output accuracy, and i am the presenter of reasonable , informed optimism, there are reasons for this, it was a great game, we’ll see you on the air tomorrow.

i ask myself who i am, what force brought me out of my moscow apartment, forced me to cross my native threshold and threw me across continents, cities, capitals, warriors, conspiracies, rebellions, revolutions, plunged me into many adventures, into many dangerous adventures. what moved me, who i was, who i became, why all my life i was with my state, with my army, with my people, sharing with it its great misfortunes, its fall, its resurrection, its delightful insight, why i remained its integral, unshakable part, which made me tireless in my pursuit of the statement...

a swarm of wolves pits where history falls, to dig, and then describe, i am a catcher of history, i take out this history that has fallen into a pit, taking it out, i place it in my frames, together with history i myself fall into these wolf pits and i extract myself from these wolves yam and i put myself in my novels, i capture the story.

and even if they are not written, they are covered with darkness , and are given to the tomb of oblivion, but writing is like animation, i do not let history into the tomb of oblivion, i stand on the threshold of this tomb and drive history away and populate my ramana with it.

historical events were personified by historical figures who bestowed their attention on me. kimersen, the leader of north korea, shook my hand, i remember his soft, almost disembodied handshake, the frozen smile on his full face, and he walked past me, walked away, almost without touching land. in kabul, i was received by the president of afghanistan, najabullah, two months before his painful death, when he was hanging mutilated on a tree branch in the center of kabulul, he received me at his residence and complained that the soviets had stopped sending him aviation kerosene and tank oils, and the army stopped at that time...

victory day smelled like gunpowder, and i remember how the whites of his african eyes sparkled fiercely while singing. in tehran, i visited iranian president ahmadi nejad. he accepted me into his family, poured me into a bowl black and gold fragrant tea, we drank tea and philosophized on the topic of divine justice. a wonderful russian gunsmith, arkady georgievich shapunov,

the creator of the amazing pantsir anti-aircraft missile system, which is fighting in the donbass today, and the korenet anti-tank missile. he gave me his attention and his friendship. in southern lebanon i walked through recent battlefields where columns of israeli tanks had invaded lebanon and fought devastating battles. they showed me a huge mountain, covered with forest, in one of which there was lebanese operator, along with the rocket. i took out my phone and called shipunov and asked him: arkady georgievich, where do you think i called you from? and he thought, he said, probably

from where they always shoot, and you know where i am, the lebanese worship your carnet as a deity. those who deserved immortality avoided decay, my novels were like the egyptian pyramids, historical events were mummies, not subject to decay, i myself, who lived a huge life, became a sarcophagus of history,

accidents played a huge role in my life role, the smooth flow of my life was bumped into by chance, this sudden obstacle. changed the direction of my whole life, in the spring in my open window the air trembled and trembled, in this air airplanes appeared, huge and shining like ingots of silver, whitening like precious sparks, with each spring they became more and more, the sparkle grew, and i didn’t know i was simply amazed that this was evidence of an imminent space boom. airplanes and after graduating from school, i entered the aviation institute, and also unexpectedly, by chance, i ended up in pskov, it changed my entire consciousness , discovered a new person sealed in me, moscow youths, i suddenly found myself

under the huge pskov sky, among the delightful snow-white pskov churches, among blue fields of flower flax, on the shores of blue lakes and... these were the architects , restorers, boris kabeltsyn, all right smernov, who revived churches and monasteries destroyed during the war, archaeologist grozdilov, who looked for birch bark letters in pskov, geichenko, an amazing

wizard, sorcerer who revived pushkinskoe nest in mikhailovskoye, tvoragov, silver head, collector of ancient books and libraries. these were people with amazing bright russian energy, they inspired life, they made pskov a delightful, luminous city, where they aspired... the most eminent and bright people of that time, writers, artists, thinkers, all aspired to pskov, as today they aspire to athos , perhaps pskov is the russian athos, lev nikolaevich gumilyov, anna andreevna akhmatova appeared here, poems were written here, amazing religious doctrines were formed, philosophical treatises, i’m so lucky that i’m still a young man. was accepted into their circle, into their sacred brotherhood, and then over the years i saw how this

brotherhood thinned out, how the light quietly went out, and my friends left one after another, as if boarding a boat sailing away, disappearing into the haze of lake pskov, so the last ones left, my friend sava yamshchikov, valentin kurbatov, they boarded... they sailed into the pskov lake in a canoe, i was left alone on the shore, looking into the lake fog, thank god, the pskov bells woke up again and began to sound when tikhan appeared here in pskov as ruler shevkunov, and his through his efforts and his bright power, pskov again turns into russian athos. pskov gifted me with sublime friendship when i, together with my friends... restorers, measured the ruins of a destroyed pskov temple and on

the white wall the open inscription “no mines” was painted in black paint. pskov gave me the first love of my life. a girl in a golden dress climbed onto the roof of an old church that had given birth to grass. strawberries ripened in this grass. i looked at her, suddenly i felt... my mouth was sunstroke, she suddenly became different, she became beautiful, and the world around became different, became beautiful, i myself became beautiful, i suddenly saw all the red strawberries growing at her feet, the lake where we stood suddenly became dazzling blue, like the robe on rublev’s angels, the grass became emerald, and the girl precious and beloved, this...

which slowly moved, approaching the cross, i remember, i stood among the people in the temple, the priest, to the copper cross in his hands, i wanted to go up to kiss the cross, i approached it, but every time, approaching, something got scared, left the line and again stood at its tail. again slowly approaching, the cross attracted me, drew me to itself, but some secret force did not let me in, turned me away, i was in a state of turmoil, and having overcome my weakness, i went up to the cross, kissed the warm , copper-smelling crucifix, experiencing a delightful feeling, a concert for the ninetieth anniversary vasily lonovoy. the kremlin premieres on february 23 at the first. to the day of defender of the fatherland.

to be honest, it was unexpected for me. i called my father first. not everyone becomes a hero of russia every day becomes. the gold star hero of the russian federation medal inherits the traditions of the gold star hero of the soviet union. when she once called me and quietly told me that i saved people today. he had already become a hero for me, even before he was given this title. the regiment commander arrived, we all lined up, they gave me the st. george cross, you can see a photograph of semyon mikhailovich budionov with royal awards, st. george crosses, st. george medals, suovors, kutuzov, alexander nevsky of the order named after all these people, each has their own day with the order, and the motto of the order is service to the fatherland, benefit, honor, glory, premiere of the award. russia on february 24, on the first. in the tiny village

of mala, i lived with a blacksmith, helping him forge horseshoes in his forge. with long tongs i held a white-hot iron in my hands, and he hit it with his ringing hammer; outside, tied to a rope, a huge stallion snored, moving his fiery eye. here in pskov i discovered the miracle and misfortune of russian history, the emergence and fall into the abyss a series of russian empires that arose.

frame, and then misfortune , scourges, suffering descend on him, and he ascends to calvary, to the martyr’s cross, dies there and does not go to the grave, remains in the grave for three silent, sad days, and then again rises from the grave and ascends to the heights . i was tormented by the gaps in russian history, through these gaps, historical energy flowed out and left the light guide of russian time.

with his friends decided to erect a hall near isborsk, in which all these broken russian times would be united and arose a mighty flash, i decided to build and launch a russian reactor. vskov is perhaps the only russian province where all five russian empires kissed this wonderful land, left their imprints on it, i wanted to go around all the ethyl places and collect them.

in places near the pechora road, she built a mountain out of it, hot with gems , cut down a crucifix from a huge siberian larch, i remember how this crucifix, erected on an armored personnel carrier , moved across the whole of pskov, and then it was erected on this mountain, it seemed that the crucifix of its peak touched the pskov skies, the land offering began , i carried land into this hill from the five great russian empires, i took the land from the truver settlement where cheln truvar, one of rurik’s brothers, the founder of the first russian state, landed, took the land from the town of vybbuty on the bank of the velikaya, where the princess was born olga, an equal-to-the-apostles christian, here she

worked on the river as a carrier and met her future husband. prince igor, i took land in the small town of butnik, where the holy prince vladimir, the founder of the first great russian empire, was born, these lands sprinkled into the hill, i took land from the shores of lake chutsky near the crow stone, where the ice battle took place, alexander nevsky with dogs and knights, an amazing russian church still stands here. in which miracles happen, and all the lamps light up by themselves. i took the land of the st. elizaevsky monastery, where elder philotheus, the creator of the famous “moscow-three rome” theory, lived. he took land in the pskov-pechersk monastery, where tsar ivan vasilyevich the terrible came and where he set foot. these lands

of the second russian empire, the moscow kingdom, i took it. poured into semi-precious stones towards the hill. i took the land in the village of mikhailovskoye, in the kern alley , where pushkin wrote his amazing poems and kissed his beloved, for pushkin is the main shrine of the three-hundred-year-old romanov empire, perhaps the main goal for which this empire was created. i took the land at dno station, in that tragic place where the romanov empire ended. and tsar nicholas signed the abdication, and where his tragic road to golgotha ​​began. i poured these lands of the third romanov empire into a hill. i took the land on the banks of the cheryokha river, where many years ago there was a tiny red battery that fired several shells at the approaching kaiser

armored train. it was then, on february 23 , 1918, that the holiday of defender of the fatherland was born, which we celebrate throughout the day. i took land in a forest clearing where a german dod once stood. on which the soviet soldier alexander matrosov fell with his chest, having accomplished his immortal feat. i brought these lands of the fourth stalinist empire to the hill, poured these lands into a pile of meteorites. and today, the fifth, emerging russian empire, i took lands from the location of the airborne division, from where the sixth airborne company went to the chechen war. lay like bones in the techa mountains, not letting a thousand -strong enemy detachment pass, here at this man-made parachute, on which all the dead

paratroopers can be seen, i took the earth, brought it up the hill, i went down into the caves, into these russian catacombs, where the altars stand, day and night monks pray, and where the amazing russian is buried old man, seer, father ioan christiantin , i brought in the hill, when all the lands from the five russian empires met in the hill, when my lonely trips on the old broken volga ended, among the rains,

snowfalls, sunshine, when i poured the last handful into the hill, the russian reactor was ready for its launch, the hill was illuminated by the pskov ruler eusebius, the pskov residents and inhabitants gathered for the sacred ceremony. many towns and villages, thousands - the entire province, monks standing in a row raised chants to the heavens, and paratroopers fired into the air with machine guns, they glorified the construction of the hill, when the illumination took place, a miracle happened, the stone hill became glassy, ​​transparent, a mighty fire kindled in its depths, and the heavens above the hill lit up, condensing over the hill... the storm clouds suddenly parted and the azure was revealed, a crucifix descended from the sky aest, a prophetic

bird, and then from the cross he descended to the ground and walked among the people, and people looked at the ast and said: oh, this is a miracle, a miracle, since then a russian reactor has been working day and night near the pechersk road near isborsk. i'm secretly i arrogantly think that this reactor breathed mighty strength into the russian state, and we regained crimea, and then raised an uprising in the donbass, and now we are returning to ourselves the territory that was torn away from us, restoring the trampled russian truth. the hill with a crucifix on top is a metaphor for the russian dream. this is the temple on the mountain, this. the hill is not a monument, not a cherished cross, it is our spiritual weapon that moves across russia, from ocean to ocean, it appears near donetsk and

lugansk, bringing our russian victory closer, tsar pyotr fedorovich, now kiss the boot and march to the obos, pugachev’s people are already in the capital. why weren't they detained? it is he? answer me, he is. it was god who conquered you. great, golden age, big premiere. tomorrow after the program time. i really don’t want you and i to quarrel over this matter. i'll still go to medim. who are you for? let's go, it's uncomfortable, but there's no need to drag me anywhere,

peredek, everything here is peredak. people who fight for the greatness of their homeland are a special contingent, i don’t want to lose them because of this crap, i wounded my brother yesterday, i it’s better not to go to the police right away , they don’t look at their appearance, sometimes a person stretches 40 times, and maybe he’ll shit himself, a friend volunteered and we thought you’d help find him, but who cares... please, i’ll have a child from him, help me find him, please, my daughter is being held hostage at school, they promised to let him go, how many faces, you can hear everything clearly, that for you, rosina, running, my homeland is for me, this is what i can’t live without, 20. premiere on first. in

the sixties, the russian intelligentsia was seized by a sweet excitement, a strange anxiety. we, contemporaries of the red era, living among military parades, party congresses, komsomol meetings, revolutionary victories and achievements, each felt like russians.

collective farms, state farms, construction projects of communism, the dawn of the wonderful, unquenchable ancient times was still burning, and i, together with others , left the cities and went north to the pomors , to the shores of the white sea, or to the smolensk forests, to the perovsky chischeby, like an enchanted wanderer, full divine quest, i collected folk songs and sang in choirs, took... where old men and old women gathered strictly, they sat down on benches and brought glasses of sweet wine, they drank and began to sing, at first quietly, dimly, and then louder, more harmoniously, brighter, and the hut suddenly became dirty, became golden, and you and the choir rose up, somewhere high, above

the roof, above the clouds. filled with light and beauty, whoever has not sung in folk choirs has never experienced this amazing bliss, under the kargopol, moving through pine forests and lakes, i reached kish mountain, from where, as i was told, seven lakes are visible, i i approached kishgora covered with a thunderstorm, a downpour, a hurricane; on the top of the mountain stood a destroyed, sagging wooden church, i climbed.

russian toys, horses, easter eggs, wood carved into amazing products, all these moths and horses were covered

with amazing flowers, grown in the gardens of the heavenly russian paradise. then, in my youth, i first saw ilya glazin, young, passionate, beautiful in his own way. adoration of russia, artist, philosopher, collector of russian antiquities, amazing talker, he charmed me, not a single russian movement, not a single russian undertaking could have happened without glazuny , low bow to you, ilya sergeevich, you painted my portrait, and now it hangs in my house, and looking at this portrait, i see not myself, but you, my dear beloved teacher, this journey among the people of the russian intelligentsia resulted in me in an unexpected, seemingly insane impulse. i left moscow, the research institute where i was busy

developing anti-tank missiles, my mother and grandmother, my cheerful friends, and went to live in the village, as a forester, in the forests, as a forest walker. it was an invaluable experience for a person who could observe the cycle of russian nature. day after day i watched its mysterious transitions, from winter to spring, from spring to summer, from summer to

autumn, again to winter. i could notice how at the beginning of march the days were becoming brighter, longer, and more radiant. and in these luminous days they begin. when forests, birches and bushes on the roadside wake up, they turn into multi-colored balls, golden, scarlet, blue, emerald, filling with multi-colored juices. the spring of light passes the spring of water, when everything around it begins to melt, drip, murmur , flow, melt water floods the whole world, and the village floats among these melt waters, and the soul rejoices, greeting. this spring flood, and then the spring of grass comes, when everything suddenly begins to turn green and blue snowdrops bloom under the birches, and the slopes of the avrags are covered with white and golden flowers,

there are more and more of these flowers, finally they merge into a huge russian herb with countless numbers of porridges, clovers , bells, daisies, plantains, shepherd's purses, bindweeds, among which they fly moths, butterflies, bees, bumblebees, colorful flies, the heat is blazing in the flowering russian meadow, and you drink, you won’t get enough of these honey aromas. russian nature, for a russian person, is russia itself, its divine soul, for which the russian person in exile mourns. my forest lands approached the walls of new jerusalem. then the monastery was a ruin, a ruin, with collapsed corner towers, with a collapsed dome of the central cathedral with deep holes in the rusty domes, the monastery was blown up by the war, when my

new friend, lev lebedev, we walked through the ruins; ceramic angels, lion heads, and clay flowers that had fallen from the walls crunched under our feet. lev lebedev was nikon who founded this monastery. nikon built this monastery using drawings obtained in jerusalem. and in this monastery there was the church of the holy sepulcher. there was golgotha, there was the way of the cross. and on the lands where my foxes were located. and my rounds, there was tabor, lake gennesar, the garden of gethsemane, the jordan river, our little wonderful istra near moscow, with my friend levushka, holding lit

candles, we went into the depths of this ruined monastery, looked through the collapsed dome of the cathedral at the movement of the heavenly constellations, it seemed to us that he was looking from these starry skies... in a small church in the smolensk village of teosovo, he spoke about the easter meaning of the russian history of the kingdom heavenly, as the main content of the russian idea, then, standing on the ruins of the monastery, he dreamed that someday wonderful golden domes would appear here again, the ruined and destroyed vaults would close together, maybe we would take tonsure.

fields to forests, from the dazzling winter sun to the blue forest shadows. i didn’t think that i was rushing through holy places, through the lands of russian palestine, on which, according to the mystical views of patriarch nikon, jesus walked, and these forests, these edges, these glades, these flowering meadows, these rivers sparkling with earthly dazzling ice, they nourish me to their...

houses from their homes, the peasants went into the fields, and

dugouts were dug there, all the surrounding forest edges were the site of fierce battles, where the melting soviet troops fought, retreating under pressure german hordes, now i understand that then , skiing to the forest edges, guarding the forests, in which there were still many mass graves, i was guarding that legendary sacred parade. and i was the guardian of that sacred parade. the story about the miracle of the most holy theotokos that aunt polya told me sounded like this: the enemy came close to moscow. and the soviet soldiers did not have the strength to resist this

onslaught. a small flock of soviet soldiers with three-line soldiers sat in a frozen trench, wounded, frostbitten, and weakened. they were waiting for the final offensive germans. and suddenly, among the snowy fields , a blizzard rose, a furnace, as aunt polya said, in this blizzard a luminous column appeared from the ground. to the sky, and this pillar went from the russian trench, went forward towards the germans, the soldiers from the trench looked after this pillar and prayed, and saw how the most holy mother of god appeared in the light-bearing pillar, and the germans, seeing the mother of god, were horrified, abandoned their tanks, their guns, threw their trenches and rushed to recover, and the russian soldiers, seeing the mother of god, rushed to attack and snowed... "hurray, they drove, they drove the germans from these istra

borders further to the west, all the way to berlin. i believed this legend, in my forests i followed the path of the virgin mary, who led me into a dense forest thicket, in this thicket i saw the island of a german car, without roofs, without hoods, where there were no engines, no instruments, only one rusty..." skeleton, from this skeleton a huge snow-white birch tree rose into the sky, apparently a german mercedes crashed on this russian birch tree, german tanks crashed.

village. ovsa ran after me, and i bleated, like the biblical shepherd carried two lambs with him. and the sheep accompanied me. and there, at the edge of the forest, i met an artist who placed her easel among the golden trees. i showed her the lambs. she packed her easels and

went with me to the village. so we went. i, carrying two lambs, run. behind me is a sheep, a beautiful woman, who very soon became my wife, then something happened to me that is difficult to believe, and that not everyone will understand, this must have happened to pushkin, and he told us how the six-winged seraphim appeared to him at a crossroads, this appeared to the russian mystic, poet, vladimir solovyov, the creator of the amazing teaching about sophia, the mother of god met him three times throughout his life. i am sure that many russian poets and artists experienced this. this miracle was the protector of russian cities when the most holy theotokos appeared to help the dying garrison. with her radiant powers

she dispersed the hosts of the enemy. it must be like this, soldiers of all times have seen battles, be it... the kulikovo field or the ice battle or the borodino field or prokhorovskoye, when the soldiers, perhaps in their last moment, had this mysterious insight, an angel appeared to me, or that huge, luminous, indescribable thing that i later called an angel, i walked along the oka river through flowers, grasses, among flying birds, under the sun that sparkled on the waters, i crossed the streams and felt how anticipation, excitement was accumulating in me, joy was approaching, suddenly, wandering the lopasnya river, i was blinded by a huge flash, from which the grasses flew up all the birds, all the fish jumped out, and this

mighty winged one picked me up from the ground and lifted me up, i felt... its immense unearthly power, its unearthly power, but this power was not for evil, but for good , it was the power of love, an angel from on high showed me all the earthly spaces, all the kingdoms, all the cities, all the oceans, all the rivers, and then he lifted me even higher, showed me the worlds where the images moved, and the ones i had never seen... and unknown settled down, they arose, disappeared, merged , and contemplating them, i was filled with jubilation, the angel lowered me to the ground and disappeared, leaving in me great joy, unearthly bliss, which

over the years began to fade, fade away, turned into a memory of bliss, and then into a memory of memory, bliss, it grew dim, faded, but never disappeared, to this day it is present in me, as a happy expectation that maybe this will happen again someday, those worlds that the angel opened to me must have been those spaces of existence where mysterious entities, meanings, energies live, which descend from heaven into earthly life give rise to wars, reconciliations, the birth of the collapse of kingdoms, great creeds and religions, wonderful poems and art, it was these essences that flashed for one moment

in my consciousness, the meanings that were revealed to me for a second, that i remembered when my creed of the russian dream was revealed to me, the symphony of the fifth empire, the victorious codes of the state russian, knowledge about the russian miracle. there is no other country like this, it is not just the largest, the largest, it is the most beloved, the most beautiful, the most diverse and the kindest. eyes like the blue sky, ladies, ladies, beauties of russia, i am raising three children, literally in 3 months i will become a father again, i will have a fourth son, fishing. i fell in love with it a few years ago, literally every minute you just manage to pull out small perches, i

used to go to dances, but i didn’t like it, and now i go to karate. to all russians, i wish you good siberian health, you are happy, no matter what. we are young, we can do anything, our country will develop with us. this podcast is a must read, i'm aglan batnikova, today we're discussing andrey platonov, the great russian writer with german sadulayev, writer. german, hello, hello, german, please tell me what is special about platonov and...

to read, if you haven’t read platonov, then you basically don’t understand anything about russian literature, yes, well, i agree, but you know , when you chose this topic, i was a little surprised, because you are a hindu, a postmodernist, it seems to me that you work very cool with myths and some kind of double meanings, when i found out that you wanted to talk about platonov, i was surprised because moreover, you chose the corpus of military texts. platonov's prose, why? platonov has always been one of my favorite writers. i have this somewhat

strange set. favorite writers, because on the one hand i have bunin, on the other hand platonov, who worked at approximately the same time, but completely, let’s say, in divergent directions, yes, but you need to understand both of them, so that again , as i say, know. before the military, that’s when you read exactly these military topics, although they would seem washed out, such templates, that is, the great

patriotic war, in our country, you know, it consists of so many films, texts, associations, some kind of parades that it is very difficult to perceive this topic freshly, but when i read platonov, it was about war, my heart was simply torn, that is, this is such a move. it finds something unexpected in your heart, it’s really so alive and sincere that it’s as if you perceive it all for the first time, and you feel the pain and passions of all that period and all the problems, and it was hard for me, that is, it was very, well you know, close to the heart, very close to the nerves, yes, this is very scary prose, in places it is completely too heavy for a human being to bear.

marching towards russia and thinking that here, too , another easy victory awaited her, in the first two years of the war, she was practically destroyed by aglaya. yes, we died in thousands and millions, but in the first 2 years, with the help of this army of conquerors of europe, well, through heroism, exploits, self-sacrifice, we ground this army in 2 years, we destroyed it,

this is the secret...

that is he shows himself a little like zombified, and the russian soldier says to him: well, if you yourself don’t know what you ’re doing, but just listen to the fuhrer, then how can you believe in what you’re doing, well , why does he tell you to live then, why should you , that is, in general , they are having a philosophical conversation, yes, it is a very philosophical, very ideological conversation, but the ideology is given there in such a way that you don’t...