Лёха Никонов - вместо предисловия - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

In the end, all this should have ended ... sooner or later ... at night or day, in the morning or evening, yesterday or tomorrow ... Or maybe today ... the main thing is not to look around. Silence. Let at least it will last half aim. I imagine ... All this is a fragmentary, surrounding me ... I'm yelling something, interrupting each other ... Some Tomik Akhmatova under the arm, others are "Main Campf" ... fucking in the mouth! .. Who he is such ? Our intelligentsia does not know him. Considers himself a poet? Let it show a certificate! Or certificate! The most important thing to understand that we are dealing with the finished scum and drug addict ... - Oh, there should be no misunderstandings here - it's only about the valid ... True, not quite familiar to you understand ... and as for the substitution - We live life and realize only some kind of crushing the percentage ... The rest of the ninety-nine percent are unavailable to consciousness ... it means that the collection is unconscious ... and without time ... in front of the dick knows who ... Yes, wait. Listen! Polyphony of the bleed time! Slices of reality, beat by temples ... I saw them ... - Oh! And we, like, have not seen? What right? He ohulled! .. - I could not sleep at night, as, however, and to live, but I did it, and the other, considering my honor to withstand a subsensity of the existence ... this blatant huin, which we are fussing, issuing for life, But I knew that real reality is only words ... - Well, of course! The words! Moreover, it is absolutely his words! .. - just like that! .. The remnant situation in which I was, in a certain sense put me in a winning position - I was more and more convinced of the ridiculous sequence of causing connections ... At the same time, I could not not be surprised Creation of everyone else ... Let's say almost everyone! Several real poets in this somnambulic, filled with billions of Balagan dolls only emphasized his inconsistency. It was disgusting ... their bastard surrender, confidence in our own existence ... What could I do? ... - You look, he already poured a whole ears on us !!! I suppose it is from lack of education and, of course, from children's complexes ... Sigmund Freud in one of his article - well, no! This is my book and Freud you can cram yourself in the ass, so I continue ... What did I have to do? I could offer only my despair, hope, love, and, most importantly, change the movement of time, right here ... In this text ... put the reader in the process of writing, and then right here - in the collection - yes fuck you need! Your place in the narcological clinic! You fucking, I want adventures, plot, well, of course, a little flavored with a clever, here's a Muraka ... - Imagine how the cobblestone crashes right now from this sheet of paper. Right in the forehead! And, honestly, I believe that this is not enough ... - I would need to further add all kinds of sex, perverted ugliness, you know, readers love it ... - Huyak! Another cobblestone! In! A vile bastard got his ... So it is necessary - to tie with paper emotions ... - Wait, I do not understand something ... What is this poetry TRANSK? ... he is what it thinks we will threaten to disjoint And we should read everything on everything? ... - ha! So do not read! ... well ... What are you? ... poems are more important ... I have shown? Will we have left? I, however, is not quite sure ... But continue! I presented everything! From cops and baryg to the angels and journalists, from snotty, frigid institutes to the glacial regulaners Girls, from criticizing marginals to philological diplomas. Well, let's ... fuck! I am no longer surprised! I have long realized that the poet claiming realism is sooner or later it will be on the ears in the shit! Examples as much as you like ... Read the collection ... Who do you listen to? He Torch! One hundred percent drugs! It is emptied with heroin, jeff, acid, hairdryer, barbiturates, tranquilizers, methodo ... I even heard that he drinks urine virgins in the morning ... and what? He, like, like, the poet thinks himself, such as everything is allowed ... He is Yabnaya! And we understand what we are talking about ... As in no way, and Akunin and Coelho we read ... We know