Time. Sergey Semashko

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      ISBN 978-5-0050-0954-8

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      Entry

      Imagine a person who has been denied the love of his life (probably). The woman he loved, loves and will love for the rest of my life (probably). The woman who sent him on a “long journey” without explaining any reason and cause of the investigation. A woman who loves another. And this, which now sits and contemplates dial wall clock, filters the thoughts passing through the mind, is filled with grief and emptiness, it is not necessary in Fig. This man has no name, no money, so he has no choice but to look into the void, counting the minutes of time. At least that’s what he thinks, and that’s all he has the nerve to do. Here, such here, the simple plot penetrated with Elegy of grief and existential psychoanalysis.

      00:00

      Lights out in the streets. The city is asleep. Silence. Only occasionally heard buzzing past passing cars on the roads and the rustle of the wind outside the window. We are, in fact, ordinary. At the beginning of a new cycle of the day. Slightly, can be, token. After all, scientists have long counted the seconds. Found out all the inaccuracies, nuances. Curiosity can become a profession if you know where to send. Or better to say – take the right vector. But everything changes, anyway. And at the same time remains the same, no matter how you turn. The mistaken belief that society has reached the highest heights of knowledge and a wide breadth of perception of reality, we feel themselves masters of the situation. Don’t you? A new truth has been revealed: the master’s measure of asceticism. Wild elk, wild elk, saw through himself. Fragrant silence, I’m sorry. I do not want to break. Don’t give me the gun, or I can do the irreparable. Step aside and you’re gone. Disappeared without a trace in the abyss of evil, vices and misfortunes. The chessboard of life scattered the pieces. Who remained at the helm, he is not the captain. AZ am – a natural arrangement of things. The law of global troubles, expressed as conceivable appears to be inversely proportional; mactime identical to the real; say eliminates effective. The world of psychoanalysis has passed. They have too many sham truths. They don’t have the courage to go forward. Who would insist, frankly? I would like to expand the angle of view, but what it prevents, prevents, blocks the way. Even concentration of the mind is already good luck. You can’t see the back of your head if you turn your head. Specifically for this have come up with a mirror. Invented or invented – it does not matter. And however, it is important! – you can think of anything, but to invent – not all. Although, the drawing (schedule) of the perpetual motion machine has long existed, so long ago that it is even ridiculous to talk about it, but it is not possible to assemble such an engine yet. Love laughs at my words. Hatred grimaces at my stubbornness. The force wants to put everything in its place. The impulsiveness of my thinking forces me to order. The violence of my imagination calls for self-destruction. The apotheosis of thought is the contemplation of the face of God, “all” and “all”, imprinted in an instant. Have you seen the face of a woman listening to a noble husband? It’s like a Spaniel begging for candy. The angle of freedom and the angle of action are not proportional in equality. I hope you understand what I mean. Dear God, may you deliver us from the torments caused by the devil’s restlessness, the splendor of illusions and the seeming of all kinds. The hole in his pants is a vivid witness. The hole in the pocket is proof of that. I dreamed of eternal snows, and that must be a miracle. Easy farce sounding liter. This book will pull not everyone. I already feel like not everyone. Not a lot – even so I want to say. If any, it will pull at least someone/something. You think I’m too complacent? By no means. I just know what modern society reads: “Household philosophy of life”, “the Steepness of the flight to Mars”, “the Mystery of the secular criminal peryshkin”, and on top of all this – “How to make millions without fucking people.” My library consists of fifty books, each of which I reread many LT\et. Fixation of the mind on third-party thoughts is nothing but fanaticism. But God, how unpleasant to realize (once, because it is impossible to re-implement) that all the truths are reduced to two dozen of the simplest that exist long before the creation of the world. Dildo. Fergus. Traverse. What beautiful words. Such could come only people with good taste. Busty Cecilia that my mother just – Olesya. Gray squirrel in the wheel of life. Running in the fitness/gym. There was a time when prostitutes were given a class ID. As all were / the on fact. Prosaically. Life has always seemed like an endless mystery to me. But the mystery was solved and turned into boredom. Reinforced concrete truth of prose. Too formal, don’t you think? Where did art go? Sincere, pure, bright art… it’s gone. Sell off. With all the guts. Since the times of Egyptian pharaohs that built the stone building for just, people full of advantages of begging. Somehow. Although, we know why, but this topic is already so worn out that there is nothing to say. Let everything remain as it is. Spit. I like the last moron literature – arrange the icons, not even thinking about their meaning. But the perfection of genius, yet, allows this to be done. The time will come, and I hardly dare to such. In the meantime, listen to my words, for the light of truth shines in them, and the juices of life oozing out of them. The tree of wisdom is so old that no one can handle it. However, metal ceramics now. Pearl letters scattered on cryptomanager. Crisp electronic paper. Six hryvnias for half-chastushki. I’m so young and (damn!) so old-fashioned. Pour me some wine in an old/good faceted glass. Portuesi, sorry. Wine is drunk from glasses. Obscurantism. Planned epic story weighing in at a million letters. And see what happens. Not all OK only from one genius depends. Let’s try not to miss a single thought. Moreover, you do not forget that I am one of those hacks (buygeneric) that klyanchaet food from the neighbors. I mean, what do not sure that this book will be added to the end and will be released. Even if not everyone will pull it. Although, you know, writing without support, though hard, but it turns out very cool. Almost at the level of ancient poetry. Of course, when death breathes in the back of the head. I have no idea how those who live on Rublevsky highway work. What should be written there. Here we have – Yes… Shock\content. Detroit’s neighborhoods would seem like a child’s play in a sandbox. Although have them there their the twists and turns. I could never understand why people living in squalid neighborhoods, or rather artists, in the broad sense of the word, are so close to the magic of reality. They are almost at the cellular level it is perceived. As well as people living in elite areas, so far from reality that sometimes it seems crazy. An all-new mystery of existence. I love when the phrase sounds succinctly. The stream of thoughts, not carrying any intellectual load, is just a machination of a cunning speculator who decided to make money on the simplest work of imagination. Damn them. They are not afraid of the laws of physics. Am I jealous again or swearing at the imperfection of the world? Let them do what they want. Spit. The audience reading my books is the elite. So we will conduct a census of the elite layer of society. Someone told me: it is immediately clear that I am a good person. Don’t jump to conclusions. However, it was the neighbor from the third floor, he just wanted to scratch languages, so fawned. And when it became clear that he was forty years older than me – quickly fell behind. Apparently, he didn’t want to mess with the kids. I would like to continue in the same spirit. How much energy and imagination. If only this book didn’t cost me half my mind. There’s no turning back. And what, by the way, van Gogh so worried about/about all these cases related to his unstable character, that his poor, all these hospices drove until he, one fuck, a bullet in his chest is not allowed? He could have kept running around hospitals, making others think he was really sick. Although, the ear is why he/it cut off. Maybe he didn’t always know what he was doing. That’s what I really can’t figure out is how the Chinese sages in ancient times were able to overcome all these difficulties, with regards to hunger and deprivation. Because if you think about it… and here is something to think about and people was several orders of magnitude tough character, than now. And she’s back in my head. Trying to get a hold of me. That’s all she’s interested in. Victory over me. So when I lie in bed exhausted, my phone is silent, and no one knocks on the door. I/fact, in Fig nobody needs, except those cases when people are sick and need/support. When I feel bad, and I need support, I am met СКАЧАТЬ