Do you want to look beyond the horizon or become a little stronger and more adapted to life in off-grid conditions? Take a look at my collection of science tips and you'll probably find a lot of interesting things. The titles of technical articles correspond to their content.
The “On the Front Page” section contains new items and, in my opinion, the most interesting works from my work.
I have it and it’s clean works of art, that’s what they’re called: stories, novels, novels.
2019 Behind me is the mouth of the Sviyaga River. To my right, on one of the islands, is the white-stone monastery town of Sviyazhsk. Former All-Union madhouse. Behind you are Innopolis and the local ski resort. On the horizon there is a narrow strip overgrown with pine forests on the left bank of the Volga River. About thirty kilometers down the Volga, also on the left bank of Kazan. She is not visible in the photo. But beyond Sviyazhsk and beyond the Volga, you can see the outskirts of the city of Zelenodolsk, where there is a reserve of the most beautiful women in Russia. In Novosibirsk they have the longest legs, in Omsk they are the most feminine, in Magadan they are the most accessible, in Zelenodolsk they are simply the most beautiful. And along the right bank, starting from Sviyaga and down the Volga to the mouth of the Kama, about 150 kilometers, there are wild gardens. Back at the end of the 19th century, the bourgeoisie were imprisoned for their own enrichment and pooling. The gardens are still growing, with breaks for villages and garden plots. Apples, pears, plums, cherries, gooseberries, all kinds of currants... They bear fruit and are not needed by anyone. The explanation is simple. Along the right bank of the Volga there is continuous black soil. Stick a stick in the ground and it will bloom. Local farmers cannot cope with their harvest. They tried to make berry wines from free fruits, they made half of Russia drunk, and during Gorbachev’s time they stopped this disgrace. I was born and live in Kazan, this is my homeland.
To my chagrin and regret, my survival tips were suddenly in high demand. Finally, someone realized that the idea of survival is not the ability to eat dog poop or earthworms out of hunger and despair, but a full life in any extreme conditions without exotic twists. Everything that a Man needs he can find or make himself from available materials. These are animals that adapt to their environment, Man environment adapts to you!
Preparing for the World End of the World, in my opinion, is pointless. But to postpone the very possible personal end of the world, it would be necessary to prepare. So to speak, arm yourself against troubles. The most important weapon a MAN has is his Knowledge and Skills. Knowledge and Skills may be equal to the arsenal, but they do not contradict the laws of the Criminal Code in any country, they do not put a strain on their pockets and are always with them.
To find my works in the Izba-Reading Room you need to: type Anatoly Shishkin in Yandex and click on the Izba-Reading Room with my name.
An immodest question: Isn’t it time to add me, as a writer, not only to your FAVORITES, but also to your FAVORITES? (Do not confuse with recommended ones.)
Anatoly Galeykhaidarovich Shishkin. Kazan, Tatarstan.
anatolii-shishkin(@)yandex.ru Just remove the brackets and gaps.
So, in the beginning there was the word..."
Anatoly Alekseevich Shishkin was born on October 15, 1936 in the village of Gilev Log, Altai Territory. He was raised only by his mother; his father died at the front.
Anatoly became a poet and journalist by vocation, which he felt since childhood: he began writing poetry at the age of seven. He dedicated his first work on six notebook pages to a village tractor driver and sent it straight to the Writers' Union. Soon an answer came to the Altai village from Moscow. The whole village read it. On beautiful polished paper with seals and stamps, the young poet was thanked for his poem and recommended to read more fiction.
As a teenager he came to Leninsk-Kuznetsky, graduated from a mining technical school, worked in a mine, and then at a processing plant. He brought his poems to the editorial office of Leninsky Miner. From time to time they were published in regional publications.
Correspondence from Anatoly Shishkin began to appear in the same newspaper over and over again.. The author talked about his fellow workers, about the difficult work of miners. Journalistic work truly captivated the gifted guy.
In 1963 he was accepted into the editorial staff of the Leninsk-Kuznetsky newspaper, where Shishkin went through a good newspaper school. Within four months he was appointed head of the department.
He worked, wrote, and graduated from a pedagogical institute in absentia. Became a real professional.
In 1969, A.A. Shishkin was appointed deputy editor of the city newspaper "For Communism" in Berezovsky.
In 1973 he was transferred to the city of Osinniki, where he rightfully took the position of editor of the city newspaper "Mayak Communism" and worked for about 20 years, not sparing himself.
He was a real leader - demanding, strict and kind at the same time. But he never gave up writing poetry. He didn’t bombard the editors with his manuscripts. I wrote more for the soul. Only once, in 1996, did Anatoly Shishkin manage to publish a thin collection of poems- a kind, light book, which the author called “A miner lives half his life on earth.”
He left us in 2000.
Not a road, but a song
Ten miles - and everything is forest,
Ten miles - like in fairy tales.
Blue curtain
The July forest is treated kindly:
The air is saturated with tar,
Filled with aroma
Fir trees stood up with masts
Near the humpback hills.
Scattered like a herd
Birch undergrowth -
Their joy is inescapable,
Their bitingness is unrelenting.
My travel companion said,
Adjusting the knapsack:
"I wish I could stand like a cedar over the steep slope,
I wish I could lie down like a sonorous duct,
To gurgle with a spring
At the cherry bushes!
Is there greater happiness?!
Is there a better fate?!
I didn't answer him
(I didn’t answer - is it necessary?!):
"I wish I could live forever in the world
With this beauty nearby!
Ten miles - and everything is forest,
Past the firs and cedars.
Not a road, but a song,
Not the road, but generosity.
Return
Among the rough bark,
Under the May rays
The streams were still breathing,
The rooks were already screaming.
We pulled off our jackets
And - right behind the slope
They spread their arms,
Heavy, like tons.
And the sky was falling
A transparent block is upon us.
To those who have not been in the mine,
You can't see the sky that way.
Not clear and not precise
They hear it differently:
And the crackle of swollen buds,
And sparrow hubbub.
And spring thundered for us,
Like a hundred-tone bell,
And they became numb in front of her
Fatigue, bad luck...
The grass looks like a brush
Not kindly, not rudely -
Our cheeks were tickled
And refreshed my lips.
Higher, higher, higher
The bird carries away the song.
We didn't come out of the mine,
We have risen from the earth.
We were merged with her,
And more than merged -
That the nerves of the mudstones,
What an anthracite heart.
And the sky is like a fable,
Hangs like a transparent block.
To those who have not been in the mine,
You can't see the sky like that!
Where does the stream start?
It seemed like a long day
The hot sun was swinging
In splashing water.
And the stream plunged into the sedge,
He hid in a talnik,
Again with a high note
He responded in the distance.
Without becoming cloudy, without becoming shallow,
Without slowing down the ringing run,
Along the fields near the poplars he
It was blue with a bright ribbon.
And I asked late at night,
Taking a nap by the shore:
You, little light, don’t end,
You, little link, don’t shut up.
Hold on a little longer
Calm down in the forest...
Do you want me to hold you in my palms?
Will I carry it over the bumps?
I embroider little thoughts
Bunnies, roses,
To think less
Late evenings.
To cry less often
In quiet solitude
Remembering Yakov
Kuzmich by patronymic name.
There’s nothing to remember -
Not his fault:
Three happy evenings
And then - war.
There was a time when I cried
Like a midnight owl:
Where is Jacob's grave?
Kuzmich by patronymic name?
There's nothing to remember
And there’s nothing to think of -
Three short evenings
And the separation is eternal.
It's cold, oh, cold
In a lonely room...
Youth has flown by -
Who will keep up with her?
To think less
On blizzard evenings,
I embroider little thoughts
Nobody needs...
The last monologue
To you, my worn-out shoes,
I'm saying my last monologue,
I’ll throw you into the far corner of the kitchen -
What to do if the deadline has passed!
You haven't served me enough
/I don’t know how to wear it/,
If, of course, on asphalt,
If only by taxi, of course...
If only on polished parquet floors
Walk to the envy of hundreds of eyes...
Only I love winter and summer
Right through the snowdrifts, through the mud...
So in a day you find yourself, it used to be,
That sometimes you doze off while walking.
It's not just shoes, it's probably
Swamp boots will be handed over.
After all, there are countless unbeaten roads,
And someone needs to push them,
Stomp through swamps and swamps,
Talk to miles like your own.
Let's get by, shoes, without reproaches!
/Well, what kind of reproach can there be?!/
What to serve without benefit and beyond the term,
Better to put it to good use, at least for a short time...
Be an echo to me, a ringing echo,
Respond to my laughter with laughter,
Respond to a song - with a song,
Have fun when I'm happy.
Be a stream babbling in the thicket,
Be a never-setting star
Be the path, be the blind
To all sorts of trivial antics...
But when I lie to you,
But when can I lie -
Be a thunderstorm
be a tear
Corroding eye sockets.
Don't think about being a path
Don't be blind for anything
Forbid me to even dream
On the day when I can lie.
Coal
In the institute reading room the sheets rustled,
And the boys crammed, out of boredom:
"Coal is the remains of forgotten plants
And the creatures that lived on the ancient land."
In the silence of the office, on the pages of notebooks,
Lying under our pillows until dawn,
Everything was so clear, simple and straightforward,
Go and take a handful of that coal.
Coal is not that... That's when the load
The pans bend down and creak,
And grabbed a shovel, frankly, in Russian
The miners spit on their palms with a smile -
This is coal... When, cursing with anger,
For the fifth time, the foreman fiddles with the phone:
"Let's go to the forest... Hello... Throw me some fables,
Or should we stand instead of pillars, maybe!?" -
This is coal... When in dim lighting
You won’t be able to see the features of the dirty faces,
And the guys understand you by signs,
In short: “Higher! More to the right! Take it!” -
This is coal. Not the same as the remains of plants -
Pain in your joints, sweat on your dirty back...
Sometimes I remember the walls of the institute
And suddenly it becomes a little funny to me.
A collection of science fiction stories, stories, articles, essays, compiled and published by the All-Union Creative Association of Young Science Fiction Writers under the IPO of the Komsomol Central Committee “Young Guard”
Anatoly Britikov. The expediency of beauty in aesthetics I. A. Efremova
FANTASTIC RUMBA
Stepan Vartanov. Dragon Hunt
Evgeny Drozd. Kings and alchemists
Evgeny Drozd. Drama in Ephesus
Alexander Copti. Sad story about a car tire
Evgeny Lensky. In the chain of those gone and coming
Sergei Lukyanenko. A man who couldn't do much
Taisiya Pyankova. Kumankovo swamp
Nikolai Romanetsky. Cossack robbers
Alexander Siletsky. If someone called someone
Alexander Siletsky. Unidentified offended customer
Alexander Siletsky. Top down
Alexander Siletsky. Treasure
Vladimir Trapeznikov. Entertainment Planet
BEAUTIFUL HORSEMAN. Anthology of contemporary Czech and Slovak fiction.
Anton Gikish. Solitude with Virgil
Ivan Izakovich. Awakening
Yaroslav Irkal. Mysteries of the Universe
Jan Lencho. Library
Lubor Pok. The man who forgot how to laugh
Joseph Puskas. Dump
Ludwig Soucek. From a galactic point of view
Zbyszek Chernik. A trip to the ancestors
Vladimir Chort. Another time will come
Alzhbeta Sherberova. Beautiful horsewoman
THE CHARM OF THE UNUSUAL
Vladimir Shcherbakov. Where did the gods and heroes of the sagas live?
Anatoly Smirnov. From time immemorial
CROSSROADS OF OPINIONS
Dmitry Lysenkov. Fantasies in the context of realities
Anatoly Shishkin. Dystopian forecasts and science fiction perspectives on some trends in modern Western literature about the future
Alexander Kashirin. Experience of bibliography of Czech and Slovak fiction
On the 1st cover page: fragment of the painting “Adoration of the Bird” by Gervasio Gallardo (USA)
On page 4 of the cover: Elena Kulinich (USSR) “Ice”.
Compilation A.N. Kashirina
Series:
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For the first time in Russian!
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Two teams of authors of five people each with the active support of curators - a brilliant writer, poet, publicist Dmitry Bykov and an outstanding prose writer, publicist Mikhail Weller began work on two collective novels to create a best-selling novel and prove that the novel genre is alive and well.
Dmitry Bykov's team included Igor Zhurukov, Daniel Kahelin, Tatyana Laryushina, Arkady Teslenko, Ivan Chekalov, Dmitry Shishkanov. Together the co-authors created a novel "The final", which takes place in the midst of the final match of the World Cup. The table of contents of the novel corresponds to its theme: “First Half”, “Break”, “Second Half”, “Extra Time”, “Penalty”. The co-authors managed to convey the unprecedented intensity of passions that gripped literally everyone during the football festival.
Based on a strict competitive selection, Mikhail Weller’s team included: Maria Anfilofyeva, Sergey Vereskov, Alexandra Sorokina, Ekaterina Belousova, Daria Novakova. Together, a team of authors managed to create a large-scale socio-fiction novel "In the beginning there will be darkness". The story described in the book develops against the backdrop of a post-nuclear disaster, when surviving humanity divided the planet into new states and territories, and the most important resource is light. Thus, residents of dystopian Moscow receive light only by registration, and to travel to St. Petersburg they need to obtain special visas. The reader will find exciting adventures in a completely unfamiliar world and a search for answers to the main philosophical questions.
The goal of the “Battle of Novels” project, in addition to training literary talents, was to search for answers to questions such as “What is the role of the author’s personality in the success of the work?”, “Is it possible to write a good collective novel?” and “What makes a novel a bestseller?” Now the project is completed and presented to readers, who are invited to answer these questions for themselves.
Contains obscene language!