Records of past years
I have noticed that books do not always bring benefits, as well as bad movies, etc.People very rarely bring benefits that are independent of their wealth. They are born and die, love and hate, but few of them still become test pilots in something new, magical and exceptional. And this definitely deserves respect, however, in many ways the end points in these flights also end with their well-being and comfort zone. That is why everything goes on a roll, but only down. I have many thoughts, but I don’t know how to put them into words. Can I have a few drinks and dance them?
The main thing in life is to feel. All around. Life, but how can you understand it? And it is possible to feel… Love… It is much easier to understand the deaf, blind, mute. The concept comes with a feeling. It’s that simple. A lot of words, a lot of frames squeezed into the perception of the world, a lot of work, sofas, beds, TVs, developed views, beliefs that everything is fine, births, deaths, laws, principles, cars, actions for the benefit of yourself, but with time, less and less feelings. We grow up, get older, in order to live according to the developed concepts of what is good and what is bad, but what do we feel? The emptiness that has arisen, however remarkable, as if it has emerged from outside, we perceive as an experience of living, and so we want to die young, because there are no sensations of life, boiling, bright, unpredictable, and this is where we lose to the cosmos, which aspires to infinity, seething and feeling all of us and feeling our boundless sadness.
Franz Kafka is especially relevant on this day, because all of us have been under trial for a long time, and every day we defend ourselves or seek protection from a death sentence. As sad as it is, the accusation is also abstract and unfair, but the essence remains only in the admission of guilt, and guilt itself attracts justice. In the illusory world of lies and betrayal, hope and love, there is only one truth, all that we have in ourselves, so I wish you to seek strength and honor in yourself, to carry the weight of your process through your entire life.
Growth is inevitable, especially at night. This is open to everyone. Some fly at night like moths, feeling the approach of spring, buying wine, wandering along paths trodden since childhood, or having fun in bars crowded with crowds of strangers, but their own copies, others, trying to forget the day, crawl to hotels, to bedrooms, to rooms , in bed, leaning their ear to the pillow. It is strange when there is a war, when life turns into death, but about the same way night turns into morning. But at night you can still hear the sea, and the same tide, something that was not quite a long time ago, but in fact it’s all the same. People are not born the same. When I see night lights, I don’t want to Wake up.
Seriously, it doesn’t matter. You can clap your hands with joy. You are also sick of it, but only from the other side. And even if you don’t have a Portishead tantrum, and you don’t run around the bypass channel, this disease follows you like a sticky trail. And when you’re alone drinking whiskey, do you think any of you understand the gravity of the event of termination of the contract with yourself? Your imagination can run wild in this puddle of pigs, but only as long as you drink enough shit, and there’s a chance that you’ll end up on our ledge. Perhaps we are not so United, but everyone can break down at any moment, and it will be sad without him, but it is freer there. In fact, you can f* * * the whole planet, but will someone tap you on the back for it? You crave gratitude and give stupid advice to those in need, who don’t need it, and it’s a pity. Which is a pity.
To steal it. Take the first thing that comes to mind and do not lose. Karmic mouth. Like a song without a chorus, like a wounded animal under your foot trying to kill you. Melancholy is what comes to us before we go to sleep. It is a kind of melancholy, only in the case that you are like a person who is put in a closed cube together with others who are not familiar in any way, but very close, but still different, so that there is no longer any space in this space. And it’s so crowded. A huge space where everything, but all one at a time. And the trouble is not that one is here for all, but that all are here as one. Deflowering my baby. And now it all comes to us from a different angle, but only for a moment. Only sophisticated aesthetes try to find the blood in all this and poke at it, getting pleasure from it, because I know with them that it is best to keep the wound, as if not noticing it, and only then, sighing, you feel full of melancholy. This path at sunset becomes just an ordinary romance, and everything seems to be on the surface, but still the most important thing is between the words.
I haven’t felt this in a long time. But there is no longer that panic. All this has become so familiar that the glimmer of the attack has already become a preoccupation of the mind. There are only 2 of them. You can scream, call for help and go about the feelings or try to cope on your own. And here is closing book, understanding, that opportunities to read already no, made deep breath, understand, head is beginning to get heavy, nalivayas blood, the picture darkens and begins to spin. The next station is mine and you need to get up in advance. But already, knowing that this will happen, began to torment doubts, but I got up and went to the door. This immediately gave rise to the peak of the attack. It was dark in the eyes, the body became wadded. The main thing is not to fall. I knew this from past experiences, and I gripped the handrail and tried to grope my way into the next seat. I was all wet. I was completely in the dark. Sounds like a vacuum. Scream? This is ridiculous. I gathered myself and looked around, and I began to distinguish with great effort the contours of the car, and the people around, who did not care about me at all. I jumped out of the car, ran across the station, found myself on another train, on the way home, I felt funny. Like any person who has broken something in himself, who has broken the shadowy link between reality and the innermost meaning. Does it matter to me if someone is complicit? On the contrary, I would like to keep all these memos in my personal folders. Looking for a revelation among strangers with your tragedy, poisoning them with your own weakness — this is not the best way of life. This is what we are taught all our lives — to be cool and have an acquaintance with our demons, or at least to know them by sight.
And although the knife is small, but in the back. And when the problems begin, it makes itself felt by the blood that has dried from time. None of this is going anywhere. Not forward, not back. Wake up and light up the day with your silence, as if nothing has happened and nothing will happen, and closer to night drown in the meaninglessness of what is happening and look with drunken eyes at the occasionally visible stars. Summer ends, it comes, the same time of year that always puts everything in place, all the dots over the “and”, we can only wait and believe that it will not unwind all my dreams into a pile of small fragments. It’s up to the earth to hide the victory, and the further away, the more noticeable the smell of Napalm becomes, and even after three points, something begins, only to no avail…
Self-love or how you can destroy a house with your greatness to the ground. As time goes on, the planks of metaphors disappear, it is increasingly possible to mock outdated morals, and at the same time be absolutely right, at the expense of thriving greedy senselessness over the future of humanity. As close as it can be in a crowd and as much as you can paint time with dirt, so much so that you feed everyone apathy, make everyone feel helpless. Everything is much deeper. Especially between a social charitable all-encompassing love and a love that rejects someone else. The story is about how to teach yourself and others to give themselves to their loved ones, and not to perform praises in front of a crowd eager to grab a bigger piece. Today it is in the movies, and I am glad as never before that it has woken up in me and can Wake up in everyone.
This is not the end of a beautiful era. This is a continuation of the old indefatigable decomposition. It is so funny to learn the slogans of tomorrow from the screen, sitting in the suspenseful emptiness of yesterday’s holidays. It’s so easy to exist here. This lulls you to sleep, so try not to notice the mistakes of those or others, do not notice the insidious smiles, do not look into the eyes of those who would not like to see, do not tell people the words they deserve, forget the unnecessary, discard the meaning in the conversations you hear with forced acquaintances, do not notice the tears of passers-by and madness in banks and hospitals. Create a Kingdom in the midst of this, which you will call your unique creation, unlike all the others in this cesspool. And believe that one day you will believe that it is true.
Meet the time of magic and sum up the results of what is repeated every year with a tiny difference. And no matter how many good buses go away, stops are still inevitable. Become better at the expense of indoctrinating fools with linguistic programming, or look with painful indifference at the senseless eating of each other for the throne of God. How many choices can be made “for” and remain the same. How much you can resist, but Wake up every time crushed in a hangover delirium. No matter how sad it looks, everything is going according to plan. All the world with themselves and a little bit of good, and most importantly find meaning in the routine and do not let it go until the last breath.
Sparks fly out of my two chimneys and light up the stars. I shave at my reflection in the window and take a deep, slow dive straight into the abyss. Heavy guitar music forbids anyone to come into my house and all together it is with the pressure in the pipes, deeper and stronger pushes this planet, inch by inch. As I approach infinity, my razor blades cut away every last vestige of this silent picture, as if they were a tram, and as they glide over my jaw, they suddenly come away from it like burnt paper. And at this very moment, a new reef is started… school Children rape the corpse with their adoration. Yes, it makes me smile. A hot heart in a cold room, and if you have trampled her flesh with public love, why not crucify her on the cross?