Текст песни Сны Моего Неба - История Одного Трипа

I sit and obey in despair .. the clatter of wheels and mouse clicks. Mouse? This is a diminutive caress.
But judging by the sounds, my finger is clearly stingy. Otherwise, why would he yell like an old half-ruined cart?
I sit and scroll through the endless frame of my puzzled thoughts. They crowd with meaningless symbols that would pinch or transform each other. Sometimes it seems to me that this is the Babel of Pandemonium. Hundreds of different languages ​​... thousands of words from nowhere and nowhere that can not understand each other in a common ambition, in the chaos of speechlessness.
I throw the nets into this many-sided stream, and I rise up crying. What would remain yourself and preserve the structure of consciousness ... which are trying to pull billions of small tenacious hands.
"Give us a piece of yourself!" Pull off your self! Pull off your I .. and mneee ... because we love you! & Quot;
They shout to me invisible fingers ... the main thing is not to melt or lose them. Clearly remember the body .. on the red obshchepopannom chair with a darkened back, on which the time is frozen .. and sex.
I dive deeper and it seems to me that I came to my senses. Turning from the broken light into meat and bone, frozen in an absurd idocan pose. And only my eyes ... run back and forth here and there ... on small plasticine legs, allowing me to examine myself and evaluate the changes that have taken place.

From the height of the right shoulder, I see only bones covered with skin sticking out in solitary stumps. Standing on the left hand brush - my eye sees the perfect muscles! Stitched with coarse threads ... Wow a child of Frankenstein. Mirage? Optical illusion of vision if you want .. but no one can cancel, cancel what is already happening .. runs down and hits the stained-glass windows with heavy palms on a fragile glass face. And I feel like cheeks run up a thousand small cracks.
Of course I have something to say, but that's what I'll keep with myself .. after all, so many people lose when they try to prove to others that he is, that he was and will continue.

& quot; Say .. open ... & quot;

But I'm not going to prove anything because I'm flowing like a stream. Escaping with a rapid flow from there where too many questions are asked about the transparency of my blood and the density of my karma.
Catch the stream without dousing your hands and you will have a bonus my catchers ... whose breath I guess from the shadows behind my back.
It seems like seconds have become sharper ...
I do not believe you and my memories. They are too much like monuments ... their feet are drowning in the stones connected for years ... and they look only at one point. Epicenter of the lowered consciousness .. and the world. Birds sit on them, children throw snowballs. Tourists are photographed with my memory as a cousin. The homeless clumps of human descent are asleep on them ... and the weary janitor sighs when he sees the new drawing .. on the stone body, like an autograph with street paint.

- Good afternoon monsieur. And tell those how to get to the city center. I really need a monument to Marcus.
- ABOUT! A young man .. in our time no one is interested in architecture. Of course, of course ... I'll escort you. Come along for me ..
I laugh and jump into the wall. The features of the monitor are densely frozen. Swim for ages immense ghost phantom through the ancient cast and in the venting shaft.
Empire of fussy insects and small .. microscopic life! Well .. it seems they are surprised and frightened ...
"Hey, Sam!" Long time no see!
"How long have I seen you, Jem?"
- No! No! Gem .. what is this? This guy, behind you, has a knife in his hand .. Jem! Neet! Jay!
"God ... I do not understand what happened to this fucking world ..

Falling out into the street, I dance like a narrated air ... street winds feel prey and rush at me like a sale ... trying to chop off and shred. They tell me "thank you sir", sing and twist with thin tentacles ...
Street sale of dancing air. Fly on. Outdoor sales of solar air! Dancing air in the air ... fly! Yes friends .. fly.
Sir, do you want to have dancing air? To your kettle will do .. not otherwise. Very much for