Hunger for the Real

Listening to the same melody, different people envisioned different pictures of reality—the one they desired or the one they lacked. Some heard the music of rain and imagined it tapping on their windows, flowing down gutters, washing the world, erasing dirt and hostility, creating a new, clean, kind, and beautiful world—without wars, poverty, or epidemics. Without drought. And they saw this rain so vividly that they reached out to it, anticipating the sensation of drops falling on their palms.

Others imagined a different reality: they saw cutlets frying in a pan of sizzling oil. They saw the cutlets so clearly that they salivated in anticipation of dinner. For them, cutlets symbolized a world without hunger. A world in which they wanted to live, surrounded by care. And to be satiated.

A third group envisioned a picture of themselves in a shower, under a stream of warm water. And with them in the shower was a loved one, and to the sound of the water, they made love. These people most of all wanted to live in a world without ruin, to have a roof over their heads, to love and be loved.

But there was another category of people: they created music that simulated in the minds of those who listened to it the reality they dreamed of. The reality in which they wanted to live. These neuro-composers exploited the feelings, dreams, and emotions of people living in poverty, experiencing violence and hunger, suffering from epidemics and wars, drought, and a sick environment—a dying nature.

But the neuro-composers themselves also lived in the reality they saw under the sounds of digitized reality. It was a dead reality that could only create digital images and synthetic products—the virtual fruits of the digital reality.

In their reality, there was no love, but there was virtual sex. And even if it was real (in their perception), partners were replaced by androids.

And although the sight of their food excited all possible senses and receptors, the food itself had no real taste or smell. They only vainly tried to imagine the tastes and smells of food, deceiving their senses.

The safety of their fragile world was simulated by iron domes and other impenetrable shells. But they too were an illusion, their images generated by computer games with augmented reality.

But the paradox was that all these people lived in the same real world, in the same countries. They walked (if they could) along the streets of the same cities. The image of their real life (as they imagined it) differed little, regardless of social status.

The only difference was the music they listened to. The music that generated their reality. The very reality whose frames and boundaries were blurred so much that they could no longer distinguish reality from its sisters—virtual and augmented.

 

Auction

Preface

"Auction" was born in my comfort zone, and, as often happens, it was initially unfinished.

This also happened with my poems. Often, a quatrain would come to me before sleep. Not relying on memory, I'd write it down and go to bed. Waking up, I'd sit at my desk and transcribe the poems "born" during the night. This is how my poems came into being, which I started writing at the age of eight.

Having transitioned into a prose writer, I began to jot down the first sketches of future stories in the same way. Then, I would complete them as the muse visited me. By the way, I must tell you that it's not a woman at all. And, like my comfort zone, the muse has no clear shape. It's more of a process that can be called inspiration or desire. After all, when there's no desire, texts are not born.

The same thing happened with "Auction": during a rendezvous with the muse, I wrote down the idea and hoped to develop it later. But the muse left for a long time and only returned now, at the very moment of writing these lines, which my phone is recording and dating with precision down to the second.

In the past, during such moments of a museless state, I turned to the collective mind through social networks, asking my virtual friends and followers to give me ideas for continuing work on this or that text. (An interesting thought: what kind of world is this where friends have become virtual? That is, unreal. Just like money in the banking system. Why do we need friends we can't feel? Why do we need money we can't put in or take out of a wallet? Why do we need a virtual life when death, in essence, is also virtual - we don't feel it, we don't experience it?)

This time, I decided not to share my thoughts with virtual people. I shared them with a real virtual intelligence. With AI. ChatGPT. And it (she or he) was so kind as to give a new direction to my creative thought (I even borrowed one image and a couple of phrases from them (all three)). I really hope that the AI is not watching me and won't sue me for copyright infringement.

I must note that, despite the limitations of AI's creative abilities (as it seemed to me, in terms of abstract thinking), our tandem was a success. Although, of course, it's not for me to judge. But for you.

Auction

You probably know that at auctions you can buy works of art, antiques, ancient artifacts, items that belonged to celebrities...

But there's another kind of auction. It takes place in an underground hall, shrouded in twilight and filled with mysterious whispers. Here, they don't trade in jewels or works of art. At this auction, human character traits, fears, emotions, feelings, aspirations, desires, and passions are put up for sale.

The front of the hall is occupied by a mysterious figure in a mask, embodying the Keeper of the auction. Silver stars on her dress reflect the light, creating the illusion of a starry sky.

"Dear visitors, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the auction of your own qualities! Here you can acquire what often remains hidden from prying eyes, but is so important in our lives," the mysterious voice of the auction Keeper sounds.

The first lot is "Fearlessness." A brave young man appears, ready to give this quality to someone who truly needs it. The bidding begins, and the hall tensely follows each bid, as if it decides the bidders' own fates.

With the next lot - "Patience" - a calm woman rises. She is patiently ready to give this valuable resource to someone who is in search of inner harmony.

"Patience" is followed by "Creativity," "Compassion," "Courage," and other qualities.

Each lot carries a story and an opportunity for whoever decides to acquire it. The auction of human qualities is not only about trade, but also about exchange, enrichment, and transformation.

All human qualities, be it "Fearlessness," "Patience," or "Creativity," put up for auction, are not just a finished product. They are the potential for development and change.

When a quality is acquired, it can undergo adaptation and evolution depending on the buyer's personality. For example, if someone buys "Fearlessness," it may start manifesting in new, unexpected situations that previously might have caused fear.

These changes can adapt to individual characteristics: perhaps a person acquiring "Patience" would prefer its expression in calm situations, while another would prefer to use it in difficult moments.

Such an approach to the auction adds dynamism to the process and allows qualities to become part of the unique journey and story of each buyer.

The needs of buyers and sellers vary. Some sell what they have in abundance. Others buy what they already have, but they don't have enough of it. Still others fill in the gaps in their set of qualities. Or they do a "cleanse."

It happens that a person gets tired of themselves. Of who they are. And they are ready to get rid of a quality that hinders them.

For example, a person who is too kind. Who is ready to give their last to someone in need. And when excessive kindness harms its possessor. When they have nothing to buy food with, nothing to pay the bills with - this auction is exactly what they need. Because there will always be someone who lacks kindness.

The auction of human qualities involves different situations and rules. For example, some qualities may be rejected, like donor organs or cells. Or the "implanted" feeling or character trait may start evolving on its own. And if it's not too late, you can return to the auction and sell the product that didn't suit you. If, of course, you haven't spoiled it yourself. Although, the lots at this auction have guarantees and even expiration dates. The lots are even insured.

How can you spoil a quality? An emotion? An ability? How exactly can a person influence (spoil or improve) acquired qualities? Perhaps through their behavior, decisions, or even internal conflicts.

For example, if someone acquired "Compassion" but suffers from negative influences and decides to give in to anger, this can affect the manifestation of the acquired quality. To some extent, a person can spoil their qualities if they don't pay attention to them or allow actions that contradict these qualities.

The idea of a guarantee or expiration date for human qualities doesn't make sense, as human traits are not material goods. But not at our auction: here, there is a "warranty period" during which the acquired qualities are promised to manifest in a certain way.

The expiration date may depend on the complexity of the quality and the influence of external factors.

This auction allows participants not only to sell and buy but also to exchange their qualities. If they are of equal value. For example, a person who acquired "Creativity" later decides that "Compassion" is more important to them. Then they can try to exchange their qualities with someone else at the auction. This creates an interesting dynamic that allows a person to form their unique combination of qualities, corresponding to their changing needs and life circumstances.

Some avid auction-goers have built themselves into what they wanted, creating a unique set of effectively interacting qualities. Some became politicians, others - creators, some - tycoons, and others - destroyers of worlds.

And although our auction is fictional, fiction is a part of our real life. After all, people tend to desire change - both in society and their environment, as well as within themselves. Because by changing ourselves, we change our reality. Or, at least, our perception of it.

And what qualities of yours are you ready to put up for auction? What would you like to acquire?

 

Dec 29, 2023, original (Russian) version

The Keeper of Stories

On the corner of a bustling street, where life pulsed with energy, stood a billboard. Modest and inconspicuous, it was a silent witness to the changing eras and generations. For decades, it observed the city's transformation, the comings and goings of people.

Posters replaced one another on its surface, like pages in a history book. The vibrant colors of circus performances gave way to elegant announcements of theatrical productions. Notices of literary evenings stood side-by-side with rock concert posters. New names appeared and vanished, but the billboard remained, preserving the memory of each event.

It remembered the arrival of the first cinemas in the city, the changing fashions, the birth and death of musical styles. It witnessed joy and sorrow, encounters and farewells. Every poster, every announcement left its mark on the billboard, weaving into its own story.

One evening, at dusk, an elderly woman approached the billboard. Her eyes were filled with sadness, her steps slow. She stopped in front of a poster for an old theater and ran her hand over the faded letters. The billboard seemed to sense her pain.

Many years ago, on this very spot, the woman had seen a poster for a play that changed her life. There, she met her first love, the man with whom she shared many happy years. But time is relentless, and he was no longer by her side.

The billboard silently listened to her quiet whispers, filled with memories. It saw tears rolling down the woman's cheeks, and its heart ached with empathy. In that moment, the billboard realized that it wasn't just a keeper of the city's history, it was a keeper of human destinies, feelings, and emotions.

Every poster, every announcement wasn't just information, it was a part of someone's life, someone's story of love, joy, or sorrow. And the billboard carefully preserved these stories, like precious gems, passing them down from generation to generation.

From then on, the billboard became even more attentive to the people who stopped by. It tried to sense their moods, their emotions, to offer support or comfort if needed. And every time someone smiled while looking at a poster, the billboard rejoiced with them, knowing it had become a part of another beautiful story.

 

The Time-Traveling Shower

An old house held many secrets, but the most astonishing was the shower stall on the second floor. Seemingly ordinary, it possessed an incredible ability - to travel through time.

Every evening, before bed, the house's resident would step into the shower. The warm water washed away not only dirt and fatigue, but the entire day that had passed. With the last drops cascading down their body, they felt time shift around them, propelling them into the future.

It was their secret journey, their personal time machine. They could choose how far to leap - a few hours to prepare for an important event, or entire days to avoid unpleasantness.

But one evening, they decided to skip their nightly shower. Engrossed in work, they forgot about their unusual ability. The next morning, they awoke to the same day as yesterday. The clock displayed the same time, the news repeated itself, and people behaved as if nothing had changed.

They realized they were stuck in time. Attempts to leave the house were futile; the door wouldn't open. The phone was dead, the windows sealed shut. They were a prisoner of their own past, trapped in a day that looped endlessly.

In desperation, they rushed to the shower. They stood for a long time under the spray, praying for time to move again. Finally, they felt the familiar sensation - time around them shuddered and lurched forward.

They emerged from the shower, shivering from both cold and relief. They were back in the future, but now they understood the cost of their gift. The shower wasn't just a time machine; it was a connection to the flow of life, a reminder that each day must be lived fully in order to move on.

From then on, they never missed their evening shower. They learned to appreciate every moment, knowing that time is the most precious gift, and their shower the only way to travel through it.

29.08.2024

 

The Cure for Immortality

They lived long. Longer than the biblical patriarchs. Many of them didn't even remember when they were born.

On their planet, Hastalavista, there existed day and night, but everything was reversed: first came light, then darkness. Time flowed backward. The year didn't end with winter, but rather began with it. The count of days in a month didn't start from the 1st, but from the 30th or 31st, and the days in a year - from the 365th to the 1st. The calendar began at the end, the beginning of which few remembered.

It wasn't plants that grew from seeds, but seeds from plants and their fruits. And it wasn't hens that laid eggs, but rather they themselves hatched from eggs.

Men gave birth to children, and women provided for their families. The inhabitants of Hastalavista were born into the world already adults, possessing all the necessary knowledge and skills.

If an earthling were to land on this planet, all of this would seem strange to him. But to the inhabitants of this planet, their entire way of life seemed logical, for they knew no other. At the same time, it was devoid of meaning.

Everything on this planet existed on the principle of "backward." Even the inhabitants of this unusual planet dressed according to this principle. And they walked the same way, as if everyone were crabs.

They read books and newspapers from the end, starting with the bottom line. They watched TV shows from the end to the beginning. That's how they lived.

Despite the relative well-being and abundance of food, water, and minerals, the constant population growth (mortality didn't exist on this planet) forced them from time to time to study other planets in their solar system for suitability for eternal life. Knowing that their lives were eternal, the inhabitants of the planet were never in a hurry. They were despondent, for they knew that what was yesterday would be tomorrow as well. After all, their life was eternal, and they knew no other.

They also didn't know love. Another reason for despondency. (Although they didn't even know they were despondent, for they knew no other state of mind).

On one of the expeditions, the ship named Hastalavista, which had been plowing through the Universe for quite a long time and without results, stumbled upon a galaxy called the Milky Way. Without much thought, the captain of the ship decided to dock on Earth.

Earthlings, who had been waiting for a long time for confirmation that intelligent beings lived in the vastness of the Universe, gladly welcomed the guests, who turned out to be completely non-aggressive.

Exploring the Earth and its inhabitants, much seemed strange to the alien guests: the passage of time, the fact that on Earth women give birth to children, and much more. But most of all, they were struck by Love and the absence of despondency among earthlings, despite the fact that they were mortal.

Studying the level of scientific development on Earth, the inhabitants of Hastalavista became acquainted with the developments of earthlings in the field of life extension and the creation of a medicine for longevity. And when they realized that there was a direct connection between Love and death, they understood that eternal life without Love is simply biological existence.

In the process of gathering information for further research, the alien scientists happened to attend a funeral. It was there, strangely enough, that they understood that Love is eternal, even if the loved one has passed away, and the loving one is left alone. No, not alone - with him remained the Love for the departed - in the hearts of many people - and the fond memory of him.

Thanking the earthlings for their warm welcome, the scientists from Hastalavista offered to reveal to them the secret of immortality. But, realizing what torment immortality could become, most earthlings refused such a gift.

Returning home, the members of the expedition told their fellow tribesmen about all their findings.

After that, the inhabitants of the planet of Immortality decided to engage in the development of a cure for immortality. Perhaps, in this way, they would rise from despondency, experience Love, and their lives would gain meaning.

 

Dialogue with Death

Death was born incorporeal, a kind of soul without a shell - by the Creator's design, or perhaps his mistake. And like a fallen angel, this soul had to kill to acquire temporary shelters - bodies.

The choice was limitless: it could be anyone and anytime. Like a woman who changes outfits several times a day. However, it's not a fact that Death was a woman. And certainly not a banal old woman with a scythe.

Imagine: under the guise of a young beauty, she takes the life of a rich man at the moment of his highest bliss. A beautiful death! The girl did her job, maybe even enjoyed it. And if not, well, the job is done. Onward, to a new body, a new image.

One shouldn't blame Death for mass deaths due to wars, epidemics, or disasters. That's the Creator's domain. Death is merely his servant, occupied with trifles.

Although sometimes he went beyond the scope. Perhaps, taking revenge on the Creator for his unfortunate birth. When the Creator slept, Death, with the assistance of the devil, arranged bloodbaths. At least some entertainment, compensation for moral damage.

If you realize that Death is always near, in any of us - in the body of a pretty neighbor or an old baker - you can try to talk to it. And if such a dialogue took place, it might look like this.

A young man sits in a bar, contemplating the Eternal over a mug of ale. A mysterious stranger sits down next to him and, to strike up a conversation, orders him a double whiskey. The young man doesn't refuse, because he doesn't know who he's dealing with. The evening promises to be interesting.

The stranger, as if reading his thoughts, asks: "What do you know about Death?"

- It's the end of life. Or do you think otherwise?

- The end is always a beginning. Is that bad?

- And what's good about death?

- It's a solution to many problems. For example, a person who is sick for a long time and suffers. He desires death and prays for it. And then, one day...

- There's little beauty in that. Especially since, when dying, a person is afraid of loneliness. In illness, he was not alone.

- Could you befriend death?

- If it had a human form. Although, what's the use of friendship with death? Can it be trusted, like a friend?

- And do you trust life?

- Good question. It often lets me down. It's easier for me to explain my failures that way.

- So maybe the idea of friendship with death isn't so bad?

- You ask so many questions about death. And what do you know about life?

- They are both on duty. Each has its own time, its own shift. Although it would be wrong to assume that they have a clear schedule. After all, sometimes people die during the day.

- So, life is on schedule?

- You could say that. By the way, what do you think, is death a woman?

- Possibly. Like life.

- Did you just imagine an old woman with a scythe?

- As if you read my thoughts. But you know, if it's a woman, it's better if she looks like you.

- I like the way you think. More whiskey?

- Yes, of course. And why aren't you drinking? Afraid of losing control?

- Could you fall in love with me?

- I'm sobering up. Maybe something's wrong with the whiskey? Are you looking for love?

- Everyone is looking for it. I'm afraid of loneliness, are you?

- Are you afraid of death?

- Rather, life. It has a strange schedule. Unpredictable. It seems a person is already dying - the job is done. But he starts clinging to life, and it fights for him. If I were death, I would start to get jealous. Because life is love.

- And could you fall in love with me?

- You're cute. But that's not enough. Maybe I need more time to understand you.

- Now it's my treat. Waiter, two double whiskeys! By the way, you're a mystery to me. You're like you can read my thoughts.

- Are you talking about the whiskey?

- Don't joke with me. You know what I'm talking about.

- Perhaps, yes. We are somewhat alike.

- Are you... are you Death?

- What do you think?

The young man gazes into the stranger's eyes, trying to find the answer. But he sees only his own anxiety, reflected in her dark pupils.

Диалог со Смертью

Смерть родилась бестелесной. Неучтённая переменная, системный сбой в архитектуре Творца. У неё не было собственной оболочки, поэтому ей приходилось воровать чужие. Чтобы обрести временное пристанище, она должна была убивать. Смерть меняла тела так же легко, как светская львица меняет наряды.

Забудьте про банальную старуху с косой. Представьте фантастическую молодую красавицу, под которой в момент наивысшего экстаза умирает богач. Идеальный финал. Она сделала своё дело, возможно, даже успела получить физическое удовольствие, а затем просто перешагнула в новую плоть.

Глупо винить Смерть в войнах, эпидемиях и глобальных катаклизмах. Массовые зачистки — это юрисдикция Творца. Смерть работает в розницу, её удел — ювелирные мелочи. Лишь изредка она выходит за рамки. Когда Творец засыпает, Смерть от глухой обиды на своё ущербное рождение может в сговоре с дьяволом устроить кровавую баню. Просто ради развлечения. Как скромную компенсацию за моральный ущерб.

Она всегда рядом. В теле старого пекаря, уставшего клерка или смазливой соседки. И если бы кому-то выпал шанс с ней заговорить, этот диалог начался бы совершенно обыденно.

Полупустой бар. Молодой человек сидит за стойкой, цедя эль и размышляя о Вечном. К нему подсаживается загадочная незнакомка. Чтобы сократить дистанцию, она заказывает ему двойной виски. Он не отказывается. Вечер перестает быть томным.

Смерть всегда рядом. И если бы кому-то выпал шанс с ней заговорить, этот диалог начался бы совершенно обыденно.

Незнакомка поворачивает голову и, словно продолжая его внутренний монолог, спрашивает:

— Что ты знаешь о смерти?

— Это конец жизни, — пожимает плечами он. — Или у тебя другие данные?

— Конец — это всегда начало. Разве это так плохо?

— А что в ней хорошего? Это финал для больного человека, который долго страдал и молил о ней, да. Но радости в этом мало. Умирая, человек боится одиночества. Пока он болел, рядом кто-то был. В смерть он уходит один.

— Ты бы мог подружиться со смертью? — она чуть прищуривается.

— Если бы она выглядела как человек. Но какой в этом прок? Разве ей можно доверять?

— А жизни ты доверяешь?

Он усмехается, глядя в стакан: — Хороший удар. Жизнь меня часто подводит. Хотя, возможно, мне просто удобно списывать на неё свои неудачи.

— Так, может, дружба со смертью — не худшая идея?

— Ты задаёшь слишком много вопросов о смерти. А сама-то что знаешь о жизни?

— Они обе дежурные, — спокойно отвечает она. — У каждой своя вахта. Но графики плавающие. Люди умирают и ясным днём.

— Выходит, жизнь работает по расписанию?

— Можно сказать и так. Как думаешь, смерть — это женщина?

— Возможно. Как и жизнь.

— Небось, представил себе дряхлую старуху с косой?

— Словно мысли читаешь. Но если уж она женщина, то пусть лучше выглядит как ты.

— Мне нравится ход твоих мыслей. Ещё виски?

— Да, давай. А сама почему не пьёшь? Боишься потерять контроль?

Она игнорирует вопрос, подаваясь чуть ближе: — Ты бы смог влюбиться в меня?

Он отодвигает пустой стакан. — Что-то я резко трезвею. Ты ищешь любви?

— Все её ищут. Я боюсь одиночества. А ты?

— Ты боишься смерти? — парирует он.

— Скорее, жизни. У неё абсолютно непредсказуемый график. Кажется, человек уже умирает, моё... то есть, дело сделано. А он вдруг цепляется за край, и жизнь начинает за него драться. Будь я смертью, я бы ревновала. Жизнь — это и есть любовь.

— А сама-то ты смогла бы влюбиться в меня? — задаёт он встречный вопрос.

— Ты симпатичный. Но этого мало. Мне нужно больше времени, чтобы тебя понять.

— Теперь угощаю я. Официант, два двойных! — он поворачивается к ней. — Ты для меня загадка. Будто мысли читаешь.

— Ты про виски?

— Не притворяйся. Ты прекрасно понимаешь, о чём я.

— Пожалуй, да. Мы в чём-то похожи.

Он замирает, вглядываясь в её лицо. — Ты... ты и есть Смерть?

— А ты как думаешь?

Момент истины в полумраке бара

В её тёмных зрачках нет ни насмешки, ни фальши. Только абсолютная, ледяная уверенность.

Молодой человек машинально касается груди — там, во внутреннем кармане куртки, привычно оттягивает ткань тяжёлая рукоять пистолета. 

И в эту секунду до него доходит смысл её слов о сходстве. Дёргаться за оружием бессмысленно: глупо угрожать Смерти её же ремеслом. Он медленно убирает руку от кармана и усмехается одними губами.

— Что ж, логично, — ровным голосом произносит он. — Тогда ответь только на один вопрос. За кем ты сегодня пришла? За моей целью или за мной?

Дёргаться за оружием бессмысленно: глупо угрожать Смерти её же ремеслом.

23.03.2019

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Under the Cover of Night, or Tango for Two

Chapter 1: The Risky Report

Paris. The city of lights, love, and... hidden desires. In one of its most vibrant cafes, the young journalist Amelie Dubois prepared for the most unusual report of her career.

Amelie was known for her bold articles that shed light on the most unexpected aspects of life. This time, she was to immerse herself in the world of prostitution, not as an outside observer, but as a participant in the events.

Her editor, of course, was unaware of Amelie's methods, but her articles were always top-notch, and he trusted her.

"Amelie, my dear," he said, adjusting his glasses on his nose, "I'm counting on you. This report needs to be sensational!"

"Don't doubt it, Monsieur Duval," Amelie replied with a sly smile. "I'll get you the truth, no matter how piquant it may be."

Amelie, in turn, believed that only in this way could she convey the truth to her readers, show them life "from the inside."

Chapter 2: A Blind Date

A pimp, an old acquaintance of Amelie's, arranged a meeting for her with a client.

"Don't let me down, baby," he rasped, winking at Amelie. "This client is the epitome of gallantry."

When Amelie entered the room, her heart beat faster. The client was young, attractive, and clearly interested.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said with a slight bow. "You look delightful."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Amelie replied, trying to hide her excitement.

But instead of getting straight to the point, he offered her... a dance.

"Allow me to invite you to a dance before we... get to the essence," he said with a smile, extending his hand to her.

Amelie laughed, intrigued.

They spent the whole night dancing to the sounds of an old gramophone, discussing literature, politics, and art. In the dim light of the room, their laughter mingled with the music, creating an atmosphere of lightness and trust.

Chapter 3: A Morning of Revelations

When the first rays of sun broke through the curtains, they saw each other's faces. Amelie recognized her client as the same strange man who had been watching her in the strip bar and taking notes in a notebook.

"You?!" they exclaimed simultaneously, laughing.

"So that's why you were always writing something in your notebook!" Amelie exclaimed. "I thought you were writing poems inspired by my dance!"

"And I thought you just liked dancing with strangers in an unusual setting," Pierre retorted.

Over a cup of coffee, they opened up to each other. Amelie talked about her work, her methods. The man, who introduced himself as Pierre Leblanc, confessed that he was a psychology professor studying the behavior of women in the sex industry.

"So, we were both pretending a little," Amelie concluded with a smile.

Chapter 4: Tango of Feelings

Despite the unusual circumstances of their meeting, a spark ignited between Amelie and Pierre. They started dating, discussing their research, their fears, and dreams.

Pierre admired Amelie's courage, and she admired his romanticism.

They walked through the night streets of Paris, danced under streetlights, kissed on bridges over the Seine. Their love was as unexpected and passionate as their first encounter.

Epilogue

Years later, Amelie published a book about her investigation, which became a bestseller.

"This book is not just about prostitution," she said at the presentation. "It's about love that can be born in the most unexpected places."

She continued to write about social issues, helping people understand and accept themselves and the world around them. And in her heart, there was always a place for Pierre, the man who taught her to dance under the cover of night and love with all her heart.

 

The New Prism: A Story of an Ordinary Man

Once upon a time, there was a man, unremarkable among others. He didn't love himself, unaware that it was both possible and necessary. Lacking firm beliefs and knowledge, he couldn't consider himself a complete individual. He wasn't bad, but his lack of willpower prevented him from taking decisive action. Though he could help an old lady cross the street or rescue a kitten from a tree, he lacked the courage to do something for himself.

For that, he needed convictions, which he didn't have. Being relatively young, he easily succumbed to influence, bought advertised goods, voted like the majority, and read popular books without thinking about their value. He had no personal view of the world. He considered only physical organs important, not understanding the role of beliefs in interpreting life events.

He didn't realize that a person can't live without beliefs, that a person with common sense and critical thinking wouldn't want to. But our hero was no different from others who didn't think so.

He didn't understand that he had to consciously decide that he needed beliefs and choose those that would work for him, like a lens through which he would view the world. He didn't even imagine that he had unlimited choices in this regard.

He lived by the principle of "what was, will be," existing in a kind of "Matrix" where it was simple and comfortable, and there was no need to make difficult decisions. He didn't consider himself capable of managing his past experiences.

One day, he fell seriously ill. The doctors gave him a choice: a complex operation with subsequent disability or death. For the first time in his life, he experienced fear - not of the illness, but of the need to choose.

The doctors hospitalized him, preparing him for surgery. In the preoperative ward, he met an old man who seemed to have lived a long and fulfilling life.

Curiosity overcame fear. "What brought you here?" he asked the old man. "I'm afraid of death," the young man confessed. The old man smiled: "Although death is inevitable, it seems your time hasn't come yet. But if you believe otherwise, so be it."

The young man was intrigued. He felt that the old man knew more than he was saying. "What do you know about life and death?" he asked. "About death - not much, because it hasn't come for me yet. But I have a firm view on life. If you'd like, I'll share my beliefs."

"Beliefs? What are those? What do you believe in?" the young man was puzzled.

"For example, that in order to live, you need to free yourself from the past and limitations. Change your thoughts and beliefs, and you'll change everything around you."

"Everything?!" exclaimed the young man.

"Yes, everything you have left - your present and future."

"But aren't they predetermined?"

"Perhaps, if you believe that."

"So, I also have beliefs?"

"Of course. Like everyone else. But the future isn't predetermined. You create your own reality with your thoughts and beliefs. Your possible futures - and there are thousands of them - are shaped by what you believe in today." The old man yawned. "Forgive me if I've tired you. You probably need to rest," he said, turning on his side.

"Wait! I have one more question," the young man tried to stop him, but the old man was already asleep.

The conversation took place late in the evening, and our hero was left alone, pondering the old man's words. One night remained before the operation, and he couldn't sleep. For the first time in his life, he seriously thought about the past, present, future, beliefs, life, and death.

In the morning, after a few hours of restless sleep, he greeted his neighbor, but there was no response. Going for breakfast, he hoped the old man was just asleep.

Returning, he realized the old man had died. The questions remained unanswered, and the young man felt lost. Suddenly, he noticed a notebook peeking out from under the pillow. He opened it and saw pages filled with neat handwriting. They described a system - simple and fascinating.

He began to read eagerly, as if quenching a long-standing thirst for knowledge. The notebook opened his eyes to obvious truths, presenting the world in a completely different light.

As he read, new questions arose, which he had to answer himself. For the first time in his life, he thought about how to change the future. The notebook taught that the present is the soil on which the future grows.

It dawned on him: the future already exists within him; he himself carries his destiny. By changing his thoughts and beliefs, he would change the future.

With each page, he realized the power of his own beliefs. By changing his limiting beliefs, he could create new ones that would lead him up the ladder of life. Beliefs are a tool that allows you to achieve any goal. Life is much richer and more multifaceted than his previous dull existence.

He understood that there is no predestination, only he decides what his present and future will be. The system from the notebook gave him the opportunity to manage his life, experience happiness, and become its creator.

The notebook described three main methods that needed to be applied together. Of course, one could start with one or two, but eventually, all three would become an integral part of his new life.

Method one: Rethinking the past

There's no point in wasting time digging into the past, trying to understand where the limiting beliefs came from. Why stir up the past if it will only reinforce old negative attitudes?

With anxiety, he realized that his consumer habits had formed against his will. He was just going with the flow. For the first time in his life, he understood that one could live differently.

Reflecting on the past, he saw that it was distorted by his own perception. If he continued to analyze the past from the same perspective, he would only strengthen his limiting beliefs.

He realized that many of his failures were related to fear and embarrassment caused by past events. This led to a loss of faith in himself.

But he also remembered his aspirations and ambitions, his athletic successes, and the melody that led him to victories. These memories shook him. He remembered that he knew how to win. And since he had succeeded once, he was capable of a new victory - a victory over his illness.

From the old man's manuscript, he learned that to change beliefs, one needs to learn to see the world differently. Instead of dwelling on failures, one needs to look for moments of strength and success in one's history.

The further he read, the clearer it became: if one honestly looks at the past, one can find a lot of evidence of one's strength and abilities. It's important to look for them with the mindset of "I can." We perceive the world subjectively, and it's up to us to decide what to focus on.

He understood: to break the vicious cycle of negativity, one needs to reconsider their past and find hidden resources and achievements in it. Use one's experience as a source of inspiration. Rewrite one's story, remember one's victories, and let them become fuel for new achievements. It's like finding a treasure he never even dreamed of.

The notebook clearly stated: whatever goals you set for yourself, there are surely moments in your past when you've already demonstrated the qualities needed to achieve them. Just change your perspective, and you'll see them.

The Power of the Present

The young man put the notebook down. The new information overwhelmed him. His head was bursting with thoughts, his brain working at its limit. After drinking a glass of water, he returned to the notebook and saw the next subheading: "The Power of the Present: The Key to Rethinking the Past and Future."

The main message was: "Realize that your most powerful tool is the present." All your thoughts about the past and dreams about the future exist only here and now. Every action you take, every decision, every change happens in the present moment. That's why a conscious choice in the present has incredible power - it can reshape the fabric of your past and create a new future.

As an illustration, the old man told a story titled:

"The Mirror of Perception"

It told the story of a woman named Anna, who always considered herself kind, but, fixated on her mistakes, began to doubt it. She became withdrawn and aloof, but, remembering her kindness, she was able to change her perception and regain the joy of life.

The young man interrupted his reading. The new information overwhelmed him. His head was bursting with thoughts, his brain working at its limit. After drinking a glass of water, he returned to the notebook and saw the heading with the name of the next method:

"Anchoring new beliefs "

The old man compared this process to learning a foreign language. To speak fluently, you need to constantly practice, repeating new words and grammatical constructions. The same happens with new beliefs. Repetition plays a key role in their consolidation. You need to devote 5-10 minutes each day to focused work on one statement, feel it, visualize it, not allowing your thoughts to wander. Repeated repetition activates neural connections in the brain.

After the exercise, you need to let go of this thought until the next day. The present is used to instill new beliefs in the mind, which will then naturally manifest in life.

It's important to experiment with the wording of the statement until you find one that resonates. You may notice quick results, but don't stop there. For the new belief to firmly take hold, you need to continue the practice for at least 60-90 days.

This concluded the theoretical part of the old man's teachings. The next chapter was titled:

"Action"

The sooner you start acting in accordance with your new beliefs, the better. Otherwise, you won't gain trust in them and in the possibility of effectively using the present. If you're poor and want to have more money, and for this, you need to form a belief in abundance within yourself, while you still continue to face need, start demonstrating abundance. Take some symbolic action that shows you're changing. Or donate some money to charity. Treat yourself to something: good food, a new piece of clothing, a small gift.

Or, if you lack self-confidence, start by rebuilding your past, searching for and finding past examples of confidence, and focus on them daily. This way, you'll imprint new beliefs in yourself that will support your sense of confidence, and then finally, you'll start acting as if this belief is true. Bring action into your formula.

No matter how small or insignificant the specific action taken may seem, it's actually a huge step. In essence, it's a manifestation of this belief in external reality.

When you respond to your new beliefs in this way, you send a signal to your subconscious that new facts are coming into play, that you want to change, that you're participating in this process, and that it's all actually happening.

The initiative should come from you. Challenge yourself to find a way to demonstrate that you're truly changing reality.

Suddenly, he realized that he didn't have to choose between surgery with disability and death. That there could be a third, or maybe even a fourth option.

Thinking about this, the young man realized that he had acquired a new prism. Passing through it, the sun's rays refract, creating many new options - roads that we choose. And we make the choice ourselves.

Driven by this thought, he went to the head physician and asked: "How long do I have to live if I refuse the operation?" The head physician replied: "Six months. No more."

This information didn't unsettle the hero. The new belief instilled hope in him. Nevertheless, he was tormented by doubts, which he didn't have in the past. They occupied all his thoughts as he returned to the ward.

Entering the ward, he saw that the old man's bed was empty. For a moment, he was overcome by a sense of loneliness and fear - remnants of old beliefs, refractions of the old prism. He sat on the floor, took the notebook, and saw the phrase "To be continued" on the back cover. He felt like a character in a TV series that ends with this familiar phrase. But the new belief told him that the continuation existed; he just had to gather his thoughts and look around.

At that moment, he saw another notebook under the old man's bed. He pulled it out and opened it to the first page. The heading read: "How to Heal Yourself from Any Ailment."

Голод по настоящему

Слушая одну и ту же мелодию, разные люди представляли себе разные картины реальности — той, которую хотели или которой им не хватало. Одни слышали музыку дождя и представляли, будто он стучит по их окнам, стекает по желобам, моет мир, стирает грязь и враждебность, создает новый чистый, добрый и прекрасный мир — без войн, бедности и эпидемий. Без засухи. И они видели этот дождь так явно, что протягивали руку к нему в ожидании ощущения капель, падающих на их ладонь.

Другие представляли себе иную реальность: они видели котлеты, жарящиеся в сковороде на кипящем масле. Они так явно видели котлеты, что пускали слюну в предвкушении обеда. Для них котлеты являлись символом мира без голода. Мира, в котором они хотели бы жить, окруженные заботой. И быть сытыми.

Третьи видели картину, в которой они находятся в душе, под потоком теплой воды. И вместе с ними в душе находился любимый человек, и под звуки воды они занимались любовью. Этим людям больше всего хотелось жить в мире без разрухи, иметь крышу над головой, любить и быть любимыми.

Но были ещё одна категория людей: они создавали музыку, имитирующую в мозгу тех, кто слушал ее, реальность, о которой они мечтали. В которой хотели жить. Эти нейрокомпозиторы эксплуатировали чувства, мечты и эмоции людей, живущих в нищете, испытывающих насилие и голод, страдающих от эпидемий и войн, засухи и больной окружающей среды — умирающей природы.

Но и сами нейрокомпозиторы жили в реальности, которую видели под звуки оцифрованной реальности. Это была мертвая реальность, которая могла создавать лишь дигитальные образы и синтетические продукты — виртуальные плоды цифровой реальности.

В их реальности не было любви, но существовал виртуальный секс. А если он и был реальным (в их представлении), партнеров заменяли андроиды.

И хоть вид их еды возбуждал все возможные чувства и рецепторы, сама еда не имела реального вкуса и запаха. Они лишь тщетно пытались представить себе вкусы и запахи пищи, обманывая свои чувства.

Безопасность их хрупкого мира имитировали железные купола и другие непробиваемые и непроницаемые оболочки. Но и они были иллюзией, их образы порождали компьютерные игры с дополненной реальностью.

Но парадокс заключался в том, что все эти люди жили в одном реальном мире, в одних и тех же странах. Ходили (если могли) по улицам тех же городов. Образ их реальной жизни (какой они ее себе представляли) мало чем отличался, независимо от социального статуса.

Отличалась только музыка, которую они слушали. Та музыка, что порождала их реальность. Та самая реальность, рамки и границы которой были размыты настолько, что они уже не могли отличить реальность от ее сестер — виртуальной и дополненной.

04.09.2024

Хранительница историй

На углу шумной улицы, где жизнь била ключом, стояла афишная тумба. Скромная, неприметная, она была немым свидетелем смены эпох и поколений. Десятилетиями она наблюдала за тем, как меняется город, как уходят одни и приходят другие.

На её поверхности сменялись афиши, словно страницы истории. Яркие краски цирковых представлений сменялись элегантными анонсами театральных постановок. Объявления о литературных вечерах соседствовали с афишами рок-концертов. Новые имена появлялись и исчезали, а тумба оставалась, храня память о каждом событии.

Она помнила, как в городе появлялись первые кинотеатры, как менялась мода, как рождались и умирали музыкальные стили. Она была свидетелем радости и горя, встреч и расставаний. Каждый плакат, каждая афиша оставляли на ней свой след, вплетаясь в её собственную историю.

Однажды, в сумерках, к тумбе подошла пожилая женщина. Её глаза были полны грусти, а шаги медленны. Она остановилась перед афишей старого театра и провела рукой по выцветшим буквам. Тумба словно почувствовала её боль.

Много лет назад, на этом самом месте, женщина увидела афишу спектакля, который изменил её жизнь. Там она встретила свою первую любовь, мужчину, с которым прожила долгие счастливые годы. Но время неумолимо, и его уже не было рядом.

Тумба молча слушала её тихий шёпот, полный воспоминаний. Она видела, как слёзы катятся по щекам женщины, и её сердце сжималось от сочувствия. В этот момент тумба поняла, что она не просто хранительница истории города, она хранительница человеческих судеб, чувств и эмоций.

Каждый плакат, каждая афиша были не просто информацией, они были частью чьей-то жизни, чьей-то истории любви, радости или печали. И тумба бережно хранила эти истории, словно драгоценные камни, передавая их из поколения в поколение.

С тех пор тумба стала ещё внимательнее к людям, которые останавливались у неё. Она старалась почувствовать их настроение, их эмоции, чтобы поддержать или утешить, если это необходимо. И каждый раз, когда кто-то улыбался, глядя на афишу, тумба радовалась вместе с ним, зная, что она стала частью ещё одной прекрасной истории.

30.08.2024

Душевая Кабина Времени

Старый дом хранил много тайн, но самой удивительной была душевая кабина на втором этаже. С виду обычная, она обладала невероятной способностью - перемещать во времени.

Каждый вечер, перед сном, жилец дома заходил в душ. Теплая вода смывала не только грязь и усталость, но и весь прошедший день. С последними каплями, стекающими по его телу, он чувствовал, как время вокруг него сдвигается, и он оказывается в будущем.

Это было его тайное путешествие, его личная машина времени. Он мог выбирать, как далеко шагнуть - на несколько часов, чтобы подготовиться к важному событию, или на целые дни, чтобы избежать неприятностей.

Но однажды он решил пропустить вечерний душ. Он был слишком увлечен работой и забыл о своей необычной способности. На следующее утро он проснулся в том же дне, что и вчера. Часы показывали то же время, новости повторялись, а люди вокруг вели себя так, словно ничего не изменилось.

Он понял, что застрял во времени. Он пытался выйти из дома, но дверь не открывалась. Телефон не работал, а окна словно запечатались. Он был пленником собственного прошлого, запертым в одном дне, который бесконечно повторялся.

В отчаянии он бросился в душ. Он долго стоял под струями воды, моля о том, чтобы время снова сдвинулось. И наконец, он почувствовал знакомое ощущение - время вокруг него задрожало и сдвинулось вперед.

Он вышел из душа, дрожа от холода и облегчения. Он снова был в будущем, но теперь он знал цену своего дара. Душевая кабина была не просто машиной времени, она была связью с течением жизни, напоминанием о том, что каждый день нужно проживать полностью, чтобы двигаться дальше.

С тех пор он никогда не пропускал вечерний душ. Он научился ценить каждый момент, зная, что время — это самый драгоценный дар, и его душевая кабина - единственный способ путешествовать по нему.

29.08.2024

 

Под покровом ночи, или Танго для двоих

Глава 1: Рискованный репортаж

Париж. Город огней, любви и... скрытых желаний. В одном из его самых оживлённых кафе, молодая журналистка Амели Дюбуа готовилась к самому необычному репортажу в своей карьере.

Танго

Амели была известна своими смелыми статьями, которые проливали свет на самые неожиданные стороны жизни. На этот раз ей предстояло погрузиться в мир проституции, но не как стороннему наблюдателю, а как участнику событий.

Её редактор, конечно, не знал о методах Амели, но её статьи всегда были на высоте, и он доверял ей.

– Амели, дорогая, – произнес он, поправляя очки на носу, – я рассчитываю на тебя. Этот репортаж должен быть сенсационным!

– Не сомневайтесь, месье Дюваль, – ответила Амели с лукавой улыбкой. – Я достану вам правду, какой бы пикантной она ни оказалась.

Амели же, в свою очередь, верила, что только так она сможет донести до читателей правду, показать им жизнь "изнутри".

Глава 2: Свидание вслепую

Сутенёр, старый знакомый Амели, устроил ей встречу с клиентом.

– Не подведи, детка, – прохрипел он, подмигнув Амели. – Этот клиент – сама галантность.

Когда Амели вошла в комнату, её сердце забилось чаще. Клиент был молод, привлекателен и явно заинтересован.

– Добрый вечер, мадмуазель, – произнес он с легким поклоном. – Вы выглядите восхитительно.

– Благодарю, месье, – ответила Амели, стараясь скрыть волнение.

Но вместо того, чтобы сразу перейти к делу, он предложил ей... потанцевать.

– Позвольте пригласить Вас на танец, прежде чем мы... перейдём к сути, – сказал он с улыбкой, протягивая ей руку.

Амели рассмеялась, заинтригованная. Они провели всю ночь, танцуя под звуки старого патефона, обсуждая литературу, политику, искусство. В полумраке комнаты их смех сливался с музыкой, создавая атмосферу лёгкости и доверия.

 

Глава 3: Утро откровений

Когда первые лучи солнца пробились сквозь шторы, они увидели лица друг друга. Амели узнала в своём клиенте того самого странного мужчину, который наблюдал за ней в стрип-баре и делал записи в блокноте.

– Вы?! – воскликнули они одновременно, рассмеявшись.

– Так вот почему Вы всё время записывали что-то в блокнот! – воскликнула Амели. – Я думала, Вы пишете стихи, вдохновлённые моим танцем!

– А я-то думал, что Вы просто любите танцевать с незнакомцами в необычной обстановке, – парировал Пьер.

За чашкой кофе они открылись друг другу. Амели рассказала о своей работе, о своих методах. Мужчина, представившийся как Пьер Леблан, признался, что он профессор психологии, изучающий поведение женщин в секс-индустрии.

– Значит, мы оба немного притворялись, – подытожила Амели с улыбкой.

Глава 4: Танго чувств

Несмотря на необычные обстоятельства их встречи, между Амели и Пьером вспыхнула искра. Они начали встречаться, обсуждая свои исследования, свои страхи и мечты.

Пьер восхищался смелостью Амели, а она – его романтичностью. 

Они гуляли по ночному Парижу, танцевали под уличными фонарями, целовались на мостах над Сеной. Их любовь была такой же неожиданной и страстной, как и их первая встреча.

Эпилог

Спустя годы Амели опубликовала книгу о своём расследовании, которая стала бестселлером.

– Эта книга – не только о проституции, – сказала она на презентации. – Она о любви, которая может родиться в самых неожиданных местах.

Она продолжала писать о социальных проблемах, помогая людям понять и принять себя и окружающий мир. А в её сердце всегда оставалось место для Пьера, человека, который научил её танцевать под покровом ночи и любить всем сердцем.

27.07.2024