***

Life is a slow-motion experience of the death that has occurred.
A devilish retrospective? Ouija, are you out of your mind at all,
But then again, perhaps I just have nothing special to remember
At this significant moment.
And this is exceptionally funny in its own way.
What kind of grin? It is a friendly and polite smile.

The only thing is, shot in the back, it is unlikely that he will ever trust any friends.
And publicly executed, probably, intend to continue the show, inspired by his success.
But from such thoughts I already clearly and soberly understand
That the amount of alcohol has already exceeded the permissible for my weight.

Ouija, I know this beautiful language perfectly.
Unlike the villagers, making awkward attempts
To express their awkward tenderness to the stump they suddenly saw.
But I don’t need it anymore.
It is difficult for me to formulate thoughts in another language.
and my vocabulary is too poor for an unconditional understanding of it.
And this action does not satisfy this need in any way.

Of course, he said this then: my healing wound itched so much
that I scratched it so much that I almost came.
You shouldn't do that. The man only had a broken arm.
After losing his head, the itch is certainly no less.

This is a falsification of retrospective - you will not find witnesses to the death of an ant crushed on the road.
Therefore, this overvalued idea is unproductive from any side,
But the picturesque fall from a horse should probably be reproduced
in a frame lasting almost 50 years,
to capture in detail all the laughter of the drama of this process.
And Ajax ran into a sponge, it is really funny.

Well, Fitzgerald copied from Remarque or vice versa, but now both are experiencing a real existential hell, playing decent people with a guilty conscience.
And the autumn leaf continues to try to drown in the great Hesse's spa bath with salt.
It also suffers compensatorily, somewhere here, languishing from minor everyday troubles of course.
I didn't even think of gloating.
I never lie, I'm never wrong. And my politeness, reaching its limit, even turns into its opposite, sometimes, as the heavenly Lao Jun advised the wanderers.
Of course, this would be a lie, if I hadn't long been tired of these stupid comparative categories.

The last sip - sounds ominous, but how long do we feel its taste?

A question for bathhouse rhetoric, of course.
This means a discussion about time again. I protest.
This is a topic that has been soaped up many times. Someone splash some water on this back already.

---google translate thx----------------------------