Long epitaph for sale

Let's write epitaphs.
I'll sell them, we'll be rich.
Don't you understand a poem
Where death and love are not mentioned
has no weight of artistic value.

Oh, flirting with these themes is nice.
In a cozy setting.
Do you like samurai?
Young lady, don't marvel at the meaning of life ascribed to you.
First of all, there is none, and secondly.
you'll chop off both your legs with those knives.
You don't know how to hold them.
Yes.
It's gonna be an icy night all around.

Here's the first one.
I think it's gonna be the hottest one.
He worked all his life and died at the end.

A grotesque orchestra with timpani accompanied the pot of ashes
all the way to where they were carrying it.
Oh, they were walking in deep snow.
It was so ridiculous it was unrealistic.
Yeah, that's exactly my grandfather's style.
What kind of fool orders a band in a cemetery?

This layer of memory turned out to be a swamp.
My grandfather. Why I remembered.
He did nothing, he worked in a factory.
and loved his wife passionately.
And she despicably died 20 years before he did.

This mood is about to kill me too.

It's a very sad man's fate.
I didn't think of him that way before.
My old always drunk grandfather is my best friend.
He used to call me cat.
Maybe he called all women cat?
He did, didn't he? Alya? He only wanted to see her in everyone.
It's a heavy layer. A gift? Thank you.
It's called dna now.
I don't want to know anything about your life, you've already lived it.
Well, I just stopped by as your granddaughter for lunch.
Yeah, it's our navy pasta.
A hundred years of solitude.
Marques, you've been remembering other people's lives,
you've done the same thing.
Who's Ursula?
Oh, no one has any random characters.
It takes too much energy
to think about your ancestors, even over a hundred years.
They're not ancestors. Get off biology.
Blood isn't water, it's broth. Our soup is navy soup.
Marquez, you're a strong man. Which proves for sure
that yerba mate is stronger than coffee.

Come on, say mate is stronger than whiskey and coffee.
Don't peek, one little sip doesn't mean anything.
Don't get used to just lying, it's not pretty.

I can't do it anymore, it's a black hole.
What, not a hundred years, but six years I knew my grandfather.
I don't have the strength anyway.
Send me my mate. I'm out of mate.
He was burning mercury all the time and after a hundred years you could smell the ozone.
Who's Ursula? This is Alya.
No, my grandfather only sang guitar songs when he was drunk,
He wanted to be a sailor at sea, but he worked in a factory all his life.
“Amur waves” yes, he was a real romantic.
A bloody hundred years of loneliness.
All the books have been written.
Send me a mate.

We made arrows and bows out of sticks.
And he made me a quiver.
I was a good shot.
He died when I was about six or so.
And it's only now that I realize
that I'm older than him now.
I'm gonna die now.

Do we have an epitaph?
Yes.
This romantic girl died,
choking on her tears,
overwhelmed by an unformed thought.

You'd need wide skis to walk across this swamp.
And by the way, I've already come up with an epitaph.
It's Miss Lee burying the falling petals. Sobbing.
She always cried because she was a heavenly weed.
who was born in gratitude to Bao Yu,
to weep for him.
Which she did.
It's a strange gratitude for watering.
Bao Yu watered her
While he was a jasper stone that fell from the wall
built by the gods, the suspicious Buddhist and the bald-headed Taoist.
Between heaven and earth.
Dur-dom.
 
This swamp has deceptive bumps.
If you step on them, you'll fall in deeper.

This is how your souls will be tortured in hell.
We'll prepare in advance.
I do not shrug off the memory.
This sorrow will catch up with you.
I don't like to wait.
I'll see it now.

And stop fooling around. You've got a whole arsenal of weapons,
And you got a wide ski, too.
Weeping on mossy bumps in the swamp, leave that to the poets.
My grandmother was unusual, though,
no wonder my grandfather suffered so much.

Grandpa, let's sing two guitars behind the wall, a wake for love.
Are you my friend? One more time, one more time.
we'll all be there.
You were kidding. Yes? You were half-assing it.
Of course I was. I knew it.

They booked a band for your funeral.
Yeah. I don't know what they played. They were climbing in the snow.
I think it was just a regular funeral march.
None of them could play in that band.
They weren't musicians at all, I guess.
It was very cold, why did they drag me to the cemetery?
Why are you laughing?
That was 40 years ago.
You should have fooled around for 20 years.
No, I don't work as a custodian.
It's not really you.

Grandpa, I read a Chinese book,
It told how a bald Taoist gave a young man a little “magic love mirror.”
It was two-sided. If he looked at it from one side, he could see his beloved in it.
And if you turned it upside down and looked at it, you'd see death in the reflection. This isn't your thing, is it?
The Chinese are making up more of this stuff, aren't they? Yeah.
And when this young man died of love, this bald Taoist came running and took the magic mirror back for himself. Well, he wasn't quite human, that Taoist.

Yeah, I bought a guitar, too. Six. No, I don't know how to play yet. What shall we sing? What “in the steppes of Transbaikalia”? I don't know that song. You know, we'll sing whatever I learn to play, oh, Ochi black - for sure. You're not really you.

Your name was Volodya. Did you meet her?
No names either? Of course.
There's a Chinese book about it too.
That won't stop us from singing songs?
We're sailors, our soup is navy soup,
and we're at the end of our tether.

Immateriality is also dense, reinforced concrete, but not yours,
You've always been like that. No, I wasn't.
AZLK is gone, I think, no more, ZIL is gone too. What do you care?
Grandpa, Marina's dead. What? Who's your favorite granddaughter? Me or Marina?
I don't love you anymore.

You didn't have to buy a huge bear when you don't have money, I've always adored you.
If I'd ever seen my grandmother, I could have said that.
A copy? That's good. I hope it's to your taste. There's no photo left.

Sing. Two guitars behind the wall complaining--
“complaining”-- we'll write new lyrics,
Can you believe this song has no lyrics at all?
Everyone sings their own. It's magical.
What are you asking me?
I don't know what we sang. I was dancing, not singing.
Hey, were we disturbing the neighbors?
Well, I guess they're all dead, too.
Dinner. Yeah, I'll have soup.

All coincidences are coincidental, no one was hurt.
The end.
Kino.
That's what you always say. At first, I watched every movie without stopping.
Nobody loved movies as much as you did.
Ki-no. Of course.