Livid monologue 

     Life is a void. Or rather it became deserted at some point of time as if somebody flipped the switch and turned off the light in the distance – light, which was far away and unreachable like everything, which is ideally white and pure; but one could go towards it and believe in it. Apparently, that light wasn’t bare, and it was filling the vacuum with its own existence; one could just simply know that it is existent, and that was sufficient – there was a faith in something good, radiant, and eternal. But then this faith was broken like Kaschei’s needle*, and immediately there became dark and deserted. The remnants of the past are sizzling and bursting like oil on an empty frying pan, creating an illusion of fireworks. The sparks of your warmth – sincere and genuine – are burning down in this emptiness illuminating the thick darkness around with flares; but everything is in vain – at the best somebody would stop by as if at the zoo in front of a cage with a saber-teeth tiger, would watch this free side-show, then exclaim “Splendid! Look at that! And such things happen!” and then would go his own way, leaving behind just a pile of cigarette ashes or rinds of sunflower seeds – thanks if no one spits. And nobody has a need in it – either in your schizophrenia, growing into a permanent hysteria, or in your warmth. Sated one is not capable of understanding starving one in principle. They will come to you when they have hard times; they will rejoice over you like a wanderer in a desert over a scrap of paper – will wipe themselves up and throw away. And you are ready to give yourself away wholly, completely – take me, use me! After you endured a pain, and especially if it still throbs, you are able to understand and to accept somebody else’s pain as one of your own; you do not wish anybody to experience even a
 

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fraction of your loneliness. You are running to embrace with open arms at the slightest change in one’s voice; brows just started knitting – and you are already there, right by one’s side, ready to hear out and to support. And then you are being used as a trash can – they tossed away their garbage and went on, whistling and being puzzled why you are still in a way. Like a sewage disposal for souls. As for the fact that there is a breakdown in you – either nobody cares, or they pretend that they don’t notice it – can’t do anything anyway. The breakdown of the most essential and cardinal: the faith in good is shattered for one does not exist! At the best, all what’s left is a desire to believe and to look for it – even if it is not yours, but just for it to exist, so that to restore faith in it again. Something is sparkling in the distance – not clear whether it is the light, or just the stars, which you see when you hit something in the darkness with you forehead. All directions are equipollent – all crooked alike and with the same bumps on the way; and in a little while you will develop immunity and will stop seeing even those sparks. Animal instinct – not to stand still, to move, doesn’t matter where. Discernible are only shadows: passed by, darkened, threw away the garbage, and went their own way, forgetting. Feeling of flying – either from being suspended, or from constant falling. You are running around the steppe like Steppenwolf in search of Hermine – and all in vain. Can just anybody light a candle for me while I am still alive, instead of bringing it to my grave? 

 * - This refers to the Russian folklore, where life of a mighty evil creature Kaschei Bessmertny (Kaschei Immortal) was concealed in a needle, so that the only way to defeat him was to find and to break the needle. (Translator’s note)

10-24-95 01:52am