It was strange – to find again itself in darkness. So it is familiar on 
To sleepless nights and at the same time it is inexpressibly strange. Leaves, business was in 
Memoirs on own death. He knew, that has died. It remembered, how 
Died, – the consciousness was gradually dissolved in crimson a smoke. It already 
The absurd belief in death remained not shaken, if only he – not 
Strung on a thread of time a dream of the god-pervert similar to the uncountable 
To reflexions in the mirrors turned to each other. But this reservation and during lifetime 
Did not call it enthusiasm. 
        At least, it did not feel of a physical pain, which hardly not 
Has forced it to regret for any seconds about sodejannom. He expected, that it 
Will be short, and was not mistaken. Then there was only a slow fading. 
        Now the body did not cause inconveniences. The body remains something like 
Image to which he has got used, and saved external outlines owing to this 
Its habits – the image embodied on is simple... On what? It 
"Has frowned", having deformed an image of the person because did not wish to think about 
It. Neither hunger, nor a cold, touches. 
        That from him remains, was not engaged in gamble. He knew: anybody 
Could not pull out it from a next world, and around – not blacked out chamber in 
reanimatsionnom branch. He believed in death, but did not believe in miracles – in 
Cheap, that manage expensively. The new form of existence at all 
Seemed by miracle. The alarm did not leave it. It prepared for the worst. Perhaps, 
This beginning of punishment which will last much longer, than a life. It is a little 
Looks like a church canon, but actually has no anything the general with 
Justice, with posthumous requital. Continuation is simple 
Senseless torture at other level. 
        Gradually he has started to learn a place. That place, where, if 
To use an euphemism, he tried to descend from a train. As it was found out, in vain. 
The world has appeared a huge waiting room – naturally, deceived. It 
Has committed suicide – former. Now it should find a way to finish with 
Itself present. And already guessed, that will make it uneasy. All 
Came back – damned memory, regrets, despair, the reproaches, broken 
Love – all same furious and drilling, as before, only differently 
Packed, written down on other carrier to which it could not 
To reach neither a loop, nor the razor, neither poison, nor a bullet. Inexplicably it 
Felt ashes in heart – in body of which was not. Ashes were poured in 
Him, as if in flasks of a sand-glass. He blew these flasks from the liquid 
Glasses of memoirs, from all that wished to cross out, cover with darkness 
Deadly dream to freeze in a corpse, to dissolve in the earth, to subject 
To disintegration on atoms. Did not leave. 
        Dream without dreams... Disappearance Time... Similar, it was 
Illusions. And he thought, that has got rid of all illusions. At least 
From what meant at least the slightest gleam of hope. It was 
Consecutive, killing in itself hope. Discredited lie, but in what not 
Found truths. And when anything also does not remain, with restless conscience has told: 
«Well here. I have made everything, that could». It has appeared, not all. 
        There was one more last not broken mirror, there was one more last 
Unopened door. Has broken, has opened. Also has got there, where from it in general nothing 
Depended, where to it already it has not been allowed to get rid of itself. At first it not 
Has understood, whether means it full freedom or the lowest point of falling, inconceivable 
Slavery without possession own pettiness. And from this uncertainty 
To it it became rather terrible. He did not test such fear never – 
Truly other-wordly, inescapable and definitive. And the worse, that nothing 
Was to freeze and freeze. 

                                *    *    *

        It has got out of a bath filled with a crimson liquid. An image of the person, 
It moved and looked as the person. It was accompanied by images of light and darkness, 
Images of twilight. Stroboscopic effect. Multjashki shades. Moving out of 
Touch... 
        Something it has, of course, left in a bath – last volume 
Picture, informativnosti which sufficed for an embodiment. Now the information 
It is erased; it has lost forever a part of. But not that would like to lose. In 
It the jeer consisted; it only added regrets. It has started to move, 
Not to remain alone with a part. 
        Its apartment. The receiver scale was dimly shone. Batteries yet 
Have sat down. Hardly audible sounds once meant music... The refrigerator Hooted. 
The arrow of wall hours jumped. The snowfall of seconds Somewhere proceeded. Things 
Worked according to their images. It could not switch off them. Again an attack 
Fear. Things continued to work. And how about LIVE beings? It not 
Hurried up it to learn. It postponed it on then. It had a suspicion, 
That ahead time chasm. That time which has appeared more strongly 
Lives, but without fight has conceded death. 
        In a bedroom the grey dust everywhere laid. Or ashes. A fringe of an old age, 
Overtaken the adult child. Here its toys capable only to aggravate grief 
And to make its immense. A photo which it and could not break off. 
Photo of that which he and could not forget. The thrown books, plates, 
Chess. Candle ends of candles. The broken glass. A lamp with a shaggy lamp shade, shaggy 
Curtains... 
        He has turned back. It did not leave traces. Inflow and otlivy fear. A shallow 
Not desired secret. Waves pinch prints... 
        Anything, soon he will get used. But unless it not a hope gleam – 
Already potustoronnej? To get used – to what? With a new role? With what 
Never chose voluntary? Here he has tried to stop. But has found out, 
That has become like dry sheet on a wind. Broken from a branch where trembled 
Green and live, driven to avenue of horror, indescribable loneliness and melancholy, about 
Of which before had no representation. 
        For an instant he has reflected on the nature of mystical "wind". Force, 
Put to the powerless. Neither questions, nor answers. Only moving 
That is subject to force, from area with a fear high pressure in area 
With low pressure. And everything is subject to force, except the dead. Dead 
Works, will not break yet. 
        Other room. Multilayered deposits of a forty-year life. Costs 
Something to take from drowsiness – and the haze hides silhouettes. Similar on 
Research of the lost ship. Around – fragments of vital wreck. It – 
Unique escaped, and that "half". And all city has sunk. Also lays 
Now on time ocean floor. The civilisation was lost. Has found at last rest and 
Gloomy greatness of death, having got rid of petty vanity. Washed away 
Chaotic streams of memory a monument. A cemetery of hopes, aspirations, 
Sanctity and defects. 
        The one who was not destroyed yet, has left a monastery of the eremite, 
Has gone down even more deeply and has started wandering in a direction to the centre. 

                                *    *    *

        Neither people, nor dogs, neither birds. Nor the sun, neither the moon, nor stars. Grey 
Desolate heavens over gorges of streets. If as moves in shades, only 
Ephemeral generations of disturbing expectation. All as though is familiar – and all 
It is irreversible has changed. 
        On sidewalks uncountable quantity of clothes, a watch, 
Crowns, footwear, keys, bags, belts, hats and scarfs. Means, live to it not 
To meet. It has sentenced all of them. Memory whims kill – and it HIM 
Memory. But why there are no at least what persons it distinctly remembered? 
        Cars have stood, overtaken in movement and embodied on 
neunichtozhimoj to a film. Those who was in them are However, completely erased. 
It is visible nobody and in shops though they are opened also show-windows are lighted up 
Grown dull light. 
        All has stopped during one moment. He guessed, what is it there was a moment 
His death, the moment when it for ever has slipped out from this the world, and the world 
Remained, as the fallen asleep plaster cast, as a mummy, spelenutaja its last 
Sight. Yes, it has avoided a predatory grasp, but what price! In addition it yet 
Has paid. And payment will be long. 
        It was captured by bewitching sensation, that it one on all planet. 
And one in the Universe. Now it became obvious true. During lifetime it was 
It is somehow disguised under six billions persons. And here does not remain even 
Masks. One. Agasfer, waited  destruction of mankind and even most 
Damning god. And deceived itself. What further? It and before 
Set senseless questions. 
        The deep nightmare bore it on hidden wings – too slowly 
For flight, too invincibly for walking on an intangible surface. Domes 
Churches and synagogues were similar to the huge hardened eggs in the left 
Nests. Only a dust of useless religions under a shell... 
        From musical shop the rock'n roll which sounded reached 
tosklivee parent crying. Sounds have been deformed, as if the inevitable 
The progressing falseness already started to corrode a melody, as a rust 
Corrodes metal. It seemed to it, that if it appears here after some 
Time will hear jingling, then – cacophony, even later – a gnash, not 
Having anything the general with music. Erosion of feelings bared emptiness. 
        Suddenly to it has seemed, that he has noticed the person, but it was only 
The dummy exposed near a door of a bar. He has laughed with the bitterness accessible 
Only to who does not have mouth. Witnesses of its wandering on a personal hell were 
Dummies, the rubber maidens who are growing old in sex shops, and stone sculptures 
Dead poets. It seemed symbolical even there where were dissolved for 
Uselessness all symbols, and reference points have lost value on a way in anywhere. 
       The enormous thermometer strengthened on a wall many-storeyed at home, 
Showed shrivelling degrees of December. It crossed the area, and light of lanterns 
It was split up in uncountable set of drops of the rain which has hung in mid-air. It as if 
Has come to be in the rarefied crystal penetrated by light and filled 
The frozen tears. 
        He understood, that has shared a fate of millions the people living to it, and 
Somewhere one more restless spirit should wander at least. But it not 
Saw anybody who would apply for this huge empty museum – 
The doubtful inheritance of suicides. Probably, each of imaginary dead persons 
Lived in the cut of time separated from others it is insignificant the small 
Intervals. 
        On a way the children's carriage in which laid only has got to it 
Blankets and rattles. The bicycle has fallen asleep on two wheels, as if the pasted 
To asphalt. In a hat of the beggar coins and small denominations laid. All, that 
Remains untouched, has become dust. Here it is valid – anything 
You will not take with yourself there where all depreciates where there is no even a life, for 
Which it would be possible to cling. He felt an emptiness part in 
Borders of decaying consciousness. 
        It came nearer to the river. Over it the fog – same dense, as hung 
Fog of its thoughts. The muddy grey veil absolutely hid the opposite 
Coast on which the industrial zone – cancer should settle down 
City tumour. And even having appeared on the quay, it could nothing 
To distinguish behind this strange drawn curtain consisting of one haze. 
        He has noticed not at once, that bridges have disappeared. Does not remain support; roads 
Broke in emptiness. Tram rails hung over water, as if cut off 
Knife of a huge guillotine. On what not fixed pieces of wires contrary to 
To common sense and gravity hung almost horizontally. All looked 
So, as if on that party of imperceptible border a twilight interval 
Definitively lost the right to existence. 
        Force of an attraction and force of pushing away were counterbalanced. Now it 
Moved along quay. Involuntarily he has recollected, that once walked here 
From the unique present beloved. As it is desolate and painful 
There was a new walk! As if improbably long road on a scaffold. And meanwhile 
The way of execution still remained is unknown. 
        From one stain of light to another. Having opened hopelessness archipelago, it 
Has been compelled to move from island on island... Her face continually arose 
In blinking of lanterns... Taste of kisses on nonexistent lips... The Life, 
Sacrificed to love... The Body on a blood-stained altar... Refusal from 
Coitions, from sort continuation... But, it has appeared, anything it is impossible to cajole 
The ruthless god who always is taking away either love, or a life... 
        There was from a fog the low pavilion standing at the water. 
The part its ledge hung over granite quay and has been propped up by piles. 
Ugly, old, nothing remarkable construction. On a way to it it 
Passed the river walking boat moored to coast transformed in 
Floating cafe. From it music reached; sounds of the jingling piano 
Cast images of the broken puppets shipped in kokainovye of a dream 
Decadence – despite twitching hands of puppeteers and torn threads of destinies. 
And any more the fog – a tissue smoke floated over motionless water... 
        He has glanced in boat salon. There, except several little tables, 
Really there was a piano. And keys failed and jumped out, as if 
Invisible hands conjured with them. 
        In a pavilion window light burnt. It was the boat station. On a column 
The life buoy hung. At a mooring the boat – only one has been adhered. Oars 
In it was not. It fought a board about a pile. Rzhavo the chain gnashed. 
        It long stood near the boat station, shrouded in a dark whirlwind 
Doubts. Similar, it had a choice between bad and the worst. And it again 
Has captured fear that again seemed last door, but, more likely 
Everything, it was not. An old rule: you do not learn for certain, yet 
You will open. Once it has already made similar nonsense. But all the same it, as 
And before, drew inevitability miasmata. 
        Eventually it has entered. Also has got to a room which walls were 
Are pasted over by calendars with naked beauties. An abundance suntanned, healthy, 
Flesh thirsting for terrestrial pleasures here, behind line of materiality, 
Looked almost unnaturally. And the boatman at all did not seem 
Shade of the person. It was the pink-checked fat man who sat in an armchair, having put 
Feet on a low little table, and with relish ate round chicken bedryshko, holding it 
Fat fingers. In three steps before it on the screen of the working TV 
Two men of science thoughtfully talked about «black holes». 
        The one who has entered, was not delighted to a meeting with the first live soul. 
On the contrary, he has understood, that is involved in severe game. Having got accustomed 
More attentively to calendars, he has seen the ridiculous numbers, designating year. And, 
Certainly, it is not necessary to think of chronology. 
        Having seen the newcomer, the boatman has thrown out a stone and has wiped hands about 
The greased T-short with the image of the child standing in an arena, and an inscription 
«One foot in a tomb». Then has asked: 
        – It is ready, the friend? 
        – To what? – It not only caught, but also passed "images" 
Sounds. It was speech unbodied, it were emasculated "voices" 
Inhabitants of the dead sea. 
        – And, clearly. You wish to know all beforehand, yes? Excuse, this time 
Leaves nothing. Either have floated, or ruin. 
        – What there, on other coast? 
        The boatman has grinned: 
        – The foolish question, druzhishche, not seems to you? Whence to me the nobility! 
Or you think, that somebody comes back only that 
To be pulled about with me? 
        – But though something you saw? 
        – Line I did not see. If you wish to hear my opinion, there and 
Is not present line. 
        – Absolutely? 
        – Absolutely. 
        – And you here what for? 
        – That morons like you bothered me with the questions. 
        – Then last question: what for they were forwarded? 
        – To be destroyed. To cease to be. But, surrenders 
To me, this pleasure is well far not all. Only do not say, that to you 
There is nothing to lose, differently you would not stick out here, as Buridanov a donkey. Also consider: 
Return will not be. I transport only in one party. 
        – Now I have no place to hurry. 
        It is correct. But you will come here earlier, than think. 
        – Something was ceased to want to be forwarded to me. 
        The boatman looked at it almost with pity. 
        – Where you will get to? You will take a walk a little more – and you will ripen. 
You not the first and not last. 
        Restless it wanted to kill the bastard. But it was absolute 
Not realised prompting. It could smother only emptiness losing the form 
Dim fingers. 
        – Dung, – he has thrown. 
        – Aha, – the boatman has willingly agreed. – it also is. Therefore not 
I will sink, however many has drunk any rubbish. But you, the friend, on that party 
Without me not to get over in any way. For your brother a local wind passing not 
Happens. 

                                *    *    *

        The boatman has told the truth. 
        The restless was convinced that "wind" never happens 
The passing. It did not manage even to enter into the water, attracting impenetrable blackness 
Non-existence. Then he wandered under heavens without the God on circles cooled down 
Underworld. The stock of sufferings has appeared is inexhaustible. He tried though somehow 
To correlate time lived THERE, and spent here. And whether it was possible to name 
"Time" that unsteady slush into which it plunged, that bog, in 
Which uvjaz, that solitude in which despair cries were not born even? To it 
It seemed, that there have passed centuries. Some things grew old, collapsed, 
Decayed; the imperceptible stream carried by them by, transforming in certificates 
Losses; which relationship of cause and effect in what was still saved. But all it 
There were only pity splinters lost, sooner or later becoming tools 
Tortures. 
        The restless went on searches of other cities. Distances not 
Had values. Everywhere he saw same. The force carrying the fruitless 
Seed, drove it anywhere, only did not allow to sink in THAT river. And even 
The unique boat was inaccessible. It has crossed set of other rivers, but 
Did not find rest on their coast. It has got into any devil trap. 
To get rid of a damnation it was possible only in one place. It reminded 
Lifetime searches of sense, only now the non-existence has become sense. 
        It again and again came back in those places where there has passed its childhood, but 
Did not find a consolation. He felt the whore, thirsting innocence. It 
Has visited the house, where a vein its beloved, in its garden where once blossomed 
Tulips, in an arbour twined wild grapes... 
        Grey tulips against the grey earth. Colour has flowed out from them, as from it 
The opened veins blood has flowed out. Grey grape leaves were as if palms without 
The fingers, pressed to the misted over glass. Vinogradiny, forgotten on a table. 
Dried up sostsy old women... 
        The wine poured in bottles, became ink. He vainly tried to write 
On a black paper; remains nothing from its verses. 
        Shaggy and grey, as if too strewn lightly with ashes, moths 
Flew by through it... 
        Returning? A dream? Violence over memory? – All it was silent 
Sobbing, unsatiable melancholy... 

                                *    *    *

        Millenia later it has returned to THAT river. From a city there were ruins, 
But the quay and boat station have escaped in almost former kind. 
The opposite coast was all as will tighten a fog. 
        This time the boatman drank beer and watched on TV the reporting about 
Funeral of the Pharaoh. Having seen Restless, it has grinned, has got a denomination from 
The right pocket of trousers also has shifted it in the left. «I have won», – he has informed 
Somewhere in emptiness, and then took oars standing in a corner, left on a mooring and 
Has untied a boat. 
        Were forwarded silently. In process of immersing in a fog the left coast 
Disappeared from a kind, and darkness became more and more dense. At last it 
Has become absolute, and the boatman still some time rowed blindly, moving apart 
Oars the condensed decay. Then, during any moment the darkness has picked up 
Restless also has dragged off it in the mouth. The boat was gone, the river was gone, 
All was gone. 
        And here then, among already nothing of the covered emptiness, it 
The simple true has overtaken: to who did not have an original life, it is not fated 
And to die. It has appeared more awfully, than it could present. It has been deprived 
Unique original consolation: to know, that sometime all will pass. 
        He has damned itself(himself) and has sentenced to eternity. But not to change and 
Boundlessnesses of the worlds sparkling in imagination, and to boundless suffering 
And to eternal exile in measurement of the unique shade rejected short and 
Casual existence. 
        Since then it lives in dead bottomless precipices of oblivion, in night, 
Which will not be the end.