I simply noted that one of the groups, especially exporters, would prefer to have a weaker rouble.
The poem is at last between two persons instead of two pages. In all modesty, I confess that it may be the death of literature as we know it.
O my enormous piano, you are not like being outdoors
oh god it’s wonderful to get out of bed and drink too much coffee and smoke too many cigarettes and love you so much
I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.
Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.
the only truth is face to face, the poem whose words become your mouth and dying in black and white we fight for what we love, not are
If it came to a magic genie, I would ask him for two extra wishes. One would be that no one would have to live with the muscular dystrophy disease or any disease. And the second one would be world peace, that we just stop fighting, talk about things, and we could live in harmony once again, like God intended us to do.
The majority of human conflict comes from people just feeling disrespected.
As matters now stand, the combination of genocide, as conventionally understood, and crimes against humanity, seems sufficient to cover the criminality of political leaders, and the lethal consequences of totalising ideologies.
Electric light is just another instrument. I have no desire to contrive fantasies mediumistically or sociologically over it or beyond it.