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Unfiled March 11, 2005
 
About Money
By Edward Limonov Browse author
 
 

Almost a million of inhabitants in Russian prisons are money-lovers. 99% of motion-pictures made in Hollywood are about struggle for money. Profession of an American millionaire is about activities to gain and to collect money.

Only landscapes: mountains, steppes, only them are not about money. But the wind is about money, because one can build a wind-mill, to became miller and made money by grinding grain. The sun is also about money, because you may build a sun-batteries. The river is also about money just enough to build a hydro-electrical station and you can sell energy to everybody asking for it.

The small birds are not about money. Who is going to buy a dozen of sparrows? But big birds oh, you can sell ostrich eggs and meat for some dollars.

After some reflection I must correct myself; even lanscapes are about money: you can buy them cheap from Indians, to build Disneyland or Las Vegas and earn astronomical sums of dollars.

Love can be bought for money: small love for small money, big love for big money. I mean you can buy process of making love, but of course you cannot buy a feeling of loving you inside of your partner. Feeling of loving depends on your physical strenth, hardness of your dick, in short from some qualities, that you can or cannot have inherited from your parents. Such injustice of nature is very disappointing for American millionaires and for New Russians, but is source of deep feeling of happiness for proletarians. Because workers and peasants usually have big dicks and steel ones. Unfortunately liqueur costs very little: three or four dollars only, so proletarians are buying liqueur instead of making love.

For money you can buy a weapons. As a matter of fact I was convicted to four in prison for allegedly organising buying of weapons: six Kalashikovs and about kilogram of explosives. I am denying of buying weapons. But nevertheless one who wants to buy them, say for purpose only to look at them from time to time, may buy them. Weapons can give you a sense of security. Also they are usually beautiful, the weapons, all those "Smith and Wessons," "Kalashinikovs" and "Brownings".

American dollars have a colour of green corn fields, or of green fields of Virginian tobacco; people of whole world finding them dollars beautiful, very attractive, indeed. New European euros are too thick, they are like handkerchiefs square. I regret good old French francs and German marks. Francs were old pleasant banknotes, wrinkled and distinguished banknotes of old Nation of Louis XIV, musquetirs, Napoleon, of Verden battle. Especially I liked five hundred francs banknotes, one was enough for a dinner of two at restorant "La Coupole".

When I was a boy, I dreamed sometimes about career of forger. But I made only one step on that dangerous road -- I imitated fradulently a stamp. Then I was seduced by literature.

Literature is the worst possible means of earning money. No doubt about that. The publisher is not worst enemy of a writer. Publisher is second worst enemy of a writer. (His first worst enemy is his wife.) Usualy publisher ripping-off writer by cheating him over sells. Publisher will convince a writer: "You book is not sells as well as we hoped." Russian publishers are champions of fraud. They practice frequent reprint of the book without writers knowledge. Publisher pays typography in cash, and typography will print some more thousands of book. The trick is simple but effective.

The proverb says "Money has no odor." Proverb is wrong. Money have stinking odor. In the middle of the 90's I used to go to distribution agency "Logos-M" located on Tsvetnoi Boulevard, to get money due to me for distribution of my newspaper "Limonka". In that time all operations were done in cash. Cashier of "Logos-M" have occupaed a small room with few safes, a table and only two chairs. The window was usually open. But despite open window room was full of heavy greasy odor. At first I didn't get the source of odor: "What that smell is about?" I have asked cashier Liuba. "Money" said Liuba. "Stinking horribly, till the evening I have a headache. You know, we are collecting money from all sorts of people. Usually they are small banknotes, small people pay for newspapers. The merchants at markets, their hands stained with grease, blood, fish, the drivers hands washed in gasoline, housewives cooking and washing dishes..." Liuba gave me detailed discours on hands of different professionals stained with some sortes of odors.


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