Posted 3 августа 2021, 07:03

Published 3 августа 2021, 07:03

Modified 25 декабря 2022, 20:57

Updated 25 декабря 2022, 20:57

The splendor and poverty of the court attendants

3 августа 2021, 07:03
Алина Витухновская
The mother of the "great" Russian conformist Tema Lebedev offered the Russians "Don't whine". And she said literally the following:

Alina Vitukhnovskaya, writer

“You are dying of heat - buy, drink, air conditioner.

You die of cold - buy, drink, heater..."

This very crude allusion to "If they have no bread, let them eat cakes", which at a certain historical moment became a marker of a predisposing state.

In this case, it is also a seal of a certain environment. That very part of the intelligentsia, who served the authorities all their lives, but at the same time failed to earn enough so as not to be forced to constantly emphasize their social "superiority". This kind of behavior is always a legacy of poverty. Only beggars strive to look "rich."

There is an Exquisite Snob and the Simplest Snob. The simplest Snob is always a neurotic philistine (the term "philistine" is devoid of any negative connotation here). Or rather, even to say - mowing under the bourgeoisie. For a proletarian-peasant (option - bureaucratic) upstart - even to be a philistine - is too transcendental.

This image perfectly illustrates, for example, the current Sobchak - no longer a glamorous diva and not a rEvolutionary, but a legalized agent of a female agitprop. If only to emphasize their otherness and "class" superiority. I remember how she burst out with a whole article that housing on the Patriarch's was not for her, but for the lower strata - that is, the elite, in her opinion, does not live like that.

In any civilized country for such an article, if not fired, then at least harshly criticized. This is not a moralistic claim, for her behavior is not immoral, but in the first place - defiantly stupid.

The local marginal “intellectual” elite looks just as stupid with their simplistic Nietzscheanism, accusations of “modern man” of total bankruptcy, unfounded pretensions to superhumanity and poorly concealed misanthropy. Being an outspoken misanthrope and engaging in political (near-political) activities is a deliberately losing move.

They hate people, but sitting in an ivory tower, they don't know people. They are trying to control the masses, to appeal to the masses, but they do not know the masses. That the glamorous divas of the official female agitprop, that the marginal femme fatale filled with mothballs rhetoric.

The same is observed among the bloody-soil jingoistic patriots, who are by no means alien to the elements of the sweet life. Therefore, Yegor Prosvirnin sips on the air an expensive whiskey with a war criminal and sadist Alexei Milchakov. And the loose Black Hundred man Yegor Kholmogorov begins to howl hysterically every time on Facebook when he runs out of money. At the same time, the main message of the systemic-patriotic barkers is something like - "Russians don't need money, we'll live by spirituality, we'll smell Crimea!"

To a large extent, the behavior of such people is dictated by the fact that they began their journey in the lackey's pyramid literally with scraps. What they really do not like to remember. It was a kind of moment of humiliating initiation - the transition from shameful poverty to relative prosperity, but with curtailed rights and imputed responsibilities.

There are two things that only a genius can afford - pretentiousness and vulgarity. Certain persons are characterized by flaunting names, quotations and outrageous pathos, a continuous high tone - there are an abundance of such here, especially in a certain environment. As well as among a part of the intelligentsia there is an abundance of bad-tasting poets rhyming banality after banality.

But in these cases it turns out like this - if you are not a genius, then most likely you are a freak. There is no third. No, of course, you can talk about some kind of intermediate type, a sort of middle peasant. But there is no niche for him in today's society. With a deep scoop, one could swing like a monkey on self-woven scrapbook vines and be "in status."

In this situation - the absence of a normal social hierarchy in general (however, as in the scoop, it is simply more obvious) - we may well consider a freak as a social status for a specific marginal category.

As for the domestic court servants, their fate has always been unenviable. In summer they were hampered by heat, mosquitoes and flies, in winter - cold, wind and snow. In spring - ticks, birds chirping and mud, in autumn - gray skies, rains and slippery leaves in the park. In the mountains, they did not have enough air, and in the depths of the sea they were hampered by the pressure of the water column, while ascending, a terrible decompression tore their lungs from the inside with foaming blood. But even when they got out on land, they inevitably realized that each of them was also pressed by a personal atmospheric column.

There was always someone wrong on this damn Internet. In historical literature, everything was upside down, because the heroes of previous works of art no longer inspired them. They stopped going to church so as not to see the priest arriving in the Gelenevagen. Vodka they often came across sometimes diluted, then poisoned. Not to mention the appetizer.

An unknown application suddenly appeared on the phone, recording all conversations in a hidden mode. In the morning, the laptop webcam spontaneously turned on and took pictures of them naked, unwashed and unkempt.

The coronavirus, although it was specially invented by the world behind the scenes to destroy them, made a simple trip to the store a whole test, about which one could even lay down a heroic saga. But they were already too lazy. Everything in this world was against them, absolutely everything.