Dribbles of Rozanov: First Droplet

Так и жизнь в быстротечном времени срывает с души нашей восклицания, вздохи, полумысли, получувства... Которые, будучи звуковыми обрывками, имеют ту значительность, что “сошли” прямо с души, без переработки, без цели, без преднамеренья, — без всего постороннего...

Thus, life in this fast-flowing time tears from our soul exclamations, exhalations, half-thoughts, half-feelings... which, being shreds of sound, possess the meaningfulness of that which has "alighted" straight from the soul, without reworking, without a goal, without premeditation, - without anything foreign...

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We open with what must be predictable perversity: a programmatic statement of diarrheism, the anal retention of scraps that would otherwise vanish in the torrent of diarrheal temporality. Why diarrheal, and not simply flowing? "This fast-flowing time" is a deleterious condition, as if time itself has consumed something disagreeable. As a result, time is in some hurry to divest itself of its contents, ejecting them summarily- fully digested or not.
Rozanov's diarrheism lies in embracing this condition, and his perversity in embracing it because it is malformed and incomplete. One can almost hear his gleeful winces as the digestive process miscarries, knowing that it makes whatever scraps of used toilet paper he sets aside the precious synechdoche of a much larger unknowable process of inestimable quality. The background sense of inescapable loss gives these scraps value as "the ones that made it", reflecting the well-honed and propagated habits of antiquarian culture.
Rozanov demonstrates his virtuosity in this transcription of transitoriness, his mind constantly expelling a stream of content not intended for us, some of it smearing onto the page for others to examine, as if by accident. Manifestly, Rozanov is a divine creature, the few traces of his faeces an object of fascination to the benighted, confused modern.