the poet [Theme] Page 9

And even if you're a poet, look often at the night stars. If you're not a poet, still get out on the balcony and watch. Maybe ever notice how one of the stars winked at you. And invited into the flight. Here you can open up to the true moments of life. Don't miss a moment.
But if you don't have a balcony, and you're not a poet, and your head rarely turns to the stars, then go and look at his feet - and there you can see reflected in the puddle star. Well, like wink?



Explanation of the quote:

From the novel "Psychologist and a psychopath".
Thinking about the stars

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)

Any true poet at heart, dreams of his own to arrange the Apocalypse!

Over a bunch of different things,
Role primereniya in life
Over the laughter of their children
And expectations of loved ones
Are granted light
So true to be the basis:
I'm primarily a poet,
Then - everything else.

The presence of enemies brings a lot of benefits. For example, they inspire us and are forced to articulate what we believe. The artist Salvador Dali soon realized that there are a lot of qualities that he abhors in others: conformity, romanticism, piety feigned. At each stage of his life he found people who he thought represented antiidle, enemies, against which it was worth fighting for. The first was the poet Federico Garcia Lorca, who wrote romantic poems; the next was Andre Breton, a harsh leader of the Surrealists. The presence of such enemies, against whom he rebelled, inspired by Dali, helped him to gain confidence.

"While it does not require the poet to sacred sacrifice to the Apollo of the children a tiny world, perhaps, insignificance of it all". Tell the ordinary language idea of Pushkin, and you get a page of neuropathology: all neurotics are commonly transferred from a state of extreme excitement - to the perfect prostration. The poets too: and proud of it.

Why would you run pipes,
that you write faster?
Your poems without you
tell us about this sin.

And Sasha will be released?
Dantes, you're pissed off, go shoot at cans!!!

The poet is not just a folding of rhymes... still need a cool scarf.

Mayakovsky goes out of the tavern, surrounded by a gaggle of girls. Girls begin ohazhivat:
- Vladimir! Is it true that You can write a poem right on the spot?
- Of course! says the drunken poet of the revolution, - Let's theme!
- Well, you see, in the gutter - drunkard lying.
Mayakovsky, proudly erect, loudly begins:
"Lies
Lifeless
Body
On our
Life
Way."
The voice from the ditch:
"Well, what's it to you?
Go ***s and go."
Mayakovsky: "Come on, girls, it's Yesenin".

I'm all poet..
when I died, the writer
I'm all scientist.
Yes, in me so many people have died that I'm not a man but a walking burial ground