Book: The Part Of Improvisation. Page 7

And let tomorrow I make a lot of mistakes, shamelessly will sin a lot, let your heart shudder of horror and delight, let the love roar hungrily in a predatory jump, let sorrow rebel Gale-force wind in the face... But on my head is the sky, which I don't want to run.

Escape from myself like escape from the sky. You can build walls, block ceilings, but it has been over your head, so there will be. Similarly, in games to your own soul, you can grow any type of illusion, break all the mirrors, but your face will still remain the same.

We have one big bed and there are so many reasons to understand how easy and difficult to love.

The last to die in hopelessness.

We are the creators. The demiurge of reality that surrounds us. We created it so. Have you ever thought that we can't live without a reason? We need a reason to make friends, we need a reason to love, we need a reason to just speak with a person, we need a reason to sleep and Wake up. And we are painfully looking for him, shifting from foot to foot on the dirty asphalt, picking finger soul into trying to come up with clever words when you just want to walk up and say, Hey, let's talk? Just. Because you have beautiful eyes. Because it's fall, and together warmer. Because we are just people and are looking at the same sky. Because each human soul is individual, unique and beautiful, and not enough life to get to know each, but I want to... And you're, say, looking in the face: let's just talk.. and get another question: for what reason? We make the world harder than it is. I look at the boys crease on the windy streets I'll come and tell her that... and then the agony on his face. There is no reason. How much time, how to get to the library, You dropped.. Girl, You dropped the colorful falling leaves in my heart, You danced my lashes look, girl, look at me, smile and go for a walk in the Park, releasing the mirror puddles sunbeams of laughter. But sometimes you meet a person who is not looking for a reason to live, which is somewhat similar to you, who sees the simple world that doesn't like masks because the air under them heavy and smelling of makeup that I learned to walk without touching the ground.

How to determine what steps of all possible still need to do, blindly going forward, losing any vision at a distance of a couple of moments ahead? We choose for himself. In the end, each individual life is the amount of UPS and downs, but even if you lost... Even if you lose, it will take time, and you realize that the words "I tried and couldn't" sounds much more dignified, honest, taller and stronger than banal excuse, "I could if I tried."

I don't like to talk much, I smoke and watch the birds out the window, I open the laptop and close my eyes to reality, but... I need to get me someone was waiting. When I go to wander in the maze of his own soul, when I turn into words and scattered on the tetrad leaves, when I funny snorting and sneezing, back from the veil of rain. I need somewhere to go. To fall from the sky on a soft light in the comfortable warmth, breaking the quiet laughter of outstretched hands. I need your hands. Gentle and reliable, affectionate and loving. From which I learned to drink the fire one night having flown into your open window. I found something more than love. I need your eyes. Confused and surprised, opened towards the world, but become very careful when you look at me. I will remember these: sensitive, greedy, seeking, wise, ironic, matte shimmer new shade of the night in the candlelight. I need your smell. For him, I am guided, wild beast feeling along the way home between the clear autumn streets hasty cities. I need your taste. Salty, bitter taste of the passion with a taste of the sea in which I ruthlessly drowning, choking happiness. I need your sound. Your soft laughter, your beautiful voice smooth with equal ease through inappropriate jokes and the shaking from the children's resentment and the ancient wisdom of revelation. Although you know, all that can be said much simpler: I am what I am, but ... I need you so.

I was told that there are those who are smarter than you. I was told that there are those who are prettier than you. I said, not understanding one thing: that you, my people, in my life, my soul, my fate, my heart is not above all other people. You are above all comparisons.

Yesterday came to me happiness. It was dressed up in autumn, smelt colored rains and for some reason gingerbread. We sat in the kitchen, I treated it with hot tea, and it added to his narushenie for August the petals of fallen stars. Then it is a village on my windowsill and quietly began to sing. It sang about the light, about important things, beloved, that silence lives in the heart and makes the hands tender, it sang of the laughter of people like the warm amber wind, and wet with dew, the paths leading to the fact that everyone's looking for. We spent the entire night together. It is a bird sat on his shoulder, the soft purring cat lay in her lap. And in the morning it was preparing for a journey, apologized, and promised to look at the light, then threw on a thin hanger rainbow colored childhood dreams and flew out the door. But I'm glad, because turning on the threshold, it told me that goes to you. Meet.

Doves - completely pointless creation. They are always there, the usual city birds: cry, looking for food, look around the stupid round-eyes, lazy viparchive from under his feet. I regularly feed them bread, but often don't notice. As someone said, the same rats, only with wings. I am, however, a rat who once lived at the entrance, fed. Of course, the source of infection, but people are not angels, and we all, as they say, under God, are all alive. Something so I thought, until one day in the spring did not see baby pigeons. And suddenly realized that with all the familiarity of birds, the Chicks I see for the first time. I've only seen adult experienced pigeons. And here - chick. For the first time. And how everything that happens for the first time, it is separated from the shared everyday background and remembered, slightly changing the look. Just a bird, covered with shredded fluff, with a yellow beak, greedily open wide, piercingly squeaky. And again thought: I'm living in a city where even the pigeons eat. But the chick in front of me, and he squeaks loud and nasty, and I've never just seen, but not heard them. Never. This story happened a long time ago, details are already forgotten, I have replaced more than one city. But still, photographing the streets, I Zapolsky in all the cracks, climb on all roofs, down into basements. And the very edge of consciousness I'm looking for Chicks pigeons. Seek and not find, turning them in my imagination to mythical creatures, living only in my imagination. After this incident, I carefully look around and often wonder: what else don't I notice, miss, lose in the hustle and bustle, to blindfold accustomed to his life.

But the sorrow of the other words, the sadness of certain moments... they just set off a manually created happiness.

The man known in the small. Not in words, words false, even in cases they, too, can deceive, and in those small grains of truth that are not conspicuous, usually staying behind the scenes. In those moments when I forget goals like "achieve" or "produce an impression" when the actions become automatically and intuitive, and the words lose a clear sense of rising from the depths of the soul. When man ceases to control myself, for a moment, dropping all the masks, making the breath of air his reality, looking at himself for a time a brief respite between the past and the future.

I'm an atheist. I do not belong to any religion. But I am an atheist believer. My religion is my love, my Holy Scripture is the sum of all read books that somehow influenced my becoming who I am, my icon is a battered pictures my dear people, my faith is the faith in the world in all its diversity and belief in yourself in this world. Faith in you. And I do not need more.

People are mostly religious. It's not so important, you feel awe before the face of the icon or spit at her, half-laughing and challenging the sky you believe in. Desperately believe in God. You frantically praying, you can turn the crucifixion and the entire body to throw in Satanism, in any case, it is just different forms of faith. But faith is unquestioned. Atheism begins in the indifference. In that moment, when in the icon you're starting to see quite a narrow form of painting, in churches and temples - the architectural heritage of a certain time, a reflection of the mentality of believers. When you don't say "I feel bad in the churches", "I was shaking and sick from the Bible", "the cross around his neck trying to strangle me", and when you don't care when the Bible is a book, made a huge contribution to the history, when the cross - paraphernalia and more than anything, and the priests are just men who chose this profession, no worse and no better than other people.