Untitled0Слова любви шлю без разбораЯ, пробудившись ото сна.Очередного разговораЕщё мне тема не ясна.Ваша улыбка, друг сердечныйМне явится из тени грёз.Я утверждаю путь свой в
The Monstrous Soul. Chapter IIt was Morwenn's assignment. Not mine the words slowly oozed through Kiri's mind like a thick, mucoid plash of liquid sliding on a slippery surface, as the creaking van rocked back and forth, crawling on the uneven road. Again and again that night, Kiri fell for sleep's embrace as it seemed to be approaching, and every time sleep rejected him. Insomnia is double the torment when there is nothing but a thin layer of frosty glass under your head serving as a pillow for two consecutive days. His exhausted senses already adapted to the monotonous tapping of raindrops right under his ear, no longer bothering him at all and now the only source of restlessness for him was the endless torrent of thoughts thoughts, which ran like mad after several days of both physical and mental inactivity.It was all to do with Morwenn. Wasn't it? The promotion he went on about, his pride to lead the research unit, his high zest. No, I never wrote a dissertation on protoplas
Futility - RussianВоздвигни его к солнцу,Нежно будившему когда-тоВ родных краях того солдата.Под Ипром оно дух приподнимало,Но до рассвета дух угас.Что пробудит его сейчас, -Светило ст
Through the glass windowIf she is like me, she must lie like me. She must hide her feelings behind a glass window just like I do. She must be egoistic, narcissistic, and megalomaniacal, be I sure that she is like me. None of what she says sounds like truth, and that is just what I sound like. We are so diabolically identical. Afraid to scare each other away. We share soft words through the glass window and swear each others' affection. But she must lie like me, if it seems that we share so much.What is so precious about the glass window. I love, she loves. The character, not the look. We create artificial memories. So carefully plan the future, which will funnily enough never happen. Trust each other, but in the end we lie about the same things.We love each other. Through the glass window.
O Sancta SimplicitasJan Hus, the loss of inquisitionImpeding lie and superstition,Opposing twaddles of the churchWas burnt and hanged up in a birch.Dear priest, before your death chose well:Landscape in heaven, company in hell.Then osculate a crucifixionAnd ask with subtle malediction:O, blest simplicity, why has thy wordDeserted this benighted world?
LunaticsThe moon ascends, requiting earthly tortureOf insular aloofness far way.Some lunatics collect to see the scorcher,With stretched-out arms trying to catch her ray.On wings of lonely consciousness, freeingFrom daily burdens that exhaust the soul,Towards her glide the ghostly human-beings,All ears to the enchanted, madding vowel.So frigidly and ravenously gleaming,Giving a void promise in return,The drag of art, through mind and body streaming,Demands maneuvers, which I cannot learn.Will I withstand the anguish it is bringing?Am I prepared to please it's austere sight?And will I sculpt while sanity is swingingTangible items in the lunar light?
The old amusement parkThe old amusement park,Casting a crippled shadowOn the ground,In reminiscence of delightThat poisons, stupefies the mindThrows one to Seventh Heaven's heights,Rushing the ichor,Letting the senses fleeAbsorbing ecstasy, releasing joy and glee...Life,Will you come back to me?Oh, will you twist my soul and spin my head,Just once again before I plummet dead?Or will you let me warmly in your arms,Away from nature's harm?One lives how one was taught,One brings what one in life up-brought.I ask: burn me on blazing embers,Which I have grown in meThrough hatred in the dark.Do you rememberThe old amusement park?