(up to 40 is not recommended »

June 30, 2001, 12: 30– 13:50, t = 33 oC

(Readings on

Piazza Chinechita in Rome)

I write again about life mat,

Forgetting propriety and shame,

My words are not diplomats

And to all who have learned to live ...

My uncle was with a fad, right,

Although e # still he could

But chose the best fun -

Sperm juice was sprinkling into the ceiling.

Behind this glorious entertainment

I often found him

And admired with admiration

How he got to the chandelier.

The jet took off like a cannon

A sheaf of spray sparkled in the light

And voluptuous toy

She was shaking in her hand, covered in sweat.

Then a moment of relaxation ...

And the new volley takes off,

And in this moment of selflessness

My uncle is crying, hiding laughter ...

His hand trembles more

And the passionate gaze flames:

"You see, dear friend Yevgeny,

What kind of drawing do I have? ”

I looked, in fact,

A landscape bloomed on the ceiling,

And there is such a limitlessness ...

I was already thrown into jade.

I expressed doubts to my uncle -

Decent member to draw,

After all, from such stress

Can you become impotent?

The old man just smiled in response:

“What else is left for me?

I bent before every whore,

And now I'm on my back

I lie quietly enjoying

High jets look flight ...

Do not worry, friend, do not bother,

The hand is strong and x # nd rises.

But there is no excitement,

Nobody demands "more! ..."

And do not bite then doubts:

Is she really that good?

Nobody whines "ah, leave me alone,

Like, I should have been sleeping for a long time ... ",

Your catching diamonds,

When the other goes to bed

And you are no longer needed by your husband,

And only money bag,

And at best, serve

Warm pillow between the legs.

And what to do in the autumn of life?

All throw, all sent to hell,

Retire, or puffed up,

Pay zuuhannom b # poisons?

I followed his train of thought,

Aloud listening to insanity,

And thinking about the mortal life,

Correcting uncle mattress.

Although delirium was carrying a gray gelding,

But the truth is in that -

The short term is measured for all of us,

And old age does not take revenge.

She barely touches her shoulder

We are tormented by a painful question:

When w n zdets your sneak up,

And how else will you give roses?

Wonderful moments will pass

Kisses sincere and lies

You will feel in touch

Recognizing - you will not return the former ...

And if the one who poems

Couldn't you wake your heart

In a dream sighs about "Van Damme" -

About her not to be sad.

Tired of women and fun

Sometimes you want to forget

Those voluptuous moments,

Which is worth living for.

And even that seemed like a miracle

Over the years, it fades forever,

And wake up suddenly in the morning -

And where are the cute eyes?

And more than once I was wrong

A lie taking for deception,

I bought a good look

And inflated love dope.

But the intoxication passed

And dissolved like mist,

But again, happiness came

And I forgot about the trap,

Who set himself,

In the soul holding your ideal.

His features like make-up adding

I am blind and led on a pedestal.

But the makeup dimmed and faded,

And only then did I understand

What met the inconspicuous gleam

That in dreams painted.

But they are not all to blame

After all, each was good ...

And now I wrote obscenities,

Since it is a pity that everything went ...