***

What are you gonna hide behind now?
Music was a good shield, but you poisoned that well yourself.
Not on purpose. It doesn't matter now.
In the dream from the vision, in the vision from the dream.

When you poke your nose out, there's a bunch of maniacal fools with dreams of mass extermination,
And their dementia is more frightening than their bloodthirsty dreams.
and they're senseless maniacs on all sides of the war.

Fools are good, Cao Cao thought,
they care about their petty ambitions, their sins, and their gardens.
And they will not forgive their sins to anyone,
But they can be led around on them like a leash.
the nature of this fugitive's reverie of mass extermination is clear.
his conscience is in some way guilty.

But to speculate on the thoughts of peasants like watching the clouds -
an unacceptable occupation, of course,
Tsao-Tsao thought so.
No! That's what Zarathustra said!
Well, they're just in unison about this maniac peasant.

Where to hide in the desert, that's the question.
There's also the question of what to hide from
That's not an idle question.
Going to limbo? They'll remind you of all the things that didn't happen.
and the devils will poke you with their pitchforks.
Your pitchforks are a rural archaism. Give them to the museum.

I'm the one who hides from life,
And from death, too.
Yes.
Cao Cao didn't think so.

That's not a fact.
For a bad prediction, he stabbed the fortune teller on the spot with a spear.
At night on the ship, full moon, something squeaked over there.
No, there was a crow flying over the water at night, and that's a bad omen.
An eagle?
Some bird I don't remember. Maybe it was a duck.

But the stabbed fortune teller was right.
The battle at the red rock was the next day.

But Cao Cao was a poet.
And a true poet, he had no regard for rhyme or meter.
And you can imagine the rigor of the Chinese poetic canon.
He didn't respect it, no,
So now he's considered a very ordinary poet,
but only a great warlord and a villain,
and that's a very superficial view.

How long am I going to chill?

I've been busy thinking about abstract peasants,
it's almost like cloud watching.
I've been working for 20 hours straight
Yes, with 100 interruptions.
What can I do, I'm a poet, the muse has arrived,
I can't chase away the poetic muse.

No, it's not a memoir for later.
I don't read anything afterwards.
It's only important to me now.

“May you leave happily and return happily”
is an ancient Chinese wish.
I'm not Chinese,
and if I leave, I don't go back.
I mean, if you're gone, you're gone
Everything changed in the next moment.
There's nowhere to go back to.

This nonsense is just a break from work.
Add an apology.
Yes, of course.

And the main trait of abstract peasants is to take all stupidity seriously and importantly.
It's very important and serious.
It won't stop?
! “...The oak tree is making noise...” - Cao Cao.
Only bums learn languages,
Why else would we have a google translator?
-
It's poetry in the style of don't try even.
A boxer's punch to the gut.
I can't imagine what an imaginary peasant would think,
Especially since it's really about the townspeople.
But you should know he'll never forgive you for that thought.