is he
His long hair was hysterical about his pale, frozen face, as if making it clear how he really feels. The wind blew so hard that he barely managed to keep his relaxed body in balance, and he wanted to fly ... He was often asked about his cherished dreams, he often had to lie “happiness, love, no ... maybe money?” No, that's all not something, he definitely wanted something that is something that cannot be described in words, something that cannot be embraced, something that does not make you either happy, happy, unhappy, or sad, you could hardly find any words to explain what exactly he wanted them at such moments, to those who have never been here - will not understand this. Probably every person has a place where he needs to be alone, where there is no one, where you comprehend ... God? What the hell difference how do you call it, if you cannot be happy here, alone with yourself, you cannot be happy anywhere, if you are sick of yourself, if you doubt your ability and your abilities every day ... don't understand.
“February, this bitch is February!” He thought. The month turned out to be cold, but he did not tolerate the cold, just as he did not tolerate his long hair that still wrapped his head around his eyes. Reluctantly pulling his hands out of his pocket, he straightened his hair, reached for a cigarette, lit a cigarette, for a moment it even seemed to him that he was warm.
The clouds wrapped the not-so-dark sky, the frozen puddles crunched underfoot like broken glass, he remarked when he came closer to the edge.
')
Hell, a wonderful view opens from here, it seemed that a person has achieved a lot, he created things capable of surprising thousands, billions of people, all these fake huge buildings, monuments, monuments, churches, but he never did anything more beautiful than this cliff on which he stood. The cliff did not require admiration, the enthusiastic and astonished faces of tourists, the vanity of the creator, no, definitely not all of this was here and by this he was perfect.
No, he was not going to jump, it is even funny, he knows for sure that he will crash on white stones randomly scattered by the creator a couple of meters below but will not fly. “But suddenly!” - stupid thoughts tormented.
“Interesting,” he continued, “perhaps suicides were trying to take off?” But they did not succeed? What does a suicide think about at such moments? Maybe maybe
about the same thing about him? Perhaps they gained freedom? While they were all sorry they acquired something that we will never understand? That which we cannot feel, we are very much occupied with ourselves, with peace, lies, pain, and fear. Fear, we fear too much, no, not a bloodthirsty god who punishes for sins and not even death, we fear ourselves.
Our worst enemy is ourselves, our prejudices, limitation, not self-perfectness — our enemy with whom we fight in different ways, every day, the one who always sees, always knows better than anyone else, you yourself,
Someone considers himself too clever, beautiful, ugly, stupid, small, big ... Hiding behind his own masks, and crying at night, crying from his own imperfection, from the fact that it is impossible to pretend all the time
one cannot pretend to be someone, one cannot help becoming oneself to be someone! ”- he thought, standing only crawling about in gusts of wind, completely not afraid of a precipice.
Fine snow has gone, an indescribable sight, such banal snow, such a banal cliff and sensations that cannot be compared with anything he has ever felt in his life, nothing was important, because there was nothing, it is impossible to describe emptiness, it is impossible describe what is not, and is it worth it? Was it worth describing all or nothing?
He looked up, the snow fell on his slightly frostbitten face, he closed his eyes, a strange feeling.
He lit up. Again the illusion of heat. Same as our whole life, the illusion of love, friends, happiness, who is able to truly love? Who knows what love, friendship, happiness is? Guessing, again guesses and illusions ... how perfect the perfect world is not perfect ...
He stepped, stepped into nowhere, into the abyss. He flew, flew not up, but down, just as all people fly. Five or so seconds of flight - and freedom ... He gained his freedom, he found himself, today he didn’t have to wear masks, pretend, lie, be someone, he didn’t even have to be himself, he became everything, everything and nothing. The big precipice accepted him, one more became this, became that it is impossible to embrace, describe, feel, everything and nothing, it became part of what we always were and from what we are constantly trying to escape.
dedushka.info/2007/06/22/on
“February, this bitch is February!” He thought. The month turned out to be cold, but he did not tolerate the cold, just as he did not tolerate his long hair that still wrapped his head around his eyes. Reluctantly pulling his hands out of his pocket, he straightened his hair, reached for a cigarette, lit a cigarette, for a moment it even seemed to him that he was warm.
The clouds wrapped the not-so-dark sky, the frozen puddles crunched underfoot like broken glass, he remarked when he came closer to the edge.
')
Hell, a wonderful view opens from here, it seemed that a person has achieved a lot, he created things capable of surprising thousands, billions of people, all these fake huge buildings, monuments, monuments, churches, but he never did anything more beautiful than this cliff on which he stood. The cliff did not require admiration, the enthusiastic and astonished faces of tourists, the vanity of the creator, no, definitely not all of this was here and by this he was perfect.
No, he was not going to jump, it is even funny, he knows for sure that he will crash on white stones randomly scattered by the creator a couple of meters below but will not fly. “But suddenly!” - stupid thoughts tormented.
“Interesting,” he continued, “perhaps suicides were trying to take off?” But they did not succeed? What does a suicide think about at such moments? Maybe maybe
about the same thing about him? Perhaps they gained freedom? While they were all sorry they acquired something that we will never understand? That which we cannot feel, we are very much occupied with ourselves, with peace, lies, pain, and fear. Fear, we fear too much, no, not a bloodthirsty god who punishes for sins and not even death, we fear ourselves.
Our worst enemy is ourselves, our prejudices, limitation, not self-perfectness — our enemy with whom we fight in different ways, every day, the one who always sees, always knows better than anyone else, you yourself,
Someone considers himself too clever, beautiful, ugly, stupid, small, big ... Hiding behind his own masks, and crying at night, crying from his own imperfection, from the fact that it is impossible to pretend all the time
one cannot pretend to be someone, one cannot help becoming oneself to be someone! ”- he thought, standing only crawling about in gusts of wind, completely not afraid of a precipice.
Fine snow has gone, an indescribable sight, such banal snow, such a banal cliff and sensations that cannot be compared with anything he has ever felt in his life, nothing was important, because there was nothing, it is impossible to describe emptiness, it is impossible describe what is not, and is it worth it? Was it worth describing all or nothing?
He looked up, the snow fell on his slightly frostbitten face, he closed his eyes, a strange feeling.
He lit up. Again the illusion of heat. Same as our whole life, the illusion of love, friends, happiness, who is able to truly love? Who knows what love, friendship, happiness is? Guessing, again guesses and illusions ... how perfect the perfect world is not perfect ...
He stepped, stepped into nowhere, into the abyss. He flew, flew not up, but down, just as all people fly. Five or so seconds of flight - and freedom ... He gained his freedom, he found himself, today he didn’t have to wear masks, pretend, lie, be someone, he didn’t even have to be himself, he became everything, everything and nothing. The big precipice accepted him, one more became this, became that it is impossible to embrace, describe, feel, everything and nothing, it became part of what we always were and from what we are constantly trying to escape.
dedushka.info/2007/06/22/on
Source: https://habr.com/ru/post/11216/
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