Real Neverman (shpaller) wrote in zaslavija,
Real Neverman


  Geografical maps have their special charm. Having been created for orientation sometimes they are something quite opposite and only interfere with it. When you need to know where you are, you glide about the surface of a paper, brindled and lined, and discover yourself in a certain point. Owing to the different measurements, points have their own dots. It`s well-known that Columbus didn`t realize where he was himself. His finger pointed at the dot in a space, but the space was filled in with somebody`s invention. When did it happen, the discovery of America? Just when there appeared new bounds of imagination.

On the 18 century`s map the town of Zaslav, Kremjanets`kyj povit, Volyn`, consists of countless shreds embroidered with the Horyn`s formed beds. Every island is a dot. Time passes and all those shreds join together as though testifying that invention is guided by not only space but time as well. If somebody of Hungarian writers looked at this town he would say that in this place rivers come running up and some invisible power braids them tightly. If it were Halitian he would say that just because of it the town resembles so boisterously a lap of a melting woman, which is entangled with the snakes of the flat floods. They are turned towards low ground, so the Old Zaslav is her convex breast and over there, near Ostron`a, is her exguisite neck. All the others would say in their own way but with the obligatory for such an occasion sentimentality and barely noticeable touch of memory.

  Top conquerors know: if there are too many fulcra it threatens with motionlessness. It turned out that time and space had equally been invented to ensure the semblance of motion. A variant: we move so we live.

We have not many dots, only one, here is it, on the map; on the right hand of the finger it is written “Izyaslav”. It`s such a town. The inscription itself is not performed on the dot but in space, in the space of imagination. USSR (it means Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic here, not the Soviet Union) . His first letter “U” we go on reading further: krajina (the country). It`s such a country. Perhaps, it is impossible to find the point where you are. Don`t be afraid – simply there are not you on this map. Maybe the dot has stopped being itself and time and space have united.

  Let us assume that the points which prevent our moving are the dominants of the town`s landscape. They are still St.Joseph`s Roman Catholic Church in the New Zaslav, Bernardian monastery and Cathedral of St.John the Baptist in the Old one. All of them are the children born so long ago, that wen their umbilical cord had been cut for several times. The last try was the most successful. Stretched out to the sky hands of the stone saints on St.Michael`s Catholic Church are turned into sand for unwarranted time`s fuding. And still there are the hearts of Janusz Zaslawski and Alexandra Sanguszkowna, put into crystal, in the church walls. It appears that love from the horisontal point of viev has suked out a space. 

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