Раз-два-три, ветер изменится - Глава 8 отрывок 1 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

When a person ends up in your mouth, you involuntarily begin to feel some connection with him. Not the connection that allows you to choose hydrangeas together on the flowerbed of your country house, but something elusive still remains between you. For example, a blowjob in a semi -conscious state.

It’s not that in 1969 I was a special moralist, but I can understand me: not every day you are starting to torment hallucinations and it is very rare that you consider yourself a heterosexual all your life, and then you find yourself on your knees that sucks another man.

I did not expect that we would go to Halloween together, putting on paired costumes, did not think that we needed to celebrate the day of Guy Fox, but I had some thoughts on the mino to psychoanalysts. In my world, such situations elegantly ended with patting on the shoulder and peaceful: “Well, how, old man? Maybe a glass of whiskey? .. ".

But Dr. Hannibal Lecter was openly shit on my thoughts on this subject.

And shit at me.

No, I did not miss him; He did not listen to sad mournful songs, thinking about our forbidden love, did not go out to smoke on the landing five times in an hour, did not try to redeem all alcohol in a nearby store. I preferred in silence and concentratedly dying.

Когда ты один и у тебя нет работы, отнимающей все твое время, твой обычный день проходит в мучительно осознании собственной никчемности, которое чередуется с приступами самоунижения по поводу того, что он не позвонил сейчас и не позвонит никогда, потому что таким жалким людям, как You, only householders call.

So, I wake up in the bed, crushed by failure, and carefully avoids to enter into an internal discussion about why yesterday until four in the morning I watched black and white films and chewed the corner of the pillow. I wash in my shower. Masturbation. I remember how his hips smell. I will masturbate again. I wipe myself with a towel and try not to burst into tears, looking at myself in the mirror. I make myself coffee and, waiting for a call, I sit down for a second to watch the news. The first few days the very thought that he could forget about me somehow does not occur to me; Special at those moments when I, closing my eyes, once again lose the moment he strokes my cheek. Oh, the excellent property of memory to concentrate on what you want to forget, and most clearly represent exactly those moments that bring you the greatest pain: his fingers, a drop of saliva in his palms, his voice.

I'm waiting. Hour. Two. Three. I make breakfast and try to figure out where you can get Strichnin without any question about why I want to kill myself.