. It’s better for him to cover a soul with irony rather than it will make shadow-wrinkles on the faces of others.
“So, who else can play?”
LOA'S RESEARCH CENTER
In a warm and dazzling autumn afternoon in the city park Accident and Fate unexpectedly met and were very excited. They rejoiced at this meeting and with a painful tenderness began to talk about nothing specific, fear to fly and strive for any flights. They sat down on a bench.
Accident reached his minicomputer to break the deadlock of arching pauses and pointed, “Look, do you remember we were visiting computer technicians in the Center? So, I still in the mood for their files. Can you see it here? It’s 24-X-315 in the company of gathered around the piano...”
Fate also turned on her portative device.
“You know... You can have him... If you want I will help you with his realization?
“As a friend?” Accident looked at his dream hair with delight.
“As whoever you want… I'm not experienced in all this...”
Accident didn’t have time to answer anything. And it wasn’t necessary – they communicated with their souls.
DUKHMATOV’S APARTMENT
A few seconds later, in 24-X-315’s hands was a guitar, and he timidly began to sing a self-composed poem. His mother face appeared in the door again. It slowly became magically-lunar. It was one time obscured and the other – illuminating...
ACCIDENT & FATE
“Just look at this woman! She start shining! This one was once 1-K-8, from her had to grow a diamond, but it was too hard to reach – trivial family life has done its job.  Yet she still can evaluate a potential diamond light of others. Sometimes that is the only thing left in wasted diamonds,” said Accident.