We sat together with Fyodor Mikhailovich the other day and wrote this anachronistic banger. Great collaboration, that one — he ASMR’d it into my ear, almost gently, coarsely though.
VI
Oh, if only I did nothing purely out of laziness! God, how I’d respect myself then. I’d respect myself precisely because at least I’m capable of having laziness in me; at least there’d be one quality in me that seems positive, that I myself could be sure of. Question: who am I? Answer: an idler; now that would be pleasant to hear about myself. It means I’m positively defined, means there’s something to say about me. “An idler!” — that’s a title and calling, that’s a whole personal brand. No joke, it really is. Then I’d have my niche community by right and would occupy myself solely with continuously respecting myself. I knew a bloke who spent his whole life proud of his taste in craft IPAs. He considered this his positive virtue and never doubted himself. He died not just with a clear conscience but with a triumphant one, and he was absolutely right. And I would’ve chosen a personal brand for myself then: I’d be an idling alcoholic, but not a simple one — for example, one who appreciates everything based and meaningful. Fancy that, huh? It has been haunting me for ages. This “based and meaningful” really fucked me up at forty; but that’s at forty, whereas back then — oh, back then it would’ve been different! I would’ve immediately found myself the appropriate activity — namely: drinking to everything based and meaningful. I’d jump at every opportunity to first pour myself a drink, shed a tear into it, then down it to everything based and meaningful. I’d turn everything in the world into the based and meaningful; in the most disgusting, indisputable rubbish I’d find something based and meaningful. I’d become as weepy as a wet sponge. A based artist, for example, drops some work. Immediately I drink to the artist’s health, because I love everything based and meaningful. Some based writer posts a think piece about meaningful whatever. Immediately I drink to that “whatever”, because I love everything “based and meaningful”. I’d demand respect for this, I’d go after anyone who doesn’t show me respect. I’d live peacefully, die solemnly — now that’s lovely, absolutely lovely! And I would’ve grown myself such a beer belly then, constructed such a triple chin, developed such a red drinker’s nose that any passerby would say looking at me: “Now that’s a plus! Now that’s truly positive!” And say what you will, such recognition is pleasant to hear in our negative age, dear readers.