frailty [Theme]

In mortal dreams we find the greatest joys of mortal life. Isn't life itself like a shadow of thunder?

The beauty of mortals lies in the transience of the mortal world. Aren't our lives like a flash of lightning? But divine power manifests itself suddenly, and is there anyone who can withstand the roar of eternity?

The greatness of transience is the highest embodiment of mortal beauty. Are we mortals not like a flash of lightning? Like a sweet dream or an instant flowering of sparks, we will leave a colorful trail in the eternal night sky.

Impermanence
Our world's destiny.
Is it because
Sad songs
Mortal of the human race?

<...> in my younger years I tended to think that salvation should be sought in the creative implementation. Maybe I didn't formulate it that way, but something I thought. In "Memories of Stardust" I have a term Ozymandias Melancholia, "melancholia Ozymandias". Actually, I came up with this diagnosis for the description of such States, when you suddenly realize that your works will not save you and will eventually lose all significance. After all, in the end will disappear the whole world and nothing will remain neither from Shakespeare nor Beethoven. The fact that Renata is going through, it reflects my own experiences. I also asked myself, "Well, what's the point?"


Quote in English

Have fun! Sad crazy.
Shine the eternal stars eternal darkness.
How to get used to the fact that of thinking of the flesh,
The bricks will produce and compose at home?

Science is a consent to the frailty and insignificance of the individual, which occurs in the result of the statistical games of sperm vying for supremacy in the fertilization of the eggs. This consent to the frailty, the irreversibility, the lack of retribution and ultimate justice and additional knowledge, extreme understanding of everything such consent could even be heroic, if not what are the creators of science do not realize that they are really doing!

A lot of people in the world was, is and will be.
The world in his change careless always will be.
Everything in this world is transitory - to each his own time:
The time will come and we will all be cast off as a burden.
Now living in a world of the dead we remember,
About us remember the other, when we pomerium.
Born to die will die and become ash,
From the world, like the gate, we all go with the crowd.
Today, proud of the greatness, today, you are strong, nice.
And tomorrow, a sad, orphaned, hurt and powerless.
Oh man, will you be with clay and light with the dust
Spout your flesh worms born of vile rot.
So the mention of the same man, who you of mortal life -
You can match only the empty, nameless foam.
One is to support us can: when we change form,
In heaven we will find happiness, and greatness.

Life and Death. Death and Life. Under your skin to sunlight. Behind your eyes - the cemetery. Night.

Men chasing transient, like dogs in cars. Might like to bark at the unavailability...

Solomon Grundy,
Monday born
Tuesday baptized
on Wednesday was married,
in Thursday's crippled,
on Friday ill
on Saturday died,
on Sunday funeral,
and life has flown,
consider, for a week.
Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday,
That was the end
Of Solomon Grundy.

How to save - whether means, whether, whether, whether
in the world of the unknown node, tape, cord, hook,
key, chain, lock, bolt, to hold
beauty, to preserve her beauty, the beauty to come
anything from us?
Oh, you must a deep, terrible Stroy wrinkles these
stern look to ward off
away? Here you take and remove wave - these mournful,
a quiet, bitter messengers, the day of beauty went out?
No, just no, Oh, no, no,
and without you to boast beauty,
How many more contrived embellishment.
And lifts already wisdom mournful howl:
So get going.
How to keep - is there any any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, lace, latch or catch or key to keep
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty... from vanishing away?
O is there no frowning of these wrinkles, ranked wrinkles deep,
Down? No waving off of these most mournful messengers, still messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey?
No there's none, there's none, O no there's none,
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair,
Do what you may do, what, do what you may,
And wisdom is early to despair:
Be beginning.

I love hopeless peace,
In October - chrysanthemums in bloom,
The lights in a misty river
Dogaressa dawn poverty...
The silence unmarked graves,
All the platitudes of "Songs without words",
What Ann eagerly loved
What is not tolerated Gumilev.

That's why I tormented the rustle of the grass,
The grass will turn yellow and the rose withers,
Your precious body, alas,
Wildflowers and clay will become.