are obliged to return, today, being in wartime conditions, to return the death penalty. unfortunately, we still have many people in this regard who, well, have thoughts from the previous period, when, as you know, we imposed a moratorium on the death penalty in connection with joining the council of europe, we have now withdrawn from it. people who hold this point of view continue to tell various kinds of stories.

stop misleading people about this. we do not demand the return of the death penalty for currency traders, as in the days khrushchev or for the director of the eliseevsky department store, grocery store, as in the time of brezhnev. we are talking about those who have blood on their hands, they killed people, these people cannot be returned. why should they live? unlike you, uh, konstantin, you, alexander, never, in russia?

said: “you wrote such a wonderful article, a double article about us in the new york times, a full page, explained our motives, said that we are something to be reckoned with, i said that syria is the prussia of the modern middle east, and says how we can allow yourself to be treated like this, and he emphasized to me that no, the attack on me was not organized by syrian agents, and not on the orders of syria." but how to say, there is such a thing as informal gossip, when it becomes known that you can touch someone, but you don’t need to touch someone, and i think they can’t be touched, vitali probably knows better than me that, at least then in beirut, if the syrians wanted to ruin someone’s life, if, on the contrary, they wanted someone -to protect, it was decisive.

to commit terrorist acts against a great nuclear power, knowingly and sometimes with the complicity of the united states, this is the most serious anti-american act i can imagine, it's time to put an end to this, it was a big game, we'll see you on the air tomorrow.

and again a war chariot drove up to my threshold, that light gig on which akhil stood and drove horses along the walls of the besieged troy, again i stepped onto this chariot. i love syria, its reddish lands, its green olive groves, its sea blue, its wonderful... our father, i love the place where the pagan saul turned into a christian preacher and

apostle paul, admiring the incomparable mosque of the amigiads,

over each empty window, like a black eyebrow, there was a smear of thick soot. kambryk told me how islamic radicals break into cities, expel residents from their homes, commit outrages, kill some, and drive others away from their homes to the sound of machine gun fire. the syrian military wanted to show me the destroyed city, and we had to pass through a dangerous place where a hostile one was working. sniper drove up a combat vehicle infantry, loose, old, with chewed armor, i climbed into the landing compartment , young syrian soldiers scattered around me , one young fighter, a neighbor, painfully stabbed me with a sharp elbow, we

roared at great speed into the city, and i still waited, that a bullet was clanging on the armor, but it didn’t clang , once we were in a safe place, we got out of the car, and a young syrian soldier... smiled joyfully at me, i saw an orthodox cross on his neck, he was an orthodox arab, a cross hung on my neck , i took it off his neck, and he took his from his, and we exchanged crosses, since then i have been wearing his cross, and we are godbrothers, i pray that in the bloody syrian war shells and bullets will pass him by and he will return home alive, and it seems to me that his prayer is saving me too. i became friends with an amazing person, the leader of the hamas movement, khaleda mashali, a noble, handsome man, a sophisticated politician, a magnificent speaker, he was

attacked by an israeli terrorist and barely escaped death, he took me to the gaza strip, in area of ​​occupied palestine, which israel. circled like a tall wall, with towers and machine guns, in the gaza strip, israel continually strikes, blows up houses with the help of cruise missiles, and kills unwanted arab leaders with the help of drones. hamas fights back, firing back at the israelis with homemade qassam rockets. i could observe the life of this tiny slice of palestine, where the palestinian people are fighting. for the independence of my homeland, i moved through underground tunnels dug through the border line, through these tunnels food, fuel, and many products were delivered to the gas, a person needs weapons in everyday life, and of course,

weapons. israel bombs and releases gases into these tunnels. i prayed for peace on palestinian land, in an ancient christian temple, for centuries, watched an israeli drone circling over gaza, together with arab girls, planted olive groves, and brought to life a tiny sprout in the reddish palestinian... soil, watered it with water from a ladle , i drank this water myself, gave it to the girls to drink, and it’s sweet for me to think that in distant palestine the olive i planted grows, its crown protects the inhabitants from gas rocket explosions. in moscow, on the swamp square , white ribbon workers gathered. each time they became more and more numerous, the orange revolution began in moscow according to the method of all previous revolutions, when the crowd

grew larger from time to time, became more and more aggressive, larger, they were thrown at the residence of the presidents or at the parliaments of states. as a result of these clashes , victims appeared in the crowd, called sacred victims, and these bloody sacrifices paralyzed the government, it fell on its face, and the crowd won, this crowd... wherever it gathered, it was controlled by an intelligent and cruel force, whose name is america. so putin’s russia, leaving america’s control, was subjected to an orange strike. it was a dangerous moment. moscow was buzzing with rallies and demonstrations. i remembered the events of 1993 and the burning parliament. and i saw how, from the swamp square, poisons spread across moscow, the authorities were in danger. a group of patriots and statesmen came to poklonnaya hill, at a rally where many people gathered

defending their state, there was a fierce frost, a crowd of thousands was breathing steam , my patriot friends performed , alexander dugin spoke, sergei kurginyan spoke, nikolai starikov spoke, i also spoke, i remember how frost burned my throat, and i began my speech with an exclamation, orange is a dog. snow, the square gasped joyfully, like the arena where our artist mikhail noshkin once performed. in those days , the swamp square, poklonnaya gora , fought, a furious force that burned the state, and the state itself, still young and fragile, poklonnaya overcame the swamp, we found ourselves stronger, there were more of us, our strength was powerful, behind us... stood the workers of the ural carriage plant in tagil, one of those glorious tagil men said that if

the trouble in moscow did not stop, they would come to moscow with the products of their own hands, that is, on tanks. the ukrainian crisis swelled, the ukrainian government was overcome by forces demanding a break with russia, the soldering of ukraine to europe, and russian cooperative ties began to break. and he spoke and fell silent every time a person passed by. i visited kharkovsky

powerful turbo atom plant and saw how a reactor was being prepared for russia. this reactor could be the last one created for a russian nuclear power plant. the mighty plant was left without orders and doomed to be seen. i was at the famous yuzhmash plant in dnepropetrovsk. before the entrance...

he was stretched by many iron ropes, exorbitant weights pressed on him, he was flattened, broken, i felt how the plane was suffering, creaking, groaning, he was experiencing unbearable torment, this plane was ukraine, she was hanging on a cross, and her tortured

i got to the maidan a few days before the massacre began, i remember canvas tents. tightly stretched ropes, a blizzard rustling across this tarpaulin and a huge paper portrait of bandera, crowds, a low podium, a huge scorching plasma, one after another people rise to this podium, each in front of a microphone blasphemes russia, so much abuse, abomination, disgust, i have never i haven’t heard it in my life, it was very cold. there were iron barrels with firewood burning at the bottom, people came up, put their hands in the barrel and warmed them, i walked up and lowered my hands, next to me two guys lowered their hands in identical thick jackets and knitted hats, they looked at me angrily, suspiciously, sullenly, and my friends

hurried to take me away from the maidan, fearing that they would tear me to pieces. and then the coup broke out, the blood of grushevsky street, the coward of osibekstvo yanukovych, from this blood, smoke of tears, like a dazzling miracle, crimea arose. crimea with its sevastopol and chersonese, with its sacred russian graves, with its new magnificent ships that joined the black sea fleet. how i love to be in crimea, what a miracle that you can pray in the temple of khersanes and... makarov, who returned to his home port of sevastopol from the distant mediterranean sea, where he went on a military campaign. the commander and i boarded the frigate, and the ship's commander

reported to the commander about the completion of the voyage. i asked the commander: does he know the monument to makarov that stands in kronshtat near the naval cathedral? of course, the commander answered me, makarov’s words are inscribed on this monument. remember the war. the commander returned from the syrian campaign and remembered the war. commanding, preparing the black sea fleet for a campaign to the shores of ukraine, remembered the war. and i remembered the war. i was in the kremlin.

then there was donbass, my trip with zakharchenko to the front line of the guns in donetsk, alexander khadokovsky, with whom we met at night in his headquarters, an amazing warrior, intellectual, philosopher, publicist, man of war, as i call him, then in sevastopol, when we met him after an eight-year separation, we hugged and remembered our night meeting in donetsk. i returned from the front line to donetsk, exhausted, tired, and sat in a night bar among the bustling crowd drinking vodka. i was tired, i was unwell, a woman passed by me, she noticed my fatigue, stopped, hugged me and kissed my forehead. "who are you?" - i asked

her, i’m doctor lisa - she said and walked past me. bishop tikhan shevkunov told me that without a category the miracle of russia cannot be understood, russia should have perished hundreds of times, disappeared without a trace, if not for the miracle that saved it, my childhood and youth coincided with victory, with the flowering of the mighty soviet state, i i saw how this flowering saw how the mysterious sinusoid of russian history... down, along with this sinusoid the russian state rolled down, until it disappeared, the sinusoid froze, stopped at the lowest point,

what is the project of russia for you? he perked up and said: “russia is not a project, russia is fate, a person

does not choose his destiny, fate chooses a person. putin did not choose russia, russia chose putin, and it is not clear whether he creates russia, or russia creates him. it is mysterious why the russian history chose him. putin , although yeltsin had many other successors, bright, talented, sovereign, stepashin, tested on the chechen front, could have become yeltsin’s successor, aksionenko, an expert in economics, could have become, boris nemtsov, who preserved the behests of young reformers, could have become, but the bird of russian history chose precisely putin, she built her nest in him, and is still sitting in this nest, either a dove or an eagle. then the fiery heat, bird, putin crossed out the humiliating and criminal khasovyort peace and won the second chechen war. in dagestan he met with the militias who repelled

basayev’s treacherous attack. the militia told me how putin flew to them at the height of hostilities. in grozny, at the airfield, general troshev was setting up regiments. and i saw them marching, preparing for putin’s arrival. putin flew in... from a fighter jet and took part in a menacing military parade. putin calmed down the crazy sovereignties, drove these mad horses into a stall, horses that rushed in different directions, tearing apart the quadriga of the russian state. putin made two grandiose metaphysical acts that bridged the gap between soviet and modern times. in an effort to prevent this gap, i erected.

a modern weapon in the world that protects the earthly borders of russia, he contributed to the restoration of the prosperity of many monasteries, monasteries, in which

monks pray at the altar day and night, they hang a spiritual cover over russia that does not allow spiritual evil into russia. i was passionate about this project and visited many monasteries, and there is nothing more beautiful than these amazing russian monasteries. if in russia today there is a lot of unrest, poverty, untidiness, then each of these monasteries has its own small garden of eden. the moscow-pechersk monastery is delightful, looking like an easter dish with crucified easter eggs. the wonderful nilova hermitage on selegeyra, with its amber empire-style beauty reflected in the lake waters, is a divine feropont to the monastery. with its blue frescoes of dionysius, mighty as a fortress in the kirillo-beloderzhsky monastery, with its huge towers, strongholds, the delightful makarievsky monastery, which is

on... the volga, this makarievsky monastery, snow-white, delightful, with proportions that the parthenon would envy. if you saw him once, swimming towards him from the volga, you will never forget him again. deveyev, with huge cathedrals, pink and blue, which seem to float above the ground. and you walk with prayer along the path of the mother of god, and suddenly it seems to you that the holy virgin appears in front of you in the rays. how beautiful the bogolyubsky monastery is, which i have visited so many times. the mentor of the monastery, father peter, received me, i brought to him the izborsk club i founded, he let us into the bell tower, and we rang three bells to all the clubs there, it seemed to us that in response to our ringing, all the bells ringing in russia were responding.

what a blessing that you can act. from the place to find yourself in one of the wonderful russian monasteries, where you will be received, treated kindly, given holy water, defense factories, how many i have visited, admiring the beauty of the newly-minted powerful military equipment, on the machine, producing huge barrels, i saw how the piers are under construction boats, electrical cables, pipelines, they are connected to the ground, to the pier and, as if from a womb, they drink and suck its juices, which create it, make it more and more powerful, whole, it ripens like a fruit, before it breaks away from the pier and begins its endless voyage. navetny plant in komsomolsk, on the amur, i saw how the fifth generation fighter is being built, their unsurpassed beauty, which any artist of the italian renaissance would envy,

this is a thunderous sparkling... lightning pirouettes in the far eastern sky, on the assembly line, of the ural-car of the plant in tagil i saw how a tank was born, in its iron an engine is immersed in the belly, a turret with a cannon is placed on it, many precious devices, sights, laser rangefinders, antennas are implanted into it, connecting it to space. the tank's tracks clanking as it rolls off the assembly line and moves to the tank track. i understood what it felt like. a modern tanker, when he plunged into the hatch of the t-90 tank, the tank in which i plunged, rushed madly across the concrete, jumped over ravines, spun like a top, if not for the tank helmet, i would hardly have survived, russian defense workers are heroes in terrible years they saved their skills, their abilities, their secrets, they did not let

cia intelligence officers into their secret safes, and now they are creating them.

putin raised from the bottom of the black sea, not an amphora, he raised crimea. wasn’t it about him that pushkin composed his wonderful poem? among the green waters caressing taurida, at dawn i saw nariida. we received crimea as a miracle, as an advance for which we will have to fight. and now we are fighting for this miracle in donbass. and the shining sun of crimea was subdued. russia

after the ninety-first year, continuously retreating. losing lands, dooming its population to retreat, to impoverishment, for the first time went on a counter-offensive, and donbass with its tank strikes, counter-battery fighting, with its roaring planes, is a russian counterattack. i have been to many wars, today’s donbass war, at 85, i was not able to get there, but i sent my elements there to the front. my drawings, which the fiery force suddenly tore out of me, my appeals, my elements, my drawings are directed towards the russian counterattack. now, when my vision began to fade,

my parietal eye opened, i began to gradually those mysterious entities that i saw when the angel tore me, a young man, away from the flowering meadows and... he showed me the space where mysterious entities are found, which sometimes suddenly opens up to a person at the moment of his revelation. a symphony of five russian empires opened up to me, when the russian state, emerging from oblivion, achieved power and flowering, and then fell into the abyss of oblivion, but then miraculously arose, ascended and continued its movement. in russian historical time, it was revealed to me the easter meaning of russian history, in which russian suffering and even death promise an inevitable resurrection, promise a kingdom in which divine

justice exists and there is no death. the creed of the russian dream was revealed to me, that drive that exists in the russian soul, which directs it into an ideal kingdom, perfected in... divine justice, a drive that was discovered by our distant pagan ancestors, storytellers, buffoons, magicians, who were discovered by our great orthodox christians mystics such as the old man felovvey, founder of the teaching of moscow ii rome, or the great mystic, patriarch nikon, founder of the new rusalim monastery near moscow. our russian cosmists discovered this attraction. an amazing spiritual phenomenon that does not exist in other countries, peoples, this attraction is revealed by russian literature, our poets, musicians, artists, with this attraction russian revolutionaries went into the revolution, dreaming of building

a just divine kingdom on earth, and today's russian people, after all the losses and hardships, gaining a new state russian, strive to make it perfect, i was given... “russian victory is that every time after great historical defeats, we are reborn again and form a new great state, i was revealed by the secret knowledge of russian victorious codes

that move the russian person to great victory, the code of exaction that the russian consciousness directs towards this future, coming victory, when a person expects it and begs for it.” seeks the code of sacred labor by which this victory is achieved, the code of resurrection, when, after the death of pitch darkness, we are resurrected again and move along the paths of improvement. the cat of the russian miracle, when in the impenetrable night, after all the troubles of defeat, a dazzling light will flash, and the mother of god will raise the red army soldiers from the frozen trench near moscow and... they will drive the prose of postat from near moscow to berlin, the code of a common cause, when in order to achieve victory the whole a people in which the difference between the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak, the bad and the wise, disappears, with all its huge

team, all its powerful battalion, the russian people are marching towards victory. another code: russia is the soul of the world, when russia accepts itself as all the darkness of the world. and turns it into light. this transformation into light is given to russia with great tears of blood, but it is doomed to this, for it is planned. “we need a great russia, you need great shocks, then great shocks did not escape russia. the soviet union

in its victorious greatness, and this great, victorious country did not escape the shock, it was ruined in the chaos of perestroika. russia suffered a strategic defeat, it was overcome west. wise in his desire and ability to destroy what belongs to others, who hates russia, defeated russia and came here to us, he came here and sat in headquarters, in ministries, in universities, in schools, the great extermination of soviet civilization, its mighty factories, its ideologies, its great schools, her deep russian belief in the coming, gracious and delightful future.

it seemed that the west had erased russia from world history, with a terrible scraper, it had scraped out of russian consciousness, from world history such figures as dostoevsky, pushkin, tolstoy, sholokhov. but again, obeying the deep laws of russian history, its easter meaning, the murdered russia was resurrected. the west failed.

in blood, in smoke, in fires, among whistling

bullets, russia attacks, regaining its place in history. in ukraine we are not fighting zelensky, not the vile azov battalions. we are fighting against the grandiose west, against this colossal colossus that has fallen on russia. i feel how every russian is alive, every russian tendon trembles, how every russian vessel trembles, bearing this exorbitant. universal heaviness, in the donbass we protect the population of donetsk, lugansk, zaporozhye, kherson, we protect these people from extermination, we annex to you what belonged to us before, and we unite the dissected russian people, we will defeat the west, we will defeat it, for russia is the force that can break the head of this evil.

tank missiles also need clothes, what an anti-fake premiere, tomorrow on the first, the president of finland alexander stoop, now at the head of the state that has just joined nato. i agree with the nato secretary general that the path to peace lies through the battlefield. he was such a patron

who was included in patronage, he studied in the states. the globalists install their own political functionaries who will pursue their interests. he is a big hypocrite , the finnish economy is broken, he is actually burying its well-being, he organized and supervised the gay parade in helsinki, so don’t be mistaken about his wife and children, his preference is well-known, to eat well, drink, and then go to sala with him , when he he talks about security, he talks about what, about the security of nato, his children do not speak finnish, finland is just a stepping stone for him, there is no talk of any national interests, finland is being prepared for a big war, we agreed.

in prosperous moscow, who went to war, to the front, and through suffering, through soldiers' burials, and he wrote a novel about the murder of cities, about a young man living through great upheavals, turned into a soldier of the eternal russian warrior. i gave a presentation of this novel, not in moscow, not in store, not in a luxurious book salon, i arranged a presentation of this novel at saur. grave in donbass, thousands of people flocked to this huge mountain, pitted by shells, on which noses and fingers were scattered, knocked off from concrete monuments, and these concrete monuments were the faces of our fathers and grandfathers who defended donbass during the great

patriotic war, and distributed books to these people, who until recently stood as a wall, protecting this mountain, their brothers... lay on the top of this mountain, in mass graves that had not yet sunk. trembling over these graves in the wind, the charred flag of the legendary vostok battalion, riddled with bullets. for me , as a russian writer, there was a reward, the greed with which these people accepted from my hands a book written about them, about the heroes of my novel. the book ended up in the hands of a talented director, who began making a feature film based on this book.

cops, and here, on this set, i saw how new russian art was emerging. this art fearlessly reflects the dramas of our time, our great russian stand, our inevitable victory. when in in the twenty-second year, a special military operation began, and the regiments went from bryansk and rostov, breaking the ephemeral border tape, i , along with the whole country, rejoiced, finally.

i saw how high-rise buildings were stormed, how our fighters went to the floors and fought hand-to-hand with the enemy, i saw how azov fighters were captured, how the deceased commanders were commemorated, how refugees flowed, and how our victorious banner fluttered over the ruins of mariupol. probably also the monk sergei, while remaining at his monastery near moscow, saw the battle on...

these are drawings by an inexperienced, naive artist who does not know anatomy, who does not know the secrets of color, but these drawings merged into me as freely and uncontrollably as my poems, they seemed to be a reflection on the water on which the wind blows, this reflection oscillates, flows, changes its colors, precisely on these...

it took place in tagil, at the ural carriage plant in the very workshop where grandiose steel cars are assembled, in

the workshop where the first russian victorious tank t-34, holy, russian, was assembled tank. the stage was installed almost on the conveyor belt, according to to which the tanks moved, these tanks were jammed with towers with guns, the finest instruments, rangefinders, and sights were inlaid into these towers. space communication systems, on this fantastic stage , this opera was performed among the tanks , the anthem of donbass was performed, i saw with what admiration the workers assembling these tanks, engineers, designers, military gunsmiths, looked at the tank that was coming off the assembly line, in the tank of which splashed a few drops of fuel, it came off the assembly line and headed towards the train, into this tank...

our women's sobs, our future victorious marches, she wove an amazing wreath from these songs, planted a parasitic flowerbed on which

many flowers grew, unlike one another, when i listen to her song, i look at her beautiful face, i think, my god, how much of our russian is in her, beautiful, eternal, tearful, prayerful, gracious, she is both a bride, and a mother, a widow, and a sister, a fearless warrior who rushes on the armor of transporters among the attacking battalions. russia will stand, russia will win, the black cloud of the west will retreat, it will sit on the top of the capitalist hill, where it should arrive, and the victorious russian sky will open. in this war, russia is gaining unique historical experience. she. great revelation

, we are building our russia, bringing it closer to the divine ideal, to the heavenly, immortal, imperishable russia, i thank god for giving me this happiness, to be russian, you ask me whose intelligence officer i am, who sent me to dangerous reconnaissance, i prayed to him among the church candles, he sent me a lilac branch,

having lived his life, he returned to the palace, holding the obtained grains in his palm. the lord will look at the crumbs in the palm of my hand, will sum up the results of my reconnaissance, or will indifferently drive me out of my sight, or will take me into his court. hello, i am still dmitry bak, and to my deep happiness, i am still the host of a literary podcast, let them not talk, let them read, this is a crafty name, of course, we talk at our meetings, on our programs, but we don’t talk just like that, and in order to encourage you to read, our guests today are representatives of the new

generation of russians. stutterers, by the way, there is a poet among them, try to guess who it is before i reveal this secret. so, our guest today is asya volodina, hello. hello. asya is the author of two wonderful novels, part of the picture and the protagonist, and the protagonist has already been awarded an art theater prize, and part of the picture is also very popular. in addition, our guest is a literary critic, i’ll tell you a secret, a poet, and...

well - the answer is: yes, no, asya, are you a millennial or not a millennial? millennial, millennial, yeah zhenya, are you a millennial? no, no, you are older than millennials, yes, by feeling or by passport, but by feeling, by feeling, well, finally, katya, are you a millennial or not? i thought at first the question would be: are you a millionaire? well, it’s almost the same thing, i’m a millennial, a millennial, well, that is, 2:1.