A. MOLOTKOV'S
LITERARY PROJECTS

A Reflection of Shadow's Eyes
The Future in the Past

Do you remember?

Do you remember how it was going to be?  Self-combustion of raw energy?

Do you remember, in that hotel room somewhere somewhen, the details don't matter – do you remember how it was?  Pyrotechnics of expectations!  You knew you had to resist, and yet you knew you couldn't¼the struggle of two distinctly different rules inside you.  And then in the future it was all going to be¼It was going to be¼do you remember?

After breakfast, we would spend two hours understanding things.

Then we would walk in the hillsides of desire, deserts of thirst.

By noon, we would have bathed in the waters of final relax­ation.

Then we would sleep for an hour or two¼and then¼But do you remember?

Do you remember?  You would get up first – such is the way of things – then you would wake me up to perform love.  Then we'd dive into our own separate lives, linked by a warm good-bye kiss, already anticipating the moment when we would be back together.

But in that hotel room – did it already exist then, or did it come to be later, in other rooms, in other hotels?  All of this – the future, the plans, the afternoon kiss?  Did it ever exist?  Has it always existed?  But how could it be that something so real is not eternal, and may be nothing but illusion?  And how do you explain that even losing control is according to the rules (if there are any rules, and if there is any control).  But how could I know this, really?  Yes, I still remember our future, but what about the part between the past and the present?  And you?  Do you remember?

Do you remember how it was going to be?  We would take care of all practical matters, and then all unpractical matters, and then anything else that matters.  We would destroy all obstacles in our way, and yet be kind to all.  We would be together almost all day long, except for the times when we are not.

But how am I to trace it now, where should I look for it, how can I hope to retrieve it from the obscure indistinct dimensions where it dwells, painfully alive and yet ironically inaccessible?

Do you remember?  In the afternoon we would read the next century's papers, or take a walk along the edge of a black hole.

Then we'd dedicate some time to instant art, projecting seconds onto eternity.

After dinner, we would look through objects, and listen to the sounds from across the time.

Do you remember?  And perhaps what I would like to know even more: if you remember, how do you remember?  There are two kinds of memory: one directed backwards, familiar to most of us; the other onwards, easily altered according to new developments of our lives.  It just so happened that I became stuck in this second sort of memories: they won't let go, no matter how I try to break loose.

Tell me what I am going to do.  What can I do?  Can I rely on you as an accomplice, a lover/friend who would assist me in any way possible, whose goals are the same as mine, whose desire to fulfill that memorized future is as strong as mine?  Of course I shouldn't ask this sort of questions: they reveal a lack of confidence, a lack of trust, and if I don't trust even you, who else is there to be trusted?  But after all, don't we all trust perfect strangers more than those close to us, and sometimes not without a reason?

But tell me: what can I do?

In that hotel room – everything was only beginning, and yet everything was already complete in its perfect shape, invented and memorized between the splashes of magnetism that brought our bodies into the energetically perfect position of contact.  Everything had already existed, hadn’t it?  – I doubt even you could argue with this, even if you were in the mood to argue.  But how can I really know what mood you are in, all I know about you is the information my memory has stored about your future, which is gradually unfolding within my mind, more and more indepen­dent of you and everything that has to do with you.  And is it my fault that I have retained more loyalty to the image created in the sensual hurry of that room?  Where are you?  Wherever you are, are you still here, or have you changed the trails of your life so abruptly that you traces became lost in the multitude of possible and impossible directions?

So, I'll have to do it on my own.  I'll use my memory to bring to life the future that has once existed.  You have no power to stop me.  You don't need to interfere.  You can watch from aside, if you wish.  You can join in, if you wish.  You can merge with your other self, if you wish.  Everything is up to you.  Everything is up to me, and the rest is irrelevant.

ENTER A MATERIALIZED MEMORY OF HOW YOU WERE GOING TO BE.

Hi!  That's you, isn't it?  Would you consider sharing perfec­tion with me?  What would you say about being indispensable for each other?  How about some absolute understanding?  – You accept, and we enter the pre-conceived parlors, in which the future as it was going to be is going to be.  Everything is perfectly according to the plan.  No flaws, no shortcomings, no errors!

You get up first – such is the way of things – then you wake me up to perform love.  Then we dive into our own separate lives, linked by a warm good-bye kiss, already anticipating the moment when we are back together.

Back home in the evening, we dedicate an hour or two to instant art, projecting seconds onto eternity.

After dinner, we look through objects, and listen to the sounds from across the time.

And when the night is ripe, we perform love again, just like we did in that hotel room.  Remember that hotel room a year, or five, or twenty-five years ago?  Do you remember?  Of course you do, otherwise how could this be happening: a materialization of the future the way it was going to be¼The way it is now¼The way it will always remain!

ENTER YOU THE WAY YOU ARE.

Hi!  That's you, isn't it?  Would you consider sharing perfec­tion with me?  – But then I instantly see what is going on – it is you, isn't it?  Did you come to intrude in our absolute understand­ing?  Do you wish to shatter the dream of our mutual indispens­ability?  Do you?  Well, do you or don't you?  Why don't you say something for a change?  Maybe you think it was too presumptuous on my part to play like this: outside the game, but still according to the rules?  Would you like to change it?  To break the rules, or to go back to the game?  Well, say something, don't you think you at least owe me an explanation?

A PERCEPTION SWITCH.  YOU BECOME I, I BECOME YOU.

Well, hello!  Do you remember?  Do you?  That hotel room?  Pyrotechnics of expectations!  You knew you had to resist, and yet you knew that you couldn't resist¼the struggle of two distinctly different games inside you.  And then in the future it was all going to be¼It was going to be¼do you remember?

After breakfast, we would spend two hours understanding things.

Then we would walk in the hillsides of desire, deserts of thirst.

By noon, we would have bathed in the waters of final relax­ation.

Do you remember?

So why did you think that you can own this, that you can monopo­lize our life together the way it was going to be?  How could you think that it was I who is to be considered the outsider, the emigrant, the betrayer?  How could you be so serious juxtaposing your presence and my absence?

When you were suffering alone, wondering how it could have all become so confused, how could you be self-confident enough to spare me the right to grief and disillusionment?  How could you think you were paying alone?  What an escapist were you, so charmingly reluctant to share the bill!

But now – now you know how it feels: dusty winds of regret.  Now you know how it tastes: sour emptiness.  You know how it looks: soul transparen­cy.  We both do.  So, how can one of us be selected to bear the responsibility, whereas the other is to bear the self-inflicted passive suffering?

And is there any difference between the two of us; a differ­ence between a mirror and its reflection, a photograph and its Xerox copy?  And if you are imperious enough to say: "This is I, I feel that and that, I remember this and this," if you can take all upon yourself in such a demanding manner, why do you need me anymore, even if merely as a concept in your theoretical nostalgic scrutiny?  Why can't you just say, "I remember how it was, I remember how it was going to be, it is the way it was, it is the way it was going to be, I am alone, there is no one else, what I used to consider someone is only a part of me, nothing outside me matters, I remember all, nothing is forgotten, everything stays the same, everything is the way it was going to be, nothing happens without going to happen, nothing that is going to be fails to occur, all fits in the singular line of predetermination, our lives are already pre-lived?" Why can't you just say, "All that happens to me is my fault, nothing that is yet going to happen exists.  Soul transparen­cy, sour emptiness, dusty winds of regret¼"

YOU AND I BECOME I AND I.  ENTER ADDITIONAL VOICE.

Additional Voice.  Why can't you be optimistic for a change?  

I.  I am.  The issue I am examining is a very specific one, and this is why I must separate it from the current-day emotions.  

I.  I must revive the pain in its pure form.  Otherwise how can I establish the true value of how it was going to be, and of the loss I have suffered?  

Additional Voice.  But what is the practical purpose of reviving old pain?  Isn't it enough to experience it once?  

I.  Not necessarily.  Everything is only as worthwhile as it is eternal.  Fleeting categories don't exist.  Time is a degrading concept.  

I.  Any emotion is true only at the instant of its birth.  The rest is muddled by reflection.  To see, one must stop time completely.

EXIT ADDITIONAL VOICE.  I AND I BECOME WE (AGAIN!)

We remember.

We remember how it was going to be: self-combustion of raw energy!

We remember how it was: pyrotechnics of expectations!

We remember how it was, we remember how it was going to be, it is the way it was going to be, we are alone, there is no one else, what we used to consider one another is completely within each of us.  Nothing outside us matters, we remember all, nothing is forgotten, everything stays the same, nothing takes place without going to take place, our lives are already pre-lived.

All that happens to us is our fault – not mine, and not mine, but ours.  Nothing that is yet to happen exists.  Soul transpar­en­cy, sour emptiness, dusty winds of regret¼

WE EXIT.  ENTER UNIDENTIFIED BODILESS VOICE.

Do you remember how it was going to be?

Do you remember how it was going to be?

Do you remember how it was going to be?

Do you remember how it was going to be?

UNIDENTIFIED BODILESS VOICE FADES OUT.  ENTER THE VOICES OF WE.  THE ACTION TAKES PLACE IN RETOUCHED PAST.

We, part 1.  Do you want to talk about how it is going to be?

We, part 2.  The future does not exist, nothing is going to be until it happens, all plans defy themselves, hastily affixed stamps of intentions are vain, any emotion is true only at the instant of its birth.  Let's talk about how it is – this is all that matters.