Words that rhyme with llama

Near rhymes with llamaB-Rhymes | B-Rhymes

What is B-Rhymes?

B-Rhymes is a rhyming dictionary that's not stuck up about what does and doesn't rhyme. As well as regular rhymes, it gives you words that sound good together even though they don't technically rhyme.

How to Teach Rhyming Using Llama Llama Books

Teaching rhyming to beginning readers can be challenging.   But trust me, with these Llama, Llama books, rhyming is NO PROB-LLAMA!

For students to understand rhyming, they have to hear words that sound similar over and over and over again.  They have to understand that while many rhyming words are similar in spelling, rhyming is ALL about the sounds.

Therefore, the Llama Llama series is just perfect to teach rhyming!  No made up silly words and no long and confusing plot lines. These books are just long enough, have relatable plot lines, and have real rhyming words!  Scroll down to see how I use this series to teach rhyming with an adorable anchor chart and a writing activity to wrap up the lessons!

First, I created this simple Llama, Llama Wanna Rhym-a? anchor chart.  Second, I shared with my students that for the next two weeks we would learn about rhyming with our new friend Llama, Llama!  As we read about Llama, his mama, and all of his drama, we will be listening, recording all his rhyming words on sticky notes, and sticking them onto our anchor chart!

And since, I couldn’t have the Llama be cooler than the teacher, I had to throw on shades too!  And when I did, the kids squealed with EXCITEMENT!  

After recording the rhyming words from each book, we stood up and rapped the rhyming words together with hands and body movements as if we were the coolest rapping and rhyming llamas around!  Look at our complete anchor chart below!

Here are the books that I selected for our lessons!  Click to the images to purchase your own copy!

Disclosure: Some of the links are affiliated links, meaning that I will earn a commission if you click through the links and make a purchase.

1. Llama Llama Red Pajama– This is the classic book that started the series.  It is sweet, adorable, and so relatable to our sweet little ones who still need and love their mamas so much!

2. Llama Llama Mad at Mama–  Yes, who hasn’t been impatient and got mad at their mama?!  Even llamas get this feeling from time to time and have to learn to cope.

3. Llama, Llama and the Bully Goat– What will Llama do when he is confronted with a bully?! This book speaks directly to the kids with rhyming words on every page!  The kids loved this so much as we also tied init to our beginning of the year lessons on how to be kind and be a good friend.

4. Llama, Llama Home with Mama– When Llama is sick, he stays home with Mama but quickly finds out that she also needs some TLC herself!

5. Llama, Llama Gram and Grandpa– In this story, we get to meet Llama’s gram and grandpa and the love that they share for each other!  The kids made such good connections to their own grandparents, and I know for sure that I will definitely read this again for our Grandparents’ Day.

6. Llama, Llama Time to Share– Llama is used to be the only kid and not having to share his toys.  But when some neighbors come to visit, what will happen?  This book is also a great tie-in to learning to be a friend at the beginning of the year.

7. Llama, Llama Misses Mama– Everyone misses his/her mama, especially when they start school- everyone including Llama!  Will Llama be able to love his new school or will he miss his mama too much to make new friends?

8. Llama Llama Yum, Yum, Yum– This is a very short and easy read aloud as it discusses different meals that Llama eats.  There is also a scratch and sniff version that the kids will definitely LOVE!!!

9. Llama Llama Holiday Drama- So it’s not the holidays yet, but how could I pass up this adorable and festive book?! The kids hung on every rhyming word that was read and are already ready for the holidays after reading this together! 🙂

You can also grab this set of 7 books from Scholastic!

To wrap up our all of our Llama Drama, we reviewed the rhyming words and I asked the kids to choose their favorite Llama book to complete the Llama Llama, What’s the Drama? Writing Activity! The kids had such a great time and our Writing Display Wall is now filled with so many sweet llamas!!!!

If you would like to download the FREE Llama, Llama What’s the Drama Writing Activity, click to the image below!

More additional literacy resources, check out these products below!

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books for the little ones - Education - Daughters - mothers

November 3, 2015

Books for babies began to appear in our house from the very birth of our daughter. Her first fairy tale was Marshak’s poems about a stupid mouse, and we didn’t have the book itself, I read it to her, who was lying next to me on the bed and moving her legs like a small beetle from the phone screen. I portrayed a toad, a pike, a chicken and a cat, getting used to the new role of a mother and part-time actor, stand-up comedian, superhero and many others.

By the way, I still read “The Tale of the Silly Mouse” to my daughter from the phone - she is already a year and a month old, and we still have not found a publication that would suit (first of all, for now, of course, me) in terms of paper quality, illustrations and colors. But on the other hand, many other equally wonderful books started up in our baby library.

Take, for example, Anne Dewdney's Red Pyjama Llama, a world bestseller for babies. In Russia, the fairy tale, where the words “mother” and “llama” rhyme so well, was published by the Career-Press publishing house, it is available in paperback and hardcover.

We read the Lama a hundred times a day, and when I say a hundred times, this is not an exaggeration at all. The child is delighted with the illustrations and simple text, which is easy to highlight intonation, playing a whole performance in front of the baby. Lama, by the way, has not only pajamas, but also many other things and adventures, but they have not yet been published in Russian. But a child can also read in English!

Or you can not read at all, but just tell everything that comes to mind. The Sleep Book by Korean illustrator Il Sung Na is perfect for this. Since the author is an artist (he graduated from Kensington University and now lives in the USA), there is practically no text in the book. We use his "Sleep Book" as an album to review before going to bed. Every evening I tell my daughter the story of an owl that flies around the world and sees how everyone sleeps, adding to it a new detail, then a new detail. The book is great for expanding vocabulary and for remembering the sequence of actions before going to bed - this is important for those who decide to come up with a sleep ritual for the baby. Il Sung Na also has other picture books - "Baby Book" and "Snow Book", which can be a great gift for the New Year.

And now let's go back to Marshak. If we could not find a good edition of The Tale of the Stupid Mouse, then with Where did you dine, sparrow? we finally got lucky. The Labyrinth Publishing House published a wonderful cardboard book with illustrations by Mikhail Skobelev. The beauty of the book is that it is very easy to interest the baby: a sparrow on a ribbon is pasted into the fairy tale, which easily flies from page to page, and at the end it miraculously escapes from being eaten by a toothy crocodile, as if jumping out of the publication. My poetry lover is delighted.

Yes, and something else about the very books that we all love since childhood. There is such a series - "Mom's Favorite Book", in it you can find everything that we have loved so much since childhood. And a fairy tale about a wolf and kids with illustrations by Vasnetsov, and a story about an elephant who did not know who to be, and the adventures of all kinds of animals from Vitaly Bianchi. In a word, everything is the same, dear, familiar, but as bright and new as it used to be, at the time when we played mothers and daughters. We have a lot of different books from this series at home, all of them are loved by my daughter, but they have a minus - they are thin, which is not suitable for every kid. On the other hand, on such books it is convenient to explain that it is not worth offending these pages that are not protected by a thick cardboard cover.

Another excellent book lives under thick covers - a collection of poems by the modern Russian writer Anastasia Orlova "Apple-Heels". It is suitable for reading from birth - rhythmic lines are easy for parents to remember so that each new skill or event in the baby's life can be accompanied by verses (my favorite is about tights). The book is not very suitable for looking at, the illustrations in it are more decorative than semantic.

You can look at encyclopedias of category 0+ about animals and birds, which were released this year by the Rosmen publishing house. There is a minimum of text and a maximum of pictures - the baby can be shown real bison, tigers, elephants, bears, owls, wolves, penguins and many other amazing and not very animals and birds. We like the book because it serves as an addition to animal tales - after we read something with hand-drawn illustrations, we take an encyclopedia and look in it for all those heroes that we have just learned about. Very exciting.

Books are our great love, it doesn't even take two weeks for us to replenish the library. The first months of my daughter's life, I somehow got lost among all these new books and publications, and now the search for a new fairy tale, story or coloring book for finger paints is a serious and useful challenge for mom. I hope I do well.

Quotes from V. O. Pelevin's novel "t": joker000 - LiveJournal

Just imagine - a certain person entered the church, defended the service and experienced religious tenderness. I promised myself to always be meek and forgive the offenders... And then I went for a walk along the boulevard and came across a company of loafers. And one of these loafers allowed himself to speak unflatteringly about the style of our hero's pantaloons. A slap in the face, a duel, the death of an opponent, hard labor. Do you really think that all these actions have the same author? This is how different entities create us, acting in turn. And if you imagine that in the church, and while walking along the boulevard, and especially in hard labor, our hero kept thinking about carnal love in its most rude and vulgar forms, we will get an example of how different entities create us , acting simultaneously.

- If, for example, a clerk from a shop played the balalaika, then beat his friend in the face, then sold the balalaika to an old Jew, went to a brothel and drank the remaining money in a tavern, this means that the clerk was created in turn by Apollo, Mars, Jehovah, Venus and Bacchus.

"You say interesting things," he said. But what then do we call a man?
- This is brochet tarakanoff, - answered the princess. - Pike in cockroach style. It is the mystery of man that symbolizes our family dish.

So, grandfather explained that since ancient times, Jewish mystics believed that our whole world was created by the thought of God. By the way, the Greeks knew the same thing. Recall, for example, how Xenophon spoke about the deity — “without effort, with the power of the mind, he shakes everything…” This is how the Creator works.

Officially, there is only one God, but the hidden esoteric offshoot of Kabbalah remembers well that there are actually many creators and we are all created by different entities.

Putting letters and words together, he shudders the divine mind and forces God to think what he describes. The devil is a monkey of God - he creates in this way the physical world full of suffering and our bodies. And the writer is the ape of the devil — he creates the shadow of the world and the shadow of its inhabitants.

It was very similar to witchcraft: my grandfather tore a page from a volume of Shakespeare before my eyes, wrote some signs on the margins, burned this sheet, dissolved the ashes in a glass of water and gave me this water to drink. After that, he sat me on a chair facing the wall and told me to close my eyes.

- Soon I felt that I was falling asleep, and I had a strange waking dream. I became Hamlet and I was real. But not quite - not in the way that a person is real. It was a very unusual experience, thanks to which I understood how a literary hero arises from non-existence and how he again disappears into it.

— As I said, grandfather considered the most terrible of sins to be the creation of new entities, the appearance of which was initiated not by God, but by someone else. For any imperfect act of creation causes suffering to the Almighty. Therefore, the punishment for the so-called earthly creators is that it is their souls that subsequently have to play the heroes baked by other demiurges.

Literary creativity has become the art of making letter combinations that sell well.

- The very concept of the author in the former sense has disappeared. Novels are usually written by teams of specialists, each responsible for a different aspect of the story. And then the pieces sewn together are combed by the editor so that they do not look heterogeneous. Make a dragon, hehe.

- I have already explained about myself. The second is Mitenka Bershadsky. He is responsible for eroticism, glamor and non-resistance to evil by violence. A young man, but already quite famous. A rising star of a rising genre. Titanium of a small anti-glamor form.

“Number three is Grisha Ovnyuk,” Ariel answered. “When you're shooting with Knopf, jumping off a bridge into a river on a parachute cassock, or sorting things out with Amazonian assassins, it's all him. Grisha, so you know, a genius.

- There are still narrow specialists. This is Gosha Pivorylov. Number four.
— What department is he in?
- Torchok. Well, or a creator of psychedelic content, as it is written in the statement. They took it for polyphony - marketers say that one torch per hundred pages will not hurt in any way. He is also a star in his own way. Or rather, an asterisk is not of the same magnitude as Ovnyuk, but he will not be left without work. He writes light drugs to all glamor and anti-glamour. If necessary, they can be heavy. Responsible, in short, for altered states of consciousness, including alcohol intoxication. For example, when you drink a decanter of vodka and you want to live and laugh and look endlessly into the blue sky. He also did an acid trip with a horse.

- I don't even want to think about the fifth one. For personal reasons, I have a conflict with him. Well, yes, there is another author who writes your internal monologues. Creates, so to speak, a quoted stream of consciousness. Metaphysician of the Absolute. I'm laughing, of course. Such metaphysicians in Moscow are like fucking cockroaches, pardon the expression. There is definitely a couple in every Khrushchev.

In general, he is a schizophrenic, I can tell you for sure. You should have seen how he reads reviews of himself. Rustling in the corner with a newspaper and muttering: “How? Did the magic lantern go out? And why did you piss in him for five years, cunt? Pissed something of what? And all metaphysics. You are a swan song for him, count, because nowhere else will he be given so much space.

- Marketers say that today Count Tolstoy is interesting to the public only as a Count, but not as Tolstoy.

"God does not read the book of life," the emperor replied gravely. “He burns it, Count. And then he eats the ashes.

Silence is the stroke of the hourglass. That's why they beat eternity all the time...

You can tell people: your god is this painted stump. It is not difficult to make such an idol, but it is also easy to destroy it - such a god will quickly be lost in time. But if you choose an abstract construction of the mind as an idol, for example, the concept of a disembodied God as a person, then there will be no possibility to destroy such an idol, even by sending an entire army. Or rather, there will be only one way to get rid of it - to stop thinking about it. But for most people, this is beyond the realm of possibility.

One serious structure under Colonel Urkins is recruiting a team for a new project. An ironic retro shooter on the "source" engine, will be released in versions for pussy and xbox. The console version will come bundled with a specially written book, like the collectible Warcraft, if that tells you anything. The name of the project is "Dostoevsky's Petersburg" or "Window to Europe", it has not yet been finally decided.

- He said that there is no death in essence. All that happens is the disappearance of one of the stages where twenty-two powers play their roles. But the same forces continue to participate in billions of other performances. So nothing tragic happens.

RULES OF THE DEATH OF FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY
Leaving his eyes to soak up the black teeth of bold letters, he looked at his photograph, reproduced in a reduced form (because of this, it did not look as depressing as on the cover), and, anticipating a modest and slightly shameful pleasure , began to re-read the collection of his own aphorisms:
- In life you will meet many items that make excellent cheap weapons. Take a box, a barrel, a brick and throw them at the enemy.
- Having taken away vodka and sausage from the enemy, do not waste a cartridge on a control shot - anyway, he will soon die from radiation.
- Always aim for the head. You will do more damage.
- Knocked down can be easily finished on the ground with a single blow.
- Daggers do less damage, but they hit very fast. In addition, you can learn to backstab an enemy by sneaking up behind you.
- Do not forget to inspect the corpses, they may contain vodka and sausage.
- Never take more than one sip of vodka to neutralize radiation - otherwise you risk being drunk in the midst of enemies.
- Do not try to kill all the enemies to the last before you start sucking souls - a soul swallowed in time will give you courage and help bring the fight to the end.
- Frozen enemies are best smashed to pieces without waiting for them to thaw.

Three Mazuriks walked in front, followed by five students (of course, these were not real Mazuriks and students - this is how Dostoevsky classified ghouls because of vague and not completely clear associations himself). The procession was closed by a pair of cavaliers in white officer's uniforms and two necrodancers with luggage. In total, as expected, twelve.

“Europe, Europe, what's good in it, in this Europe? Toilets are clean at the stations, and that's it. To shit on going there, but there's nothing else to do…”

In one of those seconds, T. realized that he was seeing eternity — and it was just like that, vague, indefinite and thoughtless, having no concept of itself.

The pen touched the paper and wrote: RIVER
T. immediately saw this river - it was emerald green and rushed past red stone ledges, above which rose the tiled roofs of squat white houses. It looks like it was somewhere in Italy.

RIVER WITH ICE
And the river became different. Instead of an emerald ribbon, an endless ice field appeared in front of T. - the river became very wide. The red stones of the banks have disappeared. Everything around was now covered in snow. It was a winter evening; in the gap of the yellow-blue clouds the red eye of the setting sun burned.

The glove approached the leaf and quickly scribbled: The ice-bound river was undoubtedly the Styx, separating the world of the living from that for which there are no words in human language. The three-headed Cerberus, the guardian of the gates of the grave, was somewhere nearby - this was made clear by the dreary horror that passed through the soul in waves. But Count T. has not yet seen the guard. He walked along the shore, heading for the snow-covered ruins that could be seen at the edge of the ice field. The shore he walked on was the shore of death...

T. understood that he could not accelerate because his body jerks were too sharp, and he should move smoothly, trying to make his arm swings and leg thrusts come out round and unhurried, similar to the natural movement of a pendulum. It was necessary not to twitch, but, as it were, to sway towards the oncoming ice.
As soon as he began to move in a new way, the dog began to lag behind. Soon T.'s heart was relieved. It even seemed to him that he heard laughter somewhere nearby - but it was the wind laughing.

"Doesn't matter," T interrupted, "did you manage to find out what kind of secret society it is?"
The pea gentleman smiled squeamishly and said:
- Sodomites, sir.
— Why do you think so?
Gorokhovy shrugged his shoulders.
— Yes, I know from experience that behind secret societies there is usually no other secret than this one. Why else would they be quiet?

This is accompanied by an old Tibetan song recorded on a phonograph drum “How I sinned with my mouth, that year my lama died”. Yogi Denis Bykososov sings, Bon tradition.

T. saw a half-length portrait of Dostoevsky - he was depicted in full size, in an academic and somewhat semi-official manner - with that generous addition of hair, subcutaneous muscles and a healthy blush, which grateful posterity never skimp on.
- Why is this? T.
asked. “That is my method of working with spirits,” Jambon replied.
- Tell me, how can you call the spirit of the deceased? Is he reborn, according to your beliefs?
Jambon looked at T.
- In my opinion? he asked in surprise.
T. felt a little awkward.
- Well, you're a Buddhist. And in Buddhism, as far as I know, they believe in the rebirth of the soul. There are even incarnate lamas.
— That's right, — said Jambon, — I myself am an incarnate lama.
— So how do you summon the spirit? What if he has already been embodied - for example, in this detective who stole your message from Pobedonostsev's box? And we will look for Dostoevsky somewhere in the astral world, not realizing that he was next to us a minute ago . ..
- Do you believe in all this nonsense? Jambon raised his eyebrows.
T. was confused.
- I... I don't know, really. I assumed you did. It's not me, the reincarnated lama, but you.
Jambon smiled condescendingly.
- If you are not aware, Count, the doctrine of the rebirth of lamas is associated exclusively with the inheritance of feudal monastic property.
- Are you saying this like a lama? T.
was surprised. “I say this as a lama who never deceives serious clients. That's why I charge so much.
"So," T. said curiously, "you don't believe in reincarnation at all?"
"Not really," Jambon replied. “According to my ideas, it is not a separate personality that is reborn, but the Absolute. That is, it is not Karl after death that becomes Clara, but the same ineffable power becomes both Karl and Clara, and then returns to its nature, not affected by any of these incarnations. But in fact, of course, one cannot say about the Absolute that it is reborn or incarnated. Therefore, it is better not to talk about this topic at all.

However, Count, if you try hard, you can really be reborn in hell. For the absolute mind, absolutely everything is possible.

One pill is recommended for the laity, because they look at the world as if with one half-sighted eye. One who has established himself on the spiritual path can swallow two, for he has both eyes open. And three can only be taken by those who have the eye of wisdom open. But he does not need any pills at all, so the third one is added for ritual purposes - this is the tradition.

It was like a waking dream: T. really saw Dostoevsky's Petersburg from about the height of the rooftops. Not so much, however, I saw as I imagined or remembered - but the city was perceived quite clearly. It could be looked at, moving attention from one detail to another.
The houses looked abandoned and gloomy. There were no passers-by, no carriages on the streets - only once a cart passed in the distance, looking like a sea shell because of the long iron spikes sticking out on its sides. From time to time sewer hatches opened in the pavement, and gentlemen in frock coats smeared with whitewash ran from them to the entrances. The walls of the houses were covered with dirt stains, curses and unreadable graffiti, depressingly monotonous in their iridescent pluralism.

Dostoevsky noticed a strange thing a long time ago - a new batch of alcohol arrived just when the old one was running out. This did not depend on the amount of vodka captured before, nor on the number of fallen dead souls, nor on the level of radiation. As soon as the drink ran out, the company of the dead, loaded with alcohol, again wandered to storm the firing position. Elder Fyodor Kuzmich believed that this was a clear proof of the existence of God. As another piece of evidence, he pointed to the red barrels of gasoline, which always inexplicably ended up in places where a whole group of ghouls could be burned with one shot. (Speaking of these barrels, Fyodor Kuzmich always got excited: With this you will win! - he repeated excitedly. - With this you will win!) Dostoevsky did not know what about dogmatics, but from a practical point of view, Fyodor Kuzmich was right.

- Yes, as Count T. is usually portrayed. In a straw hat, with two revolvers.

“So that’s what you are,” he cooed affably. “You know, it’s good that we met. I have always been interested in the question of how long the martial art of Count T. will stand against my axe. But there was no way to check it...

“Well, how about it,” said Dostoevsky, gradually blushing from the effort (he kept trying to overpower T. and wrest the ax), “of not resisting evil by violence.
— Oh, that's what you're talking about, — said T., also pouring dark blood. — Yes, there is a little. But what kind of evil are you, Fyodor Mikhailovich? You are the lost good!

- "Izh Navertell". What language is it? Never tell, right? Some kind of "pidgin English"...
"That's Russian," Dostoevsky replied, looking around frowningly. - It's just written in Latin. Izhevsk work, piece. Model "Izh navertel". Not in the catalog, they made it for me personally from an alloy of Damascus steel with a silver cigarette. Anniversary special.

His teaching was that a person, engaged in mystical work, should, as it were, divide himself into a book and its reader. The book is all the shudders of our spirit, all the impulses and throwing, all our thoughts, fears, hopes. Solovyov likened them to a senseless and terrible novel, which is written by a masked madman, our evil genius - and we cannot tear ourselves away from these black pages. But, instead of leafing through them day after day, you should find a reader. To merge with it is the highest spiritual goal.

The idea, they say, is interesting, dynamic, but on the whole they are forced to refuse. You have, they say, in one episode the choir of Harlem Jews sings the song "black moron, I'm not yours", and in the other, a dark lord named Laborer Abram appears.

They even thought of bringing in Solovyov's students - Andrey Bely, who merges with the ceiling, and Alexander Blok, who does not miss a single blow.

- Panteleimon complains that the Tibetan lamas often - from New York, then from London, whole Boeings. So they behave, as if they opened a tent in a wasteland. It's like no one has done business here before.

The mind is a mad monkey rushing towards the abyss. Moreover, the idea that the mind is a crazy monkey rushing towards the abyss is nothing more than a coquettish attempt by a crazy monkey to fix his hair on the way to the cliff.
Solovyov

You are not a line in the Book of Life, but its reader. The light that makes the page visible. But the essence of all earthly stories is that this eternal light weaves behind the filth of insignificant authors and is unable to rise to its real destiny - until it is said about it in the Book ... However, only light can know what destiny is Sveta.
Solovyov

Clever idleness is carefree. If you describe it in the symbolic language of the moment, it is like this - Your Majesty, remember that you are the emperor, and dissolve the thought!
Solovyov

“On the contrary,” Jambon answered, “he predicted the widest spread of Tibetan Buddhism, because this system of views already after two sessions makes it possible for any office worker to call all other people clowns.

Allegedly spoke with the emperor. He asked what is the cosmic purpose of Russian civilization. But Solovyov, take it and tell me - this, Your Majesty, is the processing of solar energy into people's grief. For this, they were imprisoned. The emperor, of course, himself knows everything about solar energy, but ambassadors were present, and everything got into foreign newspapers.

"Now let's go towards Nevsky," said the young nihilist. - Stay relaxed. It is best to portray the conversation.
- Why pretend, - T. answered, catching his breath. “We can actually talk. What is your name?
"Vasily Chapaev," the young man introduced himself. “By the way, I have long dreamed of meeting you, Count.

— Really? You are the first cavalryman I have ever met who is preoccupied with the question of whether the Absolute has a personality.
Chapaev sighed.
- You know, Count, I can't say that this question really concerns me. Yes, keep the conversation going. And about my specialty… Do you feel that cold wind on your face? For some reason, it seems to me that soon the very skills that I am learning will be needed to survive. And it doesn't hurt to learn how to sing revolutionary songs.

- Let's pray! Fyodor Kuzmich exclaimed and made a wave-like motion with his hand in front of his chest, as if drawing a tilde in the air. After that, he bowed to the icon and mumbled under his breath, at first quietly, and then louder and louder.
T. opened the red book. Inside was a sheet of paper dark from candle fat. Italicized it with:

god
give_health
give_ammo
give_armor
noclip
notarget
jumpheight 128
timescale.25

Judging by the sounds reaching T., Fyodor Kuzmich was reading this very text, only with a strange pronunciation, intricately howling in the most unexpected places, so that these simple words really began to sound like mysterious ancient spells, full of power and mystery: “givamma! guivarma!" However, while praying, Fyodor Kuzmich clearly passed the meaning through his heart: at the words “no target”, he crouched down and put his left hand in front of him, as if shielding himself with an invisible shield, and at “jump height” he jumped up and clapped his hands loudly - and T. clumsily repeated these movements after him.
The prayer ended the same way it began - with a wave-like wave of the hand.

- You are really the hero of the novel. But the novel is not only about you. This is a novel about Ariel Edmundovich Brahman and his henchmen, commanding a golem named "Count T.", whom they gently but persistently lead away from the search for eternal truth to sucking out souls in a console shooter, motivating this by the requirements of the crisis and the market. The novel is a description of this process in its entirety.

"The sixth element," said Solovyov. “Remember he was talking about a realist hired despite the crisis? They will try to make you an offer that is extremely difficult to refuse. Few people manage to pass this temptation. But I'm sure you can, because...
There was a knock on the door, and Solovyov's silhouette immediately went out - as if the hidden source of light that made him visible had turned off.
And then T. woke up.

Opening his eyes, Tolstoy raised his head.
A few seconds passed before he realized that he was sitting at his desk in his office. In front of him, on a green cloth, lay a pile of scribbled paper; the pen that fell out of his hand left a long semicircular blot on one of the sheets, which, it seems, had to do with the dream that had just ended. And there was also a white kid glove on the table, which also had to do with sleep, even a very important relationship.

“I dreamed that I was writing a novel… Yes, exactly. Some completely crazy novel, where the hero was the late Dostoevsky. And I myself… However, what a detailed and strange dream, almost a whole life, fantastic and funny… Stop. Am I the only one who wrote this novel? No, it seems that I myself was the novel that was being written... Or both were present...”

“New guests have arrived,” he said.
- Who's there? Sofya Andreevna asked.
“Two educated workers,” said Tolstoy’s son Dmitry Lvovich, who came in after the footman, mockingly, “and another student girl. She seems to be one of the nihilists - short-haired, red-haired and smoking a cigarette. Pretty.

“I've already seen this room,” Tolstoy recalled, “only it was a little different... I was just trying to paint myself in it... Shouldn't I try again? We ought to take and finish this business while Ariel is in Egypt…”
Surprised at how easily and smoothly any action succeeds, Tolstoy took a white kid glove from the table, put it on his hand, raised the pen, dipped it into the inkwell and drew out on paper the instantaneous phrase:
"The door opened and two gendarmes entered the cell."

These words are connected with a long history: once, talking with Jambon, Solovyov said that the four noble truths of Buddhism, transcribed for a modern person, should sound different than they did two thousand years ago. After arguing and laughing, the two of them recorded this version:
1) Life is anxiety
2) The mind is based on the Duma
3) You can’t think about the Duma, but you can only dissolve
4) To dissolve the Duma, you need an emperor

P. S. Anechka sends greetings to the “terrible uncle with a beard”

Pulling a sheet of paper towards him, he dipped the pen into the inkwell and wrote in large letters in its center: small letters on paper. Everything he could remember: Russian, Greek, Latin, a few Hebrew and even a couple of Scandinavian runes. He wrote without any system and logic - he simply put those signs that themselves jumped out in his memory, and soon the name of the demiurge was surrounded by divergent spirals of a cipher, mysterious even for the author.
"There is no doubt that the sequence of signs and their meaning in magic is completely unimportant," T. thought. Any spell or ritual is just an attempt to attract the attention of some invisible instance - but if you firmly know that this instance is in yourself, you can not worry about minor inconsistencies ... "
Putting the Greek "omega" at the end of the letter sequence, T . put down the pen.
"Well," he thought, "now let's find out if I'm a trembling creature or a ray of light in a dark kingdom. .."
Picking up the scribbled sheet, he brought it up to the candle, but changed his mind and put it back on the table.
“Nevertheless,” he whispered, “it’s better to follow the formalities, because it’s been said… Something must have been said about this. And I forgot the most important thing.
Taking a pen, he added the word “BKhGV” to the right of the diverging whirlwind of letters, and to the left, the same incomprehensible word “AGNTS”, which for some reason he enclosed in an uneven pentagon. Then I drew a sack at the bottom and wrote the Greek word "watgs" on it.
It seems to be spelled like that, he thought. “It would have been possible in Russian, but it’s more Kabbalistic… Now that’s all for sure.”

“Kabbalists like you,” he said, “believe that there are twenty-two rays of creation—or fifteen, I don’t remember. But in reality there is only one ray that passes through everything that exists, and everything that exists is it. The one who writes the Book of Life, and the one who reads it, and the one about whom this Book tells. And this ray is myself, because I cannot be anything else. I have always been and always will be. Do you think I need some more power?

“It seems to me,” said T., “it would be fair to do to you as you wanted to do to me, good man. You planned to put an end to my fate. Instead, I'll put an end to yours.

“That window is me,” she continued, her purple eye flashing. “I am the place where the universe exists, life, death, space and time, my current body and the bodies of all the other participants in the performance - although, if you look, there is nothing in it at all ...
- Shall we chop a finger?
The horse neighed.
"It would be nice to say goodbye," she said searchingly. - It will be possible to call an act of ultimate non-doing at the last outpost. If you want to know what I really think...
- With this to Chapaev.
The horse even stopped.
- Why to Chapaev?
- He is a cavalryman. He wonders what the horse thinks.

I definitely feel that Ariel Edmundovich was right about one thing - what he called "reality" will definitely sprout somewhere. So let Chapaev deal with them. Maybe you can convince him about the finger.

As the Lord comes out at the end of time Three of us
To sing about the fate of creation that has come full circle.
The cemetery of the museum cemetery stretches behind a wasteland
And after a long practice it turns into just a meadow.

The ancient enemy of mankind comes out to download rights,
And suddenly he realizes with anguish that he can not start.
Meadow turns into earth from which grass grows,
Then anyone who can call them that disappears.

The right will be forgotten, and the left will be lost.
Here, for technical reasons, the song may fail.
But enough has already been sung, and what lies ahead,
Doesn't fit into the verse and rhymes only with itself...

Realizing that the poem is finished, T. said: Especially for a horse - not bad at all.

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