Power Paralysis
Dmitri Gutov

I cannot write for a catalogue. It's a strange occupation. I cannot write for a magazine as Well. I have nothing to say, absolutely nothing. There isn't even one not trivial thought in the head. And a banal one can't be explained in a straight and strong manner.
Nowadays, it's even more stupid to hide in a space of non-artificial and simplicity than in over-complication.
But that situation hasn't been the same all the time. Some time ago I easily sat and wrote. Even quite clever and clear. What's happened? Thoughts have finished. Everything is said and everything is cleared out. Any idea, even the best one, has a mark of the eighties, or sometimes seventies. There is nothing new in everything written here, but I have to fix the fundamental situation of my further discussion. Though I have no idea where they will lead me.
Such order can't exist for a long time. Something new is to appear. I wonder what will it be?
Here is something appearing. Yes, a wonderful, topic: a turn of a mental development. Can you imagine how they did in the XIX th century: scheduled everything for the future one hundred and fifty years, and it worked. And now, could we look ahead even for a moment. I have titled my work " Power Paralysis". Now it's time to reject the title. I feel the approach of fresh ideas. How it is important to catch this moment. Nothing is said yet; and there is no hope that somewhere it is already said, even quietly. There are no even hints. Look at the time? Now I'll use all my force, and a hand starts to scribe. It won't even go after the thought. Recently I read that a man had sat on the moss being powerless and sick, but soon he had got up energetic and strong. (It was in Nathaniel Hawthorne "The Scarlet Letter"). The same is happening to me. I made myself sit to write. And now I am ready to write forever. I have enough to say. No, nothing to say, but I have a desire already. It's a pity that I hadn't put down everything I had been thinking before, there could be a lot of clever things, even something nobody has ever thought, but it's difficult to imagine.
The work is nearly done. For me the amount is enough, three written pages. If to throw out everything crossed out, it might be too short. And the title is already exhausted. Let a reader himself find more suitable.

From the catalogue "Tuda - Sjuda"(To and Fro) Moscow, 1990, p. 8.