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Chingachgook...
You've brought here
many people.
Not as many as I would like.
That's not the point. Why did they
come here? What did they want?
Happiness, I guess.
Yes, but what kind of happiness?
People don't like to speak about
their innermost feelings.
And it's neither yours
nor mine business.
In any case, you've been lucky.
As for me, I haven't seen
one happy man in my life.
Me neither.
They return from the room
and I lead them back,
and we never see each other again.
It's not that wishes come true
immediately.
Have you ever wished
to use this room yourself?
I'm fine as I am.Listen, Professor.
Speaking of the purchased inspiration.
Let's imagine that I enter this room
and return to our God-forsaken
town a genius.
A man writes because he's tormented,
because he doubts.
He needs to constantly prove
to himself and the others
that he's worth something.
And if I know for sure
that I'm a genius?
Why write then?
What the hell for?
Well, I must say
that we exist for...
Will you be so kind
and leave me alone?
Let me get a wink,
I haven't slept all night.
Keep your complexes to yourself.
In any case,
all this technology of yours...
all those blast furnaces, wheels...
and other bullshit
are only designed in order
to work less and eat more.
They are all just crutches,
artificial limbs.
And mankind exists
in order to create...
works of art.
Unlike all other human activities,
this one is unselfish.
Great illusions!
Images of the absolute truth!
Are you listening to me, Professor?
What unselfishness are you talking
about?
People still die of hunger.
Have you fallen from the moon?
And they are considered to be
our brainy aristocracy!
You're not even capable of thinking
in abstractions.
Are you going to teach me
about the meaning of life?
And also how to think?
It's useless. You might be
a professor, but an ignorant one.
And there was
a great earthquake.
And the sun became black
as sackcloth made of hair.
And the moon became like blood...
And the stars of the sky
fell to the earth,
as a fig tree casts
its unripe figs
when shaken by a great wind.
And the sky was split apart
like a scroll when it is rolled up.
And every mountain and island
were moved out of their places.
And the kings of the earth and
the great men
and the rich and the chiliarchs
and the strong and every free man,
hid themselves in the caves
and among the rocks of the mountains;
and they said to the mountains and
to the rocks, "Fall on us
and hide us from the presence of
Him who sits on the throne,
and from the wrath of the Lamb,
for the great day of His wrath
has come,
and who is able to stand?"
And that very day two...
two of them...
were going to a village
which was about  stadia from...
named...
and they were conversing with each
other about all these things.
And while they were conversing
and discussing...
He Himself approached,
and began travelling with them.
But their eyes were prevented
from recognizing Him.
And He said to them:
"What are these words...
you are exchanging with one another,
and why are you sad?"
And one of them, named...
Are you awake?
You were speaking of the meaning...
of our... Life...
of the unselfishness of art...
Take music, for instance.
Less than anything else,
it is connected to reality,
or if connected at all, it's done
mechanically, not by way of ideas,
just by a sheer sound, devoid of...
any associations.
And yet, music, as if by some miracle,
gets through to our heart.
What is it that resonates in us in
response to noise brought to harmony,
making it the source
of the greatest delight
which stuns us and brings us
together?
What's all this needed for?
And most important, who needs it?
You would say,
"No one. And for no reason."
Unselfishly.
No.
I don't think so.
After all,
everything has some sense.
Sense and reason.
Do we have to go there?
Unfortunately, yes.
There's no other way.
It looks morbid,
Сталкер Сталкер

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