Rus Articles Journal

Are ready to holiday? Are ready!

of All some week to that, five days, three days, days tired and sluggish as the heated by a midday heat and the stood laziness of the hot Kara Kum, sweaty turtles - everyday life, a sad chain from gray scaly paws and the faded eyes, a funeral procession of breathless armor-clad corpses crawled a viscous chain by, strongly enveloping a sticky afterbirth of the half-dead movements your brain and your body, plunging you into already habitual lethargy from unnecessary affairs, dead talk, uniovular evenings, without any hope for awakening, disposal of this monotonous vale, this fruitless life … even more deeply

Still yesterday, day for hours it is smoked hung, having at all stood in dead air of interoffice lifeless universum, your inner clock which reduced speed previously smeared by shooters of a wall clock on the rusty bottom of the sad dial … And only still today morning was almost dead, and an apocalyptic haze in the distance, bearing a faint resemblance to a nuclear mushroom, did not foretell further continuation of your life on Earth at all … As suddenly … burst a thunder … heaven yawned … and the inspiration incomprehensible holiday generously streamed on emaciated soils of your mute consciousness: in three days holiday! Rub - two - one - and the next start in open holiday with a full separation from terrestrial gravitation! Two weeks of zero gravity, freedom and return to - the person!

Understanding of the forgotten truth came suddenly and ruthlessly, having amazed your slave brain and having forced out from it all that important, from - for what you could not fall asleep even this night as you could not fall asleep also last: meetings, conferences, business trips, reports, reports, checks, outputs, credits, apartment, car, wife, house, daughter, giving, money … All that existential nonsense and nonsense, without the beginning and the end, that slave labor by completely automated galleys why for some reason is not easier at all, floating on the rivers of modern life, day by day, from year to year, from a decade in a decade, as from you it is strong and right, quietly and imperceptibly does the insensible automatic machine … to

Rise, acceptance of food, work, meal, work, a break, meal, a release … Rise, acceptance of food, work, meal, work, break, meal, release … Rise, acceptance of food, work, meal, work, break, meal, release … Day the first … day the last …

I of any azure sky … any turquoise sea … any wood whispering old fairy tales … and any you … The internal feeling of disappeared long ago, having thawed in a twilight due and obligatory … Feelings became weighed, reminding only reactions. Reason - practical. The love somewhere was lost, dissipated, smeared by sincerity of the first feeling on rough skin of life, and you alone remained to assure yourself that life was successful …

Old truth forced out your habitual and approved by all views, having forced to hesitate for a time seriously in correctness chosen as someone for a tebyakurs who so assured of its exclusive correctness. And here slowly rolling tsunami from joyful expectation and an anticipation breaks against uneven coast of your understanding, sweeping away everything on the way, and drug intoxication of triumph and happiness fills you up to the throat, almost forcing to choke with feeling … the Forgotten taste of freedom of yours is stronger and stronger than

filling up I … It has a tart smack of the first blood, salty sea salt and strong wind in a face … It - naive melodies of the childhood with already forgotten words and someone`s indistinct images … reflections of the distant worlds, pale in the past of dreams, scraps of words … From it smells of ozone and a new-mown grass … There is a wish to fight for it and to die, die by all means heroically as the ancient Viking, and there is no wish back on life galleys, whose course only correct at all and where freedom - almost the crime … whether is joyful

I, whether it is sad … is not present, unambiguously, triumph overflows, only occasionally interrupted by minor notes of some long grief … Also there is no wish to think of anything important and necessary, of anything it, of anything absolutely …

In such time you distinctly feel that you deserved … deserved to send all to hell and to cross the legs under puzzled looks frowningly your not holiday colleagues. And to thumb through not so interesting magazines. And to say rude words. And to joke on the verge. You grant to yourself the right to approach a window in the heat of the working day and, having buried a look of the almost blind eyes in the thick of foliage and bird`s hubbub, to stay so ten minutes without the movement.

You grant to yourself the first-born right to be indifferent with those who exhausted your understanding, participation and patience for a year, in strong confidence that and it is necessary.

Along a corridor you go, without having rested a look in anywhere, against yourself, shipped with the head in “galleys“, and run up that there are forces and jump up under the stream, having waved a hand as if a wing and having nearly brought down suddenly materialized secretary from legs. And later you do unimaginable for so serious place at all: you pick up it up, you waltz a circle - another and gone crazy from unexpected whether courage, whether impudence you lower there from where took, to recover.

Your got agitated imagination draws pictures of day of the first, day of the most saturated, day of the second, day of the third … You build plans as if castles in the air. Then at one stroke you pull down them and you build new, ordinarier constructions … then the third …

the Gold arrows of the sun punching a green head of hear of the wood and piercing in last year`s foliage … crazy bird`s polyphony … the winding track … the high coast … the dark waters bearing afar your grieves … a meeting with far - the close childhood … with the stranger yourself … And anybody all over the world …

I any more nothing will spoil your pleasure. Ahead an azure sail freedom looms. And ahead still such long life … 3 - 2 - 1 …