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                              1 

                          HELL RADIO 

        The dingo has for ever remembered that night when for the first time has heard «hell Radio». 
There was a deep evening, and it sat in prostration, having stared unseeing eyes 
In darkness, and a spit the handle of adjustment of the receiver still remembering the old kind 
Times. The index thread has reached scale edges, and the Dingo continued mechanically 
To twirl the handle, and for some reason its fingers did not meet resistance. Radio 
Noise seemed sweet music in comparison with that was created in his head. 
Probably, there was no last drop to fly from coils. 
        Through a gnash of hindrances the new sound similar to howl was cut 
Wind. The most predatory and a penetrating wind to what only it is possible for itself 
To present. From one this sound of a gut froze together in an ice clod. And soon 
From dinamikov the receiver already reached pure howl, without any impurity... A cry 
The gone mad siren... The pine forest has reached a tooth nerve. 
        The Dingo at last has reached, what is it call signs. The sexless voice has said: 
"Speaks" hell Radio "». 
        Also has begun... 

                        *    *    *

        Its last life was a chain of dreams — strong as that, that holds 
On privjazi a dog also does not give in neither to teeth, nor time. Once dreams visited 
Dingo every day, from a dawn to a decline: surprisingly coherent, colour — 
And all the same the melancholy. In intervals there was a darkness. In it dreams too wandered — 
Phantoms of other validity. In those light slumbers it became the owner 
Space and time, the owner of the life. But day visions overcame. 
It has remembered one of them. 
        The dingo sat in a casino «the Happy moon», losing the last 
The money which has remained after a robbery of a snackbar, and it was not left by sensation, 
That the devil sticks out behind the left shoulder and is self-satisfied grins. One more gawk 
Has been made a fool. Also has put at all that crackling pieces of paper have passed from one 
Hands in others. The dingo has appeared the next victim total and very much badly 
Smelling joke. Hardly it was necessary to accuse churchmen of it. Quite 
Probably, they floundered in the same bog. 
        All is very simple: the soul of the Dingo was not so necessary to a devil. What for 
To it such inutile piece? What, damn it, with it to do? It could not 
To serve even as a change in the big game started in the heavenly 
Casino. 
        Dingo has lighted up: the life — unique standing is necessary to a devil 
Substance, out of which — only doubtful fabrications doomed. 
The devil hunted on devil manners. Its existence entirely 
Depended on the absorbed lives... 
        And the life soared between the thought up people paradise and a hell, turning around 
That the first, the last. It was air choking, light blind, 
Water dying of thirst, love lonely — but anything separately. 
Its worst property was to disappear completely. It was not 
Infinite set of pleasures, texture of troubles. By means of the sharp 
Sensations it managed to be overtaken only for an instant, but also it was obviously 
The lost race. Imperceptible and relentless, the life escaped, as if a shade, 
Rejected by each of existing during the given instant, also merged with 
Protoplasm twilight. The whole ocean of protoplasm, from which around lapped 
Creatures crept out, then became on two bottom finitenesses and eventually 
Learnt about death. 
        The devil always had a choice, and he preferred to have dinner in the good 
Restaurant. The best dish — thus at all the most expensive — it is final, 
«The creation wreath» was. The dingo did not consider itself as that, however, similar, 
All has been solved for it and long before it. Anyway, to it it is constant 
Repeated, that so it and is. But once he has understood: time left. 
        Also has woken up, plunging into a night reality. 
        ... For the Dingo that there was a bad night. Blinding night. The last 
Money, last rate, last hope. And a presentiment, that all 
In vain. Nevertheless he played up to the end. Has tried all: "blekdzhek", 
Roulette, bones... It did not hold harm on those who filled in a casino and to whom 
Its money have got, — they were only tools and hardly realised 
The true role. They with identical ease cleaned rich rascals, 
Which at all did not notice large loss, and the poor hard workers believing, 
As if the period of failures should sooner or later (is simply obliged!) to end. 
        For the Dingo all zebras were for a long time black. Happiness and misfortune 
Were represented to it by something like a sand-glass. When the top flask 
Will become empty, somebody will turn them. But once he has heard, 
As glass has crackled under the doubled hoof hidden in expensive boot. 
        ... It left, being unsteady as drunk, and from the party could seem, that 
It was captured by euphoria of the winner. The electric spasm pierced 
Midnight city, as if a corpse of a frog. The dingo was same dead. It still 
Moved, but inside all were held down by a sepulchral cold. There is no place to go, there is no need to live. 

                        *    *    *

        Its flight from day dreams proceeded five and a half years, 
But here it left on a home straight. Once (it seemed, to it belonged 
Memoirs any another a being — they laid, as if the unnecessary 
Documents of the dead person in the safe becoming covered by a dust) it had job, the house, 
Family and (ridiculously to tell!) plans for the future. It is necessary to notice, rather 
Optimistic plans. He had the nerve to look years on fifty forward 
And to think that will leave in the inheritance to the grandsons. 
        As it was found out now, grandsons will know hardly his name, not speaking 
Already coming on its tomb. It will not have a tomb. Or a tomb 
There is all planet... 
        His life has changed after he has started to listen to "hell Radio». 
It has lost job, the wife has run away from it and a visor with itself of children; after 
Divorce it has appeared in an one-room kennel, from which unique window 
The picturesque kind on a city dump opened. 
        Also there has come time of new dreams — black jet nightmares. «Radio 
Hell »passed music. It is a lot of music. Sometimes it seemed — too much. From 
It it was possible to go mad, but the silence roared even more terribly. First it 
Stretched a hand to switch off the receiver, but the station already strong held it 
Hidden feelers, and the hand faded halfway. And except music, were 
Histories. The original histories silently sounding in night under an insinuating rustle of tyres 
Or rain rustle. Confessions of monsters in human appearances. Stories about 
The broken hearts and the crippled destinies. Brad of madmen and those who was drank up to 
Delirium tremens. Conversations of maniacs with the future victims. Shouts of lying-in women, groans 
Lovers and patients, rattles of dying old men — as a sound illustration 
Damned mournful way: a birth, a youth, an old age and death... 
        Gradually «hell Radio» has turned in some kind of a drug. A dingo 
Did not think without it of the life. 
        Another would struggle with phantoms, clung hands to skeletons, having clamped in 
Teeth the thrown bone, the new house of cards erected — or has reconciled and, 
Having come to be in the very bottom, it was slowly dug in in silt. The dingo did not see sense in 
Similar self-deception. He has chosen the third way. To run. Continuously to run in 
Vain searches lost irrevocably. Movement rescues from madness. 
Movement creates life illusion: so the log floating on the river can 
To seem a crocodile. And if so it is better to run nalegke — with it not 
Last cretin begins to argue even. 
        (And radio whispered at night from all cracks: «Throw this burden! 
Go to a way. All infinity of the world lays before you!. ») 
        The dingo indeed felt inhuman ease, standing on steps 
Before an input in a casino. It seemed, a little more — and it huge flying 
The mouse will flush to dim stars. But also in this case to it not to get to anywhere 
From under a circus dome where so there are not enough places for spectators so it is a lot of the pity 
Clowns and such huge arena... 
        There was no projector which would disperse darkness. There was no wind, which 
Would carry away away its thoughts. There was no cord on a neck which would keep it 
Body. The devil, standing up for the left shoulder, slightly pushed in a back: 
«Run, a rabbit, run. Now you my client!» 
        And the Dingo has broken from a place the "dodzh", not regretting and without that bald 
Tyre covers. 

                        *    *    *

        Its wheelbarrow a dark needle sewed edges of exhausted night. The receiver 
Has been switched on, and dynamics shouted on full, not allowing to fall asleep at the wheel in 
Artful pre-dawn hour. "Najthoks", Nile Blek, Jimmy Spejsek, Mett 
Powell, Mike Onesko... Someone supported an accelerated rhythm of the close 
Madnesses... But the Dingo did not become neither the hostage of speed, nor a victim of race 
Dead persons when the torn off head like black bolidu rushes in one hundred 
Metres behind a body vibrating from intolerable pleasure and an anticipation 
Death... And slow blueses flied up, as sperm fountains, in the star sky and 
Stiffened ice splinters of stars — lurid, as if the wolf eyes. 
Prints of the damned doomed love, traces of a forbidden coition of heavens and 
Dirt... The Flour arose in hollow bones, flew on them, as if a lava 
The heated nerves, ringed a wind in a skeleton Aeolian harp, pierced through 
From different directions simultaneously: from the outside — inside, from within — outside, — so 
That the Dingo seemed to itself the monstrous similarity turned inside out 
Porcupine with the needles tormenting interiors... Any more music is 
Has become something big, the certificate of transformation of soul and a flesh under influence 
The most severe vibration — and the hell came here and now, with tortures 
Memoirs, with electric lashes of not washed sins, with all 
Hopelessness of eternity, with sacred fury of the fanatic who is burning down on 
Belief fire... 
        Soot, ashes, ashes... The Grey blizzard turns and turns around... 
The smoked world, the burnt down wires, short circuit in a brain, a smell of ashes, 
Bitterness in a drink... Bengal fires of flaring roads run on a body 
The crucified Earth... The Insect of the Dingo stuffed with electronic dung, creeps, 
Creeps and creeps, not knowing neither a route, nor destination. 
        New circle of a hell. Toni Spinner, Tinsli Ellis, Chris Djuart... Good 
Children, but to most pechenki the Dingo has reached John Campbell. John held a rhythm 
Roads — just that is necessary for the guy who going without the purpose and has lost 
Representation about time. Irrespective of, whether the sun or night shone 
Accepted a shivering body in the ice embraces, the Dingo wandered in twilight 
Lives. 
        But it was not one. On ways of derelicts sometimes there are fellow travellers. It 
Learnt them at once, at all not seeing persons. It would brush away to telepathy, if 
The dingo believed in similar bosh. 
        Here so it has turned out and with the old man which silhouette of a headlight cut out 
From a creeping away haze. It stood on a roadside, holding on hands of the child. Not 
Voted. Simply stood and waited. Leaves, too something knew about 
Predefiniteness. 
        Usually the Dingo did not take passengers. You will plant any ugly creature in 
The wheelbarrow — also you will soon feel so, as if someone trahnul yours 
The woman or has spoilt your tomb. Pleasant interlocutors came across extremely 
Seldom. Unpleasant Dingoes quickly stopped up. Worst of all there were sentry dogs 
The authorities — they thriftily lowered the bums on a seat. Also felt in him 
The run wild creature, a predator, the enemy of pets which it was necessary to them 
To protect. For this job paid, but the life cost more expensively... Gradually 
The dingo has learnt to get rid and of sentry dogs. 
        He has refused also services of the whores, preferring to pay off 
In kind. The minute pleasure did not go to any comparison with that black 
orgazmom which overtook the Dingo during the moments of intimate affinity with death — 
In embraces of this last and absolutely reliable mistress, eventually 
By all means remaining widow, — and he understood, that actually is and 
The third... The participant of a monstrous orgy... When the devil scraped claws lengthways 
Spine column... And stars were strewed from heavens shivering with blasphemy, 
As rotten fruit... 
        But that time he has learnt a related soul — if at all can 
To exist any relationship between homeless tramps. Besides, the Dingo 
Has recollected, that it does not have money, — and if the old man agrees to pay for 
Gasoline, he should not resort to extreme measures in the nearest small town. 
He did not like extreme measures. 
        The dingo has sharply braked — so, that it seemed, the illusive has ended 
Flight and "dodzh" with scope was thrust in reality sand. As soon as 
Speed disappeared, the weariness, hunger and melancholy leant. Mad race 
Allowed to hold on one more night... 
        The old man has sat down in the car, about what not having asked. It also has not expressed 
Thanks is there was a luxury for at whom it is necessary to give time 
Debts. The child has been turned in the black fabric stitched by white threads. And if 
For shrouds styles this approached ideally are thought up. 
        The dingo took from a place in the usual style. Air stream has rushed 
In salon. The shroud edge has risen, so it was possible to see the person of the child. 
The dingo has cut eyes and has involuntarily shuddered. 
        The old man held on hands of the dwarf with the dark and spiteful wrinkled 
Face. Having caught on itself the extraneous sight, the dwarf has crookedly grinned. From 
All teeth it still had only canines. The clumsy hand has appeared from under 
Shroud, as if the root which has been washed up by rains from the earth. The curve finger has stuck the button 
"Stop" on the obverse panel of the tape recorder, and on it rock'n roll has ended. 
        — Give a cigarette, the mongrel! — the disgusting passenger has demanded. It 
The voice was similar to a scratch of rusty loops. The old man sat is indifferent, as if 
Its event did not concern. 
        The dingo did not begin to spend time for empty chatter. It has struck on 
To brakes for the speed of more than hundred kilometres per hour, expecting, that urodets 
vyshibet a head a windshield. During that moment he did not think of where takes 
New glass also that will do with a corpse. At worst — with two. 
        The trough has sharply pecked and has rushed juzom. A dingo costed considerable work 
To keep it on road. On the old man and the dwarf braking has not rendered any 
Influences as if both were holographic images. «I still 
I sleep », — the Dingo with bitterness, however dodge with brakes not has had time to think 
Has passed for it for nothing. 
        The dwarf laughed. In comparison with his laughter squeal of tyre covers seemed 
Gentle music. And, as the Dingo rested both hands against the steering 
Wheel, overcoming inertia, the small knave has free stuck 
To it in eyes the average fingers. 
        The dingo has raised a howl, torn apart by a pain agony. In the subsequent a little 
Seconds he did not realise and did not remember anything: where is, that, 
Than his hands and feet are occupied. But when an other-wordly, destructive pain 
Has subsided, he has felt, that the car is accelerated, as a black rocket, inside 
Which the blind man paralysed by horror has fallen asleep. 
        Something crept in it, merged with it, flowed, as if the covered 
Slime a black soul. The dingo has moved, and the pain has returned — it seemed to it, that 
Muzzles of volcanoes to which its eye-sockets have turned, are again filled 
ognedyshashchej a lava. 
        — Who you? — Has croaked the Dingo. 
        — I your destiny, — have answered slippery It, having closed up it a mouth 
Kiss, taking away its breath... 
        And it has found new sight. Henceforth he saw the world through crimson to a smoke 
Underworld. And it has found new hearing. And ten others, inaccessible to people, 
Sense organs. And the old man and the dwarf have disappeared. But one of them for ever remained with 
Dingo. It is only a little later to it has reached: the old man has dumped a heavy burden, 
vsuchil to it a damnation turned in eternity... 

                        *    *    *

        Since then the Dingo dreams only one (if at all it is possible to fall asleep): 
Headless horsemen on black stallions pursue it "dodzh". Steel 
Hoofs break a road covering, and instead of smooth highway behind them 
There is the smoking strip covered with fragments of cars and shattered 
Bones. Looking back, the Dingo sees, how their bloody rubies shine in a gloom 
Eye. Stallions attract through centuries crew of the owner, crumbling in a dust 
Antique statues, the barbarous idols, proud palaces of the Middle Ages and 
Ferro-concrete churches of Rationality... 
        In crew the being with two heads — one is filled in with a laughter 
In another, as a kernel in a shell. The dingo has become a part something bolshego. The slave and 
The mister — forever together. It has received that wanted. A pursuit never 
Will end. 
        And, except the dwarf-destiny, «hell Radio» became its companion. 
        The wild dog of the Dingo runs. 

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