In what, my thoughts can consist in my imaginations certainly! I dream of death, I speak about death, I love death, eventually for me the death is romanticism, for the majority nasty thing and grief, for me the holiday which never comes to an end. It is my fairy tale, without sexual underlying reason certainly. But dead bodies suit me in the fantastic and such incomprehensible world, it is difficult to describe the words, those emotions which I test... Unfortunately I won't have not enough force to describe all rainbow of the emotions, that splash in happiness.
For me the cemetery, is the separate world, the state with the unwritten laws. It is atmosphere of a decaying corpse, from the tombs, sitting with you behind a table, such silent, but rather eloquent in the silence. Set of factors which I can't describe words, especially explain, than and when it is caused. It is simple as who that is thrilled with a bunch of flowers or from expensive cars, I am thrilled and I am exhausted from imaginations about death and decaying corpses. So it also is actually.
The decaying flesh which exhales a disgusting smell, doesn't frighten me and doesn't avert, but sets a tone to mine for the present to a live organism. Forces to drive with the accelerated force my blood on veins, warming me in the cold winter evenings.
I idolize death, and I think of it twenty four hours a day, as probably about the, and about the stranger, already come true. The grief isn't present, but only sweet dreams and imaginations entangled me in sweet languor through which veil I slowly make the way, being is compelled to leave them temporarily and day by day necessarily.
I imagine that I come into a crypt of the oldest cemetery, I open a gate, there is where that a middle of autumn... A cemetery for a long time thrown, many tombs are marked by the last centuries, silence and rest... As if storing secrets of a tomb, throughout centuries who was relatives deceased in them where now they, communication is lost, but it is perfect other life. There comes night, the fog to curl and rises from the earth... A little bit cold, but I continue to go to that crypt that costs in the middle of a cemetery, I open, the old door used up by a list, I go into the marble floor gray and lost the novelty... Round me on walls candlesticks with not burning and ancient candles that remained here from the previous owners are established, I get matches, I lock behind itself a door that didn't appear... I light candles. On each side from me there is dredging where dead men with God till now are based knows what times. I carefully bypass this crypt on perimeter, attentively reading on dredging of gravestones names on what that the ancient language which essence occurs whether from ancient Roman, whether from Ancient Greek, and probably it is Latin. Style of a writing the Gothic. From gravestones blows as a hidden cold, but I already know that houses... I at last that have come, have come back to the sources which have been lost by me owing to circumstances. Through the roof of the crypt which peeled off and has fallen off from time full of holes, on tombs the moonlight falls. Midnight. I start to imagine, about what to begin conversation with dead persons.
There is a spirit, soul and energy - three parts of a single whole. And so the soul doesn't leave anywhere, but remains there where the body - on a cemetery is buried. The body and spirit are connected among themselves, they are fed with one joint energy. Therefore the dead don't get to paradise or a hell, but remain on a cemetery in the hidden form for a human eye. The death, this only thing that is able through a fantastic cover to introduce that reality and true what it was in our world, is and will be.
And here I sit on cold marble to a floor of a dark and gloomy crypt, and I argue... -
"I want to continue the existence after death, instead of to disappear, or to be dissolved in emptiness. A body unique possibility to continue life, let and in slightly other role, whether the zombie, or a skeleton, but this one - our CONDUCTOR, so to say a life VESSEL in which life for each of us is possible. All the matter is that isn't present any life after death, except as returning in the body, that energy, energy instead of consciousness. For the consciousness, will return to a body only partially, on primitive bases, but energy will allow a body to function, that is to make any actions, like movement both. But, as all of you know, at life, the body of the person is subject to any diseases which do human life, softly to tell not comfortable and full of suffering. After death, and at returning to life of that body which the person on degrees is, it loses those lacks which in the form of illnesses or test by this be ill, at all disappears. The person becomes free and powerful which can at be leveled to a deity, thereby continuing to decay, the body, continues to function, thereby granting to the person or that it when that was hope of total returning. Therefore yet late, I should learn the recipe or a way to escape."
The course of my thoughts breaks a sound. The gravestone slowly turns, being removed in my party. I don't feel fear, but suddenly for the unknown reasons, to me becomes madly melancholy and sad. Such sensation that a loneliness cold in which I was all lately, rolls on me with new force. The dead person as if the aged man who has woken up from a deep sleep, sits on the brink of a gravestone. He speaks nothing, simply steadfastly looks me in the face as though wants to subordinate me to the will.
From its voice, at me colds in veins blood, and a cold wave of horror rolls with new force, as if repetition an attack.
- "In the real world it is intolerable melancholy, but images which formed my own, personal world, have helped me to be embodied as a result in it after death. I can show you a way..." - the dead person, with intonation of an absolute indifference and absence in a voice though what emotions speaks.
Unexpectedly, I have realized that I can not say words to it in the answer though clearly understood that it is necessary to leave a current situation, and in an immediate order. Therefore I have nodded two times, as though having confirmed all told by the dead person and having given up as a bad job, have shown to it that is ready to listen to its story further.
In the decayed clothes that the dead man has been dressed, it was impossible to understand, whom it was also whom it could be during lifetime. Not clearly how, but the dead person as if has heard my thoughts though I can swear that hasn't said also a word.
- "You really want to learn whom I were during lifetime?... Well, I will answer you, but a bit later for everyone told stories should have a order, and an arrangement in a semantic context.