Proza

Well? All those words. Yes, I think that some of them mean something. Some of them correspond with something real. Coffee is coffe etc. We may also find something regular and take a walkabout, try to see it of some point. The coans are interesting. You may find many. For some, there is a mirror, the sun, and the clouds. But for others - there is no mirror, no sun, no clouds. I told you ever about my sophisticated vision of life? Somehow everything is alive - no matter is it good or not, is it great, or funny, or sick. As you get enough nervous, things circulate in your thoughts, than you make some stream of them, brush your mind, so there comes emptyness. Yes, I think much about emptyness. I feel emptyness as far as I remember. There were some moments, I dreamed about my travels, there was some music, I was so high. It was hard to believe in them for real, as a pessimist I just don't believe in too many good things. I prefer my inside coppers and some stones, metals, shades, it gives me the feeling that I have anything in myself. From time to time - there was some perfect lucidity, or yellow, joyful light, but there were also dry and sarcastic sands, I saw many things. So, beneath, there is this emptyness, so I don't know if it is alive. Those things I write now are somehow alive, but the emptyness? At once it used to speak with a voice of a piano - hard and determinated sound of Ravel's sonatas about colonization of Mars, or, perhaps, the crude, ancient temples. It is a kind of sorrow, the sorrow of things, the sorrow of plains. Although love is also very strange. People are as stones or billard balls, there is nothing that could connect them, besides the silence, perhaps. There is a silece and sorrow, as we would sit down and think, it looks to be that everything is just made to wait. Then, perhaps, we would find something out.