Prilepin latest publications. Prilepin – Tolstoy: “The Motherland is more important than your freedom Prilepin articles
People sometimes look back and are suddenly horrified. They are not just surprised, but rather horrified.
My generation grew up a quarter of a century ago: it’s scary to say anything. Almost like in the book about the three musketeers.
In 1991 I graduated from school. In the August days of the collapse of the USSR, I found myself in Moscow, wandering around and looking at people. People marched back and forth in excited columns.
Essentially speaking, they were also in trend then, in fashion - young democrats, heralds of perestroika, supporters - what were they talking about on every corner then? - “team contracting”, “glasnost”, “open borders”, “invisible hand of the market”, “repentance”.
Repentance is as necessary as fish oil. If you don't want to, drink it.
Now I secretly assume that two-thirds of those who then walked around Moscow and all other cities of Russia, shouting democratic slogans and campaigning for Boris the world of Nikolaevich, do not want to tell their grandchildren about this, many are simply embarrassed, others are bitterly ashamed , in general, the majority pretends that this did not happen, because it could not have happened.
But okay, politics. Here, as one of my good comrades says, “one can argue.”
I remember other things too.
When today there are huge queues to fall to the holy relics or venerate the icon of the Mother of God, I drive away the thought that a good half of the same people at one time charged water in jars under the guidance of a psychic Chumak and treated the kidneys, liver and pancreas, listening to the sermons of a psychic Kashpirovsky.
We looked at the TV screens and charged, placing jars of water around us. This, too, was a fashion - deafening, widespread, inexplicable.
Walking along the Arbat in August 1991, even I, a 16-year-old teenager, wondered how, how my quite enlightened country had reached such a point... what?
Yes, anything: unbridledness, recklessness, stupidity, meanness, openness, sincerity.
They asked me to sign for the restoration of the monarchy, people passed by chanting “Hare Krishna!”, pagans with ornate pagan swastikas walked towards them, people with “If you want to lose weight - ask me how” signs scurried between them, here they played thimbles, preached Adventists, Scientologists, Baptists, anti-fascists, telepaths, castrati; sloppily dressed people saved Russia from the Zionist conspiracy, intelligently dressed people with glasses saved Russia from an all-Russian pogrom, the date of which they knew to the minute - and the pogrom was supervised by KGB generals, also known by name; students called the country to an ax - although they themselves had clearly never held any axes in their hands, others found relief from all problems by dousing themselves with ice water, which they demonstrated here, leaving dampness behind everywhere, others, carrying out the circulation of fluid in the body, drank this , which is not necessary to talk about in a decent place, and they tried to treat others, while others drank everything in a row - and seemed to be the healthiest at this celebration of life.
But if only the capital would go crazy, finding itself in the crosshairs of dozens of fashion trends.
In order to be convinced of the horror of what happened to us, I didn’t have to go far: it was enough to go to any club - city or countryside - where young people, my peers, spent their simple leisure time.
Normal boys sewed red stripes into their tights - and whole cities walked around like that with stripes: the latest industrial Cossacks? Just dumbasses? Who were they? What happened to them?
Do you remember this coloring of girls’ faces? Remember their hairstyles and what color the high school girls dyed their hair?
The wildest jungle, the most cunning jungle animals, could not reflect those magnificent colors. If the wise old chameleon were offered to hide in the hairstyle of a Russian high school student in the “era of change”, he would go crazy! - he would try all his possibilities, turn on the “autumn tree”, “bright yellow foliage”, “back of a hippopotamus”, “universal dirt”, “dust”, “frozen lava”, “night fire”, “thatched roof” mode “,” “I’m a banana, just a banana,” “worldwide cooling has returned, the first, not the most successful, snow has fallen in two hundred thousand years,” “okay, okay, now I’m a snake, I’m keeping calm” - and on the next attempt I would explode to hell .
What did they use to dye their manes? How did they curl them? Where did they find lipstick and mascara to bring themselves to such a state?
Demons! They were like lost demons.
I also remember girls in jackboots - these grenadier boots, which then symbolized courage and enlightenment; I remember how the singer Valeria performed in them, sang a folk song; At the university, some of my fellow students also wore these boots: at least until the girls of easy virtue, looking for luck along the illuminated routes, changed into the same boots.
Now, I’ll assume that they are embarrassed to wear such boots in brothels, except perhaps in some completely incomparable role-playing game, like “Madame Grenadier and her trained guilty soldier.”
And we listened - what did we listen to, what kind of music, if I may say so?! (Or rather, not us - but them, I didn’t listen, and I don’t have to slander myself).
We started with the Mirage group, which was already wild; then we moved on to “Tender May”, as if we hadn’t been brought up on songs for half a century Utesov, Vertinsky, Mark Bernes, Kristalinskaya, Eduard Khil, Muslim Magomaev and young Pugachevs- and all this time they kept us in the most miserable orphanage, on millet porridge without sugar, and everyone offended us: the nannies, the teachers, the stoker Fyodor.
Therefore: white roses, white roses, defenseless thorns! Y! Y!
It would be nice if more youngsters fell for Shatunova- no, the police, rural administrations, teachers of secondary and higher educational institutions listened to him, honorary pensioners came to the “Tender May” concerts. Where were these pensioners found, where were they kept for the previous eighty years? In the forest? In zoo? Could they have won the worst world war with songs like these? Why didn't they ask themselves about this?
However, something happened next that Shatunov began to seem like a completely nice and decent guy.
Some nasal idiots appeared, sometimes with a huge number of teeth, sometimes without them at all, representatives of the third sex, rainbow birds with feathers in the lumbar region, silicone lips walking on their own, in the absence of a head, other parts of the body, seemingly not adapted for singing, duets of different parts of the body, quartets of representatives of the third sex and a sex not yet explored by anyone except representatives of the third sex.
Oh, it's time for discovery! It's time for freedom.
In my class, I knew in 1991, not a single person had tried drugs, and three classes younger, by 1995, it was difficult to find anyone who had not tried drugs at least once. From barbiture to methadone, everyone understood everything, even elementary school students. It was fashionable for everyone.
The teachers who taught many of us - they, apparently, also hid something from the world for many years.
In the town where I was born, in the late 90s, the only school invariably closed from 12 to 14 o’clock: the teachers could not miss the next episode of some series, either “The Rich Also Cry”, or “Slave Isaura” - and Together with the students, hurrying and jostling, they ran to follow the fate of the mestizo or mulatto, or the completely, irreparably black heroine.
And then they returned: and taught the children history, the Russian language, Dostoevsky’s prose, the foundations of the state, law, and common sense.
Was this really what happened to us?
...today, it seems to us, the intensity of passions is no longer the same.
The paint the unfortunate girls used to dye their manes has run out.
Yuri Shatunov fell silent.
Quite decent people walk back and forth along Arbat.
Teachers, if they have a tendency to watch Latin American soaps, then hide them.
Young people no longer strive to try all the wheels in the world: many are aware that this way they can go too far.
Freaks take their rightful place, and excite only their quiet circle, and not the multi-million audience of TV channels.
And still.
Before you get carried away with anything, well, no matter what: piercing, diving, shopping, leasing, petting, outcomming, downshifting - stop for a second and ask yourself:
- Everything is fine with me? Am I too fashionable?
Count to one hundred.
Or at least until ten.
I never intended to publish anything, but as they say, life forced me. In one of the discussions, the local dill clown Honner1 gave a link to an ALLEGED article by Z. Prilepin with the following comment: “The singer of “Novorossiya” has seen the light:...” (
After clicking on the link, I even became afraid for Prilenin. But the link did not lead to the original article in the Izvestia newspaper, but to some Ukrop LiveJournal, which was also blocked in the Russian Federation. And, as is usual with dill, everything in the article was distorted.
Specific example:
Dill's phrase: For every Motorola there are their own “field commanders”... they can always tell themselves that when the airport was taken, the losses were: 1 cyborg to 10 quilted jackets... (end of phrase)
Prilepin's phrase: For every Motorola there are their own “field commanders”, even if sometimes they are not so successful, but they can always tell themselves that when the airport was taken, there were losses: 1 cyborg to 10 quilted jackets, and the cyborgs will calm down with this simple lie after all, they are still invincible, despite the fact that in Ukraine no one knows how many cyborgs they have already buried, and most importantly, they don’t want to know.
So, read the original article by Z. Prilepin, without Svidomo edits:
The one in which you have to guess yourself
Writer Zakhar Prilepin - about a country without statehood, revenge and the new national idea of Ukrainians
It is foolish to underestimate: the Ukrainian people, or a serious part of the Ukrainian people, are experiencing what is called a “passionary explosion.”
When we talk about the patriotic feeling of the Russian people, about tens of thousands of militias, about humanitarian supplies in which many, many Russians take part, we must be aware that the same thing is happening in Ukraine, but in much more radical and large-scale forms .
Ukraine, roughly speaking, is in trouble.
And the main reason is not at all the notorious desire for Europe, for civilized values, comfort and varied freedom. The main reason is a clear and fierce awareness of the struggle against the force that, as it seems to Ukrainians, has always dominated Ukraine.
This power: Russia, the Russians. They felt that they not only passionately wanted, but could finally defeat the notorious “big brother” and appoint themselves as the “big brother.” At least in the person of Novorossiya. Then the age-old dream will come true: they will look at this ugly, huge, heavy formation from top to bottom. And, perhaps, they will even contribute to the collapse of this vile state, which for a thousand years has been appropriating their glory, their statehood, their culture and whatever else they invented for themselves in their boiled semi-delirium.
For such a cause, you can sacrifice a lot, a lot.
Ukraine has waited too long for this. A country that has never had its own statehood, with a history mythologized to the point of hilarious absurdity - it, in fact, is today winning back its coveted sovereignty, creating its own new mythology. Ukrainians feel like ancient Greeks; they often behave almost the way Russians behaved in the most terrible moments of our history.
All these four, or six, or eight Russian-Ukrainian wars, which they zealously teach there in schools and universities and which are unknown only in Russia (and in the rest of the world too), today must culminate in a decisive battle.
Their stakes are not just high - they are absolute: Ukraine either must be born, or the birth will not take place.
Therefore, I sometimes want to describe the sensations from the mass behavior of independent Ukrainians in medical terms. Sometimes this happens: a person is overcome by unprecedented rage when he stops feeling fear, pain, fatigue - and becomes unstoppable for a while. He can run through a wall with his head, grab a hot object in his hands, get a knife, shrapnel, stab, laceration wound, or even lose an entire organ while running - and this will not scare him. He has a terrible grudge and a goal. He rushes towards this goal.
The blissful dullness of sensuality is so great there that, you will see, they will perceive even the loss of Crimea and in one form or another the alienation of part of the Donetsk and Lugansk regions as a victory: so what, they will say, it’s only six, or eight, or whatever it is percent of our territory, and you wanted to capture Kiev, but you didn’t, la-la-la. As a result, they will publicly declare that they also almost won the ninth Russian-Ukrainian war. They defended their independence in the fight against a terrible enemy. There is no reasonable and rational way out of this situation and is not foreseen.
All that the Russians can oppose to this is common sense and the absence of mischief. It’s only our progressive figures who are trembling about the fact that in Russia there is a terrible “patriotic frenzy” and tomorrow fascism will come here, pogrom and the funnel will go to “Jean-Jacques” to catch clients at the exit.
The patriotic upsurge in Ukraine in relation to ours (and even to Novorosssk) is ten points, a thousand decibels and two thousand watts more powerful. For each of our humanitarian supplies, they do ten times more; piggy banks for collections for the Armed Forces of Ukraine are in every store, at every post office and are filled hourly. For every doctor who came from Russia or the former republics of the USSR to treat and save Donetsk and Lugansk residents, they have five of their own doctors saving Ukrainian Armed Forces soldiers. For every volunteer there are ten good fellows from Pan Yarosh, who, as we see, is not going to stop the war at all. For every Ostap there is an Andriy, but Old Man Taras is not visible at all. For every Motorola there are their own “field commanders”, even if sometimes they are not so successful, but they can always tell themselves that during the capture of the airport the losses were: 1 cyborg to 10 quilted jackets, and they will calm down on this simple lie, cyborgs don’t care invincible, despite the fact that in Ukraine no one knows how many cyborgs they have already buried, and most importantly, they don’t want to know.
What about Ukrainian women? Over the course of this year, in the vastness of the Internet, I have met hundreds and hundreds of warlike Kiev and Odessa women who thirst for someone else’s death, with higher education, deeply mature, more than decent in appearance - the most famous journalists, singers and TV presenters say things out loud there that no one in Russia would dare to say. one of their local colleagues. Against this background, all feminist stories that if women were at the head of states, there would be no wars seem like monstrous nonsense, the most monstrous.
And, most importantly, there is not just courage, but a certain frenzy of the Ukrainian authorities. Remember how the ATO began: one after another, military units went over to the side of the militia, the first attacks were easily repulsed, several times the militia covered entire Ukrainian battalions with Grads - the casualties were horrific. The risk that the country would spread out seemed enormous: Kharkov, now we know about it, simply did not receive 200 machine guns, no one was going to give them to them - otherwise the front would now be far from Donetsk.
Frankly speaking, the leaders of Ukraine turned out to be not the Provisional Government of February 17th, but true Bolsheviks, even though they are knocking down Lenin all over the country: their grip on power - I won’t say about intelligence and ideology - is exactly that of Lenin. You can shout as much as you like about the fact that soon the whole of Ukraine will be sitting on a pole near Lvov, and Poroshenko will be hanged by his own people - this only makes Ukraine laugh: it does not feel pain, has no fear, is not afraid of poverty. Film at least a hundred reports about men fleeing en masse from the villages of Ukraine to Europe and Russia away from the military commissars - they will still gather their 50 thousand new troops. And these will be, yes, young men who have not been fired upon - but, let’s face it, these are the same breed of young men as Russian conscripts in any of our wars. Actually, they are Russians. Were. Therefore, the Ukrainian soldier, as we saw at the airport and see near Debaltsevo, fights even when a quarter of his unit is killed, and then half, and then two-thirds. He fights when he has no food, no communications, and when all the officers turned out to be fools, and others fled. They do exactly what Russian soldiers did for the last millennium. The fact that Ukrainians were second among all the peoples of Russia in the Patriotic War in terms of numbers Heroes of the Soviet Union per capita - we must remember, we must hammer into our memory with a hammer. These are the children and grandchildren of the same heroes and fearless soldiers - their direct descendants. Moreover, there were no fewer heroes among the Banderaites, otherwise how can you explain that the most powerful army in the world - the Soviet, post-war, the Japanese army simply swept away, and caught the Banderaites in the forests of Westernism for at least two more years - and never completely caught them But then, in addition, no Obama promised the Banderaites arms supplies, NATO instructors did not follow on their heels with practical advice, and no goodwill ambassadors came to them with cookies and carrots.
The Russian people must fully understand who the Novorossiya militias are dealing with, who we are all looking at now. We look at our own mirror reflection, which has broken free and begun to live a free, wild life. Under convenient circumstances, this reflection can run away and hit us in the forehead with its bullish forehead so that it is still unknown whose brains will remain on the wall. And this mirror image has much more motivations - the militias only need freedom, and their enemy needs revenge for the entire history Ukraine at once, for all of it! And it doesn’t matter what they added to this story and how many extra centuries they attributed. All this condescension on the topic that, they say, brother crests, you yourself will cry when you realize that your pocket is full of holes, and Europe does not need you, is not worth a penny. In the coffin they saw your condescension. There will be no peace.
I have long wanted to write about Zakhar Prilepin.
A colorful, amazing character. A riot policeman who graduated from the Faculty of Philology and fought in Chechnya. National Bolshevik, who became a famous writer. Hero of Donbass and New Russia. And also a musician and further - everywhere...
I read a lot of Prilepin’s journalistic articles. He writes very well. This is one of the best communist-patriotic publicists in Russia. I remember how in 2012, when I did not yet have a computer, I spent half a day looking for Prilepin’s letter to liberals about Stalin.
But I haven’t read Prilepin’s books. But friends I trust say that he writes poorly. Moreover, there is an unhealthy atmosphere around Prilepin’s books. Prilepin is accused of plagiarism. And indeed, in Prilepin’s story ABUSE there are fragments (for example, a paragraph about monastery firewood) that almost coincide with the texts of Dmitry Likhachev and other authors.
But there are also more serious charges. Some real combat veterans are confident that Prilepin never fought in Chechnya and did not serve in the riot police. Type in the search engine the words ZAKHAR PRILEPIN. HAVE YOU FIGHTED IN CHECHNYA, you will immediately see a great study of the real veteran of the Chechen war, Alexander Bushkovsky. Bushkovsky read Prilepin’s book about the Chechen war PATHOLOGY and is sure that some glamorous young man who had never seen war could have written this way. I will give just one example given by Bushkovsky. Prilepin's character in PATHOLOGIES tells how riot police detained suspicious unarmed Chechens and decided to shoot them. The Chechens were shot, and then they splashed gasoline on the corpses and burned them. But during the burning, the cartridges in the boots of the Chechens began to explode! Bushkovsky believes that throwing gasoline on a corpse cannot burn it. The human body burns very badly. And the temperature obviously won’t rise to the point where the cartridges start exploding. And Bushkovsky also asks a question - how many cartridges can you put in a boot so that they do not interfere with walking? One or two? Who are these stupid Chechens who carried cartridges through the city, hiding them one in each boot?
However, now Zakhar Prilepin is actively helping the DPR. I don’t know whether he is really fighting there. But on the propaganda front it is effective. Zakhar is a very good propagandist.
Still, one question haunts me. How did young Prilepin, being a communist-patriotic writer and National Bolshevik, manage to rise and actually enter the elite of Putin’s Russia? After all, we know very well that communist-patriotic writers are under heavy fire here. They don't let you raise your head - not to dream of popular awards. And for Limonov’s National Bolsheviks in Putin’s Russia there was always one way - prison, prison and only prison. How did Prilepin (almost alone) of the entire sitting party escape repression and become a member of the nomenklatura?
And finally, one personal observation. I had to see a lot of cops. And almost all of them were not talkative. The cops are silent. Apparently this is the profession. Before Prilepin, I had never seen joker cops whose words flowed like peas.
When communicating with adults who, by their own free will and reasonable choice, live without children, I always feel something unhealthy in them.
Even abnormal.
Even with just one child, families seem frankly incomplete to me, but here it is.
I only met a handsome and sane man over forty who lives with his mother once. In the film “The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath!”
It's the same story with women.
You even look with mixed feelings at those women whose photographs (usually ten years ago) appear on the pages of magazines, accompanied by the headlines “My children are my audience” or “I gave my life to art!”
I gave it to art, that’s how. And art - is it in the know?
A person who does not have children always wants to deceive someone, but, according to my subjective observations, in the end he only deceives himself.
I do not know why it is so.
Maybe because when you lose, no one and nothing will console you.
And you will definitely lose.
And children are the only thing that can save the soul, because the soul often ends during life. Or he doesn’t have time to grow.
Or maybe because God is really not a fraer?
Thousands of thousands of girls flee motherhood in order to preserve all the miracles they wear, and thousands of thousands disappear without a trace.
But in any European capital you can find photographic images, the size of a five-story building, of Natalia Vodianova advertising underwear.
She, Nizhny Novgorod, excuse me, Cinderella, who lived from hand to mouth and sold vegetables at the market, barely came into this business and began to earn her first million, she immediately began having children. And she has already given birth to three.
No normal girl would have done that in her place.
She would have done exactly the opposite: after all, the suit went well, what other children?
But we never recognized the famous names who did the opposite. So far we only know about Vodianova.
Does this mean having three is the best route to becoming a top model?
Of course not.
However, no matter what you do, human, especially female, beauty is piercing and captivating only when fate, tenderness, mercy, and the ability to act appear through the wonderful features.
Am I saying vulgarity? For God's sake. I like to say all sorts of vulgar things.
Are there not many girls who are as beautiful as Vodianova?
There are an awful lot of them!
But their faces do not reflect anything except the very firm and proud awareness that they have two virtually new breasts, two perfectly grown legs and a number of other well-groomed and pleasant-to-touch organs and body parts.
Meanwhile, sad experience suggests that the most interesting thing for men is to look either at complete whores, or at those in whose faces one can guess the reflection of the Virgin Mary.
The Mother of God is the same one who gave birth.
I don’t know who is more interesting for women to look at, but I still haven’t exactly met a representative of the fairer sex who declares that their male ideal is a macho man who is deeply indifferent to his offspring, most concerned with how he can preserve his eggs with the greatest comfort.
In a man over forty who lives alone, I always secretly suspect some kind of quiet maniac.
What is he doing there in his apartment in the evenings, let someone tell me. I came home from work, made myself scrambled eggs, and then what? Watching TV? He ate scrambled eggs and looked.
I say: maniac.
Sometimes two maniacs of different sexes gather in one family.
There are very few people of genius, all kinds of physicists or lyricists, bomb inventors or pianists, who, due to their mental abilities, want to live without unnecessary frills, just with their wife or girlfriend.
Do you know any of these? I - almost not.
Basically, among childless couples there are those who, by all indicators, are classified as part of the community of “normal people”.
It’s just not clear what’s normal about them.
Gays all over the world are fighting for the right to raise children, which they cannot have in principle, and these ones we are talking about don’t need it for nothing.
I keep wondering what they do to each other all day long, for months and even years? These, for example, a boy and a girl, who are ninety years old between them? This amount of free time - it must be used somehow. Maybe they are coming up with a new model of the universe? A plan to save humanity? Or at least some type of insect? Some especially beautiful flies...
But no, they don’t invent anything like that.
When I imagine such a life, I start to feel dizzy and even a little nauseous. This happens when you think about something extremely incomprehensible and strange.
One day I accidentally walked into a childless family on business and found the couple sitting and eating eclairs. The amazing thing was that everyone had six eclairs on their plate.
So they sat, had a nice conversation and ate these eclairs. Because eclairs are very tasty and improve your mood.
I soon left, but this feeling does not leave me to this day: whenever I imagine the life of a childless family (meaningfully childless, and not for medical reasons - I’ll explain again, otherwise it will start now) - I imagine it exactly like that. They sit and eat eclairs.
If you've eaten eclairs, you can have some tubes with condensed milk. Cake "basket". Potato cake. Ice cream later.
Then you can watch Animal Planet. Then eat something tasty again.
These are not people, but some kind of dead end of civilization.
But of course they don't think so to themselves. That's what they think about me.
So we have reciprocity, and there are no hard feelings.
I even heard a home-grown philosophy on this matter, about the fact that humanity is a cancerous tumor, and there are malignant cells and there are benign ones.
Malignant ones are those that multiply.
Benign - which live on their own.
But if you are a benign tumor, I think, there is little point in tolerating you either. Go kill yourself against the wall, otherwise you never know. If you lose a sperm on your thorny path, you will also become malignant. So, come on, don’t delay, rid humanity of yourself.
What's the point of new people? - these benign ones like to ask.
Why are they needed? - they ask.
They also ask, meaning themselves and their freedom: who do I owe? Or: who do I owe?
There are too many questions floating around all the time. Everyone became so curious and almost immediately asked: what will happen to me for this?
We will answer the question with a question: what is the point in you? Who needs you? Who owes you?
However, men are much more prone to stupid metaphysics; for women, everything is simpler.
A girl, contemplating her life, asks who will need her - after giving birth, in such and such a form.
But no matter how closely I looked, I never noticed that women who had given birth and those who had not given birth at 35 or 45 were somehow very different.
A woman who has no children, and has long since matured, has some flickering madness in her. If you are going to make love with her, you have an ineradicable feeling that she can eat you.
Her hands are tenacious, her legs are dry and quick, her eyes are attentive, her chest is unforgiving.
Children ruin their figure, who cares?
Time still spoils the figure, let's cancel it.
Because, no matter what the figure is at 40 years old, it will always be outplayed by the figure standing next to it, who is 18. And at any moment there are plenty of such figures nearby.
Children also take up free time from beautiful women.
The question remains, where were they going to spend it? On Facebook? For art? To achieve something in life? What? What to achieve? Become Joan of Arc? Or a senior manager in a company? Isn't it funny?
I read here in one article how a girl describes her personal ideas about hell: hell is when you are alone with a baby in an apartment, and he will never grow up.
What a horror. And it’s true: children scream, smell and grow reluctantly.
But for me, hell is when the baby has grown up, is covered with hair on all parts of the body, combs it, sits in sweet silence, sniffs himself, rejoices in all this and is sure that he is in heaven.
