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don't you think,
Professor?
I don't feel like going there first.
And Chingachgooks
can never be volunteers.
I think we'll have to draw lots.
Do you mind?
For this, I would rather have
a volunteer.
Have you got matches?
Thanks.
The long one will go.
Pull it.
The long one.
No luck this time.
Why don't you throw one of your nuts
at least?
Sure. As you wish.
One more?
All right... I'll go.
Hurry up, Professor!
There's... There's a door here!
Go that way!
Open the door and go in!
Me again?
Do I have to go in first again?
You've drawn the lot.
Go! People don't wait here.
What have you got there?
No guns here!
You'll have yourself killed,
and us too!
Don't you remember the tanks?
Drop it, I beg you.
Don't you understand?
If something happens,
I can save you, but not this way...
I beg you!
Who are you going to fire at?
Go, we haven't got much time!
There's water here!
Hold on to the handrail and go down.
But don't go anywhere!
Wait for us outside!
I hope you haven't got anything
like that?
- Like what?
- Like a gun.
No. As a last resort
I've got an ampule.
- What ampule?
- Implanted ampule. Poison!
Oh, God! Did you come here to die?
No, it's just in case.
Writer! Come back!
Come back! You want to get yourself
killed?
I told you to wait by the exit!
Stop! Don't move!
That's all your pipe.
- Why?
- You should've gone in there first.
He was so scared that he went
the wrong way.
One more experiment.
Experiments, facts,
truth of the highest instance.
There's no such thing as facts.
Especially here.
All this is someone's
idiotic invention.
Don't you feel it?
But you, of course, must find out
whose invention it is.
And why.
What good can your knowledge do?
Who is going to get guilty conscience
because of it? Me?
I've got no conscience.
I just got nerves.
Some bastard would criticize me,
I get wounded.
Another would loud me,
I get wounded again.
I would put my heart and soul in it,
they gobble up both my heart and soul.
I would relieve my soul of filth,
they gobble it up too.
They're all so literate.
They all got sensory deficiency.
And they're all swarming around,
journalists,
editors, critics,
some endless broads.
And they all demand:
more, more!
What hell of a writer am I
if I hate writing?
If it's constant torment for me,
a painful, shameful occupation,
sort of squeezing out a hemorrhoids.
I used to think that someone would
get better because of my books.
No, nobody needs me!
In two days after I die they'll start
gobbling up someone else.
I wanted to change them,
but it's they who've changed me.
Making me in their own image.
The future used to be just
a continuation of the present,
with all the changes looming far
behind the horizon.
Now the future and the present
are one.
Are they ready for it?
They don't want to know anything!
All they know is how to gobble!
Gosh, how lucky you are!
My goodness, now...
You're going to live a hundred years!
Yes. But why not forever?
Like the eternal Jew.
You are probably a fine man.
I almost didn't doubt it.
I can imagine what torture it was
for you being in there.
This pipe is a horrible place!
The most horrible in the Zone!
It's called "the meat mincer",
but it's much worse than any mincer.
So many people perished there!
Porcupine sent his brother
to die there.
The boy was so delicate,
very talented.
Here, listen to this.
So summer is gone,
Leaving no epitaph.
It's still warm in the sun,
Only that's not enough.
All that true could have come,
Like a five-fingered fluff,
Folded into my palm,
Only that's not enough.
No evil was slighted
in the good aftermath,
World was festively lighted,
Only that's not enough.
Life forever was tucking,
Caring, making me laugh.
I was really lucky,
Only that's not enough.
No leaves ever seared,
No limbs broken rough.
Day, like glass, washed all clear,
Only that's not enough.
Good, aren't they?
That's his verses.
Why

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