A power to delay a Doomsday, which is rightfully hanging, is it, not, just standing there, counting, making mistakes, forgetting in her trade mark pre-dancery affectation. Leaning over our yesly paradise – she! green-clad goddess – o! ginger! Yes, yes, yes, she’s gone, I said, not for good at all, will pour that tinto good for me. I will.
A leaf drooped and then seemed to have made no effort to break away and fall before them with such an instant of effrontery. The poplar was not to blame for that – the leaf should have been more faithful to the branch it had always stemmed from and could have stemmed from for tree-time to come, had it not been for its wildeish yielding-to-temptation philosophy which eventually led it to falling victim to ever-seducing wind. Good leaf! escaped freedom, well done! They walked on…
No philosopher – a mere observer and observed, the voice!
Let there be musics – I hear and I commit to paper. Let it be music for the present’s and the future’s ears.
If grasped, this all will push the all of you and me towards being faithful – not fearful.
Is there anyone – of course there isn’t. There’s no you to me, there is no me to you. There’s only you for me. And that’s the it of it.
I want to feel and touch and hear and say. It’s not subjective. There’s no objective. My life’s not yours but yours is mine. Aye, aye! It works with you.
There will be no enigmas in here – every little trifle and letter and syllable will be yours and its meaning will solely answer your questions. Float down the stream of these words and utterances and read your very own book.
O I am here – life exists. In me. The powerful play goes on, and I will contribute volumes.
Bollocks! Life ain’t exist – it is and lives. Amen, Aman! Women and man!
The warmth wonders. And he, basically like any other human, was is and will be interested in watching wonders although utterly not surprised to observe them happening. It is as sure as death that you would also be not surprised to seize ’em if you didn’t notice them, did you, would you? Doubtlessly he’s not the one to blame for it.
By Mother Nature he was produced in that special, that most wonderfully unmarvelous and disgusting as well way that he, to tell the truth, stood absolutely no chance to catch sight of the first and the main and the most sentimental for nothing wonder of his hole life-term. Quite sinful a wonder of wonders that would wander its way from the very fleshy desires. Ah, this wonderful world! Viva el mundo, viva la vida! Perversity fathers innocence, filthiness – purity. Passion was the reason for it and him. The sin was the nurse, the clerk and the rhyme.
The Roman hill, an arrow struck by Eros and the Tiber seasoned with a couple of pints of salt and here he goes, from there he’s come. Ave! Ave! Morituri te salutant! What the hell the Romans were thinking ’bout? Shame, shame on them! Witty barbarians, scholars and artists, actors and orators, whores and sluts. They spoke and taught and thought of Styx etcetera. Reincarnated. Fell. And felt like keeping on falling and fell outside.
Once red – for ever white. He spied on them foundering and now as they were not avalanching him bull’s-eyely, they felt the same, he felt himself, he felt the same.
A nastily freezing wintry night was shamelessly inciting merciless gusts of wind to penetrate him. The frost. The matter is of no concern to the frost. It aims further, much further. And deeper. It aimed for his roots, letting the wind frolic with his leaves. Ever-frozen convolutions of his brain made him feel like being gradually buried half-alive by crumbs of deadly white snow. Streets – those rows of graves with no deadmen in them, houses – those charnel squadrons of sepulchers with naïve lights inside, town – sterile pale graveyard being in its turn ironically buried under billions of white blank molecules.
Endeavoring not to pay heed to the high wind blowing at his back he struggled to resist the bursts of the gale in his face.
Irritating snowflakes. Boasting. They were too numerous. He never really enjoyed big companies. He could not see his outstretched hand but what would have changed if he could. He’d seen it before. At the end of the day. It appeared quite impossible a task to be set before him – to throw his own hand out of memory.
Too many impossibles. Too many tasks.
Boasting. Showing off. Falling on him and melting, soaking him. A scolding teacher. Not teaching. Simply scolding. Scolding harshly. Why can they not just fall? There definitely was a perfect correctness in them. Calling and screaming symmetry. Cooling transparency and vulgar tracery.
Here they are, his fingers. His lusting fingers. At last they touched the longed-for doorhandle.
Since the very appearance of the hellish net, all sorts of hungry, teeth grinding, wild rats, who initially belonged to the depths of the dungeons, have undeservedly found snug burrows, have formed the villages of snug burrows which in their turn formed the countries full of them. These are the countries where every perverse-minded, foolishly pathetic rat finds the likes and its own corner.
This hellish net is better known as the Internet. As everything genial, the internet is bound to do as much damage as it does good, if not much more. More than that I’m convinced that the internet has done the biggest damage that has ever been done to society. The society itself was the one and only engine of the humankind’s evolution, since the immemorial times it has contributed into the development of an individual. But now the internet impersonates all the main regulatory bodies, has a massive impact on almost all spheres of our life and is the most respected judge for, especially, younger generations.
Whatever perverse and rotten thing you might be interested in finding of – you are welcome, Google will do it for you. Any kind of behaviour that would have led you to prison a couple of decades ago, now is appreciated in numerous groups and communities all over the net. The worst things that should be condemned by society are now basically considered normal and thus able to change the society itself. The internet, to my mind, threatens the foundations of morals.
In no way, shape or form I’m trying to minimize all those numerous virtues of the internet. Without any doubts it makes our lives easier and gives us whole lot of possibilities… but! But I think it is the greatest and the worst virus ever. The more information is open to us, the more unnecessary information we get. It kills our lives and makes them shorter if not treated correctly.
Sometimes it might seem to us that it makes time stop but in fact it just makes time fly even faster. So fast that we can’t notice the movement. I’m afraid even to think how many books I would have been able to read if I hadn’t been under the spell of the net. How many fascinating things I could have got to know if I had not just been busy reloading the pages.It requires a great will power to use the internet correctly since its purpose has been forgotten for ever. Different social networks is one of the best and the worst things that could have been ever invented. They were not supposed to waste our time but they do. It is a problem that cannot be solved.
The internet. Disease. In my imagination it is a lantern that casts shadow. The worst present from Paradise, the best one from Hell.
Why am I posting it here? It is one of the main reasons that prevent me from turning my existence into life.