Video of the literary-musical performance “Brighter”.
Part 8: You had everything
Digression. The saddest joke.
A monsieur has caught the golden fish. She said: Kind sir, the times are restless in our glorious France and the exchange rate of the franc to a miracle has become unsteady this year. So you have only one wish. The monsieur thought for a long time how he could benefit from the story and then replied I wish I had everything. The golden fish looked at him long and sadly. All right, kind sir. You had everything. The saddest thing I could imagine is what happens to heroes when their story is finished. As if behind the closed curtains there is a great secret the insidious entrepreneur wants to hide from us, whatever it costs him. And here is the phrase ‘The last years of his life he spent in captivity on the island of St. Helena’ How much desolation and loneliness can 10 words embrace?
‘The last years of his life he spent…’ That's when the letters are not delivered anywhere. When the ex-lovers are silent, and if someone writes, it’s those who were never dear. When there's bitter coffee instead of favorite ‘Courvoisier’ and the dull stomach ache. That's when the Atlantic ocean is cold and furious and the moon is red, and the storm is in its full might. And you go down to the coast with a bottle of cheap rum and shout as you've never shouted before, because they can hear, and it doesn't fit the emperor (even the former one), but there's the gale today and your cry is drowning in rumbling waves. And you want to cut your life but it's small, and what's there left from life, when there's no France around and no way to change anything, and the arsenic, slowly but truly, gets you to the line, well, never mind it. The saddest thing I can imagine is the heroes who had everything.
There are no former emperors.
There are only the fallen ones.
It's not an antiwar album. It's not an electronic Mass. It's not a stand-up tragedy. It's not the synthesis of music, prose, and imaginarium. It's not the three human silhouettes painted black on the crimson tsunami. It's not a cry for help. It's not a shot in the void. It's not a requiem. It's “Brighter”.
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