Backwoods, Once again, my great literary work has vanished into oblivion due to a sudden power outage. Therefore, I won't tempt fate; I'll limit myself to a brief overview of the work. Dedicated to the PAWNSHOP. What do we witness in the ballet of the same name, "So What?" A young widow, abandoned to her fate by her husband and furniture, is inconsolable and confused. It's hard in this cruel and cold world, without a fur coat and a single garter on her head, for poor girls, even billionaires, to sit in an uncomfortable position. The trembling sensations of the organs shudder through every joint of the soul from this sorrowful image. The color indigo harmoniously matches the mood of blue, for which special thanks to the set designer.
So, folks. Let's look at the calendar! What's going on? February 18th...
What's this? What does this date mean in our photo kingdom—our photo state? Armistice Day? Where is the roar of battle, the sparkle of intellect, and the sparkling wit of criticism? Lupinists and amateurs, avant-garde artists and those with a special vision—where has the enthusiasm and daring gone? As a character in a film said (paraphrased), "A real photographer always has something to say." And here, in half a day—nothing, like a radio operator dubbing—Nikolai Ilya Khariton Ulyana Yakov. Clearly, the flow of photos has decreased; that's the will of the evil dragon. But they didn't stop me from writing.
Viktor Kirillov, we continue the biography (hagiography) of a bright representative of the dull.
Victor and comments. Essays on everything.
Victor used to be kind. But now he's become evil. This often happens. Victor wakes up in a bad mood. The reason is: - the sun rose on the wrong side; - the rooster is five minutes behind; - I dreamed about lupines all night; - I dreamed all night that Oleg Kaledin won an Oscar for a photo of the Tula embankment.
Victor scans his body and inner world with his mind's eye to determine what hurts today – wisdom, his spine, or his soul for his world-class photography. If it's only his soul that hurts, Victor decides to act, act, act (his voice lowers to a complete conspiracy; Bender did that).
Before sitting down at his Underwood, which is connected to his computer, Victor looks out the window. He sees pastorals and homespun land, a barrel, a barn—thus calibrating his vision. He lights a candle in front of a portrait of Salvador Dali. "What, bro," Victor says, "shall we fight for surrealism some more?" Dali, not being a fool, replies, "Of course, master, we'll fight..." and tries to burn himself to death by the candle.
Victor finally opens his favorite photo site...
Here comes a blow to his aesthetics. Lupine! In full view of the monitor. Or the embankment, which is even worse... In Victor's place, anyone else would have called his wife and children and started reading his will. But our Victor is different. He used to be kind, and now he's evil. And he doesn't give up easily. He begins the fight. Just in case, he glances at his daily horoscope. He's reassured that the stars are on his side. He puts on an iron helmet—an iron helmet—against planetary forces and against a club; safety isn't just a phrase. When he was kind, he could walk around without a helmet, but now he's evil.
The fangs of an Underwood are heard. Nature comes to a standstill. Cows stop mooing and milking. The rye ears in a whisper. Chickens try not to rattle their eggs. Dogs don't bark at passersby, but rather warn them with gestures. Victor writes a comment! The population stands still... on whom will the sword fall?
Okay, people. Let's look at the calendar! What's going on? February 18th...
What's this? What does this date mean in our photo kingdom—our photo state? Armistice Day? Where is the roar of battle, the sparkle of intellect, and the sparkling wit of criticism? Lupinists and amateurs, avant-garde artists and those with a special vision—where has the enthusiasm and daring gone? As a character in a film said (paraphrased): "A real photographer always has something to say." And here, in half a day—nothing, like a radio operator, I'm dubbing—Nikolai Ilya Khariton Ulyana Yakov. Of course, the flow of photos has decreased, that's the will of the evil dragon. But they didn't ban writing.
Backwoods, ))) And what is there to write? I can't hear the tuning fork )) I was about to write about distortion under one photo, but I thought - what a provocation that would be. Everyone would go nuts. Or even the ladies might faint. So I'd better work on something creative at home... I don't have any photos, nothing to publish... and there's no point.
Backwoods, ))) What's there to write? I can't hear the tuning fork )) I was about to write about distortion under one photo, but I thought – what a provocation that would be. Everyone would go nuts. Or even the ladies might faint. So I'd better work on something creative at home... I don't have any photos, nothing to publish... and no point.
Well, that's it... What is a tuning fork? An A note? In a minor key?
If you wanted it, write it. Why predict the reaction? Just do it and we'll see.
If there's nothing and no point – the question again – what's actually holding it here?
Oak, Well, so-so... What is a tuning fork? An A note? In a minor key?
If you wanted it, write it down. Why predict the reaction? Let's do it and see.
If there's nothing and no need, the question again is: what's really holding me here?
Backwoods, Predicting reactions is one of the fundamentals. The answer to that question is simple: nothing holds me back. I have fun when I can, go where I please, wander by myself. I like to keep my fans on their toes, too. So they don't slack off.
Viktor Kirillov, Brother Victor, are you feeling some kind of bitterness, or are you just ignoring it just in case?
Backwoods, Of course not. I'm quite active and cheerful, right now I'm rooting for art automated by artificial intelligence. What do you think, if Okaledushka masters the DAP manual, humanity will experience a Lupine Renaissance?
Backwoods, Why not? I'm quite active and cheerful, right now I'm rooting for art automated by artificial intelligence. What do you think, if Okaleda masters the DAP instructions, will humanity experience a lupine renaissance?
Well... I cribbed another chapter from the biography, like a biographer... suddenly it didn't go over well
And DAP... well, I don't know why there's such a fuss. What about the same thing from AKVIS or Topaz? And anyway, there are "professional" plugins from GraphicRiver—you can even draw a picture. There are so many of these imitation features, why are you so hung up on this DAP?
[quote]Viktor Kirillov, Well... I've cribbed another chapter from the biography, as a biographer... suddenly it didn't work out.
Backwoods, Solo on an Underwood, or how Vitya scribbles his lampoons, very accurate and touching. I don't regret at all that I entrusted YOUR pen with my chronicling of life.
And did you appreciate how eager our sergeant is to socialize?
Backwoods, Yes, I had the pleasure of learning from him today that February 20th is a worldwide holiday of social justice. What's your take on justice? A billionaire gets a fox-fur yacht on March 8th, but you get socks and Chypre cologne for February 23rd?
Backwoods, Yes, I had the pleasure of learning from him today that February 20th is a global holiday of social justice. What's your take on justice? A billionaire gets a yacht lined with fox fur on March 8th, but you get socks and Chypre cologne for February 23rd?
No... he, like an experienced conspirator, pulled off a much more serious operation... Look at the conversation between Ancientriver and Wild Cat, if he hasn't lost it yet.
Viktor Kirillov, No... he, like an experienced conspirator, pulled off a far worse operation... Look at the conversation between Ancientriver, and Wild Cat, if he hasn't lost it yet.
Backwoods, And what about the Black Sea Fleet? It seems like a newbie like Ancientriver has no reason to go into such details. Well, don't be so cruel. The guy is passionate about the site. Give him some amoral support, why are you so stingy?
[quote]Viktor Kirillov, Well, it's just... Old River and Kotya are the same guy. Guess who?
Backwoods, I have my own strategist here, Oak-Apopov. They're coming from two flanks and slamming their faces down on the table, so much so that I'm afraid to even leave the house and go pee. And Vasily's a harmless guy, just very lonely.
Backwoods, I have my own strategist here, Oak-Apopov. They're coming from two flanks and slamming their faces down on the table in an epistolary fashion. I'm even afraid to go out onto the porch to relieve myself, you never know. And Vasily's a harmless guy, just awfully lonely.
Why be afraid? Any trip out onto the porch to relieve himself could turn into a bountiful shower for the opponents. It's time to begin a new chapter of my life - "How Victor Reacts to Criticism."
Viktor Kirillov, Why be afraid? Any trip to the porch to relieve oneself can turn into a blessed shower for one's opponents. It's time to begin a new chapter of my life - "How Victor Reacts to Criticism"
Backwoods, Different criticisms respond differently, but for some, I can even prescribe urine therapy.
Backwoods, Different criticisms respond differently, but I can even prescribe urine therapy to some.
Well, if you please:
Viktor and Criticism. An Essay on Everything
Viktor loves criticism and critics. He used to be mean, but now he's kind, but still a little mean. And he loves critics. Well... a little. Half-heartedly.
Critics usually besiege Victor's porch, hoping to pay homage and get an autograph. And to tell the critic. If they have time. Because Victor doesn't come out onto the porch often, and not to pay attention to critics, but out of necessity. Out of necessity, as Victor himself says. If the need is mild, momentary, so to speak, then critics are lucky. But if Viktor is burdened with something, say, heavy thoughts about world photography, then critics have a hard time. Because the heavy spirit of Viktor's thoughts spreads over many radii around.
Once, a passing bird criticized Viktor—well, not criticized him… it took a dump on his head. We don't remember its name, maybe a swallow… For which Viktor caught up with the bird and criticized it back in the same manner. The bird's weight classes weren't in its favor… well, at least it basked in the rays of glory. Well, in the rays…
Viktor also loves polemics. It's that nonsense where everyone calls each other names completely different from the ones their parents gave them. The pattern goes something like this: - You're an idiot! - No, you're an idiot! - No, no, you! - No, no, no, you're bigger!
It should be noted that Viktor has no equal in polemics. Perhaps the office typist, who can type much faster, has no interest in world photography. And she doesn't hang around under Victor's porch. And she's married. And she's happy without a photo. And anyone who's unhappy is still here.
Victor knows how to respond to criticism. In the evenings, when the power goes out and he doesn't feel like going out on the porch to relieve himself, he calmly sharpens a Karelian birch stake. Someone will sit down...
Viktor Kirillov, no, well, Viktor is a petty-proprietor pest. As soon as there's a dispute on the website, he doesn't come out onto the porch, doesn't give a damn, doesn't prepare his sleigh in the summer, and doesn't brew moonshine in the winter. He's back to bending nails with his sciatica, dying, wanting to eat his ears. Farmers are no use.
Viktor Kirillov, no, well, Viktor is a petty-proprietor pest. As soon as there's a dispute on the website, he doesn't come out onto the porch, doesn't blow his mustache, doesn't prepare his sleigh in the summer, and doesn't brew moonshine in the winter either. He's back again, bending nails with his sciatica, dying, and wants fish soup. Agrarians are no use.
Backwoods, Well, my muses, Yermakov, Kaledin Oak, haven't shown up at all today. I haven't had any great urge to go out onto the porch. I'd certainly have given you a piece of my mind at Velvetnaya, but I've long since been denied access to that velvet body. I'm an agrarian art historian; I'd like to define the topic more clearly and tangibly; general empirical impulses are beyond my crude peasant instincts. I can't say anything about the sawmill; woodworking is the specialty of the neighboring collective farm. Let's do something concrete, and indicate who to spit on, and who to lay lupines at their feet.
Backwoods, Well, my muses, Yermakov, Kaledin, Oak, haven't really shown up today. I haven't had any great urge to go out on the porch. I'd certainly have given you a piece of my mind at Velvetnaya, but I've long since been denied access to my velvet body. I'm an agrarian art historian; I'd like to define the topic more clearly and tangibly; general empirical impulses are beyond my crude peasant instincts. I can't say anything about the sawmill; woodworking is the specialty of the neighboring collective farm. Let's do something concrete, and point out who to spit on, who to lay lupines at their feet.
You're thinking too narrowly, Victor. There are many trees, and they make noise... Don't dwell on a small number of muses. One DAP is poking into every hole, another one rustles like velvet—what more do you need, Victor? There's plenty of color here. Gorgeous specimens. Lupines—they're already gone.
Viktor Kirillov, You're thinking too narrowly, Victor. There are a lot of trees, they make noise... Don't get hung up on a small number of muses. One DAP pokes into every hole, another (different one) rustles like velvet – what more do you need, Victor? There's plenty of variety here. Gorgeous specimens. Lupines – we've already left them behind.
Backwoods, I'm a narrow specialist; trees aren't my thing, rapeseed and the Tula embankment are my limit. I've already spoken about the GIFT of God, the instrument is wonderful, but here, for connoisseurs of instructions, it's like pearls to pigs. There are fewer pictures now, and there are fewer pure diamonds in them, too. If there's even one questionable point, I'm in no hurry to draw my categorical sword. Well, I'm LAZY, it's hard for me to cope with my nature, I need a serious irritant, Vasily is no longer always able to provoke me, today I was too lazy to even roll out a memorandum on my favorite SOCIAL JUSTICE.
Backwoods, I'm a narrow specialist; trees aren't my specialty...
]I was too lazy to even roll out a memorandum on my beloved SOCIAL JUSTICE this week.
Viktor, do you know what it's like to play with fire? It's not like throwing matches into a stove. Or pouring a bag of kerosene on a friend. Or lighting a cigarette nearby... I could write an opus about how Viktor became lazy, narrow-minded, and not very specific. A life story, it would be believable. Pull yourself together and cut the march short.
Viktor, you have another choice – the posting threshold is about to hit. What do you prefer – sunset scenery with its connotations or a billionaire in negligee?
Viktor Kirillov, Victor, do you know what it's like to play with fire? It's not like throwing matches into a stove. Or pouring a bag of kerosene on a friend. Or lighting a cigarette nearby... I could write an opus about how Victor became lazy, narrow-minded, and not in profile. A life, it would be believable. Pull yourself together and cut the march short.
Backwoods, Oblomov parted with his estate, his beloved woman, and his friend without much regret. The only thing he bitterly mourned was his favorite sofa on Gorokhovaya Street. Don't scare me with DINNER; I've had the honor of seeing my profile on minted medals (chocolate medals, but that's beside the point).
Viktor, you have another choice – the posting threshold will soon be clicking. What do you prefer – a sunset with its connotations or a billionaire in negligee?
Backwoods, Do you have one in negligee, but against a sunset backdrop... and that would mean a wave at your feet and the sun in your palm. I saw it at Velvetnaya and am still impressed.
Backwoods, Oblomov parted with his estate, his beloved woman, and his friend without much regret. The only thing he bitterly mourned was his favorite sofa on Gorokhovaya Street. Don't scare me with DINNER; I've had the honor of seeing my profile on minted medals (chocolate medals, but that's beside the point).
Oblomov was a real vulgarian. And what am I supposed to do? As a biographer, I have to publish a new chapter of Victor's adventures. What will it be about? The sofa? The chocolate profile? Name, sister... ugh... topic, brother, topic!
Viktor Kirillov, Oblomov was a real vulgarian. And what am I supposed to do? As a biographer, I have to publish a new chapter of Victor's adventures. What will it be about? The sofa? The chocolate-colored profile? The name, the sister... ugh... the theme, the brother, the theme!
Backwoods, And why isn't the SOFA the theme? The SOFA as the center of the universe, the philosophy of a self-sufficient, proud, not a vain philistine, but a CONTEMPLATOR and TITAN OF THOUGHT. Oblomov doesn't fuss and elbow his neighbors not because he's lazy, but because he deeply misunderstands the purpose of such frivolous fussing. It's from your school curriculum, the critic Belinsky, and Mikhalkov in film that you've shaped the image of a lazy drone. In Goncharov, one can, if desired, read the true face of the knight of CONSCIENCE.
Backwoods, Why isn't the SOFA the theme? The SOFA as the center of the universe, the philosophy of a self-sufficient, proud, not a vain philistine, but a CONTEMPLATOR and TITAN OF THOUGHT. Oblomov doesn't fuss, elbowing his neighbors aside, not because he's lazy, but because he deeply misunderstands the purpose of such frivolous fussing. It's from your school curriculum, the critic Belinsky, and Mikhalkov in film, that you've shaped the image of a lazy drone. In Goncharov, if you want, you can read his true colors, the knight of CONSCIENCE.
But don't try to push the school curriculum into literature. We have a clue. And not just anything, but because it's more rustic there, again, the effect and transidexity, jurisprudence and why-honor, it's we who are apparently suckers, or even wow, not exactly, but downright because, and he says this, and we say to him, "Smash?" And everyone has a swagger limited only by talc.
What's my point? I recently read an analysis of Hegel, the one who wrote "Duskly Souls." No. Gogol, about "Dead Souls." So there's an allusion to connotations, every phrase has context. Without a guide, you can't understand the depth. So we have a face. I don't know how to portray your sofa in a hagiography... and then there's your face. No, there are few complaints about the face; there are, of course, nuances, but not important ones. As for the knight of conscience—your face, frankly speaking... although...
Viktor Kirillov, But don't try to point me to literature with your school curriculum. We have the concepts. And not just anything, but because it's more rustic, again, effect and transideklicity, jurisprudence and why-honor, it's we who are apparently suckers, or even wow, not exactly, but downright because, and he says this, and we say to him, "Smash?" And everyone has a bravado limited only by talc.
What's my point? I recently read an analysis of Hegel, the one who wrote "Dull Souls." No. Gogol, about "Dead Souls." There's an allusion to connotations there, every phrase is context. Without a guide, you can't understand the depth. So we have a face. I don't know how to transform your sofa into a hagiography... and also your face. No, I have few complaints about the face; there are, of course, some nuances, but they're not important. As for the knight of conscience—your face, frankly speaking... although...
Backwoods, I agree, the porch part is simpler than the sofa part, but somewhere in the infinity of the Milky Way they intersect. For a scribbler and trainer of verbal mustangs, the more difficult the task, the sweeter the honey of victory. However, I won't oppress you with the Procrustean bed of a narrow topic; after all, you can always adjust it in the latest edition and add a couple of stars to the fuselage for the downed lupine. Create, my friend, without any limitations; the scope of my personality allows for historical deviations from "BRILLIANT THINKER OF MODERN TIMES" to "GREATEST ARTIST," inclusive.
Backwoods, I agree, the porch part is simpler than the sofa part, but somewhere they intersect in the infinity of the Milky Way. For a scribbler and trainer of verbal mustangs, the more difficult the task, the sweeter the honey of victory. However, I won't oppress you with the Procrustean bed of a narrow topic; after all, you can always adjust it in the latest edition and add a couple of stars to the fuselage for the downed lupine. Create, my friend, without limiting yourself; the scope of my personality allows for historical deviations from BRILLIANT THINKER OF MODERN TIMES to GREATEST ARTIST inclusive.
The mechanism is set in motion. You will have a woman in a negligee, an opus, and a whistle. The words "brilliant" and "greatest" How many times should they be repeated in an essay?
Viktor Kirillov, The mechanism is set in motion. You'll get a woman in negligee, an opus, and a whistle. How many times should the words "brilliant" and "greatest" be repeated in an essay?
Backwoods, Well, let's not be formalists. Why these accounting categories of "how many times"? My GREATNESS exists by default, and why measure it by the quirks of genius? I think it would be quite sufficient to subtly hint at it and provide a FULL list of my scientific discoveries in the humanities and socially significant achievements. So, I'm off to the COUCH to correct my karma, I won't disturb you.
Backwoods, Well, let's not be formalists. Why these accounting categories of "how many times"? My GREATNESS is there by default, why measure it by genius. I think it would be quite sufficient to subtly hint and provide a FULL list of my scientific discoveries in the humanities and socially significant feats. So, I'm off to the COUCH to correct my karma, I won't bother you.
No, no, everything must be accounted for and controlled. What if I overstep my genius? Add unnecessary feats? How many times have princesses been saved? Where are the dragons, again, and where is the exact number of defeated ones? Statistics? Certificates from the village council? Red balls... ugh, a red pennant for something? And stop teaching me! I am a biographer, I know better your... your life...
Viktor Kirillov, No, no, everything must be accounted for and controlled. What if I overdo genius? Add too many heroic deeds? How many times have we saved princesses? Where are the exact dragon defeats, again? Statistics? Certificates from the village council? Red balls... ugh, a red pennant for something? And stop lecturing me! I'm a biographer, I know better, your... your life...
Backwoods, Okay, tomorrow I'll send a file of the district newspapers with pennants and challenge flags by special pigeon.
Therefore, I won't tempt fate; I'll limit myself to a brief overview of the work.
Dedicated to the PAWNSHOP.
What do we witness in the ballet of the same name, "So What?"
A young widow, abandoned to her fate by her husband and furniture, is inconsolable and confused. It's hard in this cruel and cold world, without a fur coat and a single garter on her head, for poor girls, even billionaires, to sit in an uncomfortable position.
The trembling sensations of the organs shudder through every joint of the soul from this sorrowful image. The color indigo harmoniously matches the mood of blue, for which special thanks to the set designer.
What's this? What does this date mean in our photo kingdom—our photo state? Armistice Day? Where is the roar of battle, the sparkle of intellect, and the sparkling wit of criticism?
Lupinists and amateurs, avant-garde artists and those with a special vision—where has the enthusiasm and daring gone? As a character in a film said (paraphrased), "A real photographer always has something to say."
And here, in half a day—nothing, like a radio operator dubbing—Nikolai Ilya Khariton Ulyana Yakov.
Clearly, the flow of photos has decreased; that's the will of the evil dragon. But they didn't stop me from writing.
Victor and comments. Essays on everything.
Victor used to be kind. But now he's become evil. This often happens.
Victor wakes up in a bad mood. The reason is:
- the sun rose on the wrong side;
- the rooster is five minutes behind;
- I dreamed about lupines all night;
- I dreamed all night that Oleg Kaledin won an Oscar for a photo of the Tula embankment.
Victor scans his body and inner world with his mind's eye to determine what hurts today – wisdom, his spine, or his soul for his world-class photography. If it's only his soul that hurts, Victor decides to act, act, act (his voice lowers to a complete conspiracy; Bender did that).
Before sitting down at his Underwood, which is connected to his computer, Victor looks out the window. He sees pastorals and homespun land, a barrel, a barn—thus calibrating his vision. He lights a candle in front of a portrait of Salvador Dali. "What, bro," Victor says, "shall we fight for surrealism some more?" Dali, not being a fool, replies, "Of course, master, we'll fight..." and tries to burn himself to death by the candle.
Victor finally opens his favorite photo site...
Here comes a blow to his aesthetics. Lupine! In full view of the monitor. Or the embankment, which is even worse...
In Victor's place, anyone else would have called his wife and children and started reading his will.
But our Victor is different. He used to be kind, and now he's evil. And he doesn't give up easily. He begins the fight.
Just in case, he glances at his daily horoscope. He's reassured that the stars are on his side.
He puts on an iron helmet—an iron helmet—against planetary forces and against a club; safety isn't just a phrase. When he was kind, he could walk around without a helmet, but now he's evil.
The fangs of an Underwood are heard. Nature comes to a standstill. Cows stop mooing and milking. The rye ears in a whisper. Chickens try not to rattle their eggs. Dogs don't bark at passersby, but rather warn them with gestures.
Victor writes a comment! The population stands still... on whom will the sword fall?
If you wanted it, write it. Why predict the reaction? Just do it and we'll see.
If there's nothing and no point – the question again – what's actually holding it here?
And DAP... well, I don't know why there's such a fuss. What about the same thing from AKVIS or Topaz? And anyway, there are "professional" plugins from GraphicRiver—you can even draw a picture. There are so many of these imitation features, why are you so hung up on this DAP?
Well... I've cribbed another chapter from the biography, as a biographer... suddenly it didn't work out.
Backwoods, Solo on an Underwood, or how Vitya scribbles his lampoons, very accurate and touching. I don't regret at all that I entrusted YOUR pen with my chronicling of life.
And did you appreciate how eager our sergeant major is to communicate?
Look at the conversation between Ancientriver and Wild Cat, if he hasn't lost it yet.
Well, don't be so cruel. The guy is passionate about the site. Give him some amoral support, why are you so stingy?
But yeah, I don't mind.
Well, it's just... Old River and Kotya are the same guy. Guess who?
Backwoods, I have my own strategist here, Oak-Apopov. They're coming from two flanks and slamming their faces down on the table, so much so that I'm afraid to even leave the house and go pee. And Vasily's a harmless guy, just very lonely.
It's time to begin a new chapter of my life - "How Victor Reacts to Criticism."
Viktor and Criticism. An Essay on Everything
Viktor loves criticism and critics. He used to be mean, but now he's kind, but still a little mean. And he loves critics. Well... a little. Half-heartedly.
Critics usually besiege Victor's porch, hoping to pay homage and get an autograph. And to tell the critic. If they have time. Because Victor doesn't come out onto the porch often, and not to pay attention to critics, but out of necessity. Out of necessity, as Victor himself says. If the need is mild, momentary, so to speak, then critics are lucky. But if Viktor is burdened with something, say, heavy thoughts about world photography, then critics have a hard time. Because the heavy spirit of Viktor's thoughts spreads over many radii around.
Once, a passing bird criticized Viktor—well, not criticized him… it took a dump on his head. We don't remember its name, maybe a swallow… For which Viktor caught up with the bird and criticized it back in the same manner. The bird's weight classes weren't in its favor… well, at least it basked in the rays of glory. Well, in the rays…
Viktor also loves polemics. It's that nonsense where everyone calls each other names completely different from the ones their parents gave them. The pattern goes something like this:
- You're an idiot!
- No, you're an idiot!
- No, no, you!
- No, no, no, you're bigger!
It should be noted that Viktor has no equal in polemics. Perhaps the office typist, who can type much faster, has no interest in world photography. And she doesn't hang around under Victor's porch. And she's married. And she's happy without a photo. And anyone who's unhappy is still here.
Victor knows how to respond to criticism. In the evenings, when the power goes out and he doesn't feel like going out on the porch to relieve himself, he calmly sharpens a Karelian birch stake. Someone will sit down...
Farmers are no use.
I could write an opus about how Viktor became lazy, narrow-minded, and not very specific. A life story, it would be believable.
Pull yourself together and cut the march short.
Viktor, you have another choice – the posting threshold is about to hit. What do you prefer – sunset scenery with its connotations or a billionaire in negligee?
Name, sister... ugh... topic, brother, topic!
What's my point? I recently read an analysis of Hegel, the one who wrote "Duskly Souls." No. Gogol, about "Dead Souls." So there's an allusion to connotations, every phrase has context. Without a guide, you can't understand the depth. So we have a face.
I don't know how to portray your sofa in a hagiography... and then there's your face. No, there are few complaints about the face; there are, of course, nuances, but not important ones. As for the knight of conscience—your face, frankly speaking... although...
The words "brilliant" and "greatest" How many times should they be repeated in an essay?
And stop teaching me! I am a biographer, I know better your... your life...