OVERSEAS HISTORY X Bashny.Net

Tim Skorenko



Tomorrow the war will come to us, my dear. Tomorrow, my boy, will announce what's coming. So sorry, but from now on I'll be a little tougher, a little restless, a little hysterical, maybe this will help, deliver, save from adversity. Turn off the radio, the sound starts to bite into the flesh of the sofa, in the old Palace wall, mural wall map of Alsace, so that after an hour it begins to seem like the German tanks enter in Alsace.

As usual — on the radio this morning said, people shoot each other for no reason. Here's Frank on the movie. Catamneses in the room just to see how Aster subspace cuts up. Just watch Astaire dancing, and shut up.

There will be war number two, number three, number ten. Will war after war to devour this age. Thousands of victims every hour, every day, every month, even for God, such guilt does not hang, even if it is just a random side effect. There will be war in the Asian oiled the jungle, there will be war in the hot sand seas, copper rust, leaf armor will pouchot time over something pointless creepy, cold eternal winter, silence Dec.

The sun is hiding. The evening is inclined to night. Radio gags noise serial noise. Here's Frank — stop for baguette, but just look how Aster rollicking laughs. Just watch and bring the laughter.

Poured copper trombones lead the jets
the screen looks muddy under wet points.
Ginger dances, rhythmically parquet polishing,
Ginger takes off with the rhythm of machine-gun clicks.
Strangling music of the Hamburg anti-aircraft towers
the roar of the aircraft pulls on the fibers of the string.
Fred is flawless, crazy, passionless, fearless,
every affected PA denying the war.

The sound of tap dancing. Fatigue in the eyes of the tyrant.
The circle on the wing. Scorched by the fire dawn.
There is nothing outside of the silver screen.
There is only Fred. Don't forget — just ginger and Fred.
Nothing.
There is no death.
There is no death.
There is no death.

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