Українська версія

People who watch TV, will be always monitored by people, who read the books..


Here you will find a collection of works from authors worth knowing about..

Recommended :

Attention, special offer!

Hippie.. by Mike Novosad
Funny and sad
memories from the past
or how to become a Hippy…

Sent a telegram today
Tomorrow you’ll be on your way…
Life is about the people you meet…
I had a friend named Vintya.. He had a curious way of drinking wine. Once, in the courtyard of a church, which was behind the Polish school at the beginning of Zelena Street, we sat with him on the edge of the pavement (curb – for the communist from Moskov, Ivan Alexandrov). Being a young man, I drank my “half a bottle” (I already knew how to drink exactly one half in one gulp – I was fashionable)) …) and gave the bottle to him, my senior, with all due respect. His process took three stages with a common name – Epic movie – and each stage was announced. Content – a bit was poured out for those who are no longer with us; Introduction – the bottle was spinned in one hand to impart the centrifugal force; Part one – there was an interesting moment – the Adam’s apple went down and half of 0.75 was simply poured in, after which it returned back into place. Happy end…

Theater. Mike Novosad
Theater… or recollections of the past, both fun and not so much…
Blimey, it’s freezing outside!…
Confucius. 555 BC.
Life is about the people you meet…

– Myshko, your dad is a communist… and my father said that soon all the communists will be hanged..

Those were the words, with which Michael was met at the heater.

Those were the lines from a play called “The insolent” by Sholokhov and they were the first ones I heard after slightly opening the right rear doors to the auditorium. Olesya, the travesty actress, spoke the words so smoothly and convincingly that I thought: oh, I won’t get bored here..

That was true – it was the farthest thing from boring)) ..

First time..

Something always happens for the first time in life. The first time I went into this theater was while still learning at school. I even remember the performance – ” Gavroche of the Brest Fortress.” Actually, I haven’t seen much of that play. Me, Lanky and two girls found ourselves a cozy place / mini lobby on the left on the second floor, if facing the stage /. We had cigarettes, some topics for discussion – that is, everything that prompted school students for a bit of romantic seclusion.. I guess, something about that place got to me after all..

As I’ve already written in the previous book * I often change locations and gangs – he who can sit still is not me)).

At that time, the events unfolded at a playground in the courtyard of the Pioneer cinema. And so, once upon a time *, passing by the theater, I saw an open vacancy.. ” And why not?.” – I thought …

The gang “near the Pioneer” was maintained by Roma. A con artist with authority.

Professional gambler, that’s what he liked to call himself: “.. three escapes, eight terms, now even I am scared of myself”..

He spoke quickly and plenty – I was precipitated when he spoke gibberish. It looked like this – without stopping, with intonations and all facial expressions – an endless stream of nonexistent words. “Words” were rarely repeated, compositionally justified, and it all created an impression that a person was actually speaking in some kind of a living language. Roma used to say: “More than once, I had to wake up pretending to be a Tadzhik from a mountain village, who does not understand a word of Russian”..

What could combine the incompatible – a hippie with a man, whose authority was earned in prison? Noncomformism and the subconscious desire for Absolute Freedom.. He did not like power and I did not like power.. There is such an expression – “to be on the same wavelength” / frequency 432 Hz)) / **.

The eyes of the Wolf.. they catch the eye of their own kind.. Communists were destroying people like us..

When I said that I plan on working at a theater, the boys argued: “come on, you’re joking! There’s no one but fagots at theaters”.. To which Roma replied: “boy, don’t worry, that’s only fashionable among actors, and you are an artist. You have the fingers of either a pickpocket or a pianist, but in your heart you are an artist – and that is something clearly visible”..

M & M, or the Chronicles of seven perpendicular lines..

We present to you a book by Mike Novosad:
From the series “Classics of modern Ukrainian literature” …



Victor Andriyovych, a mighty Hetman, sat on a broken four-legged stool and was occupied with an importantly strained meditation…

The image of captain Rubtsov in a white, wide open admiral’s tunic with a shoulder belt skipped under the straps occasionally flared before his eyes.
Always galloping around, that State Security bastard, — the Hetman thought.

Rubtsov sat down opposite him and measured Victor with a glance, clapping the belt of the shoulder harness over his boot. Boots were put on bare legs and they glittered with a shined tarpaulin. The tunic was short and barely reached the wide and bright red boxers. The underwear was made of cotton woven weave and reached just above the knees. In front, there was an image of lenin and the waist was encircled with stylish sickles and hammers. The brown leather belt of the Red Army Junior Commander hung loose along his tunic.

The unbuttoned white tunic and jolly papery shorts with the playful lenin were in a piercing dissonance with a blank and glassy look of Rubtsov’s transparent eyes. He did not care – the captain drank two shots of vodka, took a draw at a cigarette, measured Victor with a vigilant, suspicious look and, once again, dissolved into the black soot from a blinking homemade oil lamp…

Before going for one of his occasional disappearances, the captain conveyed an invitation to Viktor. The Hetman immediately called it The Universal, then wrapped it in plastic and sewed it into his trunks.

– “If they catch and undress me during an interrogation, this will be the last bastion, an extra minute to think it all through… for making a final decision… purely from a practical point of view…”– Victor reasoned with himself about the Universal’s location.

The scantily lit basement where Victor spent the last four months had no windows and was illuminated only by the flickering of his own lamp.
The lamp was carved from a Pepsi tin can, a piece of lard and a toothpick and Mr. Hetman called it Svichado.
Svichado was a subject of extraordinary pride of Viktor Andriyovych and stood in front of a theatrical triple mirror, which, in turn, stood on an upturned barrel left after the Latvian sprats and it was used as a make-up table.

Not long ago, before immigrating to his trunks, the “invitation” lay next to the lamp. It looked quite unpretentious – an inscription written with a red marker: “agent number 141.”
Though, it was not just paper the invitation had been written on. It was a photocopy of the “Agent’s Oath of Allegiance.”On top of it, right in the middle was a signature stamp – “Organization,” below was an inscription in Aramaic – “The third priority of secrecy” and underneath that there was some text about the responsibility of an agent and his understanding of what might happen to him in the event if he doesn’t work for the received money. Then there was a signature of Victor Andriyovych.
The document was completed with a seal — with swords, compasses, and a pentagram.
“My grandfather told me: do not swear, for that is a sin… Oh well… – one more, one less…” – Victor explained everything to himself again.

So, Victor sat on the broken four-legged stool and then he heard voices. The stool stood just opposite the barrel, while Victor sat on it and, swaying, looking at his triple reflection in the theatrical trellis. He continued to meditate thoughtfully.
– “Donkey … no, wasp … green wasp … honey… wanker…” – the Hetman raised his eyes to the sooty ceiling for a moment and continued – “most illustrious … mace … horse …“— he was constructing an evolutionary chain no one but him could make sense of — ” tail …  scales …“ — and then, without disrupting his third day long meditation: 

– Iryna, call Peter.
– Vitya!!! …
– How dare you address a Hetman like that, scum?!!
– Victor!!!
– Still out of range? Any word from Andriyko?
– I saw him yesterday at Volodymyrskyi… where they’re selling lard…
– And? How was he? Speak!
– He told the old ladies that he’s a code-bound thief…
– Oh, that skunk… but why?
– He says that he will bring together the revolutionary youth and seize power… but the old ladies pity him and feed him a little… They say that Caucasians shouldn’t hear him or they’ll beat him up.
– That’s my boy, he’s quick-tempered… Did you feed the horse?
– Vitya!!! What horse?! You don’t have a horse!!!
– Woman, are you crazy?!! How can I not have a horse??! Do you understand what you’re saying?..
– Victor, you know what? Go to hell.

Iryna went to the door, looked at herself in a piece of a jagged mirror, which hung on two screws, straightened her hair, and once again looked at the hunched man sitting and staring at his triple reflection in the darkened mirror with a frown on his face. The reflection, in turn, frowned at him…
The man, not paying any attention to Iryna, was changing expressions on his face: “smart … / honest … / good … / brave …” Stopping with” flammeous and handsome”, he straightened his shoulders, corrected the invisible cuffs and added some hand gestures to the mimicry…
It was a very important speech and it looked like an invisible audience was in awe of what it was hearing… Iryna turned around and quietly left…

It was a warm, sweet morning outside. The breeze was pulling along all sorts of rubbish down the Andriyivskyi and suddenly Iryna felt as if a huge stone fell from her shoulders. She made a sign of the cross in front of St. Andrew’s Church, then spat on the facade of the newly built theater and went downhill. Stopping for a moment and making an obvious decision, she confidently moved toward the office of the “News. One” TV channel.

A very important speech came to a logical conclusion, the meeting with members of the Honorary Leaders Club of Eastern Europe ended with the signature of a Very Important Universal and Victor returned to the real world:
– “What, she left? Well, good riddance… I grew tired of her…”
Victor sat comfortably, propped up his temples with his index fingers and started speaking out loud:
– “What did captain Rubtsov say…?   Visit Goa … find Sasha Chaika there … that must by that of the prosecutor… Password” Pandora” … I will make it. But there is no money. Peter promised he’ll lend my twenty-four hryvnias, but now he won’t pick up the phone. Maybe I should call? No!!! It’s not worthy of a Hetman to call some lads… Iryna left too… But that’s not important… I’ll somehow get there. I have a sopilka – I will play in markets, in the courtyards – Ukrainians are good people and they will not let me fall into the abyss… I should get going…”
Victor crawled under the bed, pulled out a twisted old carpet and behind it – a large yellow suitcase. He pulled out a blue rubber heater, opened the lid, applied pressure and licked:
“Slightly smells like rubber, but it’s the real thing, acacia – just what I needed…”
After the heater, he got out two pieces of lard, which were cut into layers as thick as a couple of fingers.
“I’ll tie it to the back of my belt, a perfect fit – both unnoticeable and good for health. They say it’s good for radiculitis if applied to a naked body,”– Victor thought and placed the lard on an improvised table.
“I have to put my make-up on. I told Iryna that NABU is scouring the city. Not only did they take all of the money, they’ll put me in jail. And she also said that the second line of the prison of the future is almost ready. For now, many of those who were captured are still being kept in Lukyanivka, but some are already in the first new prison and some man named Rosenfeld is even acting as the main authority there. She said that they showed it on the TV… a luxury prison – separate rooms, a shower, the Internet… Though, a Hetman should not sit in prison, when there’s a world to be ruled”– Victor finished his thoughts and got up on his feet.

Stretching his arms upwards, as if going to jump from a springboard, Victor sat down on a stool again and began putting on his lilac “Falke – knee-high socks.” Then he fetched a plastic Silpomarket bag from the suitcase and in it found a pair of chequered black and blue Alexander Amosupants with golden fly buttons.
“Might need those, if things won’t go well,”– thought Victor and after another minute or two of being lost in deep thought, he pulled out three English pins from behind the glass and pinned them to his left pocket. He stood in front of a mirror and after seeing his feeble and thin legs, he frowned and thought with optimism:
– “Nothing to be worried about. I’ll get fit on the road. One way or another, lard will do the trick too… All chicks will be mine… and that one can go to hell!” …
“Damn, lard!!!”– Victor remembered and went through the suitcase once more, searching for the silk Cossack belt.
Before reaching the suitcase and gazing with disgust first at the floor and then at his Mongolian cashmere socks, he remembered how a neighbor in the village once yapped at his wife:
“A cow shitted at the doorstep. Why is the floor so dirty? Damn it, it was covered in shit!!!” …
Victor remembered the expression on the neighbors’ wife’s face. The full-fleshed women in an embroidered wide shirt and a chaplet with colored ribbons. He remembered the red boots on her feet and smiled meaningfully. Then he put on his pants and sat down on a small stool and started putting on his Sperry sneakers with a nice bright sea print and non-slip soles – “Razor Cut Wave Sipping.”

Having finished with this, he got another Silpobag and found in it a colorful kosovorotka and a black cap with a pinned rose.
“Nothing special,” – he thought, a little puzzled – “but it would be a shame to leave it all behind… And where is my backpack?.. ”
And then it dawned on him. He then produced a burgundy domino coat from the same suitcase with a deep hood and a beautiful white cord belt, which was run through loops with compasses embroidered in gold.
Victor bought the coat once, on occasion, at a sex shop in Poland, hoping that one day he would receive an invitation to the palace of Inna B. Żądz for one of her parties.
When buying the coat, he was terribly afraid. He was afraid of being seen. However, the beautiful Polish shop assistant did not recognize him and, after measuring his figure with a disinterested cold look, laid the bag on the lid.
“What a bitch, damn it,”– Victor almost swore then. Though, the thought of an international scandal kept him from saying those words on the tip of his tongue.
“Good thing I hadn’t had the time to order an embroidery of the fiery pentagram on that coat…”-the thought flashed through the mind of Mr. Hetman.

The door creaked and the enormous Raisa Maksymivna entered the room – the owner of the basement.
– Good afternoon, Mr. Victor.
– Oh! Good afternoon, good afternoon Raisa Maksymivna. I am so glad to see you.
– Going somewhere? I came for the money…
– Yes. I’ve been invited to the Eastern Partnership Forum. And then we’ll stop at the grave of Rakhilia Yosafativna to leave a flower tribute. I will return in three days.
– Yes, I see that you’ve prepared a Catholic coat. Good coat, that is. Not sure about the Forum, but perfect for laying flowers.
– Yes, this is an expensive coat. It was given to me at Jerusalem and it cost a lot of money… By the way, don’t worry about money, Irynka will come in two hours. She has the money. I’ll return soon – keep the apartment for us.
– Where is Mrs. Ira?
– She went to Volodymyrskyi for lard.
– Yes, lard in Volodymyrskyi is the best one in Kyiv… I saw your son there… Why do you need so much lard anyway? There it is– said Raisa Maksymivna and pointed with her eyes at the barrel from under sprat.
“That one’s not for eating – in two weeks we’ll have to go greasing Chumatsky’s carts… and lower backs too – they say it makes your legs slimmer…”
– You don’t say!.. I’ll slice a piece for myself then– and without waiting for an answer, Raisa snapped the Spanish knife and cut a good piece.
I hope you choke on it, you scoundrel– thought Victor, but said out loud:
Please, please dear Raisa Maksymivna.
Raisa placed the lard into her purse and lowered her voice, saying:
“Do not leave right after me. There’s a car waiting on the corner and three dudes nearby, smoking.”
– So what?
– Kateryna is in that car, that’s what.
– What Kateryna!!?– Victor choked on the word.
– The one that’s an agent. I recognized her. They say she is the Department Director now.
– Bah, I have no business with the Department. I am pure and noble.
– I said that… just in case… I wouldn’t want my money to go missing.

– Dear Raisa Maksymivna, they won’t. Irochka will come back and give them to you. Enire payment for two months. You know that I have never lied in my whole life. 

Raisa went to the door, turned her head and said in a quiet voice:
“Watch out, Vitya. Don’t make me go looking for you.”
Then, after spitting into a corner with pure delight, she decided that the arguments were ironclad and more than convincing and went out the door. On the street, she murmured – “damn deadbeat”– and moved around the corner of the Borychiv Tik Street…

Victor listened for a minute, then lowered his pants and took off the shirt. After placing what was left of the lard on his lower back, he tied it with a wide belt and, after placing a hot-water bottle filled with honey on his stomach, fastened the belt completely. He put on his pants and shirt again and glanced at the mirror:
– “MGB will not find it”– he said, pleased with himself.

He threw some things into a canvas bag along with a sopilka and carefully placed his cap with a rose on top…
He fetched a staff-cane from a corner, turned the handle and pulled. The cold steel of a stylet flashed in the twinkling of the oil lamp.
“Komsomol members don’t give up that easy”– he said gloomily and a bit awkwardly. 
Nevertheless, he managed to put back together the two parts of the cane.

Then he put on his coat and looked around, saying goodbye to the room where he had lived the last few months, which were far from his best ones…
He threw a hood over his head and put out the lamp, but after thinking it over he found it on the table and placed it in his coat pocket. Blindly finding his bag and cane, he went to the door. On the way, he hit his knee on the stool and went outside after spitting in the same corner as Raisa Maksymivna before him.
The bright sun unpleasantly affronted his eyes, which were unaccustomed to light. A coarse woolen coat belted with lace was also not entirely suitable for the weather…
“It’s fine, we’ll endure… we’ve been through worse…”

Victor walked with the sack in one hand and leaning on the cane with the other.
– “Oh, I should have taken Iryna along — she could have carried the backpack…”– thought Victor.
Passing by the building of the newly built theater, he made a sign of the cross three times near the facade and moved towards the Peizazhna Alley…

In eight hours, he was happily walking along the forest road somewhere in Vinnytsia region already, dreaming about Goa and quietly humming:

– “Cigarettes, vodka, godless girls …”

To be continued …

Трабл Shooter..

                       CHAPTER ONE


                                Заговори, щоб я тебе побачив..                                 

Недосконала за формою власності, молода відьма Юля Давайпоберемос вже другу годину поспіль крутила динаму на греблі Козловського озера.
День тихо та неквапливо відходив в минуле. Три мертві стрункі смереки, що стояли перед входом в павільйон ресторану, вже почали огортати перші сутінки. Коріння смерек підлили кислотою вже давно, але зрізати їх чомусь ніхто не спішив.
На воду поволі наповзав туман, а на ментальний стан відьми печаль. Суча китайська динама видно теж не була досконалою за змістом – бо, як Юля не крутила, а лампочки не світилися. Ні в підключеному до агрегату помаранчевому торшері, ні індикаторні – на менедж-консолі.
– Видно з тею автономією ніхрєна не вийде – подумала Юля і витерла лоба.
Озеро собі парувало. Білий – раса-кляса, померанський шпіц сидів позаду відьми на осиковій колоді і зневажливо розглядав недосконалий з усіх боків світ китайських генераторів. Юля  озирнулася безпомічно і присіла поруч тего пса. Пес був найвищого гатунку, тому сидів собі індиферентно.
На мертвій смереці радісно заверещала сорока. Через хвилю з клаптів туману з’явилась велика руда лисиця. Вона підійшла до води, окинула відьму оцінюючим недобрим поглядом і знову розчинилась в тумані.
Заморосив не по-осінньому теплий дощ. Надворі було 25 жовтня 22го року.
– Але то всьо схарило, вотетовотвсьо –  бовкнула невідомо кому Юля і підвелася на ноги..

Спустившись з узгір’я, він підійшов до краю прірви. Стояв і дивився на далекий ліс, що виднівся на тому боці широкої западини.
Була середина квітня. Надходив теплий сухий вечір. Було тихо. Тиша навколо стояла абсолютна –було чути шурхіт піску, що обсипався з-під туфель вниз по схилу урвища.. Ліс на тому боці котловини виглядав тонкою гранатовою смужкою..
Кілометрів п’ять – прикинув на око відстань до лісу.
Вся низина між ним і лісом була залита  незвичного відтінку туманом. Насиченого цикламенового кольору туман нашаровувався великими плямами  одна на одну і від краю до краю висів в повітрі без найменшого поруху. Сонце, що саме заходило, додавало його формам того, трохи пафосного, трохи спокійно-байдужого вигляду.
Десь метрів за двісті від краю урвища, туман прорізали крони декількох дерев. Чорно-сині, на вигляд ніби обгорілі гілки, виступали з застиглого цикламену. Вони теж були нерухомі. Як і все решта навколо..
– Воно того не варте – почув за спиною вкрадливий, виразний шепіт.
Не повертаючи голови, механічно прикривши долонею вогник запальнички, прикурив. Затягнувся, розглядаючи  відполіровані до блиску Moreschi. Туман вже почав  наповзати й на них. Оглянув схил. Декілька великих ясенів, повалених вітром, лежали наїжачені, вирваним з землі корінням. Лежали кронами вниз. Самі крони видно не було – вони були десь там нижче, під  клаптями туману.
Пісок на схилі обсипався нерівномірно, а подекуди – просто відвалювався великими брилами, залишаючи після цього високі і, ніби обтесані, рівні стіни, котрі вже починали заростати довірливою травою.
Знову перевів погляд на далекий ліс.
Трохи правіше від нього, майже посередині котловини, крізь туман проступали оголені обгорілі стіни якоїсь будівлі. Даху над стінами не було.
– Цікаво, що це – подумав – ще одна культова споруда? На пса їх тут стільки?..
Десь, з боку будівлі, про щось своє тривожне закричала невидима звідси велика птаха. Через пару секунд ще раз.
– А до Міста ще кілометрів п’ятсот, не менше.. – промовив сам до себе півголосом. Докурив і почав спускатися вниз.
Спустившись косогором – майже відразу наткнувся на

Attention, special offer!
We present to you a charity sale of works from…
"Guide for pregnant women". Olena Berezovska.
This book is aimed at helping you overcome your feelings, fears, worries, and calmly go through your pregnancy without loading your body with all of the unnecessary medicine, because pregnancy is not a disease. Allow those nine months of this unique journey bring you plenty of amazing, joyful discoveries of a new life conceived in your body. This is a miracle that must be cherished and kept safe, which is impossible to achieve in a state of fear. May no worries trouble your heart, while you’re waiting for a baby in your home! Let this difficult path end with the sound of cheerful, childish laughter in your life!
Such a “medical” setting has only one good reason – fear. Fear arises from ignorance, lack of experience, rumors and myths heard from friends, relatives, colleagues, acquaintances and medical staff, as well as on radio and television. The Internet is also filled with information, which is most often aimed at selling “miracle drugs,” because if you don’t find them and start using them, then nothing else will help you. Thus, people take the bait of numerous colorful advertisements, blindly believing in commercial tricks. However, it’s one thing to become a guinea pig and experience all the “miracle drugs” without being pregnant, and quite another to take them during pregnancy.
Pregnancy is not a disease, although it is accompanied by certain loads on the female body, ranging from physical to emotional, so it is not surprising that the norms typical for non-pregnant often cannot be considered norms for pregnant women. Therefore, it is precisely the lack of realization and knowledge about said difference that is the source of many erroneous diagnoses and prescriptions of unnecessary treatment.
In most countries of the world, doctors recommend taking 0.4 mg of folic acid per day for women with no history of pregnancies with neural tube defects and a number of other fetal deficiencies. As for the rest, including those taking anti-epileptic (anticonvulsant) drugs, anticancer drugs (for example, methotrexate), the dose of folic acid should be between 0.8 and 4 mg per day. Women who gave birth to children with neural tube defects (spina bifida, for example) or experienced fetal losses due to such deficiencies should also take a large dose (1-4 mg) of folic acid per day. Folic acid can be found in most pharmacies in the post-Soviet states, one tablet of which contains 1 mg. Erroneously, doctors say that a woman should take 4 tablets per day in order for the daily dose to total to 0.4 mg. If you take 4 tablets of 1 mg per day, the daily dose will be 4 mg, ten times the desired prophylactic dose.
I recommend that women should always check the dosage of the tablets and if the tablet’s dosage equals to 1 mg divide it in half and take half a day.
Pregnant women fear the “old placenta” like it’s fire, because they will be sent to the hospital, where they will be even more frightened by the possible loss of a child, lag in growth and development and, of course, more than one liter of physiological solutions will be introduced into the body of the woman along with other medicines. They will be “rejuvenating” the placenta! Perhaps many doctors don’t have the slightest idea that the “rejuvenation” of the placenta is a manifestation of ignorance.
Unfortunately, there are no universal drugs that could help treat the intrauterine growth restriction syndrome, since there are many causes of this problem, which is why the treatment is always individual. All that traditional arsenal, which is still used by doctors of the Soviet and post-Soviet schools (curantyl, сhophytol and many other drugs) is completely useless and is only a tribute to the old tradition, a manifestation of dogmatism. The less loaded with drugs a pregnant woman is, the safer it is for her and her baby.

Join the movement for unbreaking news