“When I died, there was no one who would deny it. “When I died, there was no one who would deny it. When I died, there was no one who

For me, a person is initially NOTHING, it is shit in the hole, a fiddle in your pocket. However, he can, is able to grow up to the Great Heavens Above, to Eternity - if, say, the Eternal Idea, the Eternal Truth, the Eternal system of values, coordinates is formed behind him, whatever. That is, the entire value of an individual is equal to the value of the idea that he personifies, for which he is able to die.

Musicians are delicate, sensitive natures. They give themselves to the public (in theory, without a trace), and she, in turn, listens and thinks: "Well, nothing like this Mouzon, shakes." And as a rule, the simpler the music, the wider the range of listeners. Therefore, the tunes about love and crazy life under synthetic diarrhea, called "chanson", are much more popular than classical music. Therefore, texts about a clear, thieves' life are considered texts "with meaning." But in the case of Letov, everything was different. It would seem that music is not for everyone, but everyone listened to it: from the reflective intelligentsia to the base plebs. Some liked to look for hidden meanings and hidden depths in the lyrics, while others liked the abundance of obscenities and deliberately dirty music.

He was not very affectionate with his fans. Their relationship is rather complex. Once a group of harsh Siberian punks even hit him with a star with the words: “What are you mowing under Letov, bespectacled bloke.” The guys, by the way, went to the idol's concert. He lived in accordance with the principles that had settled in his gloomy, mysterious head: to shit on people, to shit on opinions, to shit on everyone around. And on Russian rock, he put his Siberian bolt, not even counting it as music. Although ask anyone on the street, everyone will answer you that Letov is the guru of Russian rock.

However, this attitude did not repel people from him, rather, on the contrary: more and more shit went to his concert, more and more pseudo-intellectuals were imbued with the philosophy of his songs. And in some particularly dreary cities, the sacred initials “Grob” are more common than the poppy “Tsoi is alive”. By the way, there are legends about their relationship. Siberians claim that Letov once gave Viktor Robertovich an unforgettable life. Tsoi's fans claim the opposite. The truth, as usual, is somewhere in the middle. And, most likely, this is another fiction of a rock party. But the fact remains: Yegor liked Aluminum Cucumbers.

About the influence of Letov on the minds, I know firsthand. My friend, then with grief still not really understanding how to mourn for an adult, drank vodka in the school toilet with the same comrade in misfortune, then he didn’t listen to Letov’s “Grob”, otherwise they dragged my lifeless body out of nowhere. The fans were sad like that, and the musicians gave out sadness to the public in the form of a commercially successful tribute album, where everyone who was not too lazy to play familiar songs in the studio recorded one at a time. Yes, yes, many are played out before the concert, playing the songs of "Civil Defense".
And the sky is exactly the same as if you had not sold out.

Letov has always been on the radar, preferring not to get involved in the media space. So he remained a living ruler of the underground, which everyone knew about, which everyone heard, which everyone saw. How could it be otherwise, if in the late 80s “Everything is going according to plan” sounded from every private iron. Of course, on Gosteleradio there was no question of missing this. Even in the era of a tragic turning point, final and irrevocable. Perhaps that is why Igor Fedorovich left modestly, without pathos and high prefixes “our everything”, as such a person should probably leave. No extra pleadings. Huge, ominous, sad Omsk was left without its main attraction.

When I died
There was no one
Who would disprove it.

And after him, the philosophy of the “Russian field of experiments” was somehow abandoned. The imitators did not reach the set bar, and after the "Civil Defense" everything was secondary. Although until now, every second teenager discovers the magical world of ominous sounds from the Coffin. Of course, the first thought from what you hear is: “Damn it, I sing a hundred times better”, but after the second consecutive listening to “Everything goes according to plan”, you go, take a guitar and try to play as “dirty” as yours. newfound idol. All the magic of Letov is in this deliberate simplicity, dirt and animal naturalness.

And this sincerity was felt not only by the sensitive Russian heart, but also by overseas guests. It's no secret that one well-known in Russia glossy magazine likes to invite foreign musicians and show them the deeds of domestic "songwriters". So the owner of a tinned throat, the bassist of all Deep Purple Glenn Hughes, was imbued with the atmosphere of "eternal spring in solitary confinement". Of course, not understanding a word from Yegorkin's psalms, he admitted that he was emotionally overwhelmed, and he basically understood that the song was clearly not about happy love.

And some foreigners went even further and risked performing songs born from the mysterious Russian soul in front of the British public. This extravagant act was dared by Elizabeth Fraser, who once created real magic with her voice in the Cocteau Twins group, and the famous electronic musicians from Massive attack. First, they showed the people the gentle song of Letov's former very close friend Yanka Diaghileva, and finished the excursion into Russian folk rock "Everything goes according to plan." Of course, no one understood a word. The maximum that they made out was monotonous bleating under 4 chords, and the facts about the group that came out on the screen did little to help the audience figure out what was still going on on stage. It would have been better if they had not performed, because these songs need not only to be felt, but also understood.

Although, on the other hand, who better than "Civil Defense" will convey the whole essence of Russian rock? Shevchuk? Kinchev? Naumenko? Of course not. It's just that "Grob" combined all the best that characterizes the genre: the absence of a voice, the combination of dirty obscenities with deeply lyrical quotes, bad sound and sincerity. Letov did not appear on television, did not participate in public protests, did not climb the barricades. He remained the dark deity of the underground. Although politics was not alien to him, that cheerful rigmarole that he arranged with Limonov, Verbitsky and Dugin was more like another performance and experiment than a serious political step. But the image of the singing Letov attracted the attention of hundreds of young shitheads and pseudo-Nazis. So the guys made a fuss.

I don't think my songs are adult songs. My songs are animal songs. These are the songs of some child who was brought to the point where he took a machine gun in his hands, let's say so.

And yet, imitating culturologists, critics and other unnecessary people, let's try to figure out what is the charm of such an infernal personality as Letov? What are his songs about? Not only by the abundance of swearing and his vocals turning into a frank cry. It's all about the text. In each of his songs, in each of his albums from the epic One Hundred Years of Solitude to the work on the Communism project, there is more sense than, sadly, in the songs of such a great band as Deep Purple. Unless comparing Egorka's music with the works of Blackmore and Lord is simply arch-criminal, because, as they say folk wisdom, it is worthless to equate the ass with a hedgehog.

But some dictionary forms have long since gained life and live independently, away from the songs themselves. Some of them claim the title of a literary masterpiece "Eternity smells of oil", "Eternal spring in solitary confinement", "Invented world is more convenient to manage", "Each of us is a bespontovy pie". The most annoying thing is that all these phrases, even the most absurd ones, like “a rifle is a holiday, everything flies in the pussy”, incredibly accurately reflect everything that happens around. Behind these strange metaphors lies an unbearable lightness of being. Even in one of the darkest compositions, "About the Fool", almost entirely based on folk sayings and curses, the phrases are composed in such a way that a literary masterpiece is obtained that carries more meaning than the entire Russian stage.

At first glance, it may seem that Igor Fedorovich is a foul-mouthed cattle. Yes, a man loved to hang from the balcony of his Omsk dwelling and send everyone and everyone to 3 well-known letters. In fact, Letov liked to read and listen a lot, respectively, in many of his interviews, the subject often mentioned various names that were unfamiliar to the average listener of his work. Against the background of Letov’s mention of various names of classics of literature, cinema and music, a contingent of listeners began to form around GO, who, following the idol, sought to read as many different writers as possible, whose names would not say anything even to library workers.

If you want to see Letov as a full-fledged creator, then just getting to know GO will not be enough. It is not necessary to climb into the jungle and study the moment when he played the guitar in Kuryokhinskaya's "Pop Mechanics", although listening to it is highly recommended. Moreover, at one time Kuryokhin said the following about Yegorka:

He is undoubtedly a very good person and undoubtedly talented, although I still don’t understand why.

Just listen to "Sowing", "Communism", "Egor and the Opizdenevshie", "Enemy of the People", "Adolf Hitler". It will be strange to find out that Yegor can write truly lyrical songs. Well, it's funny just to look at his collaboration with his brother Sergei, a wonderful and very famous saxophonist.
Here he is - Yegor Letov. Contradictory, evil and talented. A real childfree, as evidenced by these words:

If I had a child, then I would have to take care of him for the rest of my life - to play, educate him, be responsible for his possible foolishness, etc. I can’t afford this, because the person is busy, and busy with things that are much more important and interesting. In addition, I believe that the child that is born to you is an independent separate soul, which has nothing to do with you by and large, and is born to you only because your environment is most convenient for him for his own growth. In addition to everything, there is now an absurd, nasty and ominous overpopulation of man on our planet, and my inner duty does not order me to increase it.

This is the strangest person who wrote the strangest music that became popular. Punks have always been surprised when they meet a slender bespectacled man instead of a two-meter drunk. And he sent them to hell, following the guideline he set "I will always be against", and continued to make unusually accurate diagnoses of the society around him. For example: “Our people love all sorts of shit”, “whoever is blacker is a Jew”, and much more terrible, but most importantly, very accurate. And the mockery of grandfather Lenin, who has decomposed into “mold and lime honey” is rather a relic of the past and a personal view of the former dissident and patient of Omsk psychiatric clinics.

Well, in order to get to know the twilight genius of Russian rock better, listen to ten of his most favorite songs, and much will immediately become clear.

Screamin' Jay Hawkins - I Put A Spell On You
The Tornados - Telstar
Bob Dylan
Donovan
Love – Alone Again Or
Strawberry Alarm Clock – Incense and Peppermints
The Velvet Underground - Venus In Furs
The Who - Pictures Of Lily
Tomorrow-Hallucinations
Neil Young

Severus's childhood was about two parts, not kept in memory, more precisely, carefully erased from the best of intentions, and quite conscious. Everything is fine... at first glance, because babies do not really remember anything about the first years of their earthly life.

Part two, real childhood, began with sadness, loneliness and twilight. Under the northern sky, the British schoolboy knew that he was capable of scoring the decisive goal against the opposing school team differently than all these. But Severus never tried to demonstrate his abilities, to become the leader of a flock of angry little animals. So the cold, impassive mother ordered that her son must fit into the team of his peers, be like everyone else, and not stand out in any way. In her taciturn and more than regrettable opinion, held by the force of will within herself, the unfortunate son, the son who became her life punishment for the involuntary sin of youth, was incapable of somehow showing himself among these unworthy Muggles.

However, the unsuspecting Muggle Tobias did not care deeply and deeply about the life of a foundling who had fallen down. Like any normal man, Tobias Nicholas Snape dreamed of his own son, but his wife could not bear the fruit. It doesn’t conceive, it doesn’t wear out and throws off ...
Oh, and this slim, dark-eyed, passionate young woman is a swindler, though rumored to be a witch three times, but she loves, but what a faithful one!
Under the slogan of the Labor Party, you have to work hard at the weaving factory for almost the whole week, but he, Tobias, is a breadwinner, a hard worker!
To rein in a wife on the evening of a difficult day is a holy cause, customs in a laboring, semi-poor town are as follows. Yes, even for the fact that he doesn’t go to the local seedy church on Sundays and doesn’t order this trashy boy of his. But that very alien, somehow imperceptibly dangerous, always glaring from under his brows, the legitimate head of an unfriendly family should be especially well hit, just in case! To know his place and keep quiet.

And in the home library of "these Snapes" from the slums there were scattered volumes of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and not some kind, but the historical, eleventh edition. Damn it, these books are consecrated in the name of the University of Cambridge itself! How not to believe everything that is written there!
Let's take a minute, shall we? Are we surprised and surprised?

Glorified and glorified by the Ku Klux Klan in white, immaculate robes with fiery crosses, designed to "prevent mixing of races."
The grandiose article "Civilization" is based on the doctrine of selection in relation to man, as well as ways to combat degeneration in the human gene pool. This is the notorious eugenics, condemned after the atrocities of the Nazis, and exalted again in the glory of modern genetics. Well, let her.

But everything about Britain, the Greatest Empire in the world, its good old Victorian laws, is categorized into all sorts of articles scattered across existing volumes, about everything, everything, the smallest and most insignificant, at first glance, details. Well, what are you, how could it be otherwise! After all, this is a patriarchal society of noble, strong-willed and prolific gentlemen, protectors, breadwinners and owners of weak women and their offspring.
The institution of marriage, consecrated by centuries of tradition, is also painted carefully and extremely, even somehow too much, in the opinion of any modern adult, convincingly.

But mother and... this Tobias never looked into the encyclopedia, which is why the unlucky commander finally and irrevocably fell in the eyes of Severus, while mother, on the contrary, rose immeasurably. It goes without saying that she knows by heart not only the encyclopedia, in which it is written in black and white that there is no civilization other than European, and the rest of the people are savages ...

Everything was insanely exciting in the world of silent, strict printed characters. By the way, not only the encyclopedia was read by a lonely, big-eyed boy.

By the way, about the eyes.
There was a strange case of a quarrel between adults. Severus perfectly remembered how the owner of the territory, surprisingly sober, yelled:
- What did you do with his eyes?!
Always outwardly submissive, in her heart embittered mother said, as she snapped:
- He has his father's eyes.
And at school, the boys excitedly savored and quoted the terrible, terrible movie "Rosemary's Baby", and looked askance at the Devil's son, giggling maliciously.

Nobody reads anything worthwhile.
Here everyone is interested in sports, cars and comics. Cursed time, senseless generation!

Freshly baked Robinson managed to dig out in his new hiding place, in a dusty attic, a true treasure. Of course, selected plays by Shakespeare and shabby, greasy collections of poetry.
And in the old chest there were whole piles of handwritten tomes, which means they were definitely magical. Illegible letters of the native alphabet, erased by time, as in those already uninteresting, naively stupid books about the great miracles of magic from the public library below, which only mother occasionally used ... Oh, but words, words in a foreign language, made up of initial letters, sounded so beautiful, noble and indestructible, if pronounced aloud, in a singsong voice, and attracted ... the secret of the desired, earthly principality. The sheets of parchment even smelled somehow exciting. Yes, and the language is the same as in the fragments of magical books, read out!

Nobody's stubborn son managed to make out a little about the Roman Emperor with a telling name. Imagine the boundless amazement of a child, but this hero turned out to be the founder of the Severan dynasty, Lucius Septimius Severus! He died here, in his native Britain. And he also had sons, heirs, who deified their father after death.
Divine Caesar! How proud that sounds!
Is it possible that coincidences happen in life as well as in versification, in history?..

The leaden northern sky, the symbolism of high poetry, the exciting realities from the truthful, specially hidden magic books took possession of the soul of the Child in time, or better, the Moon Child, a stranger in the world of the surrounding ordinary mortals. For better or for worse, neither in the encyclopedia nor in the books from the attic was there a word about religions, but the child understood in his gut that the highest justice exists only in eternal life, no matter where.
I wanted to look at least out of the corner of my eye there, but terribly to goosebumps. And how to organize it in order to return? .. If you notify one of the adults about such a "journey", questions that are unnecessary to anyone, even the omniscient mother, will fall.

On a Sunday in May there was another quarrel in the house. And the boy wanted to protect her, save her, neither the doctor nor the theologian helped him. He silently encroached on maternal love. A downtrodden child has no opportunity to fight his tormentor, this alien, alien man.

You have to sullenly look at the small TV screen.
And what? In the world of live pictures, you can also digress and laugh at the showdown of pigs, a brilliant masterpiece like: "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others." Dogs guard the legal welfare of pigs. And for stupid sheep, who would have doubted, Bondiana glittering with tinsel, screeching hysterical Beatles fans, idiotic shows and lotteries ...
Rarely, but aptly, there were quite amusing films on the BBC, misunderstood, and therefore caustically, firmly embedded in the very nature of the boy abandoned by all. They themselves fell into a well-developed memory, a luxurious imagination, to the envy of enemies, of which the vast majority, and penetrated straight into the heart. No, much deeper, into mysterious dreams.

In the background, the usual swearing of the mother and the obscene swearing of Tobias. Guests do not go to this neglected, miserable house, everything, as always, it would seem, but ...
But this time, the innocent child of vice saw how the bodies in a lustful sweat alternate with the corpses burned by the deadly bomb. And again, and again, hellish leapfrog on the screen.
He was stunned to a sweet languor when he saw how wonderfully the fragile female fingers were unclenched in a shroud of a sweet, not otherwise, culmination.
The boy blushed to his ears, but couldn't take his eyes off what the grown-ups were doing behind closed doors.

A French woman, unhappy in her personal life, mutters about her love for a Japanese man, and a terrifying chronicle is in the frame. A surgeon removes the eyeball of a man maimed by the uncontrolled process of releasing a huge amount of deadly types of energy in a nuclear chain reaction in a tiny moment. In common parlance, an atomic explosion.

And finally, on top of all the documentary horrors, generously attached to the story of two days of love, here it is - the predatory thing of the century, the Shadow on the slabs of Hiroshima, and a merciful couple of actors in the background groaning...
- Hiroshima mon amour...

Forbidden Love was transformed into unthinkable suffering, presented as an incredible, crazy mixture of unbearable torment of thousands of people with the unrestrained dirty lust of a Japanese and a French "whore". There is no other way to name the one who was shaved bald in early adolescence for an affair with some kind of occupier. But the last link of the multi-tribal and short-term "Love" seemed to Severus to be quite insignificant in comparison with the disproportionately great tragedy of the hitherto unknown Far Eastern original people.
Flickered in the head of a completely bewildered child, forever left to himself, and a lot of some vague words and concepts with a strong negative connotation. Their exact definition did not visit the disturbed, like a beehive, mind.

In that film, Love eventually reunites the futilely fragmented and scattered time. It turns out to be stronger than painfully obsessive memories, and a very real fear of the future. The director and his team did everything right: Amor vincit omnia. So the latent fabulous continuation of the short story suggests itself: they lived happily ever after and died on the same day.
Of course, frightened, too pure in body and soul, the boy in a panic took off and rushed to his earthly principality, to a quiet, dusty attic.
After that, there was a bright flash of concentrated emotions of a no-man's creature. He remembered how a cramped room was instantly occupied with a smokeless fire, all priceless finds and rubbish entangled in cobwebs turned into an empty place before his eyes, he could not scream or run out, as if he were numb.

Fell, woke up ... gentle touches on the hand. It can’t be, it happened, mother caressed her only-begotten son! .. How he deserved the desired warmth and affection, at such a bright, unforgettable hour, it doesn’t matter. For her mean smile and slight approving nod, the son was ready to turn the Earth without any leverage or fulcrum.

Alas, this is not a mother, but a green-eyed red-haired girl who often flashed before her eyes, dressed up like a doll. He smiles shyly and babbles something ...
A child in time, a pale Moonchild, so rarely rejoiced in her entire short life, had a death dream.
Fatherless Severus had been on the other side of earthly, transient good and evil, where it turned out to be... unspeakably cold, unspeakably creepy and inhumanly lonely.
And here again, quite a tolerable reality! Hip hip hooray!

The outcast did not know how and could not analyze what he did not understand at all without additional explanations. And where to get them? From whom to receive? It remains only to think.
... It is strange that the mother let someone else into the house. Be that as it may, this creature is not quite like the others. And it’s obviously nice that at least someone suddenly needed you!

This charming, shy boy, somewhat reminiscent of dear little sister Petunia, turned out to be the brightest star in the dim, cloudy sky covered with suffocating clouds of spoiled Lily Evans!
He turned out to be a real magician!
How! It turns out that there is a world of magic, where you can fly like a bird, even clog death!

This burden of Elaine Lyon Prince, a complete despicable Squib, only in the eleventh year of his life, so late that there were no hopes, showed ancestral Dark Magic. And this is much more important than the secret of a fallen woman against her will. The son of his own in an instant burned the attic to hell with a sacred flame, but the roof survived. As if he was taught by all the rules! This is the blood magic of the true heir of the Princes, nothing less.

In that year of a short, brightest bliss, the boy, who had been dreaming all his life, even if for a brief moment to feel genuine motherly warmth, her palm, sorting through locks of hair, did not care ... who admires him, sadness and rejoices unanimously. And even all the same, if out of pity!
But a year has passed, this is no longer just a pretty girl, occasionally a teasing aroma of inaccessible femininity comes from her. She is the future woman, an honest wife, a legitimate mother. And why not ... not your wife and mother of your own children, heirs and successors of the family?

Moonlight Child plays the echo of the clock. The wind flutters the milky-white folds of the cloak. With the spirits of the bright dawn, he plays hide-and-seek and expects the smile of the Sun Child.
And the honest, grateful Severus himself did not notice how purely, but not carelessly childlike, given his Cambridge education, he fell in love with Lily, affectionately looking into her eyes. He liked to dream silently and side by side. How romantic and musical, isn't it?
And here it is not.

In fact, he kept thinking, is it possible to love forever if the newlyweds in a church visited secretly from their mother swear to share all the joys and misfortunes only until death? What if the world becomes unbearably, unacceptably ugly? And if it rolls over and disappears, if you touch it, squeeze your hand? For him there is neither time nor place in the mortal world, which means that it remains to dare to live in Eternity, which once seemed the only fair reality. However, with just the word "Eternity" flashing through his mind, poor Severus seemed to be enveloped in an unearthly icy, piercing wind that carried the spirit of something indescribable, many times worse than the death of the body.

And the boy could not realize and admit, simply about everything ... it's too early to talk about this, indistinct, confusing. But Severus happily switched to reality, here and now, and for good reason.

The idolized and alienated mother at once condescended to a laconic message that this autumn they both will fall into a wondrous, new world of magic and magic! It remained to grab the lady by the elbow and leave in English, as a well-bred gentleman should, which was done. To spite them all, the boys from the damned school, Tobias, the commander-in-chief for no reason at all...
The main thing, in the end, at the decisive moment of the beginning of Life with a capital letter, is to annoy her, and the remaining unattainable, harsh mother.

The offended son, due to his thoughtlessness and immaturity, did not take it into his head to regret the burnt attic with some old books. About his earthly and immensely secluded principality, which does not promise any hope, if not for a bright, then quite satisfactory future. And it, by definition, includes the obligatory acquisition of a family in the purest Victorian traditions. Well, all right, taking into account the time that does not respect the laws of the ancestors, even with one son, but healthy, strong and, of course, a strong mind.

And, in the end, the attic with its "treasures" that have disappeared without a trace is the past. But yesterday, today was tomorrow.

The Little Prince is not coming home! He swore this to himself with the strongest oath - an indestructible word of honor.
Severus never got to the words of Hemingway that all fears and weaknesses are born of holy innocence, alas and ah. If not... if not his life would have turned out differently, and the magical world would have lost a lot in his face. And what would the half-breed Severus Snape gain if he found himself in the unattainable place in this best of all worlds of the exquisitely pure-blooded and wealthy Mr. James Potter? That's it.

For "not like the others, and wonderful in every way," Severus opened the way to an icy sweat that frightens and at the same time captivates Eternity, which is much more important than all worldly trifles. The teenager passionately wanted to know not so much the details of the realities of intimacy as ... the causes and consequences of a sickening, mysterious Muggle tragedy, reflected in the wrong version of personal Eternity.
This means that it is necessary to carefully rummage through all available sources of information, first of all, in silent righteous books. For some reason, television was now perceived as taboo. In general, hardly accessible Muggle newspapers are foolish to trust. They write that they have learned to fly without wings, to swim in the depths of the ocean like fish, but on earth they do not know how to live like a human being.

Luxurious libraries, muggle media strictly prohibited by the Ministry, board and lodging with true English unobtrusive, unobtrusive cordiality and hospitality were provided by fellow students, pure-blooded, remarkably wealthy associates, in the mansions of the parents. This friend, who keeps some archival secret, is a smart, gifted beyond measure student for some reason never returned to home sweet home during the holidays. My home is my fortress for any citizen of the ancestral land of Hope and Glory, blessed England! This unspoken law has been in effect in magical Britain since time immemorial.

On the trail of the "Baby", which destroyed the notorious Hiroshima, Severus went out so quickly that it was not even up to malice about the boy who found the machine gun. But what an unexpected - unexpected painful symbol, a blow to the very heart: "Trinity" turned out to be the first charge of good warmth. The Manhattan project was a success, in the name of ... them, alien, incomprehensible and unconditionally disgusting gods, who are delighted by a kind of nightmare. In view of this, they are forbidden from early childhood due to superhuman, immense bloodthirstiness and ruthlessness. Three bombs one after another changed the whole huge, vast world! Here is the Holy Trinity, and you will order her to pray? ..

What did the student of the illustrious Hogwarts not do to find a reasonable scientific justification, and to get rid once and for all of the suffocating, exhausting memories of the other world, of what awaits him there! But the Restricted Section itself was empty...
To put it plainly, the time has not yet come, and the Time-Turner is powerless in the face of the future.
It came for the overly stubborn Head of Slytherin only a year after the death of the one that everyone officially called Mrs. James Potter. The beginning of an era of inescapably painful withering of his first and last Love, Severus Snape. Eternal Love, I would like to say, if the very concept of Eternity were not so gloomy both for an innocent boy and for an adult, accomplished man of flesh and blood. But one thing is true - this Love has become the only one in his short life for a magician.
Oh, well, who would have doubted, the frightened Muggles sucked this theory out of their fingers with difficulty, mental heaviness and trepidation!
Right, judge for yourself, since there is information, it is a sin not to use it.

A certain Doomsday Machine, a mysterious device capable of destroying all life on Earth, possibly the planet itself. Incomprehensibly complex, even for a highly organized, but unprepared brain of a wizard, a dirty thermonuclear bomb. And it doesn't matter which superpower will launch the first sign of the Apocalypse, who will press the fabulous red button in a fit of blind rage and thirst for the destruction of all life! The main thing is the result! Contrary to all the wars that have been in the world, the winners will remain the losers, not the classic Roman "woe to the vanquished", etc ...
No no and one more time no! This has not been proven, it is absolutely incomprehensible, and in vainly detailed, large calculations, such an incredible assumption is not taken for granted. This is another nonsense, fake, Muggle scarecrow!

We all know how to speak beautifully, boldly denying inappropriate news. The wizard, especially valuable to both opposing camps, Severus Tobias Snape, was also able. But for the time being, for the time being. After all, to the aching pain in the heart, to the holding of breath, to the deathly, sucking emptiness in the chest, all this devilry and abnormal delirium of the fear-inflamed imagination of Muggle wise men is similar to that, their first, unique mortal dream! What are you going to write here?

You are alone, completely alone, under a faded blind sky, you are tormented by an unnatural arctic cold. The desolate land in the darkness of the Bible is buried under huge snowdrifts of greasy ash. This is nothing but the burnt to the ground flesh of all living beings, soulless plants, moreover, the sacred and inviolable civilization. It cannot be that this is a fair eternity! Who needs at least three times eternal existence in an abandoned, dead world, forgotten by everyone and everything?
You slowly, with incredible difficulty, pulling your legs out of the snowdrifts almost to your waist, move around - you practically crawl on your stomach through the ashes, not at all with diamonds, and all just so as not to freeze while standing. Suddenly, a bottomless pit appears ahead, a black hole in the earth mutilated to death. And from there, from its immeasurable depths, a faint, but still, all-penetrating call is heard. Song of Triumphant Death...

And what is this fire not far from the open omnivorous mouth?
If anyone miraculously survived on the surface of an icy planet, it was he who lit a fire that was saving in the cold, but in absolute darkness. Isn't the new Prometheus fiercely opposed to the will of the deities? ..
Step, crawl, fail again and again, but the main thing is that away from the Song, ringing like small mosquitoes, as beautiful as disgusting. For who, or rather, what are these singers?
Wander, crawl again through the ash-stained snow, running out of breath and exhausted, again and again ...
Such human music is already heard, echoes of civilization are heard in it - the crunching of a sparkling, unusually huge trunk and the whisper of the longest intricately curved branches, like hands, like hands ... When suddenly the fatal understanding blinds, that in fact ... burns in a miraculous smokeless flame he himself is thrice the greatest, not subject to either winds or time, Yggdrasil. This pre-eternal World Ash, which for the entire former life-bearing Eternity tightly bound the three worlds together, is dying before your eyes. In stupefaction from an unprecedented spectacle, hands drop. You are completely captured by the picture of the decay of the usual world order predicted by the harsh ancients. This is how the universe collapses without any hope of restoration.
You are powerless against evil of this magnitude. There are no more laws, there are no causes or effects, there is no first and last, upper and lower, nothing.
The remaining meager sparks of the former flame hiss on the snow untouched by it, you instantly find yourself again on the edge of the singing and calling abyss and ... spreading your arms in the last deadly flight, rush down to where everything is, to where everything is. Fly, fly, fly, fall like a stone, forgetting about your unique mental levitation abilities. To fly, behind the rumble of the wind in your ears, barely understanding how the wrong death cry picks up this Song of Songs of a new, literally, inhuman era, and winds in unison with the well-coordinated choir of the Underworld, the presence of which you have always rationally rejected ...

Partly from here is the ritual of going to bed and going to bed, otherwise ...
Insomnia torture is a well-known means of the Inquisition and modern intelligence agencies to deprive the victim of reason. A doomed sinner or a hard nut becomes soft, pliable, like wax, always ready to give the necessary testimony, and then ... into the furnace.

But it's not the Holy Inquisition, is it? Professor Snape, this two-faced spy, by definition, an unscrupulous and immoral type, built his whole life on indestructible principles, creeds, taboos, and the implementation of ordinary complexes.
This two-faced Janus decisively "became a slave to the laws in order to be free."
The highest prescription of Roman Law for the Potions Master was naturally chosen by him, a strong-willed person who repeatedly found himself in risky and life-threatening situations: "Power over yourself is the highest power."
For all that, the brilliant hypocrite has long since renounced the outdated, far from ridiculous in the light of unshakable historical facts theories about the superiority of blond beasts, Eurocentrism and other childish nonsense.
At the same time, he imperceptibly broke through the limits of lies acceptable for an ordinary gray everyman`a in the eyes of everyone and everyone except himself. Himself - the one and only, neither a bastard nor a saint, no matter how outrageous his daily behavior may seem to all the Chosen Ones there.

Over time, which brought ranks and titles, therefore, simultaneously with the opportunities that appeared, he developed a firm secret conviction that he needed to be outside the parties, not to climb into the powers that be. And all just so as not to turn into a fat, drunken pig in the barnyard. Although...
Professor Snape, sir, understood perfectly well that no matter how you play with words, in the real world of objective actions and material facts, sinners are not punished, and the righteous are not rewarded. Success comes to the strong, failure to the weak. That's all. It is clearer than clear that one must be, if not absolutely, then qualitatively strong. And he was it, not at all enjoying the gifts of invisible, hidden power. It was simply impossible to do otherwise - they would sweep it out of the way, tear it out and devour the insides alive, disgustedly discarding the tormented remains.

What was left after his departure from the world of the living, where he never returned, albeit to attend the funeral of his mother, forgiven a long time ago for her coldness and feigned arrogance? What is left of him in a small town on the banks of a river poisoned by waste from a factory with banks overgrown with withered, sparse grass?
Probably, invisible to anyone, the shadow of a shy, silent, big-eyed, smart boy beyond his years, who loved too much to think, but not to act. This ghost is so different from an adult double, fearlessly operating after a short reflection on a particular situation. And sometimes the required steps were taken without delay, as circumstances required, almost at random, on a whim.
For he, the adult Severus Snape, had nothing and no one to lose in this boring, tired sublunar world, which under no circumstances would turn over and disappear. After all, there is no one else to touch or squeeze your hand.

"According to your faith, let it be done to you," and he had no choice but to see clearly in time, like the blind Matthew. He found, presumably calculated for himself the right place and time to confidently go into oblivion, no matter how frightening it may be for his entire conscious life. He managed to overcome the panic horror before the nuclear winter for himself alone, through the life of a loner, and dissolve his soul into nowhere and nowhere. This is what it looked like to uninvited outsiders, with the exception of the omnipresent Mr. Potter. And yes, the dying secret agent generously brought invaluable and unappreciated benefits to many future generations, since it is not fate to be born to his one and only son, but healthy, strong and, of course, strong in mind ...

I remember very well the first time I heard Yegor Letov's songs. It was in the schoolyard and naturally not in his performance. Everything goes according to plan. I will hear this slogan hundreds of times later. It will be sung in a vile voice by my friends and unfamiliar people over a bottle of port. This song will be defiantly played by boys in tracksuits. There was such a time. My childhood was spent in porches and gateways. Do I regret it? What's the point of regretting what has already happened? There will never be another childhood. Just as there will be no more walls of entrances covered with inscriptions “Tsoi is alive!”, “ civil defense and Nirvana.
2

45

In the 2000s, all these clubs, tours, interviews in glossy magazines appeared, and the worst thing was that Letov began to play on the radio. A little more and he would become a regular participant in festivals like the Invasion. That is, he would come close to all Russian rock, from which he had been running all his life, but at the same time he was one of the most influential figures of this very Russian rock.
Igor Fedorovich died when I served in the army. I realized very clearly right away that there would be no more concerts, albums and interviews. There will be nothing else but some emptiness. He has remained some kind of legend from Siberia for me. A mystery that cannot be solved. A man who managed to combine protest, quotes from dozens of writers and a sound unlike anything in his songs. A sort of real rock and roll in the conditions of Soviet reality.
Those who played enough in all these teenage transitional ages now live in peace, including me. But then I remembered that Yegor Letov's birthday falls on September. He still didn't mark it, so I'll post it today. It makes no sense to be attached to the date. Yes, and it sounds in my headphones now "I'm sick of your logic ...". It's 2013 right around the corner...
P.S. I took absolutely all the photos from the guys here from