battle [Theme] Page 5

"Hold on" - often admonished his mother. But the battle fury is always to the point.

A huge man-monster with a creepy grin on the mask. He is a hunter that stalks us. His destructive traps hidden in the greenery. The necessary vigilance and easiest step to escape the clutches of this smiling assassin. I did everything right, but many times fell in one of them. Feeling like blunt spikes grind my bones, I hear the approaching laughter. It's an endless battle between who looks up to those who look down.

My goddess does not ask for worship. It asks for a battle. And the battle is lost when you give up.

I break men's hearts. Sometimes the skull. You first - and then, and more.

- The battle is near. Wish me luck.
- I can't let you go without saying anything. Probably, good luck will come... I love you, soldier!
- Good luck will come. But "I love you" is much better. <...> Maybe the day will come when we'll be apart, but it will not be today.

The strongest swords are forged in the heat of battle.

Wherever he was, be happy with it;
Hi. bow to him,
About him the Savior prayer.
But this passion, but this battle,
But the agony of my heart, -
Let it be a mystery to him.

Night called Irina. Interrupted a dream where I was talking with Socrates about the benefits of ritual in the work of dealer meat market. I argued that you can not see the pork heads and the smell of blood, and to bear philosophical thought. He laughed at my naivety. And convinced not to surrender to the slavery of the animal shop. Isn't flowing there, as on the battlefields, blood, and sweat? No, I smiled, this is not a battle. It's a ritual of pagan sacrifice. I am a priest, not a slave. I cut and I cut a sacred product and not dismembered corpses of animals. Play sacrifice, hone ritual, as Spinoza magnifying glass. But my heart remains untouched. Blood of alien ritual comes to my mind. A robe? Well. Bathrobe will give in the wash. Or throw it like a snake casts of its old skin.
- Do not dissemble to himself, ' replied Socrates. I swear to dog, you won't be able to protect your inner peace from the market of the stench. You're too weak for this. Too vulnerable, though not a poet. The meat shop is not for you. Go to Church and nephrosis temporarily as a watchman. It's yours.
- In the Church? Hmm. As a watchman? But it is impossible to grind lenses. It is impossible to sharpen a ritual where Christ drove out the beach vendors. In the Church you cannot be a worker. You can only serve. And I'm not ready. I swear to dog, Socrates, I am not ready. If you want to live in freedom, to learn to serve. Little patience, Socrates. A lot of ease and very little patience. Perhaps I'll take the wording of the text of the play. And benefited from it. I'll think about it.
And then the phone rang Irene. A dream come true.
Disturbing voice she said,
- Daughter problem. Locked myself in the bathroom crying. Evening came drunk. Said that I raised her wrong. Said I took away her opportunity to be happy. She will never be happy because I taught her happiness. How does it feel to hear of your mother?
- Why all this? Have accumulated? Or reaction to the event?
And reaction, was accumulated. Some Director gave her up. Told her that she is young. And it needs to be taught everything. And what is everything?
- What? Oh, this Melpomene. I believe, not theater arts. Where is she now? In the bathroom?
Yes. Quiet. I'm going through. Wouldn't have done something with us. Silly.
I got out of bed and approached the laptop. Opened the email, found a file with the text of the play "Suicide".
What is there in the play? - I asked. - Don't have time to read. What's up with the heroine?
- Opens the veins, - a small voice said Irina. - What to do? To break down the door?
Break. I'll sit on the phone.
.....
People fell in love with acting. Actors - founders of the mod. The mummers - house on the sand. Open the news feed and rested his eyes in the murk and the husk, which is called life...
(Psychologist and a psychopath)

The battle for the future is in the past.

There is only the here and now. To live or to die here and now. Point of no return, life or death here.

- Here it is, Camlan... the fate of the Kingdom will be decided here. Break camp, move out.
- It's a trap.
- In this sense.
Morgana will not escape, but neither are we.
Otherwise they would have surrounded us. This is the only chance. It all ends here. Life or death... the end is here.

Enough to shake the air! We have the top of the mountain, not all will once again see the dawn, at least here in Midgard, so let's respect each other.

Battle the battle strife - the other should lose.

The eve of the battle - an important and solemn moment, even for old soldiers, and especially for young people, who were the first to see this Grand spectacle.
On the eve of battle I think about a thousand things, which before were forgotten, and now come to mind. On the eve of battle men, until then indifferent, become friends, and friends - almost brothers.