(C
) 1999 - Bogomil Kostoff AVRAMOV-HEMY
24
Ivan Drassov Street, 9002-Varna, Bulgaria
GSM:
0886735983
E-Mail:
hemy@abv.bg
BACKFLYING BIRD
SHORT DTORY -
by
Bogomil Kostov AVRAMOV-HEMY
(10
250 WDS)
I.
EVERY
TIME, when
I call the capital of my small balcan country, I never miss to cross
the small pine forest blocked between the skyscrepers, into the
center of the hearth of the city. Through the forest, the trams have
passed far away singing and wingling with there old
fashion
green iron made corps. Jammed up to the car
man's
caps with all of that silently, angry, mуstically
closed, self tuned crowds of unknown each one persons. Which can meet
only at the Balcan Peninsula towns, villages and roads. Anywhere in
the middle of the tiny forest, near the rusted tramway line, still
now has stay an oddly green painted wood lodge. Strange saved under
shadows of the high pine trees. Near the rust covered tramway line.
In the middle of the city. In the hearth of this forgotten for ever
from the municipality departments forest. Never forgotten to me. . .
BEFORE
MANY YEARS, the
city trams had came here heavy and hardly. The lineman, smiled to the
bottom of his blue uniform dress, very proudly with his red peak cap,
welcomed the come in crowds. The noisly travellers came down from the
tram. Somehow lazy. Somehow carefree. Cheerfully talking. Smartly
sparkling with falsh silber and cheap gold. Softly jabbering. Not
suspecting what wate them through the next fifty
years.
Came here, at the surrourdings of the great city, to transfer
them to
another more powerful coach. Which with loudly whistling brakes arise
from the daily darkness of that same nearby forest.
The
new tram has stay for a while. Took up all the peoples. Transfer
them, both with there self-satisfied smiling, over there, to the
hill, surounded with a rich necklace of big taverns and green
cottages. Where again had burst the sparkling life of the midnight
world.
Over
on the top . . .
Over…
. . .
And over . . .
IT
WAS BEEN MY MOST SECRET JORNEY, repeated
through the years of my poor life as a homemade Balcan intellectual.
An oddly sadly litany around my early kid's remembers. When the
windows of the lonely canton ecoed under ours strocks, stones and
clibs. When the rail man watcher, deeply flattered because of the
swiftly attention to the dignities of his daughters, swinging empty
handsq discharging heavy words against us - the district pack of
wasters - to the vaults of the heavens of the sky. And my wish to
call once again this sacred for me place, has done me an impossible
to overcome spiritual pain.
But
the wood shutters were been tightly closed. On the door gates was
hang a big ancient bronze padlock. All around haunted loneliness and
hopelineses. Only at the end of the day, behind the dropped down
shutters, was percolated portions crimson light, followed from
silently piano songs.
To
see and to feel all this, I have passed away down to the city, aboard
of any new type tram, through the small pine forest, along the canton
station, crossing the bloody capital night. And no one from the
travelers can suppose, that at the end of the wagon has seat, has
yearning and has trembling, full of congealed memories, stupid
sadness and compulsory disillusions, a short provincial man, in the
middle of the age, at the end of his days. Gripping in his hands a
small leather valise, well filled with printed papers from a very
important governmental meaning. And such happened ones, that it was
necessary to have there, under the canton roof, the short from the
shortest night in the life of mine.
That
is, how it had done. . .
ONE
EARLY WINTER, I
landed at the capital, attached from the circumstances to one well
known in the country and unknown for the science world research
institute. Where, as it has means, has follows an important,
governmental backed study. These times, the Balcan Peninsula again
was been under the armed supervision from of the UNO watchers. It was
been clear, that my little, distracted from centuries Balcan country,
will appear again on the last page of the imternational newspapers.
Anywhere between the meteorological messages and the level of the
hard currency that day. Before to be forgotten for new thousand earth
years.
If
. . .
If
no start any Balcan War joke named Balcan Rapsody.
THE
BITTERLY TRUTH
of the
Balcans is, that the minority nations in this crossing point of the
latitudes and the longitudes of the World, are much more than the
birds in the sky. Each one with rich pepper sauced ancient history.
And of cource, no one from them willing integrate with anothers.
At
that times, about which I have remember here, the condition was been
approximately balanced. But such balanced times here are very
brittle. To safe such times possibly long period of time at the
Balcans, as in the wide World are in usage freelance experts like me.
I am an well recognized, not licensed expert concerning the Balcan
Rapsody End Results.
AT
THE BALCANS, the
self established political experts are much more than the really
researching needs. Everyone, from the sukling babies,
to the
superannuated barbers, are professionalized advisers to the Central
Power. Independly is it an Ottoman Ego, German Invasion or local
political criminals. The governmental structures with a pleasure used
such advises, missing to pay for. Independly from this, the home born
experts send there illiterated conclussions absolutely free. They not
want much more than, to be the firsts. But that the first on the
Balcans, every time means and the last.
IN
THE CASE OF MINE,
the
situation was not so different.
As
I was been informed from the Chairman of the First Total Balcan Brain
Storm Summit, the concerned experts, were been commissioned far away
from the country. To earn some money in addition to there beggar
salaries of state science researchers. Like scientists? No. no and
no! That times the empty beer bottle in Spain was been One Euro per
bottle at the scrab shops. That is why, the final Summit of the First
Total Balcan Brain Storm Summit, day by day, was been postponed. But
the Chairman, an old drincable academician, born in the mountains,
educated at Baltic and developed especially for the High Balcans, was
came every day just on time, with an amassing accuracy for his age.
Confirming his important presence in a fat smeary red logbook, with a
antique pinzenez on his cream-colored hay fever nose.. Followed from
his criminally youth secretary, a splendid, white like fresh snow,
pretty russian gurl. Every time cariing in hands not only the fat
smeary red logbook register, but also her small collection of a dozen
strictly prohibited that times, pornographic video recordings. The
main omen, that she is really dissident tailored woman, payed from
government sources but working on own responsibility.
Ocasionaly,
the youth gurl had been missing from the Institute of the
Institutions. For not less than three months of working over there, I
have not understood, where she was missing each God's Day. But the
Chairman was happy. He likes to be alone with any vodka bottle in the
great emptiness of the Institute spaces.
INFACT,
between
the Institute walls, were been the last solgiers of one previously
lost battle: The Chairman, the Policeman at the gates, and my poor
person.
At
the end of the first decade of that days, it was been easy to see,
that the Chairman and I, will wate with a great interest every next
day of the not held Summit. Doing our special customized Balcan Type
Brainstorming, call to us through the centuries. It starts with the
national spiritus drink named Rakya,
went through the traditionalized Russian
Vodka,
to finish at the end of some days, with the famous russian
Eau-De-Collone Troyka.
Which inventor is a state prize laureate. Not because of the quality
of the product like fragrance, but because its drinkable properties
for the heavy meteo conditions of Russia, Balcans and all over the
world.
I
have not been an officially licenzed expert= That is why the First
Total Balcan Brainstorm Summit was been impossible to do only with
ours two persons. But, the drinks were been cheapest than the food,
the secretary was missing as occasionally, the policeman at the gates
drowsed in his wood cabin near the locked steel gates, the problems
about the Balcans were been the same from centuries, and we have
disscussing over them with the total frankliness of the first time
meet anonimous alcoholiks.
I WAS BEEN HAPPY SURPRISED FROM
my
inclusion in such important event. One from the most naive and proved
stupid ordinary balcan citizen, was been included in a global
national activity, under the chapter of the UNO. One such human
organization provided to look for everything and to do nothing.
Scraped from the Black Sea Shore provincial line, as a proof
correction tool, for this wide trumpeted open research experiment. I
was been that one well proved Laic in every area of the modern life,
in my small Whitetown on the board of the Black Sea, which every
small gossip town compulsory has got. You may discover me and now, to
tell You a little bit more details about, in the same shore
jerry-shop "The
Old Lame Dog"
where the boys from the National Assembly of the Internationalized
Laics, call me, to be there honorable member. Namely over there,
drinking my early morning coffee every day till the night, I have
discovered, that the suspicion is only a manner of thinking, and
nothing more.
THE
OLD ACADEMICIAN,
was
been the main concepcionist of the projected First
Total Balcan Brainstorm Summit. He
supposed
, that
only any person settled through a wide national contest for boobies,
could give the last precise conclusion over the main Question of the
Questions, in the system of one well planed, thinkable programmed,
rich funded, well vodka supplied Total Balcan Brainstorm Summit. Now,
after years, I may say that he was been absolutely right. The old
academicians every time are exactly right.
THIS
SUCH CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION,
I have
took after long honestly conversations, with the irksome secretary of
the Institute of the Institutes. Well salted with cleverly selected
parts from her illegal, that times, exofficio video collection. The
short movies were been a very fine digital production, clear recorded
sound cokney version, and the secretary was been the most clever
translator once time meet from me. She was been perfectly correctly,
especially in the translation of the details. You know, perhaps
better than me, that every high quality things depends from the
presence of details.
The
old Chairman and his youth secretary, where been highly surprised,
how nice practice is the implementation of such honestly wide open
contest for a freelance expert. They have done there nice Political
Bingo. I have felt myself significant from an important governmental
meaning.
THUS,
the
attempts to discover the main problems of the development of my
native country named Shalvariya; (Its flag is a pair women trousers);
as a part from the Balcan Peninsula, but never like a part from the
European World, included and formalized and me. It is common truth,
that every country is someone private property. But it is also a
truth that from time to time it belongs and to the Nation. Especially
at times of traditional revolutions, as a result of a well ancient
mixed minorities soup.
AS
A WELL FROZENED LAIC,
I could
not give the right answer. But, I was not been only frozen. I was
been totally congested. To the bottom of my soul of an ordinary
Balcangy.
Are You know that the Balcans starts at the high mountains in the
middle of Europe and finish at the bottom of the Black Sea? To
connect Europe with Caucasus. The Nature is Nature and perhaps it is
the God of the Gods.
It
is . . .
It
is . . .
It
is . . .
INFACT
I couldn't give the right answer who really I am. How to do the right
answer to the important eternal questions discussed in a such closed
institute? But the System wants to do it. Much more. Only I must to
do the last conclusion words. Anything was not been as it must be.
But to reject such collaboration was been to say good by for
everything and for ever. Over here is the great trick of every total
management of the nations. To keep there citizens on the boundary of
the poverty, on the frontier of the spiritual misery, on the line of
there country boarders, without to permit to cross them. You know,
better than me, that the totalitarism has not only two names in the
Worlds History. It has got many different names. Every God's Day has
born any new well tailored type totalitarism. For good or for bad.
MY
PRESENCE IN THE INSTITUTE OF THE INSTITUTES,
was
been one chance more for me. I want to remember again the rests of my
childhood days. I want to touch again and again, the small green
painted wood lodge, in the center of the last city forest, at the
middle of the tram-way length, more rusted than my poor governmental
frozen private crushed corroded soul. Don't ask me, about my old
body. The problems are the same.
WITH
A PASSPORT
left at
the policeman at the gates, free of any cents in the pierced pockets,
slowly masticated cheap mastic in a mouth without any health tooth,
watching high quality pornography movies; from
which
was
impossible
to learn anything new, but was easy to forget everything own for
ever; in the company of the most selective woman in a strange
research institute, I have think sadly about the fate of mine, about
the coming new year days. I have think about my fortune of a well
known provincial Laic, invited through a wide national contest for
informal thinking opportunities, over the perfectly formalized
diaspora of the Balcan Intellectual Beggars.
YOU
KNOWS,
in the complicated cases everything depends from the chance. Like
everything in the life. Every evening, I have stay face to face with
the problem how to spend the night. The governmental provided
apartments, were been full to the brim. The ordinary hotels were been
lent to middle-east tourists. Coming here, to revenge there many
number spouses with permission of the home saint Hodja.
The
middle-east men where been topical like clusters of insects. They
have been the new Peninsula brothers. The money have done everything
everywhere. After countless number bloody Balcan Wars, the
brotherhood now depends not from the relative relations, but from the
deep of the pockets only.
The
totalitarian regimes strictly controled the money flows of the
ordinary citizens, missing to control such flows of the partocracy.
The world may needs a Freedom. But what You could do with an empty
Freedom in a compulsory totalirazed world? That is why some of us
resignated with the totalitarism - the size and the quality of the
coffins are equal for everyone in every point of this world,
independly from the type of the political regime. From other side,
the relatives of mine, firmly rejected to see me before the new years
ortodox holidays. I am the black cheep in our oldfashion packet
family. Unexpectedly, I have meet a youth student from the native
Whitetown lands. This boy did me the best.
THE
STUDENT CANTEEN,
where I
like to take my lunch calling the capital, is a nice place for
accidental meetings. Many peoples like me, have there launch and
suppers here. Remembering the taste of the students days, on the most
slippery surface of the world.
From
word to word with that not well known student, and some money in
advance, I have receive the large bronze sabre size key, from the
padlock locked the old tramstation hiuse, over there, at the middle
of the rusted tram-way-line, crossing that's one tiny pine forest in
the hearth of the crowded, noisy, preoccupied metropolis.
-
The friends of mine, - sad the smiling student, pushing the key into
my trembling hands, - have needs some money in addition . . .
-
Please, take the half . . .
-
When You left the home, dear, - sad me the tricky smiling student, -
please, put the key under the water tank behind the canton . . . Both
with the second part of the money . . .
-
Su - re . . . Su - re . . . Su – u – u - re . . .
-
Only . . .
-
Only !?!
-
Only, be carefully, please . . . The passing tramcar man must not
see, where You shall put the key . . .
-
Be sure . . . Be sure . . . Be sure . . .
WAS
FELT DOWN A NICE WHITE SNOW. . .
The
frozen earth whined under my legs.
The
crowded people have run around the high Christmas Trees, lightened
with color electrical bulbs. Tomorrow will be The New Year of A New
Century.
I
have stalking and stalking, with my small luggage in hands, through
the snow midnight, to the home of my children's dreams and memories.
. .
WHEN
I HAVE REACH THE SNOWBOUNDED FOREST,
the
birds have start to jump from branch to branch over me. Snow dust
easily felt down, and down, and down, covering the soil, the forest,
the forest animals, covering me.
A
dog bawled and slept amid my legs.
A
tram hissed swistling speed.
Unnoticeablly,
I have call the forgotten tramway station. Before my eyes again, and
again, and again, have sparkled the leer eyes, of the tricky student
from my native shore land. But, which was been his name? Is he really
was
been a student?
THE
ANTIQUE CLASP LOCK HEAVY RINSED.
It has
looks, no one call this gate of the lonely canton. No one before me.
I
has stay at the doorsill of that same wood lodge, that same abandoned
green paint tramway station, deeply connected to me, with the
strongly chain of the children memories. I have enter a wide, high,
old fashion hall full of different tipical smells. The kitchen, has
had coped with the honey scents of a high class alcochol and cuban
cigars.. How great greedy for life, I sad myself very surprised from
this strange civilisation spot. How great, great, great greedy for
life.
Tripping
up and down, and around between the spreaded on the floor others
belongings, from which no ones more has a need, I have think about
the habit to collect nobody needed goods. At the Balcans, where the
wars are customized long ago before the Christ, this means only one -
the next war could came every moment. If it surprisingly came here,
we are ready to run where the eyes may seen. Every fifty years, the
local minorities are moved from there places from south to nord –
and back, and from east to west – and again backward. Under the
nonvisible ruling of the great satraps. Independly are they othoman
sultans or the russian emperors. From time to time doing revolutions
under the pressure of the different type of religion omens.
A
lonely tram hissing its windling song. The house trembled like a
sacred man, and again slept in a quite. I swistling by mouth. No one
reponding me. But I have been more than sure, that the lonely house
in the middle of the city forest, was been jammed with sleepless
people, sank down in the false reconsiling sleep of the poor peoples
of the Balcans. Transfer over here - over there, from the caprices of
the history, which every time are only the whishes of the great
europe governors - the most bloody mockers in the world.
I
OPEN THE FIRST DOOR WHICH TOUCH.
Between
the wide clean bed and the kindled small, hand made iron furnace, has
stay a broken from too much love hand red color piano. The next door,
and the next, and the next, were been locked. But, who has visper a
silent prey behind one of them ? Believe me. It was not a prey for a
peace. It was a pray for a revenge.
DEEPLY
TIRED,
I
pocket myself between the blankets. Willing only one for my tired
body. Switched out the lights. The hand made stove sent its
reflections to my face, warming it like a women palm. I put hands
under head. Oh, yes, I sad myself going down into the country of the
dreams, the city is not only mine, it is to everyone who may call it.
Oh, yes, I sad myself, the capital probably is to Anyone, but the
city is to no One.
NOW,
I HAVE REMEMBER WITH A STRANGE RELISH,
that at
the middle of the night, short time before to start the solemly bell
rings and rockets in the sky, one pliable, rich fragrance body, has
came between the blankets. Ignoring all of mine protests of one to
bottom promised domestic man. Forgotten forever the splendid taste of
the Prohibited Casual Love.
Oh,
the Casual Love. The most dangerous thing to everyone.
THE
BODY
was
been the body of any unknown woman.
It
came me like any long wate remedy.
Raised
uncountable power and melody.
Incorporating
in me a wide spectrum of thickly crimson light.
The
woman's body mastered me, to a pain. For a middle aged man like me,
with a fresh implanted peacemaker in the hearth, with a practically
empty stomach from years, this was been strongly forbidden but enough
encouragingly.
This
madly invasion was such spontaneously, that I want cry.
-
From where You came just now ? - I want scream to the sky.
The
woman's body was blustered to the sky.
-
Where You have kept Yourself all of these longly, longly years ? - I
want cry through tears.
The
woman's body blustered both with the mine.
-
Go away . . . Go away . . . Go away to don't die in Yours hands . . .
But
I sad nothing.
Only
in my trout has grounded a short, sadly, quietly groan.
THROUGH
ALL OF THAT TIME of
sadness and madness,
my old,
crashed from the shore line life body, ilderly drunk up nobody known
whom provided Love. Collected new life giving sources. Forgotten,
that it has carry out one small, honey done, fresh implanted medical
peacemaker. Singing and craying, my last soundly song of Love.
A
Love, which could be done only one time through each of human Life.
A
Love, which could discover only between the yellowed pages of any
forgotten old, dusted, ship record logbook.
And,
I have not listen more the peal of the last midnight trams.
And
I have not listen more the screams of the crasy farmers heatch-cocks.
And
I have not listen more the whines of the suburban dogs, crasy not
from Love, but because of the winter night cold, irritated like the
sleeping old canton.
Only,
the woops of the last drunkards having the forest instead a home,
resounded in the mind of mine. Remembering, that the Life is not only
a dream near a waterfall.
Oh,
if it was been . . .
The
Life only looks like a dream near a waterfall . . .
Because
the Life is more than a waterfall . . .
FOR
EVERYONE FROM US,
all of
thats small short smartly looking provincial dreaming laic; included
independ from there own wishes, in the serial secret social
experiment funded from the governmental backed agencies; suspecting
that all of this is nothing more than a common play with the
trustfulness of the poor peoples; in the great competition for the
control over the natural resources; the comming New Years Holidays is
more than any ordinary event. Possibly at that moment, I have
discovered why the leading experts from the Institute are sent far
away over the oceans, to collect new research experience, but in fact
to peddle there.
Why
the old professor works alone only with me?
Why
every time we have got enough dry drinks without soda-water?
Why
the bottled mineral water has got such strange test?
Why
the examination of all of the records of the dignity of the youth
secretary is such important not only for the professor but much more
for me?
Why
such later, after many years of speculations with the measuring of
the endurance of the Balcan National Souls, the Institute, or anyone
over it, decide to do one experiment more in addition with one random
solely person stripped from the Black Sea Shore embarkments?
For
a first of time from many years. Lefting for a while all of the
nation to take a breath. From so many experiments, the nation was
been very, very tired, and that is why aboslute apathetical. Through
all of these totalitarian times, about I have written now, till now –
in thus named democratical times. But how You may compare the Balcan
Made Democracy, when the Balcan Rapsody is at the doorstep?
But,
how to escape ?
But,
how to left ?
How
to escape from myself, when I am such happy overprogrammed to be only
one from the many intellectual slaves? Before, now and for ever?
I
was been honestly worn out from this God's felt Love. About which I
still now have think, that it was been the only successful part from
the programe of the deeply secreted psyhological experiment. Sowed
like an open national contest. Funded from unknown international
sources. The Balcan Peninsules every time had had been the most
important experimental bridge of the World.
I
HAD SLOWLY AWAKEN from
the dissonantly song of the unknown woman.
The
woman was renowed all of the sheer curtains.
She
has stood nacked against the head wind of the early winter frosty
day. The most beautiful New Year's Day from my small, mild, innocent,
subordinated to the rules of the total hypocracy, simple life.
Cracked down from the partay prescriptions, rules, madness and
miserable suspicions, poor than the poorests, stupid shoreline
provincial dreamer. Knowing enough think globally. Purposed for
nothing. Educated to die like a high educated Balcan slave. Tricky
invited to give the final determination of the uncountable group of
the Political Pab Laic. In the system of a Balcan Made Brain Storm
Summit. Over the ethernally problems of the Balcan Life Human Enigma.
Which the politicians from the rich side of the world, only imagine
that knows. A modern brainstorming test, which must renovate
someone's not enough clear vision about the creation and utilizing of
the Life, of all of these verdantly places of the Ancient Balcan
Peninsula Lands. Soundly verdantly places, missed to be announced
like sacred. Not because of a lack of prophets. But because every
time, every peace of the time, here are moving a great number of well
known at these spots local natives named Committagy.
Living
from the both sides of every state boarder here, where the state
boarders are much more than enough. Born from there miniature picolo
nations, to die without understanding why, well known where.
Very
youth and very grieved Boys and Gurls. Yours white bones are
scattered from East to West, and from Nord to South through all of
these crasy bloody but lovely Balcans. What has means any well
programmed and perfectly supplied with vodka and wisky research
brainstorm module against yours selflessness to resolve all of the
local problems using hand-made guns?
You
are not Shouvinists.
You
are not Communists.
You
are not Fashists.
You
are simply Balcanists.
Even
discharged far away from yours childhood villages and towns, to the
another side of the World, You should be the same - Balcanists.
Oh,
yes . . .
The
most strongly arm to conquer any country, is the replacing of the
peoples, even nations, even villagesq even towns, from one place to
another. At the End of the Ends, of the Time of the Times, the Peace
of the Peace is only a Forbidden Crasy Dream of the Dreams for a
Never Never World.
A
Never Never World into which Your Grandfathers, Your Fathers and You
didn’t stop to belive.
THE
WOMAN was
play and sang absolutely naked.
A
fine, transparently formidable, not for her size teared in many long
pieces night-gown, was play and fly around, following the rithm of a
nameless melody. From this, the woman has looks like a free flying
bird. But a bird, flying backward with its train.
She
sang her own silently song, and she dance her own lingering dance.
And this slowly Song of the Songs, and this phlegmatic Dance of the
Dances, become my Own Song and my Own Dance for the rest part of mine
Life. Which no one nowhere could repeat not for her, not for me, not
for anyone from all of us - the Last Balcan Made Dreammers of the
Dreammers of the World. Forgeting to prepare thereselfs for the
dangerously poison of the . . . of the . . . International
Politicism, under the title of any internationalized Pacifizm. Which
no one may forecast when and how will be discharged again and again,
over the Hearth of the Old Europe, from that internationalized bodies
of the different unknown deeply secreted spiritual clans. Which
spirit and dream and practice are only one - the Gold. The hearth
through which before centuries had had opened the present difference
between the worlds. Over which only we, the Old Balcanists named
Balkandjy,
have put ours ears to listen closely. Because the roots of the
contemporary Europe are here, down under the soil of Orpheus. And
because the naivism of the ancient Orpheuses is still alive into the
souls of every of us. But instead the songs of the Orpheus’s flute
song, we have hear only the jangling tracks of the troops.
We
have listen attentively the hearth of the old Europe.
We
have deeply understand it, what it is and what it has wants.
I
have sad - the roots of the Old Europe are down into the hearth of
the Balcans.
And
no one may drawn out them.
No
one, believe me, no one . . .
THE
WOMAN was
play,
under the sparkling winter sunny frost, dangling a long crimson
scarf. Clattering rithmic with her small fine legs, rapping with her
small bronze foots. Knocking the piano keys with long sharp fingers.
Obtaining, out of any sense, the heavy songs of the pented in the
chambers of the today civilized tyrany, ours such well refined women.
Tortured from a penury. Prepared for everything. But not for
everyone.
THE
WOMAN was
not been in her early years.
The
middle of the Life appears not only over her emacinated body, but
over her exhausted tiny face. At the nearly past wonderful, naive,
untouched. At the early past ignoramus, easily, early body. Awkwardly
and crying from the common pain of the Need. Now, forgotten to cry
against that rotten type of Life, against thus named civilized
manner of Life. Which no one out of the Balcans, can never imagine,
what it is. One so strange manner of a Life, till now between the
past rivers of the Blood, and the future emptines of the Space.
THIS
TIRED BIRD,
was not been in her early, crasy years, but about the women no one
may sure. Truly connected to the end of her days to any unknown man,
from whom she has had a baby. Submissed to the world mania about the
ownerless Woman's Liberty. Every time backed from the endlesses
modern woman depressions. Perfectly converting every from us, in any
up-to-date intellectual slaves. To whom, the changing of the Sex, not
the sexuality, is a problem not more different than a short surgical
painlessness intervention wiyh a strongly lightened sparkling knife.
Where the knife determinated the form, not the content.
SHE
WAS SWAM,
in the sparkling like a sea New Year's sunny winter day. This felt me
to jump up from the bed. To take up her strange, peeressly never seen
dance. In the odly early frosty winter morning. Against the surprised
cheerfully glances of the rare passengers, from the running nearly
the windows, one by one empty trams. Passangers, which have send
theres wide opened superciliously glances just to us. Down away from
the tram-way windows, to the tramstation of the past. Where no one
carriage never wants stop. But from where many carriages from the
nearly past have run to the top of the Hill. I have understood, that
this unknown Quin of the Midnight Prohibited Casualty Love, wants
again to burst, again to arise in a more crasy than ever possible
madly song and dance. With the invicible wish to conquer me again,
and again, and again, till the certain man dead. How to say You the
tragical fact, that every francly Love every time has finish with any
unmotivated dead. It is such well known.
BUT,
the
spite last science world medical peacemaker device,
implanted
into my old, collapsed, yeat flesh . . .
But,
my such secrecy delegation to the brainstorm Summit in the Institute
of the Institutes . . . May be important - may be not . . .
But
the age of mine . . .
But
my family and the kids . . .
But
the old Chairman, and his wide spectrum of fine alcohol dry drinks ..
.
But
the youth secretary, thus youth, thus white, thus tightly loaded with
the filmed collaps of the contemporary World . . .
But,
that small cafe, over there on the shore line in my native Whitetown
named "The Old Lame Sea Dog". . .
But
that same provincial city and its embarkment covered with walking
and walking crouds from the best gurls of the Balcan World . . .
Oh,
it was impossible to enumerate all of that small ordinary human
things, which have tied my poor soul and crashed flesh, to all of
these Bloody Balcans. Where the last century has stay till now, well
implanted into all of us from the International Political Mafia
consisted from any kind of renegates. And I had concluded into
myself:
BETTER
NO ONES BE,
TO
THE END OF THE DAYS OF MINE,
BUT
HERE - ON THE BALCANS ONLY.
I
don't know
,may
I named myself a dissident.
I
don't know, may I named myself as an expert.
But,
I very well know, that I can not give my soul to everyone to stub out
it. It is impossible. It is impossible. It is really impossible . . .
Being
one from the participiants at the Only Hand Made Balcan Brainstorm
Summit, collaborating with the Power for a palm of penies, I am the
same old wild tribal local balcandjy, which roots are down, down,
down into the soil of the Orpheus Land, who every time has looks back
to discover his poor Evridika, independly that from this I may die on
the spot.
HE
FLYING,
like a bird woman had felt, had understand that I am still awaken.
She
trown over my eyes her scarf with a passion. Teared in pieces the
rests of the crimson night-gown. Speedly steped back to the opened
door. Crossed the darkly cramed with lost luggage hall. Behind the
wispered door of pray, one latch heavy knoked. Then has blow out a
radiculously wail of any unvisible boy.
THE
HEARTH of
mine instantly went to slack.
It
was not been a Nap.
It
was not been the Death.
It
was not been any Momentum Love.
It
was been something different. Probably born from all of that human
great enigmas, about which is written such wide literature, but about
which is known absolutely nothing. Caused from the crack brained
fateful measurings of ours darkly days of balcan troubles and woes.
Never till now accurate brightly showed. Never like in ours days
perfectly recorded, researched, studied and measured, closely
analized and categorized for a following classification, every time
under a perfectly governmental monitoring. Successfully forecasted.
Perfectly limited. Easily prohibited. And despite this, highly
anxieted and miserable to the bottom. Tangible understood only from
ours poor wives. Leaved from us, in a search for the needed piece of
the Bitterly Balcan Black Bread. Which, as the history has shown, no
one brain stormimg, independly from its organizing level, can assure
to the populations here. This european compact masse of the rests of
the ancient Plebs.
BUT
THE BOY from
the next locked door, had cry, had cry, and follow to cry.
I
fevereshly
dressed
myself. Crossed the hall. Put an ear to the high old fashion wood
door. And concluded, that with the boy, has whining, has scramming
and moaning, the unknown midnight Quin of the Midnight Prohibited
Casualty Love.
-
Please, play ! - beged the woman through tears. - Please, play . . .
The
shilly shiny songs of a not well tuned violine dispersed arounds.
This simple, softly song till now appears and ecoes into the lonely
soul of mine. Whithout to have any answer. Why the peoples some times
are more open to the problems of the others than the thereselfs ? Why
they want give, when must take ? Why they are felt in Love, when they
know that the Love dissapears along with the winds ?
The
Peoples never have answers for everything.
SLOWLY,
painfully
slowly, I collected my short belongings up.
In
my mouth has felt the night bitterness of the cuban cigars tobacco.
In
my mind has stay the midnight bitterness of the sweet collored
alcohol dry.
Slowly,
slowly steping back, I have left the house of my youth dreams and
late age curiosities. Sadled the bronze padlock in its bronze loops.
Locked on the door. Looking into the hands of mine, to the sabre like
key from the padlock, I have the feeling that it is born from a hot
gold.
Oh,
the dreams about the far away passed childhood, every time are born
from any kind of preciously metal.
I
HAVE NOT put
the sabre type key on the settled from the student from my own town.
Put it on the place, only the doubled money. And placed the key over
the surface of the tram railroad. Believing, that the comming mashine
will go over it. To break it for ever. Because over there, under the
shelter of the green painted tram-canton, I had locked under key, my
last adventure of my easy halved, rotened, out of any future, poor
beggar's Life of a provincial pariah. Invited against a palm of
stivers, to give the definitive conclussion in an international
quarell dispute. Which more than thousend years has not any credible
answer to use. And never should have to the end of the World.
I
WENT directly
to the city.
To
meet the head of the Central Governmental Institute for Ancient
Political Dreams in New Performances. To kiss his hands. I have not
more time to lost. Only hundred miles from the capital, instantly has
burst out a new Balcan War named from someone The Balcan Rapsody.
Through the New Year's Night, its detonations feverished my bed in
the old tramway station in the centre of the capital. We had
supposed, that it was an customary illumination. But it was not.
Simply, it was a New Balcan War, and no one poetical slogan could
change its bloody Fatum.
I
was been obligate return to my small Whitetown, end enter the army.
To save myself under the banners which have change theres collors
every time, when any new world power conquered these damned from the
Gods, but filled with Orpheus's sons lands. Under the standarts
first of all are collected the provincial otherwise thinkers. I don't
want to remember the Folklands, Vietnam or Afganistan. Because at the
times when this work can touch anyone, the hot spots will be much
more.
If
You are not, I am shure. . .
STEPPING
far
away from one rail sleeper to another, swinging my red leather case
in hands, I have not wish to do anything different than to return to
the wood lodge. And to stay for ever. When the next tram appears, I
hiden myself between the pine trees.
Scratched
brackes. The carman opened the door. Steped down to the rails. Took
up the left key to his eyes. A smugly smile tensed his face. The
carman send a glance around. Send a second one, to the closed
shutters of the silently canton. Rubed the bronze key to his cheeks.
Dropped it in the pocket of the uniform dress. Returned back to his
seat. And whizzed down town with a prohibited speed. Rushing away
near me, I have seen his face. Over it was been written out such
crasy wide happines, that it made me to envy.
II.
YOU
GUESS, that
the planned Brainstorm collapsed.
No
one from the included personell was been surprised. Every nice
beginning at the Balcans has got same fate, at the end of the ends.
First
of all, the top experts were been far away from the country. They had
got an unauthorized attempt to destroy with theres empty for tools
and money hands, one totally electronized city wall. They are
absolutely surprised from theres succesess. The Wall easily crashed
itself from the morning breeze.
The
second one was been the situation, that nobody has a need from the
Last Balcan Made Brainstorm. The war starts only hundrets miles from
here. When anywhere starts any war, the Brainstormings are for
nothing.
At
last, thus named Nation.
For a few of hours, it was been done more whimly than ever. Asking
not propaganda made brain storm Summits, but more Pure Natural Air
for the Kids, more Pure Drinking Water for the Pregnated Women,
enough Cheap Village Made Balcan Black Bread for All of Us. Forgeting
ask about the Yogurt. If You have pure and cheap milk, to do Yogurt
is easy.
I
may say how.
The Bacillus Bulgaricus
is cultivated centuries here, at the Balcans. Before the Flood.
The
New Balcan War, was been one from that completely ordinary things,
which the governments of the Balcans, every time easy replaced with
east or west imported experience. Every time very well polluted.
Following the prescriptions erected on the Brain Storm Summit of the
Summits, of the Tirant of the Tyrants of the World.
THE
CHAIRMAN of
the Summit,
was
been for a third time supperanuated, as an ex-committagy
in the mountains. Independly that it was been only an revolutionary
illussion, as was been illussion his science contributions. But who
will search the truth about one such high recognized person. As an
parliamentarian environmental expert about the line connection
between the artifical ears and seminatural eyes. And at last, because
of his age.
AFTER
the
such suxessfully destroying of that electronized wall through the
hearth of Europe, the commissioned experts speedly returned back to
the Institute. Returning home, they have start immediatelly to build
same wall, with an impossible love, especially projected for theres
own nation. After the building to be again destroyed. To have open
work line for all of the many political institutions in the country.
But it was not nessessary. One great stone wall had been done through
the souls of the all of the balcan peoples. Deviding them to two
different type of peoples. The experts efforts to modernize it were
been commical. Independly, that from the balcan type of life, the
peoples were been lefts theres exeptional sense for humour. But now
nobody may stop theres laugh. Independly from the war activity, they
have laughing with full of power of theres weakly from starvation
troats. And nobody may shut up them closely.
The
old ex-Brainstorm Chairman, sadly watched the end of the top-experts
efforts. He was know very well that the old stones are more cheap
than the new bricks for the governments. They are very practicable,
and no needs of foreign loans from the International Monetary Fund
both with two dozens financial club helpers. But, who wants to take
advice from any supperanuated person ?
AFTER
HIS PENSIONING,
the professor starts write his memories, as it is customized all over
the world. He had wants open the eyes of the wide readers audithory
about all of these small unvisible things, which have done the
regional, national and international policy on the Balcan Independent
Lands. Thinking that someone could read about his own political
mistakes showed like a national successes. He starts, as is a
tradition in such memories:
"It
was the first day of the Second World War. I had had walk between my
Whitevillage and the nearby city of Whitetown. Suddenly one airplan
crossed over my head. I have take my mashine gun, and took a
possition in the ditch near the road. Shot it. The plane felt down in
flames..."
At
the end of the commence of the foreword of this important original
work, the clouds over the Balcans again had been concentrated. The
last halved bottle Ryssian Vodka Dry
between
the barefoots of the writing professor
was
been empty, but the clouds were been such wide, such great and such
densed, that the bottle throttle rendered narrow to intake all of
them.
THE
POOR CHAIRMAN for
a first time understood, that between the pure science and the
durty
everyday life, have had a so great difference.
Shoked
from this,
he
discharged the bottle through the window. After which go down and was
surprised . The bottle was been whole, but again full with vodka dry.
The russian bottles are very simple and very hardly, sad himself the
old man. Remember it. He was forgottent his spectacles over the
written new book and lost the chance to mark off the smiling
moustached man triky looking to him from the nearly corner of the
street. He was with a solgier peak cap on the head with a red star on
the forehead, with a pipe in the mouth.
WHEN
THE RUSSIAN VODKA DRY, in
that original russian bottles finland production has finish,
and
the ink into the ancient silber inkpot confiscated at the
revolutionary times from any bank ticoon's desk go to the end,
sunking all of the flues in the studio under the sparkling red stars
from the propaganda posters, the ex-professor understood that the
ecologists at every level, every time are right. He was received an
official bulleten, which informed him, that the international
protected Balcan
Red Eagles
are only half of couple. His secretary was been out of his duties,
and was been impossible to send her to catch out some eagle feathers
to use them in lieu of pens. He has knows very well from another
side, that the nongovernmental organizations, every time are on its
watching possitions. Around the tables of the midnights
coctail-parties, they are monitoring all over and about the Balcan
Peaks easily. The Red Book is a Red Book. The European Environmental
Agency is, the Agency. The Hummanity Approuch to the Problems, is a
Hummanitarian Misconception.
EVERY
evening
before supper time,
the
old ex-chairman started think, as it was been his old habit, not
about the missing of the customized bread, salt and savory with
goat's cheese, but about more global problems. After the softly
revollutions on the Balcans, the social security funds were so
strange dissapeared, independly that they were been under, Oh - Bless
God !, a strictly governmental management. Analizing the case he
discovered, that the Social Seculity Fund Lords, are dislocated into
a small island on The Chanell of The Chanells, where to have a sabre
gold key for the Lords Citadel is not enough. You must know in
addition, that short password, which everytime going down into the
tomb with the sin soul of the Tirants.
THE
GREAT BALCAN TIRANTS,
before all were been communist type tailored. A nice protochristian
idea at the commence, with most bloody results to the end. With the
truly help of one International Linotipist, the dictators writing
works were been published free of charge (!!!) on many european
languages. But the Linotypist was been a nice informed boy. He take
it the National Social Security Funds of the ex-communist balcan
nations onboard of his floating paradize named "Freelanse's
Breeze". In portable cash-boxes with great capacities. Only to
do theres multiplications. After short of time, he will return all of
these national funds to theres native nations. In the best frienship
manner. You know better than me, the fate of this important ship. It
has sank just opposide the owners village on the well strongened
island in the Chanell of the Channells, immediatelly when call the
Chanell of the Chanells. Both with the selected codes of theres bank
accounts. The old ex-chairman has thinks and now, that namely this
wreck was been the start of the colapce of the Communism on the
Balcans. Perhaps all over the World. But he is only a very
susspiciously man.
That
is why, with a compass in hands, and a new computerized expert system
produced far away at tibetian caves, every night at midnight, the old
academician send his honestly grace just to the direction of that
group of islands. He was pray about all of the penssioned peoples of
his country on the Balcans, and after that thriugh the World, and
especially about the villagers from his neighbourhood village on the
shore of the sea. He forgot that every God may satisfy only one
solely perssonal pray. The Gods like it the Group Prays only in very
heavy cases.
Possibly,
the God catch the obsecration pray of ours man. The Old Man, received
a big packet with some pieces of foods. Like a present from any
international foundation, discovered his name in an international
dictionary about the last communist tailored nature protected birds.
He immediately back returned the heavy parcel. Into the parcel with
the perfectly foods has not the bottle russian vodka dry bottled in
Finland. He was an old, very old, honestly person.
Oh,
the International Nongovernmental Structures every time has missing
the Main. . .
DEEPLY
DISSAPOINTED from
such great international omission,
the
Old take the train and came to the shore of Whitetown. He want be and
really was, the first who has meet the international military powers.
Just disembarking onto the pictoresque shore line. Only to help the
balcan minorities, to have one mosque in addition more, because the
ortodoxal churches are enough, but the mormons have missing
generally. And nothing about the great petrol fields under the soil
of one place named Rosebird Fields.
From
the shore to these fields, the road was been about 350 miles, but
near it have lives more than a dozen small nationalities. Every one
from which with its own cultural traditions, own top-executives, own
tamagouchies and an own unvissible historical stratum. Every one from
which with different own religion. Every one from which with
different own smell of the kitchen. Perfectly leveled from the
different kind of conquerrors, with a compulsory through the
centuries national missery.
THE
OLD ,
the ex-chairman of the only professional made Balkan Brainstorm
Summit which never seen the light, droped in the water his fishing
hook at the end of the Whitetown wavebreaker. With the intimate
thought, that he will be the first in the tail when the Uncle Sam's
supply vessels berted. He was known very well that onboard the US
Navy vessels every time are carry out not only gallons wisky, but
also many littres of pure russian vodka. Being in penssion, he has
got an access more to the information boards, based in the district
pabs. But the ships were been sent to another direction. The misery
in the world is not only at the Balcans. It is everywhere. Is it go
before or after the US millitary corps, is a nice theme for a
postgraduate study. The old politician professor was been very old to
start any new study.
THE
OLD MAN had
stay some days and nights, at the end of the kee. With his fishing
rod. With his fishing net. With his fishing hook with a piece of
balcan cheese on the end like a bait. He has got enough time to wate.
He has enough rusks in his bag. Into the dustbins of the Whitetown
you may discover some bread, but never rusks - never.
BUT
THE LAST OLD FROM THE OLDESTS , have
call his happiness.
I
am sure, You know like me, how nice things are the international
human volunteers. They are every time on his volunteers possitions.
They are full of duty like youth officers onboard of a white
passenger ship, before to sink. One of these funny boys, flying
onboard of a navy helicopter, cheking the shore about russian
volunteers, whose divissions was possible starts to run, spoted by
his HT equipment the deeply swamped man. The equipment was been
projected especially to discover the discharged from theres wifes
ex-politicians. After which, the system with the traditional american
mersilessness could send one silber bullet just into the head of the
poor naive person. But the volunteer didn't want to do this. The
volunter done its GPS directly to Washington, DC, USA, where Uncle
Sam has smokings his cuban cigars in the presens of the most
activated female probationers from the side of UNO. The cigars are
the great fault of all of the Uncle Sams representatives. Made in
Cuba, flavoured at Mexico, they have came from Russia, only for a
while stoped for an additional flavorissation on the Balcans. The
Father of the Fathers of the World, also has a father ex-politician ,
ex- chairman of the Brainstorm of the Brainstorms of the World. Also
well jammed with nice rememberings from the Second World War to the
hat. Also at the board of any lake more salty than Black Sea. Also
with a net rod in hands. With many gold fishes into the fishing
basket. He bended shoulders. But whom father don't gives his head to
the son's jokes ? The old politician, calling some words to one from
his small golden fishes, sent it back into the lake waters. The Old
Balkandjy Professor saved his head. How nice thing is the democracy
yea - a - a . . .
ONE
GREAT SPONSOR FROM PNOM-PEN, backed
from Japans and funded from China, donated to the old balcan
ex-politician, a comfortable electricy driven dissability carriage,
which can take the distances between the capital and any country town
for few minutes. The carriage was been equiped exept with the
ordinary provided mashine gun, also with a CD-Stereo Player and
FM/AM Radiostations. The state TV-Set was been stolen from the
Pol-Pot revolutionary troops, to watch top-recordings with a great
educational power:
-
how Comrade Mao embarased the Late Tibetian Emperor before to send a
dozen monks like astronauts in the Space with an american shuttle
russian production;
-
how the Tibetiam Emperor embarased all of the Comrade's Mao solgiers
before to welcomed the multipliucated astrionauts returning from the
Space after only
10
000 years jorney to the future without backward;
-
how to settle the strupid provincialists from Cambodja jungles
before to start any High Tech Massacre in the name of the wide
national development under the strictly UNO supervission, and for a
fraternity between the working classes all around the world, etc . .
.
The
poor ex-politician professor, was been such happy, that it is
impossible to present his admiration through all of these scorned
lines of pity words. From so many internationalized brainstormings
onto his traditionally empty stomach, filled every time with well
boiled white beans saturated with the best balcan flavourings, named
Chorba,
he never had got enough time to by himself any second hand car. When
the second part from the donated carriage was been received, he was
been encouraged a little bit more, that at last he will survive
himself.
THE
NEW FREE MARKET ACQUISITIONS, opened
new possibilities before the professor's activity.
He
padled his own library just at the center of the capital, parking his
repainted Pnom-Pen Foundation Car opposite at the yellow
Parlamentarian Building. In the past totally destroyed from the
Alliens through the years of the Second World War, without permission
of the Russians - never. Now repainted in a strange blu collor into
and an orange collor over the face, without the permission of the
European Union - never. Holding a great number of deputats. Enough
to guide the total Europe, but satisfy to rulling only my small
nation.
He
opened his transfered into a movable bookstore car just against the
gates of the Parliament. From time to time, any fresh parlamentarian
lion with habits of a protected from the environmentalists Balcan
Rabbit, sprang out from the back gates of the kitchens, of the most
honestly Parlamentarian House on the Balcans. To take a short
consultation time from the eminent researcher. Now free market
bookseller and experienced consultant under the most open sky of the
world. Every time, the parlamentarian lions have carry out with
themself any bottle of original russian vodka drink, as a matter of
the high intellectual interchange. But the ex-schollar was not more
wodka drinks. He asked only hard currency before to do any important
for the Balcan Fatum advise. Between all of the conversations and
advisings, he has watching old records from Cambodja on one second
hand portable japan made battery supply video recorder.
THE
YOUTH WHITE PROFESSOR'S SECRETARY,
that same pretty blond russian gurl, refered like the most well
dissident tailored gurl on the Balcans, because of her collection
with many dozens of pornographical movies, was been immediatelly
discharged from the Institute of the Balcan Institutes. After that
crash of the Paneuropean Electonized Wall, immediatelly changed with
uncountable international agreements between the Shining West and the
Durty East, one after one, the russian secretary gurls through the
Balcans, were been changed with more fresh secretariat provided from
the different by name, but equally purposed humanitarian peacemakers
corpses.
The nice youth gurl, hardly rejected the official invitation to
work at not so long distanted Constantinopoliss City, like an
ecologist expert against the illegally trade with frozened elephant
trunks. At last time, the Elephant Trunks have done under strictly
UNO controll. The practice showed, that the Elephant Trunks, if they
are well frozened an saved, may use for speedly transfering of Damp
Money from one Mainstream to Another when the firemen pipes are
busy.
She
strongly rejected also the speculations with her perfectly name like
an international recognized internet registered dissident. And opened
the most elegant well supplied Porno-Shop in the Capital of the
Capitals of the Balcan Region. Intended only to aged businessmen free
of illusions, but full of money, with well prepared business plans in
theres laptops. Never for schoolers exept in the days of the Slavonic
Alphabet Hollidays. Never for schoolboys exept with theres moms and
pops. For teachers - free of charge booklets. For the schools - a
wide sponsorships.
THE
PORNO-SHOP,
was been truly licensed from the Ministry of the Popculture and High
Poptechnology, and was been put under the personally shelter of the
Minister of the High Illiteracy and the Exported Technocracy. The
nice Gurl received congratulations from many institutions and
administrations, and especially from the Unborned Child's Counsil.
The International Black Cross and Black Creshchent Associations, also
send theres congratulations, independly that were been very busy with
the distribution of prohibited medical wastes all over the world.
That is why, the ancient bronze lantern hangs over the entering gates
of the shop, sparkling every night with the low vissible black
crimson light over a red crimson . No, no, no, it is not pinched from
the gates of the old green painted tramstation of the childhood of
mine.
AS
A WEEL PROFESSIONALIZED LAIC,
I was need to no one.
I
was written my book about the national and international laicism,
but no one till now wants publish it. It was been too great by size,
so important by meaning, and very heavy to read.
I
was want to licenze my Own Naive Laicism, but the governmental
offices were been jammed with such applications. In the middle of the
age, the men must not wate for anything.
That
time the Uncle Sam's Troops were been drawn very speedly from
Whitetown, to send them to the hearth of Africa, where one old King,
was lost his gold telescope on the bottom of the Lake Tira-Tara.
Only the american navy divers may take it from the bottom of this
infact closed inner continental sea. The telescope had been american
construction 1826th, purposed to see all around in russian crimson
and californian gold. The GPS research showed the perfectly place,
but when the Uncle Sam's batiscaffe call the bottom, only empty
russian vodka bottles could be seen.
THE
POLITICAL INSTITUTE OF THE INSTITUTES,
in the capital of mine balcan country, after the returning back of
the political experts and scientists, was been successfully closed.
Going beggars, they have returned back looking kings. The well
educated beggars, they sad me, everywhere in the world are rich like
kings.
Eweryone
from them has take its bureau, chair and PC from the Institute.
Returning home, the experts opened its own political Institutes in
the garrage cells under theres appartments. Some times, from theres
new offices, has came a fantastic mixed aroma of switzerland made
ness-caffe and cuban cigars. The international science connections no
one may kill never.
THROUGH
THE BLOODY COMMUNISTS TIMES, I
was been very seldom unemployed. Now, through the postcommunists
times, everyone were been unemployed. The stabilisation on the
Balcans has went through the frozening of the countries economy. A
new Balcan War has starts and its name was been The Balcan Atlantic
War. My home was been far away from the center of Whitetown.
Independly from this, one authumn night, any mistaken rocket
destroyed only my roof. Next day everyone wants help, but no one give
money. The home till now is without roof. But no problems. The summer
came soon. The warming of the troposphere is a science fact. Only
the winter breese from the russian east coast of the Black Sea is
very, very, very cold, but with one more Chernobil dissaster
everything will be again O.K. Wating the next one. The striking
accuracy of the Balcan-Atlantic War showed, that the rockets never
touch the Top Political Leaders, whose muddled up the things. May be
because the rockets are more thinkable mashines than the
Professionalized Laics. May be because the stupid naive idiots like
me, sleeping emanates that crasy radiation, which help ever blind
rocket to spot just theres roofs. That is why I have done a movable
sleeping possition from one shore pab to another, till the war near
my country will finish. Prefering "The Old Lame Sea Dog",
where the boys from the Uncle Sam's Corps of Peace, like it to show
theres drinkable stabling. Every man must have one shelter more in
addition. In such war cases, when the war never have had finish
through the centuries.
(C
) 1999 - Bogomil Kostoff AVRAMOV - HEMY
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