Log on by child ticket. Joanna's Page 71

Yulia Ivanova

Log on by child ticket. Joanna's Page 71


Denis was getting better.
It noted doctors and computer examination. Yes, Denis himself seems to have believed that he was granted the fate for some time.

Already in the ward of the medical building where Joanna visited him every day, he began to take an interest in what is happening in the country, Golden Land and in the world.

Gradually, with the help of Iris began to join his film business, read by Izania's press regarding the latest movie rental, contacted by cell phone with the right people, making plans.
However, as he later acknowledged, there was no feeling in front of just temporarily. A time limited by hourglass that some unseen hand just once turned graciously. And then who knows...

There, in the Roman clinic, there was a feeling, not only leaked life, but also flowing away money, which caused always practical, prudent and Denis suspect a neurosis, which still does not seem to have a name.
Manifested in the obsession that all doctors think only how to ascribe to him any existing ailments. Force to take the most expensive medications and procedures. Making unnecessary operations with the sole purpose of gut with his perishable body pockets.
Account size, which he presented there, nearly drove him to a second heart attack.
Every extra day, medications, procedures, consultations, nurse cost from his point of view of the whole state. It was highway robbery.
Pill stuck in my throat, doctors presented gangsters.
He ruefully joked that if Joanna had not taken him, he would have crawled out at night and he died somewhere behind the gate. He was glad for reviving, at least not send account.

Denis' neurosis was quite persistent.
Come on, it's expensive!
And how much will it cost?
Physiotherapy, massage, fitness center, computer diagnostic chair that Dennis called "an electric chair" and collectively the "knacker's yard" long inspired fear him. Passengers who carry in the morgue, and even at this counter clicks.
Do not need anything; I'm so okay, you ruin this blissful... All these utopias bad end.
Free cheese is in a mousetrap has...

Joanna patiently convinced that her employment with Golden Mount's children to neighboring "cool" willingly take their offspring, and rental cars, a garage and Luzhino's house with a plot not just painless for her, but it is convenient and desirable.
What she likes to work brings satisfaction.
And Luzhino in their house tenants are good, decent. They finally bring everything in order that the first idle and falling apart.
Earth will be in safe hands, bring the harvest, God willing.
And the people who fell under the wheel of post-Soviet apocalypse, roof, bread. Her freedom and that same attitude indescribable peace with Heaven, themselves and others when everything goes well, agree to make ends meet, calms compass conscience.

That is the "kingdom within us", which is increasingly visited her in the Golden Mount.

Denis still rather skeptic, not a cynic, can never be carried away Golden Mount, if not associated with disease and weathered a new state of mind.
He never was an atheist, and probably would like to believe, but convincing for him has always been only darkness.
Something with a minus sign. Universal, global and unbeatable.
Inseparable from the human need to do evil, as the need to breathe.
From all evil he waited a greater evil. Welcome seemed trap or hypocrisy. And at first he felt ill at ease, as issued from the usual bog pond clean.
But probably every day to imagine that someone wants to take thy rights to the film to the skin or just ruin for some sophisticated, villainous motives was already unbearable.
And Joanna once said:
You know, you try to believe that here, really smart enough to homo sapiens
end then release each other.
Me from the hassle of the cottage, farm and plot - some know how to do better than me.
From useless idle machine in the garage, from running to doctors and pharmacies because of sick husband.
I freed them from homelessness. The need to get somewhere desperately desired transport, hire an expensive tutor for gifted children, and where they will hire a writer?
You from suffering from weakness and despair about greed and confusion Aesculapius.
And you, you see, typing force, believing in their good intentions, too shoot a film something about new Kolchugin.
In which will play their children instead of smoke pot in a dark stairwell.
And the circle closes...
Why do not we believe?
What's so incredible to release each other from unnecessary tedious, unworthy?
From this annoying life, swallowing time? Time and us.
That hand was hand head thought... eyes staring, ears to hear and digestion was.
After all, we are so conceived. We are together easier, more convenient.
What is so incredible?"

You have no choice but to believe Golden Mounters, persuaded Joanna, you're still in their hands, nowhere to go...
Who will protect us?
Who even now who can protect, but the Lord God?
Admit when you are hanging by a thread over the abyss and around Aesculapius with scalpels, silly shake whenever they take so cut the thread...
They used a long time it did, if we wanted to.

Think about something pleasant.
Well, for example, that from here you just forge excellence, cutting off the excess...
You to become easier and not escaped this very thread. And that, as it may seem, you live them more useful as well?

Dennis smiled hesitantly and slowly thawed. Or just tired of being afraid; so much to suffer.
Purred even Golden Mount lyrical song:

When was the golden mountain
And the river, full of wine.
All I would give to Zlatov Yegor
There was one song,
About how I had the golden mountain...

And so on ad infinitum until they rest.
And waving his hand, do not agree to any procedure, the most expensive.
And believing and not believing that all these foreign and overseas sparkling devices, hands, smile and precious time doctors composed specially for your diet, care, all this attention to detail, enveloping such incredible nowadays touchingly parental care world really belongs to you.
We just have to live according to its laws.
To tread, finally, from the heavy shapeless lump of stone your script.
Alive, filled with warmth, colors.
And he in turn began to work miracles.
Animate, raise the other, cutting off the excess...

it is a childhood disease, a passion for fairy tales?

"Be like children!" It is the commandment of Heaven. For the truth hidden from the wise men opened babies...
We sneering "fairy tales" and they have the keys to the kingdom. There a log on child ticket.

"Come on, Denis, in his old play in a fairy tale," suggested Joanna, Dark low truths dearer to us than we exalt deception...
In the tale of freedom, where there is only you, Mr. Creator.
No sir, not a moneybag.
Do not need a generic, not hunger.
Not the state has a "machine for the oppression of man by man".
Not a party, not a collective, not society. And it is not darkness.
Just you and the Creator...

"Joanna, my friend, do not say beautiful," thought probably Denis.

And her enchanted Gold Mount, eyes welling with tears.
She was in love with Izans.
During the Revolution of the Spirit.
Truth as once hungry hearts were in love with the socialist revolution in October the seventeenth, "sweet word "freedom".
Still not knowing what wonderful heady ideas in dilapidated minds of the society becoming indifferent precede forth lightweight foam. These bottles smash to pieces, splashing all around suffocating sticky sour.
And people in the foul and bloody nutrient acetic alcohol environment lively biting critters.
Scatter along the wounded sacrificial body Rus - martyr.

And we did last for 70 years, not so little.
Probably, he still prayed secretly, Joseph Grozny, trying to break through to directly Dream. Bypassing rejected in his youth, also partly sour church Wednesday, bless the hated rule of oppressors.
Joseph may have prayed to him Terrible, the Old Testament's.
Punishing and angrily humbling iron scourge fallen nations with their blind guides.

Prayed when hurried, last effort, darn countersigned ox veins creeping on the eyes old wineskins. Imposing leather patch, pressing his fingers to catch the eye of midges and worms that threaten to spoil the young wine nascent new life.
Darned, somehow tightened, saved several generations...

You are your own boss, curator pitcher.
But Izan's wine, light, sacred moment, from the same vineyard.

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman".

Home page