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It’s a day when nothing is important. My keyboard is very stiff, it’s like a bone, stone-like board. You’ll never print with it. Lesoto. Faces.  Flies are in quandary becouse of the new fall. As for spiders, I saw none as it was a not-spiders summer. Pears are habitual semispheres of a vague air. Chickens, gathering, come to terms. Jumping the track, they rotate their motives from nature to close-to-human shadows. Old Piter is red, he’s worth cutting off his head, but we have some soup and don’t need him. Oh, he keeps on living.

Transparent eye of the autumn is the blue sky’s arc. Last traces of eggplants are over there. What am I afraid? I don’t now, but a creepy sense is moving. Old piano plays right in my headphones. I am faster and faster.

Sparrows are on the top of the world. This day is good as I’ve made many deals. Our street is always full of sense of emptyness. Old whores have extincted, and new ones will never birn till the end of the Earth.

I hear my old musin. The noun “old” has some weight, all new is young and green. Having rather slight taste, it can’t compete with centuries.


The king of lesoto was living in the past, but now we have some modern knowledge of that kingship.

A posh muzhik’s kamaz is standing near the high red wall of the local theater. Who is the driver? Oh, Vassily is driver.

“How is it going, Vassili?”

“I fucked the sky.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Though the globe not a girl, I fucked it too.”

“Are you working?”

“Yes. But prices are too low.”

“Wish you luck.”

“Thank you, man.”

My work is running, and I am rather knackered. I have to say the september is smashing. Having sorted everything out, new winds stood still in silence. Unmovement is only a static dream, and winds now of it having something in heads for  future days.

Old summer is on the rocks. You’ll never see it again. Its works was going to be on skids, and now it’s all over.

As for me, I am looking for the UFC tournament in Moscow. This will be for the fisrt time, it’s very thrillfully.  

Shaky autumn fly jump all over the world. They jump on everything which consists some sort of sugar.

тэги: ola john
Город: There at a sea






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