dmitry petrovich bak, evgeny germanovich vadolaskin, i’m vladimir ligoido, let’s continue.t we remember something. by and large, augustine writes about this, he says that this is like this... and the memoirs of another contemporary about the same events will be different, how to perceive this? if you allow me, i would still start with forgetting. so that this topic does not disappear, because in this earthly desolation we are always faced with the realization that we have to forget, yes, that something completely different awaits, and i always repeat the quatrain of my beloved georgy ivanov, if there is a new life , oh, the soul opens in the black grave, how good it must be so that we forget about earthly things, yes, that is, here this moment of possible forgetting of what seems... valuable is always present in the face of some other memory, these are not memoirs, of course, memoirs, this is personal experience, yes, yes, well, memoirs are, of course, memory, but this is such a very, truly selective special memory, this is not, not what actually happened in quotes, because

but time is inexorable, but we have. .. the memory remains, evgeniy germanovich vadolaskin, dmitry petrovich baktlab on channel one, this is anthropology. today we have. sergei aleksandrovich yasenin is visiting, i can already foresee the expression on your face, i had the same thing this summer, when my beloved friend irevich berendyukov, the yabloko group, called me from st. petersburg and said: marina kapur and i made a project taryanochka based on the lyrics of sergei alexandrovich. yuri ekovich, come on, marina stanislavovna, please, give us the first song so that we can immediately understand what the caliber of what is happening is, hello, china. stay on my side, the streak of grief, just climb into the salon. like the scythe across the river, only letska, the beauty of nazareth, the old church will fade away, throwing itself into the clouds into a cross, a sick cuckoo does not fly to sad places, a sick cuckoo does not fly from sad places. for you, on my side, every year in the flood, from the pod and the knapsack, the pious pours the flood, the rescuer and the knapsack, to the gods. maln