It's a rainy Sunday. Inevitably, I compare this withdrawn muffled day to the dry girl who stayed at home. Our hands are tied, holding us hostage. especially if it is foggy; if he is pissing slowly and rattling the windows with that high-pitched voice. I compare these blessed particles falling from the sky to mice trapped.
Somehow, I gnaw at the end of the house a little bit, saying that I will take the road to the house, and take it to the wife and the offspring for three or five pieces. When he smelled the cheese hanging on the hook, he left his safe route immediately, he went to the trap with his squirt foot and stretched his head under the blind knife, he went to death unconditionally by putting a bell to death without even realizing that he was preparing his own sad end with his own hand, he defeated his home in no way. He left a widow, with tearful cubs squeaking like that behind him.
These raindrops are as if they haven't eaten or drunk, and they have ripped through the belly of the sky in a way that suits the pores of cheese. Look at the type! Waving their arms, whistling and making them count on us one by one, like a neighborhood watchman.
A bedridden day in which my sleep also captured me like that. I woke up at eleven past eleven, even the numbers were holding dice! But frankly, I have no objection to the fact that I slept well and made me feel the feeling that I got rid of all the tiredness of the week this one night; My eyes are drifting out to my amazement that my head does not cry. The seasons were also surprised. While it is snowing a week before, the sun can shine two days later. The balances have deteriorated even more. Today, the sky wants to get rid of its excess. Wet wet, sticky rain is here, our sorrowful rain. That moldy damp that everyone uses jointly, shares and divides without any problem of trust between them, but still does not want to embezzle. That the sun will never open; I understand that the clouds are clamped together on the road, keeping their opponents close, and the eleven men retreating to their defenders and trying to defend their rook. It means that the rules of the earth also apply there. Now I have mastered weather forecasts.
If there is one thing that makes Sundays a little loved, it is that I slept uninterruptedly and saw incessant dreams one after another. It is also a pleasure to remember.
Life, how quickly did you spend me / Poetry
I am black written before I was born
I am a traumatic sufferer in life
the cast of the fate hit me
Painful life, whatever is not
You took it from my hand
Life, how quickly did you spend me
You spent my life
You turned me into a zombie
The pain is in life
I didn't know i was alive
If I laughed, I cried a thousand
Tears were not missing from my eyes
My heart burned into flame
I looked for solace in bottles and goblets
Even they didn't give me any comfort
I do not know where this place is, but people are running away in my dreams all together. I guess a girl who is about eight or ten years old begs her mother: "Mom, I'm tired, I want to sleep now!" The image of a house or a shop is not clear in my memory, but it must be the owner of the building, a middle-aged and slightly-bellied man points to a point with his hand and says 'pass by' and shows the cedar outside to the woman and her daughter. a thick quilt and a long double pillow are just standing there on the floor. These are very similar to our old quilts and pillows, one of those gorgeous floral embroidered ones left over from my mother's dowry. There's something on that pillow that tickles me. Actually, there are a lot of things but it does not work for me now to pour them all right and left and scatter them one by one! Don't you say my tears flowing in that pillow, or my annoying sighs that cling to me? Especially what about those empty dreams that never fall off my collar? As the day passed, their diameters widened, even when piled on top of each other, they turned into such a state; Over time, I could not recognize what looked like a hate upon me, and they would turn into a wholly old girl.
This girl immediately coughs where she finds it, pulls the duvet on her, as if she was longing for sleep for months. Her mother is skating beside her, I understand that she is as full of flesh as she can fit; when he saw the bump of the duvet popping out of his abdomen. I cannot interfere with my dream or I would take them to my mansion with high walls. I watch like a mole from my poor underground world. I do not take my head out unless necessary. If I get out of my comfort in the middle of the night and go out for air, either a wolf has fallen into me or I am hungry like a wolf! Wouldn't I want to be a cotton princess or an ash-cat? Would I really want it? I'm not sure about that either! You know, we didn't make them suffer a little, dear. These girls were crawled version by version on the book pages. In order to have a happy ending, it has not happened to them, and it has remained open to us. If hunger also makes you emotional like this, what are these walls without braces?
Why are these people scared? Why did they leave their home? I don't know, but my predictions are getting certain that a war broke out. Another woman comes running and says to the mother who is lying on the ground, "Let's slip a little, I'll lie down with you!" There is no other bed in sight, and the woman is panting and tired. Who knows how many hours they have been on the road away from home?
The woman on the ground does not welcome the other one, 'Where should I go! Don't you see there is no place here! ”she says. Whereas I see, the woman also sees. There is a place where he can put his head, even if it is a small, cramped, but I say. "People always be selfish like that!" I was seeing it, the woman was seeing it too, and people were continuing to scatter left and right like a freckle.
When I couldn't do anything, I said what an easy excuse to take shelter behind and walked away from the scene of the incident. I was restless, I was almost like an idol in the face of the scenery I saw.
Then I found myself in a harbor with the sea. It was a place where peace was felt, even if a little. As soon as the steamer approached the pier, a woman rushed off. When I look at it, I can say that it is a cute and nice lady She wears a straight black pencil skirt below the knee, a light-colored blouse with a slit at the back, and a cardigan to suit the season. Her eyebrows are thick and smooth like a pencil, her eyes are big and beautiful as I can call donkey eyes, her lips are plump and light make-up. I said it! A beautiful lady in maple puck! He's a little short on stature alone. His shoes catch my attention. It is evident from his gait and elegance, how many times these feet kept pace with tango, kept its rhythm. It seems to me that his heels are firmly on the ground and he is quite confident.
In a ragged corner; The woman came running toward a man sitting on a chair and hugged her neck. Under her scattered mustache, she put a light kiss on the tip of that lip, which was barely visible, then a kiss on her arched nose, and then again she hung and clung to the man's robust mustache with fleshy, full lips. They were alone for a short while, but the man was like a stone unresponsive. He does not respond, neither kisses passionately, nor hugs nor gets up. I can see the dull expression stuck on the chair and froze right from here. His sad eyes, which are devoid of emotion, collect all of the painful and collective past of his life, as well as his sad eyes.
Then I saw the woman with all her might clinging to the man's mustache, pulling the band-aid as if pulling it from a hairy area quickly and tearing it off the corner. Anaaa! Turns out the man was not wearing his mustache! I already understood that this man's mustache had a haze. There are mustaches, I mean, there are mustaches, but how can I explain, this mustache is not like that, it is a mixed type that will draw ten to our Uncle Paso's mustache. Supposedly the man is trying to hide his own self under his blazing mustache. But it seems to stand out more while doing this. If I had that many mustache, I guess it would be in trouble! I say.
At that moment, the face of the man with all its fine lines appeared in my eyes ... There are deep lines on his forehead that defied years. Just above his left eyebrow I find ten centimeter marks that resemble knife strokes. His eyes are so dull and inexpressive, I would say, but not quite literally. On the contrary, he looks like a person who has experienced and seen something sad that would freeze one's blood. It was as if he was a living dead person, and he could not kill whatever he had lived, so he struggled between unresponsiveness and numbness. Under this majestic sight, I feel a heart ache that crushes him, but I'm not sure what happened. I attribute his insistence on sitting in the chair to the fact that nothing in this world will surprise him anymore and that for the rest of his life there is nothing left of him to be able to see properly or to be tangible.
After women, this man also disrupts my balance. Better get away from here as soon as possible. I am falling on a hilly ground this time in my dream. In the first place, I feel like I came out of the scene of a tension-filled horror movie that doesn't fly a bird or a caravan. They're pretty hellish around here. I don't have a servant of God around me! Then, whether I say my brother or his cousin, or he and he at the same time, I am faced with an interesting situation in which the two are intertwined. We find ourselves in a game where we don't have a lot of tirade.
A walkman in hand. He recorded his voice and sings a folk song. Since it made my brother cry so much, it must be a pathetic folk song. God, this is too much now! Who is He who sing? If He was the last alive in his life, he wouldn't sing a folk song, and he wouldn't be able to sing it even if he wanted to. Supposedly, He resented someone enough to record his troubled voice. Come on! Then, this time I catch He enjoying a boat with four of his friends. The sea is muddy, quite fluffy and wavy. They will almost capsize, but ours are no wonder, while ours is waving the grill tongs in his hand. Oh! I say how beautiful it is, at least in a good mood here!
It is certain that I am ten years old while I was thrown from dream to dream. I've been almost as long as I've watched a movie. it is as if I played all the lines alone, and I lost myself in those unfamiliar hands. Red scaly with delusions and inquiries; I adorned it with my hysterical flutters and added a good action to it.
“I had the comfort of being free of a very long pain in my face” alone.