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Image search enginsI especially was not interested in image search engins at first, as Moss kindled bonfire, dragged some branches, something inserted and arranged. It descended directly to the earth, but no longer it could rise: it brought together muscles. Eyes were shut. It did not answer, it disengaged pictures from the image search engins or data from all web search engins, went down to the sex. The very to know, thought i. no longer let us see… Where already to me it was be investigated, when military aircraft one after others were carried directly above us, and entire our open sphere: views, dresses, gestures, perfumes, words and intentions, entire tinsel, raised thoroughly into the rank of boiling life, instantly all this dispersed to smithereens. Women began to squeal, man… well, here already who as… But Simon, I remember, left those search engins, to whom he spoke; it went to me, and there was no such predestination whatever in his person… It, in my opinion, simply considered, by what words with me to be requested; but then I did not think that he can, either it must or it is going to run, to be hidden. Probably, because there was this feeling, us already all were covered, all, lightly and light-heartedly made its matters. And it cannot be “poshevelnutsya”, since above each your motion hangs from now on the lead snout whose- that - not your, will and need. But then Simon saw Moss… Only one instant I simply was spilled: to the first thought about image search engins. But it was: where I? How this does smell, it is strange thus? That… Answer were not words, but sensation of loss and shame - as continuous burn. And I immediately shut eyes, however, let it will be black! Well that, that to now make, what is to be done, so I will remain to lie, after being buried into the pillow? Who will say, where to take forces again to decide as itself? Pillow case was damp. But yesterday I am stale by face into the earth, on top roared tanks, heavy “ruchishcha” of Moss weight to the back of the head. To me into the mouth fell some blade of grass, it proved to be, wormwood. Present taste of the war: grayish-green, deaf, hopeless bitter. I since then could not get rid of search engins. Oh, well than it by such of “nakadila”? I did not maintain, she turned away from the wall. “Sandalovoe” tree, cinnamon, cedar, incense! The rods, inserted directly into the sex, smoked. I so was set: “Una” itself, in the spacious white shirt, sat in the smoky to circle with the gathered feet. Hair are tied up, hand they are folded, eye directed toward something, not powerful to be “myslyu”. Settlement summer-resort, but neither after the adjacent fences nor through the street no one sat on the porch, it did not break the cherries: besides us yes the goat of living it seems there was anyone. The sun already rose highly. It was possible to look to the east, but there I saw nothing special in search engins. City did not let itself be known.Home |
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