Sometimes my people, whether the text I have just read to read, somewhere, may . Mostly it is the topic. Namely, they have a girlfriend who also works at the newspaper (like the woman in my text), or they know someone who is just like the guy that I have described, or they just have a stove.
My mother finds the way, Robert Naumann best because that is who is hard of hearing, as they do. By Robert she feels understood. However, she does not understand me (because she is hard of hearing). Clearly, understanding the crucial criterion to find the author give the reader pleasure. And only such an understanding, which is a common destiny already been given, the words need no more words. What a bitter experience for a writer!
So now the text that has required a young woman with tiled stove. It is a literary biathlon, that prose and poetry alternate.
prose route
In winter, when the mercury slips my room thermometer at 15 degrees Celsius, can I just lay under the covers and hope that my laptop generates a little heat. Then I try to convince myself that winter has its good sides. I think about it and I'm freezing and freeze and think and think ... but the only good thing that occurs to me the winter is summer in Australia. am At such moments I am glad to know anyone in Australia, I would probably send an irreverent card: "The heat here is unbearable. We have to go swimming all day to cool down a little bit. "I could not bear it. In fact, the summer in Australia is nothing good, but the worst of the winter at all. But the idea that there are people who have just summer, while you yourself can freeze, one's own suffering just feel stronger. A resentful, misanthropic, angry Australians hate rise up in me. I would immediately set up a fascist movement that "Australians in!", Calls for "But only in winter."
My inner Adolf Hitler, my mind is so heated that the room temperature has risen by one degree. Perhaps it is also at the stove, which I heated for three hours. There is probably not an invention, which fails of its purpose, the way a stove. A constant room temperature is practically impossible. It is only for a complicated time management that you have mastered only after years of painful trial and error to keep the room temperature at a comfortable level. And it would have been out of work, to enjoy the narrow time window in which the room is warm.
poetry shooting
Clock echoes - flat cold
Get Up - Go out
coal - pick up heat
oven
And not with the coal stingy
an hour waiting I
freeze Then I shut the oven door
furnace - cold
apartment - cold
Winter containing
Wait Freeze - hours later, the oven warms
- Slowly he goes
First climbed
Second Celsius Celsius will soon come
oven - warm
apartment - soon
Winter containing
Finally, I can calmly freeze
Without the bed
leave now was time for lunch
But in the apartment under the domination degree
the best grades
would go eat now too good
furnace - hot
apartment - even
winter - cold
It abdominal
prose route
snarls I sometimes hear from people the phrase, "Oh, you do not have a ! stove ", or worse:" What a stove produces but a very special warmth. The heating is much more comfortable than heat. "This romantic glorification of the stove is to me a single puzzle. If I hear something like this from people who never had to heat her room with a fireplace, rising in me again the inner Adolf Hitler. " I wish I could yell at her: "You but have absolutely no idea her spoiled child of wealth heating! You might as well in a Philippine jail on bread and water imprisoned say: 'Oh, bread and water, which is indeed such a traditional meal. '"
No, but the filth, the so bring a stove with you! Always a bit of ash falls from the oven. And if it turns into the ash bucket, formed immediately a large ash cloud, which is distributed to the bucket. And when the ash bucket for waste brings formed when tipping an even greater ash cloud that drenches one all the clothes.
A good but it has. If you again in the evening, focusing ments if coal black hands colors, you save if you then read a book, the bookmark.
poetry shooting
ash is not ash does not float like ash
if she sticks
ash affects you, because she lives
ashes, ashes, ashes, ashes, ashes ashes
eyes can cry
ash itching on the arms and legs
ash scratch tickle on your tongue
ash in the lung
ashes, ashes, ashes, ashes, ashes
glowing ashes, ashes holes
burns on the carpet yet, and local vending
ash the plastic is melting soft
Ash is ... Shit
misconduct!
Criminal rhyme
see the beauty of precious stove
only Dork
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