Yesterday the whiskey blues almost

Today: (this “today” was yesterday, and yesterday was the day before yesterday, and today is no longer relevant.
but tomorrow so much time will have passed from fixation that these differences will also lose meaning.)
(and I don’t even know when this exasperation will end, I’ve already stripped to the bones. it doesn't look like a striptease, it's just an uncurtained window. and I'm lying about it ten words later. (no, the word “lie” was precisely the truth.))
___________________________________________________

Today:
 it was yesterday. Today I it don’t readied it because in some place impossible go back never. I don’t remember there a road.
But today a affect no less than yesterday's.
what a disappointment. I thought these people were like me but we talked.
So why on earth would you expect something different?
Calm down, !thought hygiene!.
not this way.
He’s just a fool who talks to fools - it’s your responsibility and not theirs.
I'll probably get drunk again today. This shock sits on the shock of illusions, they break like glass.
Where will the set and setting take me today?
Both this and that are obviously not very good.

stereotypes of literature are a toxin.
"o excuse is just literary fiction."
Fuck no, I'm not composing nothing.
Otherwise you'll crapulous yourself with literature,
and die from it and continue living dead.
What's the big deal?
Everybody lives like that and it's okay,
Well, they didn't get too deep into words,
they just died of a lie.
The dose was incompatible with life.
Carlos, we won't make such a terrible mistake.
The literary will drag you down with every move you make,
It's quicksand in a desert of lies.

Yeah, well done. It's not literary at all. It's exactly what you're feeling right now. Can you believe what you wrote?
You yourself have scribbled eleven volumes, and that's because there wasn't enough paper on the planet to print a hundred others. There weren't enough forests to grow.
Yeah, but I've never written such vulgar fiction. I'm a phenominologist, remember?
I'm also a phenomenologist.
Really? Prove it. I thought you might be a writer.

And in general, in what language do you compose all this nonsense? it is important.
I can barely think in anyone language now, and my friend Google translates.
there's a phenomenon here.
This is not a phenomenon, but literary attempts of poor quality.
It doesn’t bother me and I’m indifferent.
Oh, this art is your only achievement.
if someone is expecting more, then this is all there is.
no one expects anything from us and the horror is that we are already free.
Well, I understand that you decided to finally finish me off.

those who know cannot pretend to be ignorant will not succeed.
and I don't know anything. I can pass a polygraph on this matter.
do you remember the agreement?
Yes, we did not conclude it.
  I will tell you my stories and you will tell me yours.
The one who tries to lie will not know any secrets.
and we have nothing else at our disposal except lies.
solve this riddle somehow.

it has a contradiction in the condition. It is unsolvable.
I'm a good stenographer.
just tell me the answer.

and will you do it? will you write it down?
no. you won't get it.
Have we opened a branch of a Zen school here?

yesterday  was Give me ice. I have affect
I,m study today a sleng again.
Crazy such a filth so I don’t can it repeat.
Thoutg I swear a eithgt level curse in my native.
And evrеtime  I was pround it.
And it's not worth sixth place.
You don't have to learn to lie.
Words for the sake of words are lies.
This is a useless skill.

she gives all the best that she has to her dreams.
she drove away the real handsome men and fell in love with the poster.
Oh, the organ grinder creaked.
Life's complaints about life? You're crazy, you know everything.
You can't pretend anymore.
this mournful song is the privilege of ignorance.
But this barrel organ only plays one melody.
It has holes burned into the copper disk.
I do not know anything.
Real scammers are the best at making excuses.

I gave him the shoes, but then they hanged him anyway.
But when he knocked on my door at night,
he already looked like a ghost.
Although he had another year of life ahead of him then
and the road through the mountains.
And he left along the pass unnoticed by anyone.
I think I dreamed it. but boots?
Well okay.

I'm an organ grinder and I'm turning this pen,
but I can’t earn my bread this way,
Nobody wants to pay for this kind of music.
I'm like grumpy Gant, I love this song«The paths!
of glory!
lead but to the grave.”
She always has different words, but the same motive.

I've been singing one sad song all my life!
- Well, why are you lying?
Antics with dramatic gestures, Grayscale?
oh these broken gestures, your wrist is bent at an acute angle!
Any Chinese will tell you about the pathology of such movements.
Is this a silent film drama? Where's your turban?
God, don't look at it like that on a wide screen.
or did King Lear come running to us from the fields?
No, no, you have to walk barefoot on the thorns.
- «Ah me!» !!
«It all comes to the same! !!
in the end, anyway!”

- This barrel-organ, however, creaks terribly.
- "No rare those empty-hearted..»!
(Sounds lisping enough?
I want British aristocracy.)
«..who selow sound reverbs no hollowness!" !!
- so we’re talking about drums and bags?
Real whiskey blues?
Oh no, don't drink anymore.

Only this is not a barrel organ.
How the well handle creaked.
Why was she spinning?
It was starting to snow.
There is no point in peering into the reflection of the table.
You won't see anything in your crystal ball.
This has never happened anywhere.
I'm glad these boots worked for you.

Well, of course you heard something like that somewhere.
I'm a wannabe in a cube like a monkey.
Wukong means comprehension through emptiness.
What is comprehended is not specified.
But you won't be able to wake up
until I count to three.
Do not sleep? Really?

Yes, there can be comprehension through anything,
For example, through prayer, this is Ju Ba Jie, literally.
Can you even imagine his pig's snout?
Oh yes, this is a straight path, a boar, through any thorn bush,
slowly but surely.
But it is not specified for anyone,
What are we realizing here?
Therefore, no one comprehended anything.

Where did it take me? Yes, hurry up.
I know that you know that I'm glad that
that you're glad the shoes fit you.
and you'll see for yourself, mister,
you will be hanged sooner or later.
Yes, it's time to go, it's as bright as day
dawn is coming soon.

Other people's dreams?
It's probably them.
Well, because I never dream at all.

And this isn't the blues? It's a pity.
Epicureanism - oh Latin, an interesting word.
And even you failed.
Well, I'm just not sentimental.
Classic forms - prison - no one will escape.
What are you doing in art?
that's the news.
Since when did the product take the pedestal of honor?
Build a monument to the hammer and pickaxe,
Yes, it will be good for the hammer and sickle.

Writers have literary heroes.
You have different goals, why do you care about them?
Do you want us to call Marquez?
Yes, he said: she slept in pajamas with a slit for more virginity of conception.
No, I don’t know what this has to do with writers and their activities in general.