To C.S. Lewis

I thank God for being born
28 years after your death.
For your being now “forever”
For not having to worry about not my tomorrow.

And what if you’d resolved
To be stronger after her death?
Or if my parents were born half of a century earlier?
Lets assume the first case, though.
I would never like to have another parents.
If you should still
Jump through the attic,
Hate the school,
Tame the Lions,
Revive the fauns.

Well,
You still would not know anything about my existence.
But I,
I would pray for your health
Every night.

And when that day should come
The day, when I would be
Conscious enough
To regret the dead,
They would cram you
Somewhere between those singing
About the cheap usury
And at 5 pm they would announce on the radio:

The great man is gone
For the all kinds of cough.

It feels so great that I was born
28 years after your death.

What has happened to the world?

Of mine.

I guess I've managed and passed the major test. And what's more, my lucky decisions seem to have saved me from the torments I 'd be forced to deal with if I had chosen another option. The cursed one! I walked victorious out of what I call the crooked-thoughts-whirl. I (or maybe rather the time) slowly sucked out the poison (that was actually not intended to be a poison) And with all my not existing confidence and weakness I put myself into the hands of calm and bright words of a bitter, but beloved elderly bereaved man. And with all this touching wisdom I started a process of closing eyes on what would happen next. I was turning my head back into the early 60's every minute I was needy. Someone turned out to want to share it. And still does. Even while moaning about entirely different thigs. About the loss, and me about the little things that make some days of the worse sort.

I'm in love with your daughter.
I wanna have her baby.



PS. Samson.

Short, but concrete.

The reflections based on what I have read. No... it sounds too diligently, dishonestly and poshy. All the celver deductions I recommend, You can find on those theological websites, when mentioned about Mr. Lewis and his work.

Well then, let's share some crap with whoever will read it.

I think my thoughts-bondage has become something indissoluble.

Well, my mind loves to rise up against me. Sometimes I ask if it shouldn't be my best advisor. My friend. Actually I conclude that it should not, and, what's more, it will never be. Did I let it too much? Yes. By treating it like a self-contained creature. BIG MISTAKE. You see... thoughts ARE NOT Your friends. They are shrewd, mean and hungry for freedom. Many times they tried to get out of me and start an individual living. They desired to eat my brain, use my body and win with my soul. They wanted to make a bad person of me.

-You should've come to me when being a child.- said I. K.

Why? Because right then You have the best ability to learn how to control Your thoughts. How to make them submissive, even helpful.

You, the mature reader, do not have a chance to change a lot in Your sick brain at the moment.

BUT!

Remember that Your children may notice one day that there's a shrill chaos in their heads. Remember that with every day it gets more and more difficult to change the base. Underestimating thoughts that scare You means, that You simply loose the chance of a proper dealing with them. One day You may be forced to start treating them not as they were Your confederates, but as they were Your slaves. Remeber then, that slaves often tend to revolt.

Something not very concrete.

*

-This music gives me chills.

-Naaaaah, don’t be lame.

*

Can’t wait for the mountains view and the flickering snow.

Lord, save the nature.

And that’s why (as the priest said^^) the South is more… sensitive (yes, this is an euphemism of mine).

Why? Because it is able to notice the unnoticeable. The delicate value of a purple hill or the warm and withered summer grass. Of all these subtle proofs.

Value? I wouldn’t even call it that way. These are not coins.

I’d rather say it’s a prayer. Simple and unable to glorify. Tried to be expressed in all possible ways. The best I guess (or the least bad) is the “Ode”, but… since the blog poetry became something defaming, I, as the greatest conformist in the Universe, will not share it.

Bye!

PS. Thanks for the eldils.

One, two... One, two, three, four!

Here I go. Why? Because bloggers are mentally healthier, even though nobody reads their mumbling. In the rush of unnamed feelings I did it. It will be my child.

Firstly, I’d like to express my deep wish to somebody above not to remove this mumbling, because it’s MY mumbling. No… I am NOT saying it’s worth reading or contemplating. I just guess I would not stand another diary that goes to hell (though I still have some kind of irrational hope that someday Mr. Lewis is back).

Now… let’s share some crap with whoever will read it.

Honestly, I thought that the first winter break week would be a little bit different. I was supposed to fall with all my mind and body into the whirl of work. I was supposed to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer world (Yes…I’ve insolently taken it form “Dracula”^^) Well, as you all can see (if there’s more than one person who reads it at all) I’m doing things far more different from trinomials, trapeziums, shiteziums or poem analysis. Do I feel bad about it? Hard to say. The problem is that I have never felt so great a hatred to all the stuff mentioned above. The nonsense of studying has never been so obvious. Maybe it’s because of the lack of fresh air in my brain. Maybe it’s all about waking up at 10 and not at 6 as I’m used to.

I still feel those damn hurting wrinkles on my forehead!

Thank God I do not have to be a master of bending the space-time continuum anymore. Thank God, tomorrow I’ll be cured!

PS. I am a maniac.