the air [Theme] Page 15

Can you imagine what it's like to be a hobo? Vagrants - gone people, and no one understands, almost no one. I have heard and read all sorts of nonsense about them the intolerable shackles of civilization, and they want to breathe the air of freedom, and that many of them are educated people with great principles, and that they are funny people who spend their whole lives in hard labor - the very people from whom they beg alms, and all this nonsense, nonsense, from beginning to end. There's all the more crazy, the criminals, the geeks, and homelessness makes them worse, and all this from a life outdoors. Well, Yes, of course, if you have food and there's shelter, under which you can return, then the fresh air is a great thing, but if you have nothing, it makes you mad to rage; hunger and oxygen - an explosive mixture for someone who is not accustomed to it from childhood, like, say, savages. And these people are not savages. Weaklings for the most part, but weaklings evil.

You're hundreds of years of keeping farmers, and for them very important.
- HMF. For those people it's not the time, and the environment.
- I don't understand.
- Listen. They Wake up through the dawn air, working in the fields through the morning air, pull weeds through the midday air, weave the rope through the rainy air, fun welcome new sprouts through the spring air, enjoyed growth of wheat due to the summer air, celebrating the harvest through the autumn air and waiting for spring in the winter air. They do not think about time, their attention is drawn to the air around them; the same goes for me.

Man, I want to hear again.
And fuck the air, fuck air, I breathe you.

- You could live earlier without me.
- Could.
- What happened now?
Why are these lines:
"You're my air,
I can't live without you".
- It is.
Yesterday went out
walk
one, without you.
I couldn't breathe.
Lit.

- Are you okay?
- Oh, no. Much better! Better than fine. Amazing!
- Opium?
- Air. It does not end there.

I feel the space, will, cold. <...> The air - ocean. Space - can't breathe.

Sweet and dangerous scent coming soon along with the spring air.

And the air here is different. As if not air but helium. Gaining them two balls in his breast and fly.

Someone you love, it's the air. Sweet, viscous like water from an overabundance of oxygen, thick and ringing, sharp and cold. You eagerly grab his open mouth and sharply dizzy, and my heart starts pounding almost painfully, but without it you suffocate. And the lungs are compressed, squeezing out through the skin, screaming, and chills, and cramps... until you inhale this toxic gas. And then you can live, and breathe, breathe, dy...

Under the big top, the air becomes hot. The skin becomes sighted.

I often think of this expression "get some air". It means that the air you have to go somewhere else. Is that where you are now, you're choking.

There's nothing like air superiority.

Stuffy stood still; but greedily breathed it smelly and dusty and contaminated city air.

From the roof of the city shone on,
From the roof of the city was more
Rested on the railing fingers
Black air glocals bitter.
The voice was torn at the bottom of the larynx,
Wanted daylight.
Wind sliver threw the roof
Two broken silhouette.