Текст песни пелевин - Поколение Пэ - три загадки иштар

Gireev lived in a rickety black house, in front of which was a feral garden, overgrown with tall umbrellas half human height. In terms of amenities, his dwelling was a transitional form between the village and the city: in the lavatory, through the hole, wet and slimy sewer pipes passing over the cesspool were visible, but where and where they led was unclear. However, the house had a gas stove and a telephone.
     Gireyev sat Tatar at a table on the veranda and poured coarsely ground powder from a red tin can with a white inscription in Estonian into a teapot.
     - What is it? asked Tatar.
     “Amanita,” Gireyev answered and poured boiling water into the kettle. The smell of mushroom soup spread throughout the room.
     “Are you going to drink this?”
     “Do not be afraid,” said Gireyev, “there are no brown ones.”
     He said it in a tone as if
     He removed all conceivable objections, and Tatar could not find what to answer. He hesitated for a minute, and then remembered that he had just read about fly agaric yesterday, and had overcome doubts. The fly agaric tea was quite pleasant.
     “And what will be of him?”
     “You will see for yourself,” Gireyev answered. - You will still dry them for the winter.
     - What to do now?
     “What do you want,” said Gireyev.
     - Can I speak?
     - Speak up.
     Half an hour passed for a meaningless conversation about mutual acquaintances. As expected, nothing interesting happened to any of them. Only one, Lesha Chikunov, distinguished himself - he drank several bottles of “Finland” and on a starry January night froze to death in a house on the playground.
     “He went to Valhalla,” Gireev commented sparingly.
     - Where such confidence? asked Tatarsky, but then he remembered the running deer and the crimson sun from the label and agreed inwardly.
     Meanwhile, some barely perceptible cheerful relaxation appeared in his body. Waves of a pleasant tremor appeared in the chest, passed along the body and arms and calmed down, barely reaching the fingers. But for some reason Tatar wanted this trembling to reach his fingers. He realized that he drank a little. But the kettle was already empty.
     - Is there some more? - he asked.
     “In,” said Gireyev, “of which I spoke.”
     He got up, left the room and returned with an open newspaper, on which dry pieces of chopped mushrooms were scattered. On some of them there were shreds of red skin with stretched white plaques, on others were adhering fibers of newsprint with mirror prints of letters.
     Throwing a few pieces in his mouth, Tatar chewed them and swallowed. Dried fly agaric mushrooms looked a bit like potato flakes, only tastier - Tatarsky thought that they could be sold as chips, in bags, and here, apparently, one of the roads to quick enrichment, a jeep, an advertising clip and a violent death hid. Thinking about what this clip might have been, he sent a new portion into his mouth and looked around. Some of the objects that decorated the room became visible to him only now. For example, a sheet of paper hanging on a wall in the most prominent place - it had a winding letter, either Sanskrit or Tibetan, similar to a dragon with a curved tail.
     - What is it? he asked Gireyev.
     Gireev squinted at the wall.
     “Hum,” he said.
     - What for?
     “I travel this way.”
     - Where? asked Tatar.
     Gireev shrugged.
     “It's hard to explain,” he said. - Hum. When you don’t think, much becomes clear.
     But Tatarsky already forgot about his question. A wave of gratitude swept over him to Gireyev for bringing him here.
     “You know,” he said, “I have a difficult period now.” I communicate mainly with bankers and advertisers. Download just lead. And you have here ... Just as I returned home.
     Gireyev, apparently, understood what was happening to him.
     “Nothing,” he said. - Never mind. A couple of such advertisers came to me in the winter. They wanted to expand consciousness. And then barefoot in the snow fled. By