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greencatina @ 2009-07-28T23: 21:00

I wonder if a bitter feeling of what is going on in my rather positive life is a bad custom, a feature of mind or a kind of illness ?
I wanted to post here lots of things - but had no time, and I don't know if I'll do it once - they were everyday and sad and cheerful ... There was a hypothesis that my sleepiness, my disability to think clearly, the feeling of being limited is just a kind of self-defence against this awful world. In childhood there was no such feeling. There were mistakes, lack of knowledge, but no limitedness, no feeling that something always slips away. And there was no bitterness. All worries were momentary. And now everything is allright, but if I only have time to speak to myself... I feel like being empty or so... Living false.
Or is it just growing up - when the thoughts themselves become sadder? I hope, not?
The other question is what on earth can be so frightening in this world, when I live as easy as if I play? When each doubt can be solved empirically without much harm to me? Who when could have scared me that I mix my words and cannot wake up on holiday? Isn't it a dream when one can do what one want? Can anyone answer searching questions?

What interests me - is a bitter after-taste of life when everything seems to be good, a bad habit, a train of people, a problem of the body, right?
I wanted to write a lot of entries, but am not come to it, and in most cases come, perhaps never - they were ordinary, bright, minor manner, and among them was a hypothesis that the eternal Schlä ; drowsiness, the highest dispersion, and other signs of the limitations of our possibilities, are simply a defense against something terrible in the world. It was the childhood, when there was no sense of limitation. There were, of course, mistakes, lack of knowledge, but not this sense of his own limitations, the feeling that something eludes me still. And there was no Nachgeschmäcke. There was momentary as with the specific reasons, not so that everything would be fine, but if I would remain with me alone, I see - into space, or something. I see something wrong.
Or is it a sign of the adults is not given, that something negative always appears in thinking? No, does not it?
The other question is - what a terrible may be things in this world when life is playful light? If any doubt can be solved easily everyday empirical, with no successor, except the results? Who and when I was so scared that I confuse the words and can not wake me up on holiday when it would be just easier to do because I can do what I want? Who can answer such questions?

Вот интересно, неприятный осадок от происхоящего in life, other things being successful - it's a bad habit, a character trait, the problem of the body, or what?
I immediately wanted to write a bunch of posts, but somehow not met and most likely not find the time at all - everyday, minor, gay, among them was a hypothesis that sonnlivost, inability to pack up and other signs of the ceiling over your head - it's a way to protect against something terrible in the world. After all, it was also his childhood, when there was no sense of a ceiling. Errors result of ignorance were a sense of their own narrow-mindedness, a sense that something floating away from you - was not. And the rain was not there either. It was momentary, with specific reasons, and not so good, but worth only to be left alone with him - and once empty, or something. Wrong somehow.
Or is it an indispensable sign of growing up that there's some negative makeweights to think? After all, there is it?
Another question - what could be so terrible in the world, if life was going somehow, even in just a toy? If lyuyuboe everyday question can be resolved empirically and did not get over it is nothing but the result of experience? Who and when my favorite time to scare that I confuse the words now and a holiday can not drive themselves out of bed, although it would seem, the time to do what you want - is not a celebration of life? There anyone here knows how to answer such questions?

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greencatina @ 2009-07-23T01: 31:00

Ana =)

girl goes down the Arbat,
young, almost baby,
sweet, like a painting,
Her eyes - as if frozen
In comparison with the eternal movement,
with the eternal domestic obsession -
girl in my dreams and excitements,
her not to fuss.

Beneath her feet are weaved
Cities, Space and the country.
What she stands with Unter den Linden
Turn on Nevsky Prospect?
She's a second-class trains
can cross oceans,
Exit Door in the galaxy
AND at the venue in time.

girl comes and dreams,
girl dreams of her prince charming,
To make sure overseas,
with indispensable wedding at the end ...
Girl with a smile of the Mona Lisa
bisecting the sea capital -
and meets again and again:
young, wayward princesses.

She does not believe in:
It would make sense - at first See,
She'd married - immediately, tomorrow,
She wanted happiness - here and now ...
far from the road winds,
Whatever tkni on the map - not next ...
girl goes and wonders,
and believes dreams at night ...

A Princess - clever duck -
all pushing long speeches.
She listens to them sensitively,
Trusting their rhetoric.
A Arbat falls in Montmartre,
And it goes down the evening,
and tired fawn
time to supposedly frozen eyes ...

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Мама.

You - quiet song of beds in a sleepless night,
you - the first in light of the beloved voice,
angry and gentle, dry and cheerful -
And the mother.

you - the smell of mushrooms and walks in the summer flowering fields,
you - taste of the road empty and warmed
scattered over the world with sunlight,
you - the life and earth.

you - morning in the kitchen, you - sweet biscuits, rolls and muffins,
You - splashes of fish running into the tub,
you - the sound of sneakers the rising early,
you - home.

you - our opponent in the interminable dispute,
you - a friend and comrade, you - the fulcrum,
you - our cross, and - A gift.
And wherever and with whomever, and however obstinate
We are - in the heart remain mum
special. Always.

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greencatina @ 2009-07-12T11: 02:00

As it happens, it is for others chutche than most to her. Certainly
notice, no doubt - to study, to those little things,
what lurks in the everyday lives of our ears,
From our view, the spirit of drowsiness,
the similarity of days,
for infidelity our speeches.

As it happened, she did not sing for myself, not singing someone else's -
No, it gradually becomes a mirror of our souls.
thin thread, transparent silver shadow
Extracts from the bottom of our unconfigured,
Our joy, sadness, smiles, doubt,
all our lives.

As it happened: she does not sing for myself, but hides inside
beauty of unselfishness, the magic of tenderness, a stellar song.
She can not open it - whimsical and affectionate -
But look:
It stopped tale
which may not be everyone to read.

Who knows what she sings when she home alone -
soft light from the window, and the attentive silence of stasis?
What she whispers per hour when gulok and empty room waiting for?
How much love in our sleepy eyes,
To convince her to tell everything
inattentive to us? ..