ABBA VITE namely Doctor Solzhenitsof's novel

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

-Can you bear it? Is it any use? Is there sense in it? And let me tell you whoever you might be, people's life is no worse than life without FOUNDATION.
The infinitely detailed, never-ending action of FONDATION is easily solved and even appears before us as a problem that has already been solved. Now, let's stop and ask ourselves: Action cannot be without a foundation. If we briefly summarize its basis, that would not be the case. Maybe it can be called a well-designed, framed energy source. Imagine such an energy source that without it, no action can be observed, and what cannot be observed is a no-go... This tiring paragraph is also a candidate to be striking, because the basis of action is the ability of the being to sit still, which creates non-action by observing the conditions. Another name for this is excellent mental and spiritual health... In this sense, people lose their mental and spiritual health even if they are not behind bars, but if they are arrested in their free lives, huh? Is one of the people who observe FONDATION the ability to sit still in my life then? I lost it once because I can cope with it. I have full faith that I will never lose my mental and sensory abilities again. I wrote the paragraphs when I was sitting still, I made the observation above, it can be described in Ottoman Turkish,-the action can be described in Ottoman Turkish so far-the action is mixed, as if people who do not know each other and gathered from the far and near surroundings of the neighborhood have memorized what they will do under the sky tent all their lives, they climb, reach the peak to fall, they run away, they run from where they fell to very complex places, and they enter the very door they entered due to high speed. Their jumping out of the window in front of them is then symbolically looking at the audience from behind a wall.
Families seem to have learned well what to teach their children: ambition! Our subject, who has a writing profession, knew a heavy brother, as he called it, under the bridge, from among the noble people in the neighborhood where his family had lived for many decades, when he was a small child. He was someone worthy of love and respect. He would act clearly during his career choice period and open a small printing house.
Our author went to the capital city for higher education and returned successfully years later. The dynamic printer, who knew how to position himself at an equal distance from respect and love, was at the peak of his potential as a big brother at that time. They did not meet in the new period of my writer, but the basic teaching of human education was greed, that center of respect in the neighborhood was molded in the aim of taking revenge on the person. However, there was a basic question: who did what to that person so that revenge could be taken? As those who know, the depicted neighborhood could not be isolated from the doctrine of ambition, while this ambition would focus on the goal of personal wealth in a country with heavy industry, but in the place we have described, the dream of any goal other than revenge made it an empty preoccupation. Keeping his intention not to enter the mentioned printing house, the ambitious writer walked to a street closest to there. With a medium-sized stick in his hand, he was swinging his sword at the thistles of the empty plots, tearing off the tops of the plants and continuing walking.
He did this in his childhood too, because when he was a child, our main focus of action was ambition. kept walking
The thorns of four colors were falling or climbing to a more reflective state than the sea wave, even if they were seen to break off and get caught in the wind. Then he reached an "A-4" page, where we could not distinguish the blues from the rectangles, and whose surroundings were limited by yellow dots. Well, after all, it was close to the printing house!

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

'There can be no question of love,' every printed material would write there as everywhere otherwise what if there can be no respect either, if on the contrary there is aversion, contempt, repulsion, what then? Solely grudge and grinding teeth to eat and to defecate hate…So the chattering intimate friends will have to 'keep up their peacefully deepening appearance to have been reflecting from their talks,' too. Is not that so? Carry on with reading what the twos hearkening.
"Every time I returned from the workshop, I would find two options in front of me," said the metro friends. If there were two people, friend would be used instead of friends. It has not gone unnoticed that the number one, "two" or the numeral or counting situation can appear - as seen here - and as it is understood, anyone who writes any literary expression seems to be caught in a kind of whirlpool when they come across qualifying adjectives. The dominant factor here is “two”. Thank God they were three people, none of them called the subway a train, "caravan of walking halls" was their preferred description.
Anyway, it would be beneficial not to interrupt the narration:
"As I said, I had two options in front of me: the first was to enter directly into our own house - where my father was absorbed in the newspaper he could not finish reading in the morning, and the dinner table was being prepared - or to enter my grandfather's hospitable, old but ornate house, as half host and half guest, at an hour when he should have already finished his evening prayers." "So to speak, I added a speed factor to my action, but for me, I can't really appreciate which of those two equally important places I would have entered faster."
His two friends, who were in the listening position, must have understood the same things from the conversation, because they either shared the story with identical questions or preferred to listen silently. In fact, the metropolis, where unexpected rains caused floods, destroyed homes financially, and where most of the corpses could be recovered from the rubble months or even years later in the event of a possible earthquake, did not change their way of speaking. For those who do not know God, the concrete and big environment, which is more about disaster and less about joy, or vice versa, affects the world of meaning and its main pillar, conversations. At least they express the situation this way. However, for example, in Russia, no one who has escaped the scourge of communism will believe this, I swear they won't.
Some findings go beyond the author who wrote them. How can abandoning shyness and saying "matter does not affect the good mood of young people" be perceived as other than surrendering a right with dignity? If each of them got off at different stops, they would tear apart paragraphs that this small group of friends could talk about. But of course it didn't happen that way; In a way that creates depth in the story, the gardens of both houses - garden is such a dangerous word; just like the balcony, the attention was drawn to the paintings hanging on the walls: if they existed, what were they like? In which season, what flavor would they give? If it is slightly blue, what does the inevitable images of it turning green in the yellowing sunset evoke, etc. This is where the danger mentioned two lines ago stemmed from! It would be a waste if the gardens were made uninhabitable, the paintings uninhabitable, and the balconies uninhabitable by some kind of external ecstasy. Before reaching the stop, the topic was about to fade away, and the issue had to be reported to the workshop.
It is a big mistake to think that the era in which many conversations were transmitted somewhere is new. For example, what is the outpouring of enthusiasm left over from Roman orators?

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

When the metro, which the three friends got off and emptied to disperse towards their neighborhood, returned, would the vehicle or direction change? Of course, and only - even if it is difficult to imagine - the direction. In one of the old stories of that neighborhood, the head of the household, who was brought from the front wrapped in a flag, was left behind with a cheerful looking woman because of her weight, but with a heart full of sorrow, and a tiny baby of a few months old, who had passed away. How concrete, palpable, strong, solid and unbreakable is the immortality created by the household. Our young, chatty heroes knew the martyred husband and his wife, and even their parents. Neighborhoods exist to be defined. If the neighborhood is an area, it is known that the tomatoes carried in the market basket are made into tomato paste according to the season.
Calculation of preparations for the upcoming winter... If you take snapshots of the winter preparations of various families, then crop them and combine them into a single picture, you will be left with an image that you would think is incoherent: A kind of yoghurt in the sun, who is making a pickle, applying the contents of a yellow box, the brand of which has been erased from the coffee-colored stains on his rheumatism, to the joint he is looking for with an indifferent look. Familiar faces that make the soup dry!
Now a question as we continue the story: How long is the time between night and very late? This is an issue that more or less everyone knows. Let's say from 23 to 23 45! In that narrow space, one can only be in the subway for observation purposes or with the enthusiastic intention of killing time. Among the new passengers, the young girl, who was a little cold and exaggerated her instinct for protection, was accompanied by a young man whom she was trying to protect with all her eyes. To protect? Yes, because the young girl had whispered something to him, pointing to a middle-sized crowd of vagabonds who were casual and very active, giving the impression of drinking excessively or taking a large dose of drugs. Whispering must be a frequently used method of making sounds in human life. When you look at it in depth, it is easily understood that it is difficult to make sense of it - to analyze and separate it rather than being audible. It can even be said that whispering is the most unnecessary way of speaking throughout human history.
Everyone-especially modern people-thinks as much as their mental structure allows, and this process is most appropriate to sit on top of the things we think come first in the narrative. By the way, the benefit of talking to someone who is concentrated in thought without reaching too far into the neighborhood is almost obvious. Very late in the day, perhaps a few minutes into the new day, an anxious social atmosphere on a commuter train or subway should be taken for granted. However, in services provided by pen, it is necessary to take all kinds of risks rather than immediately opposing them; Especially if it is strong enough to exceed the total current of all times, taken into consideration in the current sense. From the intermediate station, after passing only a few luxury places, such as restaurants, pubs and cafes, an area with the most expensive residences began. In one of them, a single person was engaged in the profession of spokesperson. While he was sitting in a café close to his house, thinking, he took just a few steps from his external personality into himself and came across the question of what he was the spokesman for. The organization it represented was a structure called an association or a federation in previous terms. Where he sat, the dangers that could arise from incorrect speech, which is the fate of every spokesman, were on his agenda. The boss at the top of the business, an extremely important one, probably the most important one, once said, "Trust me and continue to see all kinds of danger as nothing, even absolute dangerlessness... If we joke about the work you will achieve in this way, the pinkness is absolutely halal, absolutely reliable."
Then there was no need to worry, he got up and went out, he did a smart thing without falling into his usual singing tic, he strongly assumed that he was listening to his favorite songs, he walked with that strength and went home!

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

ANNEX (Avec invisible numéro)

Les Chanson des Hyperréalistes

Trace is Eternity!

If you don't help, death can't kill you; do resist; don’t collapse,
We are the only ones in our space, when our love bowl is full of us,
We, creatures, crazily love to leave traces like for traces are detergent.
The coffin is to get rid of the field; trace will be the eternal soul on diamond!

Chat With What Could Reply

I was crossing a canyon on a truck; the driver's side was full;
It was as if the depth of the road expressed the inanimate nature, this was the language that could not be shouted...lol…
Pinky blue clouds, with what I deepened my friendship, helped me speak in silent;
“When talking to stones and water,” they told me, “Do not shout; only, the trace is emphasized!”

Show of Time As a Lie

Dimension must be exerting its energy to pay the fee
Vide-licet carrying a good proof over an acceptance to be
And yet time has got no burden on its shoulder
Why, it elicits not but known after to have turned over!

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

Then or as a result, the realist lifestyle reaches a point that can be detected in every literary product. The more everything is clear in reality, the more everything gets mixed up in the realist narrative, until there is no reality left when one stubbornly sticks to reality. It can be said that every topic, big or small, that has been discussed so far has reached interesting places with the involvement of a familiar Italian with wheat skin and blue eyes, who is big enough to be a cardinal candidate, and intervened in all the conversational observations. It is necessary to both believe what the observing ones say and not be surprised in every case of hid. Being born and growing up in an underdeveloped small town-that causes foreigners sojourn therein who start working also there by chance to be considered weak, and it is certain that the portrayal of this person has created wrong impressions around him. The situation described in the reasoning of young minds was like this; Despite the fact that this Italian would have torn the man to pieces in his own country, unfortunately, and the smiling face of the friend's sister increased the deception, pathetically forgetting the possibility that smiling people could also knock out the other person in any event…
It is unthinkable that any speech would not convey an event that is free from conflict. We are always people who were born in two previous wars and matured in the previous war. The song written on a flower, jasmine or jasmine, was deemed worthy of a gold record or a gold album award. "I went up to the second floor to reach the store of a tailor I didn't know on a big city street between the small street and the boulevard, an unusual place of the old times that was neither small nor large. When I looked away from the tailor shop window, I thought like a useless dome-acrobat that had been converted from a government office to a temple. Yes, when I saw that place, I asked ourselves the question "what did I see?" and without getting an answer, "he searched for the plum blossoms that had just met life among the green branches hidden in a nearby gray garden." Connecting with a high artistic power to fireless delirium such as "my eyes"... If we explain, there are scenes of terrible possibilities in our existence that should surprise everyone, but we do not even care about ourselves. So, what happened now? Every epidemic, death, and situation of being under ruin, which we did not dare to think about long ago but never crossed our minds, swallow our aunts and uncles, and we just watch!

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

To repeat the saying that was thought to be a worthy thing by the communist militants of the ancient period, in the final analysis, everyone went to visit a sick friend and that is how we got to where we are. Nothing changes after the act of leaving and coming. Why are we here? A book seeks to answer this question. There is a book. Unfortunately, the answer directly contradicts the existence of the book. The patients' owners are our extra-familial elders whom we treat as elder brothers and sisters-in-law, and all of this is far from explaining why we are there. Because the need for explanation is not accepted. As we sat, tea, biscuits and homemade buns were raining down on us. It was February. In February, the inside and outside of the window are parallel to each other, but no sane fan of coolness would prefer to go out. What would happen if the subject inside died, compared to the intimate family environment? In a friendly family environment, doesn't one patient mean ten patients at the same time? We were all patients there together, 10, 20, 30, whatever. Essentially, we are all sick members of an environment; otherwise why were we gathered together?
Are we, all citizens, all doctors, full of the characteristics of our neighborhood -because 300 meters away there is the city's most famous train station-there are currants in its garden, I have no idea in which month they are found -one of us is on the other side of Frankfurt at this hour, let alone visiting a patient-He has no right to even think about it? He has no right, if it's me, what will happen if I go, the empty break-up song is welcomed by the state canteen that serves tea, but we came to the house where only friends go, especially during the hours we went, while we were renewing the desire to drown in romance and platonic trees, not repressing it but breathing hard - when the air is heavy, I mean the individual air-what could be the purpose? Aren't they-who are they? -aware of this? If we are modern, if we are making a revolution, let the grammar be spoiled: the lights are privileged and purple from the New Year's days we have just celebrated, corner streets that will not be molded into a more preferable pattern like the new year coming to a happier place, which makes our wishes in vain every year, will require strong boots to avoid slipping and falling, troublesome things are not enough in the cities anyway. We feel like we are under impenetrable protection from troublesome forces. By taking advantage of the foundation, we should first increase our written knowledge and then our experiences by talking and sharing. We should leave aside the question of whether our good will is enough for this and ask the core question, was good will in pursuit, what is the latest situation? We don't ask for "help", we have help! There is a love or loves kept secret here under the quilt of tired memory, okay: this is the taste of platonic love from afar. Apart from such clear determinations, it is almost meaningless and everything we do on the narrative table affects our lives.


TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

Now the phase of expressing a package of insinuations that everyone can accept or without putting too much emphasis can be overcome. So, all together, we can stick our heads out of the opening, which can almost be called a skylight, of the apartment building located on the streets specially numbered due to the war, which can be allocated to the doorman when necessary, but was basically built for the purpose of shelter. What do we see? That the national socialist bombing, which can kill us all at any moment, is not as lonely and lonely as the bomb victims. Because if we still insist on the assumption of time, the finality of the means of killing flows with time; Scientific definition: the end of a living thing's vitality! It is at this point that it is absolutely necessary not to avoid the word death, but to ignore it by relying on our shelters, because there is no place for death in biological sciences, just as the oral writers of great religions, who make religious speeches as part of their profession, constantly insert a red line into their narratives. Of course, this insistence will have an indisputable drawback if it yields the opposite result and causes death to be invented by the universe, which unfortunately does not exist. On the other hand, even if no living thing dies, it is considered dead after a few thousand years have passed since the birth.
In short, we looked out of the vent and saw that the enemy was twin, one of which was the attempt or project or process of ending the life of a living thing with a bomb. What was the other one? If being alive is accepted as life, the necessity within it is the other of the twin enemies, that is, the process of ending life. Now, it would be beneficial to call everyone's attention again: we can talk about the process of reaching your vitality, but the duration of this is slippery, soapy, even runny, and cannot be perceived as a time with demarcated boundaries. Well, isn't there an end to this adventure? Where will the narrative end, for God's sake? Okay, the bomb didn't hit anything, but in the sea of time we swim in, living beings are swimming with death... However, both processes should have a case, at least a case that can be perceived by an individual who is well or poorly trained in the case, so that when everything is over, we can say, let's go to the funeral. By the way, it is worth reminding: Since life began on earth, there have been as many injustices as there have been burial ceremonies.
It's a good thing that these things are being talked about, because in the shelter, we are not looking for life to end, but justice, the goal we can never give up, is here and everywhere. Although, God willing, everyone has the right to stop us and ask the question "Let's see how you will do justice, all the possibilities are at your disposal" and spoil a sack of figs. Because the purpose in question has never found its true owner, and it never will... unless anyone messes with the fragile laws of the universe!

TO NE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

When nobody summons anyone amongst us-the mankind-anymore that niverse, its living population, everybody would rather chant

Living Things

Living things are more numerous than the largest imaginable number: because the dead wait a thousand years to die,
Let's skip these, there are only two things worth writing down: the time and the place where the event took place:
In the evening, men on this side of the doorway, ladies on the other; time is short, if you dream of having a snack, the wedding house you visit will have dinner nay;
The paint-free wall of the courtyard looks furtive yellow in the light of the energy-saving bulb. shadows shifting; our jacket bottoms with shiny vests!

Then essentially earthly humans would forget that that should forget them entirely. People didn’t want to say so in front of each other, and yet it’s not just that everybody happened to forget; it’s more than that. For if they have forgotten someone, they could get to know everybody that all of them used to remember whom they couldn’t forget forever but to time, and remember again.
With everyone, however, that’s impossible. When one stops summoning someone, one could have forgotten one oneself entirely, not just in the past, but for the future too, once and for all.
If one goes to a great deal of trouble involving amnesia one can think at least oneself into one’s mind and one’s ideas, which make no sense here or there, however much to the point they may be wherever it is one comes from. Perhaps one’s foolish fancies would be wild enough to imagine that all the females of the earth should have forgotten themselves in marriage to men like prototype husbands so that one would have no trouble in coming to one anyhow, should people summon one at some time in the future. Altogether, the fool can go no further.
Then c’mon and chant:
OUR COMMON FAILURE

Animals do not have this brand of consciousness: wherever there are humans, everyone, say every woman and man would think every one of them is herself, himself; big or small...
If we put it into words, this is the alchemy of turning wastewater into gold bullion, hocus. pocus: allorhythmia without an abacus tool,
If we are raw materials when we are born, we should ask: in whose factory are we processed and used to be existing back and forth?
Our common disgrace depends on the automatic; We believe what people say, we should accept it to see who is told what it is even if it’s not as told!

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

YEP!
Our common disgrace depends on the automatic; We believe what people say, we should accept it to see who is told what it is even if it’s not as told!
Do the readers understand what that smartness means? Does anyone understand that the poet’s smartness is just the same thing as the reader's and may be better, nobler, braver, because in our foundation pattern, the children of The Tent-because the tent is the foundation itself-it's a bargain for luxuries of creativeness, after all, but with foundation it's simply a question of survival. It has to be paid for, it has to be paid for, dear readers, this smartness. And what if it's more than the citizens can bear afterwards, if they regret it? The happiness, the wealth, the richness, the applause hidden from all the outer universe, for we are not a real creator, and cannot be as The Creator And how will our faith leader feel then? Even now he might be uneasy, he might be worried, but then, when he sees it all clearly while the creatures could prevent lucidity? And all of them, the children? At the top of the tent or rather the foundation a non-child singer chant:

While the Second Soviet Falls

Croupiest-revolutionary, stylish clothing-dirty behaviour; formally respectable, essentially gang leaders were perfectly organized;
While we were deleting them, we gave a briefing to tell the tale of our success: "The culling is complete, it takes time to bury them";
There would be struggling on stage and in the depths below the stage, booting goods, shooting comrades, that's how these things work;
What could one call collapse while sensing the outcome before the last curtain, without naming it; heroes are actually cockroaches, only their reputation is worse...

Yes, indeed, what have you taken us for? We won't have your sacrifice, The Reader, we won't have it, the reading fellow! It shall not be, so long as we are alive, it shall not, it shall not! We won't accept it!

The non-child soloist suddenly paused in his reflection and stood still.
It shall not be the foundation? But what are we going to do to prevent it? Someone will forbid it? And what right have we? What can we promise the foundation on its side to give anybody such a right? Our whole life, our whole future, we will devote to them, huh? When we have finished our studies and obtained a post based on the general service? Yes, we have heard all that before, and that's all /words, but now or rather what then? Now something must be done, now, do everybody understand that? And what are they doing now, and who are they? What kind of humans are living upon them?

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

TOWARDS THE EPILOGUE (1)

THE STREET EXAMINED IS NOT USEFUL TO BE LOST

I waited for seasonal changes to make observations because changes are the most useful way to understand the old and new state of the environment. It is okay to make observations, but the recording itself requires complying with some stereotyped rules; this requires the etiquette of being oppressed rather than obligation. After all, this is for our good, I crossed the street without getting lost, threw myself into the house, and lay down on the sofa. What was the biggest burden of my life that I got rid of, of course, completing my education: in a double sense, of course, having both a diploma and learning whatever it was that needed to be to have been learned, huh? Before this success was achieved, the trouble in front of me was of two natures: firstly, the weight of learning in pieces, that is, homework, and secondly, the great burden placed on us from "now let me compile and assemble it and learn it completely" type of studies! Just as learning in pieces is a troublesome, dark, slippery, and undulating ups and downs, the disaster of eating up and even destroying your day, which is uncertain how long this process will last, is another story.

Let’s chant now:

Trace is Eternity!

If you don't help, death can't kill you; do resist; don’t collapse,
We are the only ones in our space, when our love bowl is full of us,
We, creatures, crazily love to leave traces like for traces are detergent.
The coffin is to get rid of the field; trace will be the eternal soul on diamond!

I lay down on the divan, took a deep breath, and summarized my success. I had learned whatever I needed to learn, and just like in preschool, I was now without homework. Wasn't the meaning of this situation a kind of retirement? And didn't retirement mean diabetes, high blood pressure, joint pain and even loss of strength? I never fell into such meaningless delusions because the game was waiting for me. Taking a bath, shaving my hair, cutting my nails, finishing the food put in front of me, education is great in Ankara. Let's get rid of it, it turns into spots that adorn life. I'm already in pre-school, but I'm a graduate. I don't have any planned work to do.
Where is the man-I-who could not keep himself from going to any institution like an administrative unit if the socity were to give me a sign? Nonsense, utter nonsense, nothing but confusion comes of playing about with such nonsensical administrative speculations.’ ‘No,’ said I myself, ‘let’s not confuse ourselves. My thoughts had gone nowhere near as far as the society assume, although to tell people the truth they were on their way there. For the time being, however, I was simply marvelling that the state and its general citizens class generally hoped for so much from my engagement to any maritime, and their hopes were indeed fulfilled, although at the cost of my own heart and my health. The idea of connecting those facts with The Foundation was, indeed, forcing itself upon me, but not in the crude way in which I couldn’t presented it as the children, obviously solely for the purpose of allowing themselves to snap at themselves again, which I seem to enjoy.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

MSABE
or
THE MAIN STORY OF ALL BOOKS IN THE EARTH


HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.

Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry



PRELIMINARY EXPLANATIONS

After many or rather all books of Abba Vite, “The Reader” should have caught on the meaning of average sentences of his…Right? Absolutely NOP! Here you are: Nothing but Nonsense to catch on to that available over the syntax belonging to no worldly language but deeply distorted English. And yet the nonsense if available therein could not also be anything as to be called bad words as absurd, rubbish, drivel gibberish, waffle, pants, rot, bunk, bilge, drivel, tripe, hors-feathers, BIZZO etcetera.
Then what is its situation apropos composition bound to be sane? Only something to be written OUT OF MEANING, say, within the universe linked to anything except NON-MEANING as the LIFE should be itself.

CHAPTER I

We are invited to dinner at the Palace-like hotel, which is a kind of temporary stay where very important people and their families attend. Priceless chandeliers made of very shiny silver that make my mother's jewels and my father's badges and medals shine brightly. At the semi-formal dinner attended by upper-class families, almost everyone knew in which neighborhoods the interlocutor families lived. I can't say that I knew the neighborhood we lived in, but I lived there. From what I perceived throughout the dinner; it was quite luxurious. The clothes I remember now were not the high-end brands preferred by my age children of noble families; I cannot say that I have seen and examined these very closely throughout my life, but it is also not possible to say that I did not wear them that evening. Maybe the word plasma will be useful to describe my state. In fact, the life that humans lived for hundreds of thousands, maybe more years, was half plasma, that is, fluid. Well, were we fully fluid that evening, fully plasma? Yes! Let's not say, "Everything that was ordinary and solid a few days ago is the same solid today," but I'm talking about a memory that I remember concretely.
Maybe, in terms of the justice of what happened that evening, a memory of balance reflected in my mind to my surroundings in the plasma state: It was added a few years ago On the Russian Army Day, in Ankara, in the capital of a society that they did not consider close to civilization, I came across with my eyes over middle-aged ladies from the bright times of tsarism - as if I had seen them - they were sitting while I was sitting there. I passed in front of them. When I turned my head back from the whole plasma evening, we returned to our house, which was just a bourgeois house, and my clothes were quite nice, but not a brand. On the other hand, at that time, my aunt, due to her husband's rank, was wearing the same clothes in the same toilets two centuries later as the one I encountered one hundred and twenty years ago at the New Year's Eve dinner at the army camp: respectable, expensive, untouchable!

REFRAIN
Coming back to home I lay down on the divan, took a deep breath, and summarized my success in free thought induced writings. I had learned whatever I needed to learn, and just like in preschool of a Literature Institution, I was now without homework. Wasn't the meaning of this situation a kind of retirement? And didn't retirement mean diabetes, high blood pressure, joint pain and even loss of strength? I never fell into such meaningless delusions because the game was waiting for me. Taking a bath, shaving my hair, cutting my nails, finishing the food put in front of me, education is great in Ankara. Let's get rid of it, it turns into spots that adorn life. I'm already in pre-school, but I'm a graduate. I don't have any planned work to do.
Where is the man-I-who could not keep himself from going to any institution like an administrative unit if the society were to give me a sign? Nonsense, utter nonsense, nothing but confusion comes of playing about with such nonsensical administrative speculations.’ ‘No,’ said I myself, ‘let’s not confuse ourselves. My thoughts had gone nowhere near as far as the society assume, although to tell people the truth they were on their way there. For the time being, however, I was simply marvelling that the state and its general citizens class generally hoped for so much from my engagement to any maritime, and their hopes were indeed fulfilled, although at the cost of my own heart and my health. The idea of connecting those facts with The Foundation was, indeed, forcing itself upon me, but not in the crude way in which I couldn’t presented it as the children, obviously solely for the purpose of allowing themselves to snap at themselves again, which I seem to enjoy.
I wish only the reader joy of that! Of what? Of course, neither nothing nor everything specifically. But I was thinking: first, reality prevailed-no matter at all-either in nano world or the old earth we all used to live for which reason it is obviously couldn’t be the subject for this work. If not for realistic way of life one shouldn’t have been unhappy, and yet one wouldn’t have been sitting idle in the front garden of consciousness listening to music, looking at the chain of serials on television. If not for happiness happy people would like one to have been seen listening, watching, here or there, and were it not for your grief happy people, who might be shy, indolent, neuter and the like would never have ventured to speak to one.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

Late Evening



AT
THE OPERA








ATTACMENT TO THE DISSERTATION: “TOWARDS THE EPILOGUE”

THE STREET EXAMINED IS NOT USEFUL TO BE LOST AND THE OPERA IS A PLACE ONE LISTENS TO NON-FAVORIT SONGS AGAIN

I waited for seasonal changes to make observations because changes are the most useful way to understand the old and new state of the environment. It is okay to make observations, but the recording itself requires complying with some stereotyped rules; this requires the etiquette of being oppressed rather than obligation. After all, this is for our good, I crossed the street without getting lost, threw myself into the house, and lay down on the sofa. What was the biggest burden of my life that I got rid of, of course, completing my education: in a double sense, of course, having both a diploma and learning whatever it was that needed to be to have been learned, huh? Before this success was achieved, the trouble in front of me was of two natures: firstly, the weight of learning in pieces, that is, homework, and secondly, the great burden placed on us from "now let me compile and assemble it and learn it completely" type of studies! Just as learning in pieces is a troublesome, dark, slippery, and undulating ups and downs, the disaster of eating up and even destroying your day, which is uncertain how long this process will last, is another story.

Let’s chant now:
Trace is Eternity!

If you don't help, death can't kill you; do resist; don’t collapse,
We are the only ones in our space, when our love bowl is full of us,
We, creatures, crazily love to leave traces like for traces are detergent.
The coffin is to get rid of the field; trace will be the eternal soul on diamond!

Earthquake From Start to Finish
If it is very big, the earthquake is an adventure of feelings and thoughts, with different beginnings and endings; middle, deep well, say pit;
The cupboard collapses on top of the disaster victim, while saving his bones from breaking. He hears the last scream of the headman severely hit;
The next shouts are always the last sounds from the living, among them the elders, there are friends... many of them are full of life merry unmature;
As everything collapses, one thinks: "There is no need to save one by one anymore, apart from my own salvage; this will benefit both me and the future!”
Funding a Jackal for the Family

What a jackal, a hyena, hyenas; The bottom of wild animality: eats the carcass down to the bone,
They believe that institutions are established by gang leaders, and their beliefs are completely free from the establishment zone.
While the spiritual personality of a person is a bargain in terms of reputation, the family is a jewel in the sense of meaning, not mean;
Even the genuine insertion of a wild nose would spoil our work; We become fund stricken.
Chant
The power of trust is equal to the number of families, its prayer acceptance rate is more than a hundred percent, down right yes…
Let the fraudster take his dirty hands off our family, and don't spoil that miracle with good news and gas!

While the Second Soviet Falls
Coupist-revolutionary, stylish clothing-dirty behaviour; formally respectable, essentially gang leaders were perfectly organized;
While we were deleting them, we gave a briefing to tell the tale of our success: "The culling is complete, it takes time to bury them";
There would be struggling on stage and in the depths below the stage, booting goods, shooting comrades, that's how these things work;
What could one call collapse while sensing the outcome before the last curtain, without naming it; heroes are actually cockroaches, only their reputation is worse...
How Many Are They There?
I wonder how many of them are here too: how many humanists, how many philanthropists, how many kitty owners? I am the dark one; personally, how many of me there is…
If the zombies are accusing each other of virtual crimes and harassing the innocent, how many, huh… that does it matter to be a person?
It doesn't matter, if there is no law, we are zero, because law can be repaired in case of collapse impossible is the honour of conscience: a trace of the soul covered with veils;
Beats cannot do this violation, it is human, it is a total distortion of essence and form; collapses and decisions that turn the society into a rotten "I" and "we" to go on!


COMING BACK TO HOME
AGAIN AND AGAIN
SO IY SHOULD HAVE BEEN:

COME ON-A MY HOUSE
COME ON-A MY HOUSE
COME ON-A MY HOUSE Again… Again… Again…

Again… I lay down…
What?
I lay down on the divan, took a deep breath, and summarized my success. I had learned whatever I needed to learn, and just like in preschool, I was now without homework. Wasn't the meaning of this situation a kind of retirement? And didn't retirement mean diabetes, high blood pressure, joint pain and even loss of strength? I never fell into such meaningless delusions because the game was waiting for me. Taking a bath, shaving my hair, cutting my nails, finishing the food put in front of me, education is great in Ankara. Let's get rid of it, it turns into spots that adorn life. I'm already in pre-school, but I'm a graduate. I don't have any planned work to do.

OOO! Come on boy: yell another tale, huh…

I would sing loudly,

"Hey! You Solzhenitsof! What do you want here on my divan?" I shouted, clenching his fists and delirium like laughing, to have seen my hands trembling with rage.
I-the author as a gentleman asked myself sternly,
"What do you mean?" the gentleman asked, having not been daring to scowl anyhow, and yet standing still in a haughty bewilderment.
"Get away, that's what I mean."
"How dare you, yes you miserable creature to treat me, naming yourself viz. myself"

Where is the man-I-who could not keep himself from going to any institution like an administrative unit if the society were to give me a sign? Nonsense, utter nonsense, nothing but confusion comes of playing about with such nonsensical administrative speculations.’ ‘No,’ said I myself, ‘let’s not confuse ourselves. My thoughts had gone nowhere near as far as the society assume, although to tell people the truth they were on their way there. For the time being, however, I was simply marvelling that the state and its general citizens class generally hoped for so much from my engagement to any maritime, and their hopes were indeed fulfilled, although at the cost of my own heart and my health. The idea of connecting those facts with The Foundation was, indeed, forcing itself upon me, but not in the crude way in which I couldn’t presented it as the children, obviously solely for the purpose of allowing themselves to snap at themselves again, which I seem to enjoy.
“Stop shouting” I warned myself of noise,
“You could borrow on your billion gold liras, and buy a mansion in The Red Planet, say Mars. Nowadays everybody borrows from the Second Soviet type gang state threatening Israel as North Korea, Yemen and the like.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

The Night
of
A Mr. Hostage

THE MAIN STORY OF ALL LIVES ON THE EARTH



HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.

Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry



EXPLANATORY ANNEX

After many or rather all books of Abba Vite, “The Reader” should have caught on the meaning of average sentences of his…Right? Absolutely NOP! Here you are: Nothing but Nonsense to catch on to that available over the syntax belonging to no worldly language but deeply distorted English. And yet the nonsense if available therein could not also be anything as to be called bad words as absurd, rubbish, drivel gibberish, waffle, pants, rot, bunk, bilge, drivel, tripe, hors-feathers, BIZZO etcetera.
Then what is its situation apropos composition bound to be sane? Only something to be written OUT OF MEANING, say, within the universe linked to anything except NON-MEANING as the LIFE should be itself.

FULL STORY IN AN EXPLANATIONAL FORM

After the hostages were released, one gentleman among them sent me many messages. I decided to publish it in chronological order and to present a novella to the reader by adding some notes, because this person was a follower of mine who had read my related works***...
He gave the start to the narration there to this book should have help to have been understood by means of ultra-incorrect, and yet not distorted style induced a dissertation…
“I have always carried on with a non-prejudice related saying that everyone is alive and healthy at the age I last saw them in. But I know this is only half-joking. Situations that various human civilizations accept as not fully complying with reality have constantly filled our world of perception, a slight word of understanding, in the way you described above from the very beginning of your work. In a way, I know that it is inadequate when considering what is considered real for those who are delusional enough to fit into half a day.
It was very dark around us within the medium we gave been packed as hostages-no matter their dram based on political or ordinary approach-would be to be met thereby.
Constant movement, stopping, moving again and not knowing whether we were going or coming was dominating our lives.” ………..

***
Smashwords – About Prof. Dr. Mesolzhenitsy E. Surat, author of 'Abba Vite’s Liberal Novel', 'Dr. MES Divan', 'ÖÄžRENCÄ° URYEL’Ä°N EVE DÖNÜÅžÜ Abba Vite (Docteur Abba Vite bin Ebu Welid du SOLZHENITSOF/Prof. MES)', etc.

N.B
First of all, let me remind of CRIES induced all denaturalization of ours! Alas!
I would like to emphasize the point that should be considered very vital: hymnal humming tic (A SPECIAL TIC LIKE HUSKINESS BASED ON VOICE PRODUCTION), which should be assumed a mourners’ tic related to making a sound… It’s a disease that carries terrible risks in the social and individual life as a whole due to its noisy structure, and it is a disease that consumes one's energy in vain over umpteen vague melody repetitions. Considering the increase rate of the crises of this ailment during periods when people would be nervous or sad, the imperative suggestion of rational thought should be made thus: if tension or sadness accelerates the formation of tic, it might for the relief of the case, then the usually resorted to pain medication is essential, it is rationally inevitable and indisputably scientific. According to this, if the relaxation of the case is prevented, psychological and physical conditioning will turn its direction to silence or to create other reactions! The only salvation by means of inaudible voice: CRY!

A MR. HASTAGE MAN WENT ON WITH HIS NARRATON
(He was reciting through my refrains having been repeated myriad repetitions)

“Assailants to have been ruining my dreams identified with each other both in night and in the daylight, might be judged in terms of the divine justice of what happened that time, a memory of balance reflected in my mind to my surroundings-as repeated by the author for myriad times-in the plasma state: Instead of the author who was adding his story adding as few years ago On the New Year Day, in New Tork but everywhere, in the capital of the world’s high society that they did consider the closest to civilization, neither he nor I came across with my eyes over middle-aged ladies from the bright times of old good kings-as if we had seen them-they were sitting while he and I was sitting there. (I passed in front of him theoretically. I tried to cut in on his tirade, and yet I couldn’t pull of it…)
He went on,
“When I turned my head back from the whole plasma evening, I returned to my house but the nightly attack, which was not just a bourgeois house, and my clothes were quite nice, but not a brand. On the other hand, at that time, my aunt, due to her husband's rank, was wearing the same clothes in the same toilets two centuries later as the one I encountered one hundred and twenty years ago at the New Year's Eve dinner at the army camp: respectable, expensive, untouchable!”

MY OWN ADDITIVE CRY TO BE REPEATED AGAIN

We are invited to dinner at the Palace-like hotel, which is a kind of temporary stay where very important people and their families attend. Priceless chandeliers made of very shiny silver that make my mother's jewels and my father's badges and medals shine brightly. At the semi-formal dinner attended by upper-class families, almost everyone knew in which neighborhoods the interlocutor families lived. I can't say that I knew the neighborhood we lived in, but I lived there. From what I perceived throughout the dinner; it was quite luxurious. The clothes I remember now were not the high-end brands preferred by my age children of noble families; I cannot say that I have seen and examined these very closely throughout my life, but it is also not possible to say that I did not wear them that evening. Maybe the word plasma will be useful to describe my state. In fact, the life that humans lived for hundreds of thousands, maybe more years, was half plasma, that is, fluid. Well, were we fully fluid that evening, fully plasma? Yes! Let's not say, "Everything that was ordinary and solid a few days ago is the same solid today," but I'm talking about a memory that I remember concretely.


I HADN’T TO SHARE SOMETHING WITH HIM AS REFRAIN, HUH?

Coming back to home I lay down on the divan, took a deep breath, and summarized my success in free thought induced writings. I had learned whatever I needed to learn, and just like in preschool of a Literature Institution, I was now without homework. Wasn't the meaning of this situation a kind of retirement? And didn't retirement mean diabetes, high blood pressure, joint pain and even loss of strength? I never fell into such meaningless delusions because the game was waiting for me. Taking a bath, shaving my hair, cutting my nails, finishing the food put in front of me, education is great in Ankara. Let's get rid of it, it turns into spots that adorn life. I'm already in pre-school, but I'm a graduate. I don't have any planned work to do.
Where is the man-I-who could not keep himself from going to any institution like an administrative unit if the society were to give me a sign? Nonsense, utter nonsense, nothing but confusion comes of playing about with such nonsensical administrative speculations.’ ‘No,’ said I myself, ‘let’s not confuse ourselves. My thoughts had gone nowhere near as far as the society assume, although to tell people the truth they were on their way there. For the time being, however, I was simply marvelling that the state and its general citizens class generally hoped for so much from my engagement to any maritime, and their hopes were indeed fulfilled, although at the cost of my own heart and my health. The idea of connecting those facts with The Foundation was, indeed, forcing itself upon me, but not in the crude way in which I couldn’t presented it as the children, obviously solely for the purpose of allowing themselves to snap at themselves again, which I seem to enjoy.
I wish only the reader joy of that! Of what? Of course, neither nothing nor everything specifically. But I was thinking: first, reality prevailed-no matter at all-either in nano world or the old earth we all used to live for which reason it is obviously couldn’t be the subject for this work. If not for realistic way of life one shouldn’t have been unhappy, and yet one wouldn’t have been sitting idle in the front garden of consciousness listening to music, looking at the chain of serials on television. If not for happiness happy people would like one to have been seen listening, watching, here or there, and were it not for your grief happy people, who might be shy, indolent, neuter and the like would never have ventured to speak to one.

HIS STORY AT LAST

“I didn’t make to stir any single hair on my existence to have thought how are they going to save me from them, from assailants, oh, future millionaire I who would arrange his life for mom? In another ten years? In another ten years, my mother might have been blind with knitting wool socks, shawl or what Lotd knows maybe with weeping too if not crying silently. She will be worn to an invisible thing with fasting; huh? Imagine for a moment what may have become of your mom in some decades? What could have happened to her during those additive ten years? Can you fancy?"
So, the assailants tortured me, fretting me with odious questions, and finding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions were not new ones suddenly confronting me, they were old familiar aches. It was long since they had first begun to grip and rend my heart. Long, long ago the assailants’ present anguish had its first beginnings; it had waxed and gathered strength, it had matured and concentrated, until it had taken the form of a fearful, frenzied and fantastic question, which tortured my heart and mind, clamouring insistently for an answer. Now my dead grandmother's letter had burst on me like a thunderclap. It was clear that I should not then suffer passively, worrying myself over unsolved questions, but that I should have done something, to do it at once, and to do it quickly. Anyway, I might decide on something, or else . . .
He-I, OR I-He interrupted his all sounds for a while, and went on with narration:
"Or throw up life altogether!" he namely I cried suddenly, in a frenzy - "accept one's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything within captivity, giving up all claim to activity, survival or rather resurrection!"
I,
"Could we make the world to understand us, sir, do we understand what it means when one has absolutely nowhere to turn?"
My question as one of my mottos came suddenly into his mind, "for every man must have somewhere to turn!"
He, giving a sudden start spoke,
“Another thought, that I had had yesterday, slipped back into my mind. But I did not start at the thought recurring to myself, for I remembered what I had felt before that it should have come back in another saying I was not expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday's thought.”
The difference was that a month ago, yesterday even, the thought was a mere dream: but now . . . now it appeared not a dream at all, it had taken a new menacing and quite unfamiliar shape, and he suddenly became aware of this himself. . . . Ie felt a hammering in my head, and there was a darkness before my eyes.
He or I looked round hurriedly, yes, I was searching for something. I wanted to sit down and was looking for a seat; the assailants’ carrier was going along the err Butcher Boulevard. There was a seat about a hundred paces in front of me or he, by the way I didn’t know who was he. I fancied to have walked towards it as fast I could; but on the way I met with a little adventure which absorbed all my attention.
Looking for a seat to think of my poor mom, I had noticed a woman having to be being beaten to death. As she was wounded and the object to be very open to forlorn, she should have been my dead grandmother. Besides she was some two centimetres in front of me, but at first, I took no more notice of her than of other objects under the torture fulfilled ruthlessly that seemingly there is no path before them but death. It had happened to me many times going somewhere not to notice the road by which I was going, and I was accustomed to be dragged like that. But there was at first sight something so strange about the woman who was too young to be my deceased grandma in front of everybody, that gradually my attention was focused upon her over the rivulets of delirium, at first avariciously and, as it were, to be rendered compulsorily, and then less and less potently.
I felt a sudden desire to find out what it was that was so strange about all the hostages but me for I could not surrender to anything. In the first place, she appeared to be a grandma, and yet quite young, and she was content to being dragged in the great heat lack of air while her head was squeezed and with no parasol against the flood of knock or any shielding mechanism except waving her body about in a defensive way. She had on a dress of some light pastel cotton material, but destroyed as if to have been put on-on purpose-strangely awry, not properly buttoned up in the vicinity of chest, and torn brutally open at the top of the skirt, close to the waist. If there were be a great piece was rent and hanging loose she should have been mom but grandma. A little interval between torture induced minutes would have been flung about her bare throat, but lay slanting on one side to give me a chance of briefing my future plans to both mom and grandma. Alas the girl was breathing unsteadily within her attempts to escape from the pounces of the assailants stumbling and staggering from side to side. She drew my whole attention at last, and I managed to understand the bare reality. My grandma was dead she was neither mom mor my grandmother. I tried overtake the girl at her proper seat…Ah great lie of my comprehension apparatus: the is no proper seat therein we all hostages was being dragged but transported. On reaching to the truth, I dropped down on my mother in flesh, in the corner. What corner; there was no corner there, maybe there could be no corner in the world so, she let her head sink on the back of the seat like thing and closed her eyes, apparently in extreme exhaustion for mom could felt exhausted always.
Looking at her closely, I or he-because there were several “he” ones everywhere he and I saw at once that she was completely snickering as a candle flame. It was a strange and shocking sight. He could hardly deny that he was mistaken. He, say I, saw before us the face of my grandma quite young, straw-haired haggard-seven, perhaps not more than five, years old, a pretty cubby’s face, but flushed and heavy looking and, as it were, swollen because of the assailants’ ruthless torture. You know mom-no doubt, she was mom-seemed hardly to know what she was doing; she crossed one leg over the shoulder of another girl victim, lifting it decorously, and showed every sign of being conscious that she was not enough live to be killed.

[SOLZHENITSOF]

The Night
of
A Mr. Hostage

THE MAIN STORY OF ALL LIVES ON THE EARTH



HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.

Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry



EXPLANATORY ANNEX

After many or rather all books of Abba Vite, “The Reader” should have caught on the meaning of average sentences of his…Right? Absolutely NOP! Here you are: Nothing but Nonsense to catch on to that available over the syntax belonging to no worldly language but deeply distorted English. And yet the nonsense if available therein could not also be anything as to be called bad words as absurd, rubbish, drivel gibberish, waffle, pants, rot, bunk, bilge, drivel, tripe, hors-feathers, BIZZO etcetera.
Then what is its situation apropos composition bound to be sane? Only something to be written OUT OF MEANING, say, within the universe linked to anything except NON-MEANING as the LIFE should be itself.

FULL STORY IN AN EXPLANATIONAL FORM

After the hostages were released, one gentleman among them sent me many messages. I decided to publish it in chronological order and to present a novella to the reader by adding some notes, because this person was a follower of mine who had read my related works***...
He gave the start to the narration there to this book should have help to have been understood by means of ultra-incorrect, and yet not distorted style induced a dissertation…
“I have always carried on with a non-prejudice related saying that everyone is alive and healthy at the age I last saw them in. But I know this is only half-joking. Situations that various human civilizations accept as not fully complying with reality have constantly filled our world of perception, a slight word of understanding, in the way you described above from the very beginning of your work. In a way, I know that it is inadequate when considering what is considered real for those who are delusional enough to fit into half a day.
It was very dark around us within the medium we gave been packed as hostages-no matter their dram based on political or ordinary approach-would be to be met thereby.
Constant movement, stopping, moving again and not knowing whether we were going or coming was dominating our lives.” ………..

***
Smashwords – About Prof. Dr. Mesolzhenitsy E. Surat, author of 'Abba Vite’s Liberal Novel', 'Dr. MES Divan', 'ÖÄžRENCÄ° URYEL’Ä°N EVE DÖNÜÅžÜ Abba Vite (Docteur Abba Vite bin Ebu Welid du SOLZHENITSOF/Prof. MES)', etc.

N.B
First of all, let me remind of CRIES induced all denaturalization of ours! Alas!
I would like to emphasize the point that should be considered very vital: hymnal humming tic (A SPECIAL TIC LIKE HUSKINESS BASED ON VOICE PRODUCTION), which should be assumed a mourners’ tic related to making a sound… It’s a disease that carries terrible risks in the social and individual life as a whole due to its noisy structure, and it is a disease that consumes one's energy in vain over umpteen vague melody repetitions. Considering the increase rate of the crises of this ailment during periods when people would be nervous or sad, the imperative suggestion of rational thought should be made thus: if tension or sadness accelerates the formation of tic, it might for the relief of the case, then the usually resorted to pain medication is essential, it is rationally inevitable and indisputably scientific. According to this, if the relaxation of the case is prevented, psychological and physical conditioning will turn its direction to silence or to create other reactions! The only salvation by means of inaudible voice: CRY!

A MR. HASTAGE MAN WENT ON WITH HIS NARRATON
(He was reciting through my refrains having been repeated myriad repetitions)

“Assailants to have been ruining my dreams identified with each other both in night and in the daylight, might be judged in terms of the divine justice of what happened that time, a memory of balance reflected in my mind to my surroundings-as repeated by the author for myriad times-in the plasma state: Instead of the author who was adding his story adding as few years ago On the New Year Day, in New Tork but everywhere, in the capital of the world’s high society that they did consider the closest to civilization, neither he nor I came across with my eyes over middle-aged ladies from the bright times of old good kings-as if we had seen them-they were sitting while he and I was sitting there. (I passed in front of him theoretically. I tried to cut in on his tirade, and yet I couldn’t pull of it…)
He went on,
“When I turned my head back from the whole plasma evening, I returned to my house but the nightly attack, which was not just a bourgeois house, and my clothes were quite nice, but not a brand. On the other hand, at that time, my aunt, due to her husband's rank, was wearing the same clothes in the same toilets two centuries later as the one I encountered one hundred and twenty years ago at the New Year's Eve dinner at the army camp: respectable, expensive, untouchable!”

MY OWN ADDITIVE CRY TO BE REPEATED AGAIN

We are invited to dinner at the Palace-like hotel, which is a kind of temporary stay where very important people and their families attend. Priceless chandeliers made of very shiny silver that make my mother's jewels and my father's badges and medals shine brightly. At the semi-formal dinner attended by upper-class families, almost everyone knew in which neighborhoods the interlocutor families lived. I can't say that I knew the neighborhood we lived in, but I lived there. From what I perceived throughout the dinner; it was quite luxurious. The clothes I remember now were not the high-end brands preferred by my age children of noble families; I cannot say that I have seen and examined these very closely throughout my life, but it is also not possible to say that I did not wear them that evening. Maybe the word plasma will be useful to describe my state. In fact, the life that humans lived for hundreds of thousands, maybe more years, was half plasma, that is, fluid. Well, were we fully fluid that evening, fully plasma? Yes! Let's not say, "Everything that was ordinary and solid a few days ago is the same solid today," but I'm talking about a memory that I remember concretely.


I HADN’T TO SHARE SOMETHING WITH HIM AS REFRAIN, HUH?

Coming back to home I lay down on the divan, took a deep breath, and summarized my success in free thought induced writings. I had learned whatever I needed to learn, and just like in preschool of a Literature Institution, I was now without homework. Wasn't the meaning of this situation a kind of retirement? And didn't retirement mean diabetes, high blood pressure, joint pain and even loss of strength? I never fell into such meaningless delusions because the game was waiting for me. Taking a bath, shaving my hair, cutting my nails, finishing the food put in front of me, education is great in Ankara. Let's get rid of it, it turns into spots that adorn life. I'm already in pre-school, but I'm a graduate. I don't have any planned work to do.
Where is the man-I-who could not keep himself from going to any institution like an administrative unit if the society were to give me a sign? Nonsense, utter nonsense, nothing but confusion comes of playing about with such nonsensical administrative speculations.’ ‘No,’ said I myself, ‘let’s not confuse ourselves. My thoughts had gone nowhere near as far as the society assume, although to tell people the truth they were on their way there. For the time being, however, I was simply marvelling that the state and its general citizens class generally hoped for so much from my engagement to any maritime, and their hopes were indeed fulfilled, although at the cost of my own heart and my health. The idea of connecting those facts with The Foundation was, indeed, forcing itself upon me, but not in the crude way in which I couldn’t presented it as the children, obviously solely for the purpose of allowing themselves to snap at themselves again, which I seem to enjoy.
I wish only the reader joy of that! Of what? Of course, neither nothing nor everything specifically. But I was thinking: first, reality prevailed-no matter at all-either in nano world or the old earth we all used to live for which reason it is obviously couldn’t be the subject for this work. If not for realistic way of life one shouldn’t have been unhappy, and yet one wouldn’t have been sitting idle in the front garden of consciousness listening to music, looking at the chain of serials on television. If not for happiness happy people would like one to have been seen listening, watching, here or there, and were it not for your grief happy people, who might be shy, indolent, neuter and the like would never have ventured to speak to one.

HIS STORY AT LAST

“I didn’t make to stir any single hair on my existence to have thought how are they going to save me from them, from assailants, oh, future millionaire I who would arrange his life for mom? In another ten years? In another ten years, my mother might have been blind with knitting wool socks, shawl or what Lotd knows maybe with weeping too if not crying silently. She will be worn to an invisible thing with fasting; huh? Imagine for a moment what may have become of your mom in some decades? What could have happened to her during those additive ten years? Can you fancy?"
So, the assailants tortured me, fretting me with odious questions, and finding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions were not new ones suddenly confronting me, they were old familiar aches. It was long since they had first begun to grip and rend my heart. Long, long ago the assailants’ present anguish had its first beginnings; it had waxed and gathered strength, it had matured and concentrated, until it had taken the form of a fearful, frenzied and fantastic question, which tortured my heart and mind, clamouring insistently for an answer. Now my dead grandmother's letter had burst on me like a thunderclap. It was clear that I should not then suffer passively, worrying myself over unsolved questions, but that I should have done something, to do it at once, and to do it quickly. Anyway, I might decide on something, or else . . .
He-I, OR I-He interrupted his all sounds for a while, and went on with narration:
"Or throw up life altogether!" he namely I cried suddenly, in a frenzy - "accept one's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything within captivity, giving up all claim to activity, survival or rather resurrection!"
I,
"Could we make the world to understand us, sir, do we understand what it means when one has absolutely nowhere to turn?"
My question as one of my mottos came suddenly into his mind, "for every man must have somewhere to turn!"
He, giving a sudden start spoke,
“Another thought, that I had had yesterday, slipped back into my mind. But I did not start at the thought recurring to myself, for I remembered what I had felt before that it should have come back in another saying I was not expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday's thought.”
The difference was that a month ago, yesterday even, the thought was a mere dream: but now . . . now it appeared not a dream at all, it had taken a new menacing and quite unfamiliar shape, and he suddenly became aware of this himself. . . . Ie felt a hammering in my head, and there was a darkness before my eyes.
He or I looked round hurriedly, yes, I was searching for something. I wanted to sit down and was looking for a seat; the assailants’ carrier was going along the err Butcher Boulevard. There was a seat about a hundred paces in front of me or he, by the way I didn’t know who was he. I fancied to have walked towards it as fast I could; but on the way I met with a little adventure which absorbed all my attention.
Looking for a seat to think of my poor mom, I had noticed a woman having to be being beaten to death. As she was wounded and the object to be very open to forlorn, she should have been my dead grandmother. Besides she was some two centimetres in front of me, but at first, I took no more notice of her than of other objects under the torture fulfilled ruthlessly that seemingly there is no path before them but death. It had happened to me many times going somewhere not to notice the road by which I was going, and I was accustomed to be dragged like that. But there was at first sight something so strange about the woman who was too young to be my deceased grandma in front of everybody, that gradually my attention was focused upon her over the rivulets of delirium, at first avariciously and, as it were, to be rendered compulsorily, and then less and less potently.
I felt a sudden desire to find out what it was that was so strange about all the hostages but me for I could not surrender to anything. In the first place, she appeared to be a grandma, and yet quite young, and she was content to being dragged in the great heat lack of air while her head was squeezed and with no parasol against the flood of knock or any shielding mechanism except waving her body about in a defensive way. She had on a dress of some light pastel cotton material, but destroyed as if to have been put on-on purpose-strangely awry, not properly buttoned up in the vicinity of chest, and torn brutally open at the top of the skirt, close to the waist. If there were be a great piece was rent and hanging loose she should have been mom but grandma. A little interval between torture induced minutes would have been flung about her bare throat, but lay slanting on one side to give me a chance of briefing my future plans to both mom and grandma. Alas the girl was breathing unsteadily within her attempts to escape from the pounces of the assailants stumbling and staggering from side to side. She drew my whole attention at last, and I managed to understand the bare reality. My grandma was dead she was neither mom mor my grandmother. I tried overtake the girl at her proper seat…Ah great lie of my comprehension apparatus: the is no proper seat therein we all hostages was being dragged but transported. On reaching to the truth, I dropped down on my mother in flesh, in the corner. What corner; there was no corner there, maybe there could be no corner in the world so, she let her head sink on the back of the seat like thing and closed her eyes, apparently in extreme exhaustion for mom could felt exhausted always.
Looking at her closely, I or he-because there were several “he” ones everywhere he and I saw at once that she was completely snickering as a candle flame. It was a strange and shocking sight. He could hardly deny that he was mistaken. He, say I, saw before us the face of my grandma quite young, straw-haired haggard-seven, perhaps not more than five, years old, a pretty cubby’s face, but flushed and heavy looking and, as it were, swollen because of the assailants’ ruthless torture. You know mom-no doubt, she was mom-seemed hardly to know what she was doing; she crossed one leg over the shoulder of another girl victim, lifting it decorously, and showed every sign of being conscious that she was not enough live to be killed.

[SOLZHENITSOF]

The Hebrew Version
of
One Thousand and One Nights


BY
DOCTOR ABBA SOLZHENITSOF




HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.

Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry



MIDEAST/ARCADIA 2024
STORY I.

MANY YEARS AN OBSERVERVATION
(TOLD AT LEAST TIMES IN OLD GOOD DAYS)

In the midst of the successes, of the works based on gaining, of the impenetrable forests of the gold liras, one meets from time to time with big markets of some thousand clients, built entirely of modern material, very nicely, with two gates-one under the centre of the contemporary pyramid for cars, the other in the outer part for humans and pets-in a word, buildings which bear much more resemblance to a good-sized mummy mountain like cemetery village near to Cairo than to a proper monument as called good citizens. In most cases they are abundantly provided with security guards, cashiers, and other industrious workers one of whom told me-while I was pondering the economy induced natters of the artisans- before a shop window,
“I didn’t make to stir any single hair on my existence to have thought how are they going to save me from them, from poor-poor because of the irrational administration of theirs-people oh, but future millionaire me. I who would arrange my life for mom, okay? In another ten years? In another ten years, my mother might have been blind with knitting wool socks, shawl or what Lord knows maybe with weeping too if not crying silently. She will be worn to an invisible thing with fasting; huh? Imagine for a moment what may have become of your mom in some decades? What could have happened to her during those additive ten years? Can you fancy?"
If it is bound to be too hot in a place sultry would not be reigning therefor the great advantages of the Hebrew’s similarity to a shorn sheep Lord would temper the winds so from debacle to some good service compensate for every incident. The inhabitants neighbouring to Semitic souls are simple people, without rational ideas inasmuch as they should have surmised every Hebrew. Their manners are non-flexible, even very rigid, and unchanged say nothing of their misunderstanding might suffice to make Hebrews rich by time. The anti-Hebrew who forms, and without reason, the official assailants in here and there, either belong to the country, slightly-rooted therein, or they have arrived there from strange motherlands. The latter come straight from the states, tempted by the high pay to nourish animosity against the soils wherein their family parents were born, the extra allowance for mannerism over patriotism expenses, and by hopes not less seductive for the future.
So, the fundamentalists, fretting us with odious questions, and finding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions were not new ones suddenly confronting me, they were old familiar aches. It was long since they had first begun to grip and rend my heart. Long, long ago the assailants’ present anguish had its first beginnings; it had waxed and gathered strength, it had matured and concentrated, until it had taken the form of a fearful, frenzied and fantastic question, which tortured my heart and mind, clamouring insistently for an answer. Now my dead grandmother's letter had burst on me like a thunderclap. It was clear that I should not then suffer passively, worrying myself over unsolved questions, but that I should have done something, to do it at once, and to do it quickly. Anyway, I might decide on something, or else . . . Come on them to dive in much more depths through making literature, huh?
In the funeral home that Joyce described, it was mostly the old ladies who were responsible for the environmental protocol arrangement. As long as I remain a reader and Joyce remains a writer, neither of us have ever been there. But I have additional observations: when to have been asked whether some small work that needs to be done has been done, whoever does this says in a very confident voice "I took care of that job", he is like a person who will never die, in terms of those who watch him and his own self-awareness.
Meanwhile, a crowded group of people helped a middle aged one-in his search for over a hectic corner of this house-who had lost the small keys of his house along with the chain with the symbol on which they were attached, and an unexpected thing happened: when the searched object could not be found-which the missing owner remembered very well just swinging his hand before a while-the crowd said that that he had just held it in his hand couldn’t be lost. He believed that he could not have lost the objects and forgot the fact that he had just held them in his hand. Even though it has nothing to do with these, since Joyce's memories cover his youth, some additions can be made, as always. The first thing that comes to mind is that in youth, near and far memories are mostly remembered by the happy side, because there would be a future in front of one that should be sufficient to compensate for unhappiness. In addition, the period when a person is young at heart, in muscles and brain creates a sense of trust in the existence of old and strong uncles. In that person's old age, there are no more mature uncles, and the ones that exist are in a nursing home. In the broad sense, I know a good Samaritan, whether he is of Russian, German or even Danish origin, his uncle or the power he leans on does not grow old or weaken.
He-I, or I-He interrupted his all sounds for a while, and went on with narration:
"Or throw up life altogether!" he namely I cried suddenly, in a frenzy - "accept one's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything within captivity, giving up all claim to activity, survival or rather resurrection!"
I,
"Could we make the world to understand us, sir, do we understand what it means when one has absolutely nowhere to turn?"
My question as one of my mottos came suddenly into his mind, "for every man must have somewhere to turn!"
He, giving a sudden start spoke,
“Another thought, that I had had yesterday, slipped back into my mind. But I did not start at the thought recurring to myself, for I remembered what I had felt before that it should have come back in another saying I was not expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday's thought.”
The difference was that a month ago, yesterday even, the thought was a mere dream: but now . . . now it appeared not a dream at all, it had taken a new menacing and quite unfamiliar shape, and he suddenly became aware of this himself. . . I felt a hammering in my head, and there was a darkness before my eyes.
He not I looked round hurriedly, yes, I was searching for something. I wanted to sit down and was looking for a seat; the assailants’ carrier was going along the err Butcher Boulevard. There was a seat about a hundred paces in front of me or he, by the way I didn’t know who was he. I fancied to have walked towards it as fast I could; but on the way I met with a little adventure which absorbed all my attention.
Looking for a seat to think of my poor mom, I had noticed a woman having to be being beaten to death. As she was wounded and the object to be very open to forlorn, she should have been my dead grandmother. Besides she was some two centimetres in front of me, but at first, I took no more notice of her than of other objects under the torture fulfilled ruthlessly that seemingly there is no path before them but death. It had happened to me many times going somewhere not to notice the road by which I was going, and I was accustomed to be dragged like that. But there was at first sight something so strange about the woman who was too young to be my deceased grandma in front of everybody, that gradually my attention was focused upon her over the rivulets of delirium, at first avariciously and, as it were, to be rendered compulsorily, and then less and less potently.
I felt a sudden desire to find out what it was that was so strange about all the hostages but me for I could not surrender to anything. In the first place, she appeared to be a grandma, and yet quite young, and she was content to being dragged in the great heat lack of air while her head was squeezed and with no parasol against the flood of knock or any shielding mechanism except waving her body about in a defensive way. She had on a dress of some light pastel cotton material, but destroyed as if to have been put on-on purpose-strangely awry, not properly buttoned up in the vicinity of chest, and torn brutally open at the top of the skirt, close to the waist. If there were be a great piece was rent and hanging loose she should have been mom but grandma. A little interval between torture induced minutes would have been flung about her bare throat, but lay slanting on one side to give me a chance of briefing my future plans to both mom and grandma. Alas the girl was breathing unsteadily within her attempts to escape from the pounces of the assailants stumbling and staggering from side to side. She drew my whole attention at last, and I managed to understand the bare reality. My grandma was dead she was neither mom mor my grandmother. I tried overtake the girl at her proper seat…Ah great lie of my comprehension apparatus: the is no proper seat therein we all hostages was being dragged but transported. On reaching to the truth, I dropped down on my mother in flesh, in the corner. What corner; there was no corner there, maybe there could be no corner in the world so, she let her head sink on the back of the seat like thing and closed her eyes, apparently in extreme exhaustion for mom could felt exhausted always.
Looking at her closely, I or he-because there were several “He” ones everywhere he and I saw at once that she was completely snickering as a candle flame. It was a strange and shocking sight. He could hardly deny that he was mistaken. He, say I, saw before us the face of my grandma quite young, straw-haired haggard-seven, perhaps not more than five, years old, a pretty cubby’s face, but flushed and heavy looking and, as it were, swollen because of the assailants’ ruthless torture. You know mom-no doubt, she was mom-seemed hardly to know what she was doing; she crossed one leg over the shoulder of another girl victim, lifting it decorously, and showed every sign of being conscious that she was not enough live to be killed.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

The Hebrew Version
of
One Thousand and One Nights
BY
DOCTOR ABBA SOLZHENITSOF

HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.
Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry
MIDEAST/ARCADIA 2024
STORY I.

MANY YEARS AN OBSERVERVATION
(TOLD AT LEAST TIMES IN OLD GOOD DAYS)


(By the way one would feel to be running out of things to be written, right. Alas, the answer is YEP! Then I could repeat myself…Come on: He-I, or I-He interrupted his all sounds for a while, and went on with narration:
"Or throw up life altogether!" he namely I cried suddenly, in a frenzy - "accept one's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything within captivity, giving up all claim to activity, survival or rather resurrection!"
I,
"Could we make the world to understand us, sir, do we understand what it means when one has absolutely nowhere to turn?"
My question as one of my mottos came suddenly into his mind, "for every man must have somewhere to turn!"
He, giving a sudden start spoke,
“Another thought, that I had had yesterday, slipped back into my mind. But I did not start at the thought recurring to myself, for I remembered what I had felt before that it should have come back in another saying I was not expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday's thought.”)
STOP YOU RASCAL, STOP YOUR REFRAIN!
OH! May Lord shield us especially telling is worn out!
THINK GUY THINK! Shall the topics of my written word come to an end...huh? Seemingly yes.
No matter at all although one is sufficient to come back to what should be worth of resuming as the main dissertation for basic things that are not written in literature; wail, things that need to be written have and shall been lacking to be written; Everyone knows what they are, and they will continue not to be written down. Things that are not written to have been being defined within the sharp line of an abrupt breath are the kind that everyone experiences as when you start walking, and a wall is erected in front of you, and when everything is perceived over, the hand of His help comes to your rescue.

…Just as it would drop into mind as a hymnal,

BORN TO COFFIN REST MADE OF NOTHING

Whenever I went abroad, I would leave alive and come back sick;
Once I was already sick, it seemed like there was no escape as associated to a tik,
While I was willing to return alive, on the way back I was thrown into the field of "health Olympics";
Now I was the champion in my weight class, I felt full of trophies reigning peaks!

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

Originally Posted by SOLZHENITSOF

The Hebrew Version
of
One Thousand and One Nights
BY
DOCTOR ABBA SOLZHENITSOF

HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.
Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry
MIDEAST/ARCADIA 2024
STORY I.

MANY YEARS AN OBSERVERVATION
(TOLD AT LEAST TIMES IN OLD GOOD DAYS)


(By the way one would feel to be running out of things to be written, right. Alas, the answer is YEP! Then I could repeat myself…Come on: He-I, or I-He interrupted his all sounds for a while, and went on with narration:
"Or throw up life altogether!" he namely I cried suddenly, in a frenzy - "accept one's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything within captivity, giving up all claim to activity, survival or rather resurrection!"
I,
"Could we make the world to understand us, sir, do we understand what it means when one has absolutely nowhere to turn?"
My question as one of my mottos came suddenly into his mind, "for every man must have somewhere to turn!"
He, giving a sudden start spoke,
“Another thought, that I had had yesterday, slipped back into my mind. But I did not start at the thought recurring to myself, for I remembered what I had felt before that it should have come back in another saying I was not expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday's thought.”)
STOP YOU RASCAL, STOP YOUR REFRAIN!
OH! May Lord shield us especially telling is worn out!
THINK GUY THINK! Shall the topics of my written word come to an end...huh? Seemingly yes.
No matter at all although one is sufficient to come back to what should be worth of resuming as the main dissertation for basic things that are not written in literature; wail, things that need to be written have and shall been lacking to be written; Everyone knows what they are, and they will continue not to be written down. Things that are not written to have been being defined within the sharp line of an abrupt breath are the kind that everyone experiences as when you start walking, and a wall is erected in front of you, and when everything is perceived over, the hand of His help comes to your rescue.

…Just as it would drop into mind as a hymnal,

BORN TO COFFIN REST MADE OF NOTHING

Whenever I went abroad, I would leave alive and come back sick;
Once I was already sick, it seemed like there was no escape as associated to a tik,
While I was willing to return alive, on the way back I was thrown into the field of "health Olympics";
Now I was the champion in my weight class, I felt full of trophies reigning peaks!

TO BE CONTINUED...

Those who know how to resolve the problem of choice linked to nor to be remain almost always out of the subject-wherefrom the mankind used to escape while writing or reciting to have fled- say the abundant and richly flavoured fruit which they gather therein what recompenses them amply through memoirs of theirs for what they lose in the past. As for the readers, light-minded persons who are unable to deal with the problem, they are soon bored in oral or written literature, and ask themselves with regret why they committed the folly of coming thereto. They impatiently kill times which they are obliged by intellectual tradition to remain reading or listening, and as soon as their time is up, they beg themselves to be sent back to their illiterate childhood, and return to their original corners far from libraries and theatre and the like, running down non-biased observation, and ridiculing especially written word. They are wrong, for it is a happy domain viz. the literature, not only as regards the its service in books, at the theatre, the concert hall etcetera, but also from many other points of view to have been at least something even it would be non-basic things.
Yes, three times yes, yes, yes… the written word cannot carry the mind to any main subject thereabout the mankind could read or write for the climate of words is always excellent, the style induced compositions are rich and hospitable, the intellectuals in easy circumstances are numerous; as for the youth, they are like dates in the desert and their morality is irreproachable. Witty games is to be found in the cultural places based on literature, and youngsters throw themselves upon the compositors’ cultural gun. People drink kosher wines through no matter musical notes or well uttered syllables in prodigious quantities. The caviar like subjects is astonishingly good and most abundant in amphitheatres designed for conferences, concerts, for even hard talks. In a word, it is a blessed climate, out of which it is only necessary to be able to make profit; and much profit lest it is really made.

[SOLZHENITSOF]

The Hebrew Version
of
One Thousand and One Nights
BY
DOCTOR ABBA SOLZHENITSOF

HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.
Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry
MIDEAST/ARCADIA 2024
STORY I.

MANY YEARS AN OBSERVERVATION
(TOLD AT LEAST TIMES IN OLD GOOD DAYS)

That I would tell would be observable in one of those cities based on gaiety-and perfectly satisfied with their peculiarity regarding to architecture-thereof the population of which has left upon one the most agreeable impression that one might have met at one’s atelier if one hadn’t been formerly a landed proprietor in the West, say in Portuguese if one had not been commended to light labour of the first class for helping his wife in the kitchen. One’s-namely you, they, we, I and the like-preparation is endless so, I went out to the balcony and sat down for a small rest break. There was movement down there, and the movement gave me a warning to "complete your preparations"; You need to be careful, the command to complete instead of finish is hidden in this warning. As a matter of fact-this old saying seems to have gone out of use, but still-the desire to complete the preparations is my own fault; It's a problem that occurred because of me.
I was so caught up in the exams or the work that needed to be done that it was obvious from those old days that even if I succeeded in everything, I would continue to worry about the need to prepare well in order to complete what I had to do - whatever it was - even after the work was done. In any case, there were a lot of sane people passing by under the balcony, and if I had stopped any of these passers-by from above and asked them what I needed to prepare for, believe me, they would have remembered my face from the press and replied, "What preparations... taste the success." Of course, my answer would be a disaster:
“Did I stumble upon the greatest common disaster of all lives; did I make the biggest mistake by being too quick… So, did I reach my goal a little too early? If he conquered the signs of his private life in middle age, what does a mortal do with the rest of his life? What will he do? The remaining time won't pass. When you cling to the seconds, it splits into two. One half of it says "I don't want my time to end", the other half groans: "Oh, time doesn't pass!" However, even if every sane person experiences this contradiction, he does not sit down and write it down... On the other hand, as the state of being in touch with the pen decreases, education also loses its level.
There is no need to extend it, the excuse of going out to the balcony in winter should be stopped and locked in the rooms. If such transactions are carried out quickly, you are more likely to encounter a driver who takes refuge in the library with his car and devotes himself to reading. One of the highway construction inspectors once encountered such a situation. The driver got out of his car and showed me his documents, hiding the book he bought from the tulle behind his back. There was nothing missing on the papers, just like the completeness of the mistake he committed...
After undergoing one’s philosophical speculations-ten years of hard labour-one should have lived quietly and unnoticed as a colonist in the little Arcadia or rather motherland. To tell the truth, I was inscribed in one of the surrounding districts; but I resided at there, where one could manage to get a living by giving lessons to children. In all the towns of this old earth one often meets with experts who are occupied with selling knowhow. They are not looked down upon, for they teach the English language, so necessary in life, and of which without them one would not, in the distant parts of The Europe, have the least idea.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

The Hebrew Version
of
One Thousand and One Nights
BY
DOCTOR ABBA SOLZHENITSOF

HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.
Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry
MIDEAST/ARCADIA 2024
STORY I.

MANY YEARS AN OBSERVERVATION
(TOLD AT LEAST TIMES IN OLD GOOD DAYS)


Episode-Without Kochel Number

You may not believe it, but technical studies have reached the high gravity environment with almost the same method as the non-gravity environment is created in space studies. I am a self-employed person, as my child expressed when asked by teachers at school. I say this from this point of view, there was no reason for me to be a citizen who was experimented on in a high gravity environment, I joined the army of candidates for this job and was selected. Let me explain so that everyone can understand, I have been found suitable for all the conditions required for the job. The only problem with the suite I agreed to live in throughout the experiment was that with the slightest movement, I was literally nailing myself to the floor with my shoes, let alone flying into the air as in a zero-gravity environment. I'll lie down, but if you look at the truth of what is said, time, which is neither more nor less fake than the time we know, seemed to have stopped since I entered the suit. The money deposited into the bank account throughout the experiment was more than the income I earned at work. Therefore, instead of leaving the suite as soon as possible, I reached the dining table with forceful steps, had my breakfast, wrote at my desk in the study, and did not refrain from doing my daily exercise. My visual and auditory contact with everything and everyone outside my suite continued uninterrupted. I was seeing them and feeling cold, but since the time was very heavy where I was, I did not know whether the signals sent to me by my loved ones in the early evening were sent to me late at night or very early in the morning of their year. In the end, I chose to return to the competitive environment of my early youth, instead of going to the unknown future to compensate for my situation in terms of time. What could I possibly have to lose in terms of success?
Wasn’t I one of the leading opinion leaders of the revolution? What is this household revolution and what has it brought to social life? I do not want to interfere with the issue and damage the ease of understanding. As I said, I am a citizen who, like everyone else, is unaware of the future. While I was going back to my memories and thinking that I was remembering some things right or wrong, I was doubled memoirs as free in going back and left sterile of it as possible. Suppose I am in front of the government building, which is quite untouchable- the colour of the main gate is lighter than the brown tone of the windows, and its stone walls are more affectionate but scarier than its hard-looking wooden joinery-for example, right now-as much as my memory allows. To what extent does the daughter of a respected person, whom I am interested in with the intention of marrying, derive her beauty from the existence of this building? Here is a vitally important question for you. The solution to these and similar situations is video replies or hidden solutions within the replies... I hope something happened and the day has come for me to leave the suite. As I expected, the people who invited me to the experimental site had aged more or less as I could have predicted; A secretary who wouldn't be wrong to call me "my child" was old enough for me to respectfully kiss her hand at festivals, for example.
I later learned that the older generations I saw were the mature children of generations much younger than me in my youth. But the new situation that emerged-in fact, the situation where the new situation became old-did not prevent me from continuing almost where I left off.
Apart from not understanding and not being understood, there was no problem, nor the solution - logically - nor the process.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

Originally Posted by SOLZHENITSOF

The Hebrew Version
of
One Thousand and One Nights
BY
DOCTOR ABBA SOLZHENITSOF

HE-The Ex Poet Of BBC Poetry Corner)Has Been Known As The Mediterranean Albert Schweitzer namely Associate Prof. Dr. MES Solzhenitsof also AS Being THE Gratest Player OF David's HARP Doctor Abba Vite (Qanun), AND is THE Founding Father ( Prof. Dr. Mustafa Erdogan Surat /prof. mesolzhenitsy) OF THE MDK Health Centre.
Prof.mesolzhenitsy - poet at allpoetry
MIDEAST/ARCADIA 2024
STORY I.

MANY YEARS AN OBSERVERVATION
(TOLD AT LEAST TIMES IN OLD GOOD DAYS)


Episode-Without Kochel Number

You may not believe it, but technical studies have reached the high gravity environment with almost the same method as the non-gravity environment is created in space studies. I am a self-employed person, as my child expressed when asked by teachers at school. I say this from this point of view, there was no reason for me to be a citizen who was experimented on in a high gravity environment, I joined the army of candidates for this job and was selected. Let me explain so that everyone can understand, I have been found suitable for all the conditions required for the job. The only problem with the suite I agreed to live in throughout the experiment was that with the slightest movement, I was literally nailing myself to the floor with my shoes, let alone flying into the air as in a zero-gravity environment. I'll lie down, but if you look at the truth of what is said, time, which is neither more nor less fake than the time we know, seemed to have stopped since I entered the suit. The money deposited into the bank account throughout the experiment was more than the income I earned at work. Therefore, instead of leaving the suite as soon as possible, I reached the dining table with forceful steps, had my breakfast, wrote at my desk in the study, and did not refrain from doing my daily exercise. My visual and auditory contact with everything and everyone outside my suite continued uninterrupted. I was seeing them and feeling cold, but since the time was very heavy where I was, I did not know whether the signals sent to me by my loved ones in the early evening were sent to me late at night or very early in the morning of their year. In the end, I chose to return to the competitive environment of my early youth, instead of going to the unknown future to compensate for my situation in terms of time. What could I possibly have to lose in terms of success?
Wasn’t I one of the leading opinion leaders of the revolution? What is this household revolution and what has it brought to social life? I do not want to interfere with the issue and damage the ease of understanding. As I said, I am a citizen who, like everyone else, is unaware of the future. While I was going back to my memories and thinking that I was remembering some things right or wrong, I was doubled memoirs as free in going back and left sterile of it as possible. Suppose I am in front of the government building, which is quite untouchable- the colour of the main gate is lighter than the brown tone of the windows, and its stone walls are more affectionate but scarier than its hard-looking wooden joinery-for example, right now-as much as my memory allows. To what extent does the daughter of a respected person, whom I am interested in with the intention of marrying, derive her beauty from the existence of this building? Here is a vitally important question for you. The solution to these and similar situations is video replies or hidden solutions within the replies... I hope something happened and the day has come for me to leave the suite. As I expected, the people who invited me to the experimental site had aged more or less as I could have predicted; A secretary who wouldn't be wrong to call me "my child" was old enough for me to respectfully kiss her hand at festivals, for example.
I later learned that the older generations I saw were the mature children of generations much younger than me in my youth. But the new situation that emerged-in fact, the situation where the new situation became old-did not prevent me from continuing almost where I left off.
Apart from not understanding and not being understood, there was no problem, nor the solution - logically - nor the process.

TO BE CONTINUED...

This must be the difficulty of choosing while continuing the story within the story in the episode of the augmented gravity environment with its narration completely opposite to the non-gravity environment. Right now, I don't know whether I should care about my stylistic priorities or the part that would be considered normal to be explained in the flow of writing. As you know, some dilemmas make the author irritable: "Is the suite where gravity is exaggeratedly increased a willow?" The question is exactly such a problem. But since we are not pure scientists, who can argue that willow is not a building material that will prevent the subject's own weight from breaking his own bones after the gravity has been excessively increased in the laboratory-suite? Nobody! So much so that in the chapter you read before, there were boring lengths and literal errors that I did not specifically correct, and in fact I will never try to correct in the future. Let's not make it longer, of course it would be dishonorable to ask more detailed questions about my leaving the augmented gravity laboratory, which I have been calling a suite from the beginning, after ten or twenty years in the world calendars, which seemed like a few months to me before my skeletal system broke and fell apart. If you want, let's skip these and get stuck in the curiosity of "Will the passing of ten or fifteen years outside affect the rest of my life?" while I spent a short time in the suite. But this is absolutely impossible, because life remained fresh for a few weeks where I left it, and the changes outside me consisted of things that I did not experience, that is, things that I could not get stuck on. If the key words of the experiment in which I participated in, stuck in work, passion in love, will be the following: Passionate love, it turns out, is for those who share the same native language and the same age of sexuality!

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

THE REPERATION REPUBLIC

ONE SPORADIC SHORT STORY

By Abba SOLZHENITSOF

“Viva our Motherland” cried we-having been to come to The State aerodrome recently one of the officers in charge of welcoming old citizens to have been gazing with a certain admiration at their own valises, with which they were of flying, of course, say no more than the fact that they should have been thoroughly familiar with them. It appeared that the elderlies had responded to the invitation to come back home of their hearts not only out of politeness because when they had been asked to attend their senile ecstasy in the pupils of the damned officer for buttering up the old fellow citizens’ existence and to insult their superiority regarding survival out of the homeland.
Of course, interest in survival was not very high even in the homeland itself from the point of least reparation, here in the grey, musing-as a plateau of sombreness, closed in on all sides by reckless slopes, apart from the huge moor hills if not mountains and we there were present only the commended place of reparation with its vacant-looking medics with shirred mouth and well shaven face, and as to the lady docs to have carry hard maquillage who held glimmering-stethoscope like-apparatus to which were connected the small electronic chains which bound the chips by their ears and noses, as well as by the neck of some team members there, and which were also linked to each other by connecting useless buzzing chips.
The merry elderly or rather sporadically pouting, and incidentally to have got a broad smile, had an expression of such baby-like resignation that they looked as if one would set them free to smile but to laugh around the vicinity, they had happened to leave for one reason or another and would only have to seem as if abstaining of any whistle-short or long at the start of the welcome arranged for them to return. The middle age group of ours, say we had little interest in the welcoming ceremony and walked back and forth behind the older people, almost visibly indifferent, while the officers took care of the final preparations to salute us. Sometimes we would scamper before the protocol, to whom was to be shown deep respect probably the deepest on the earth, and sometimes they have had to greet reciprocally the applause from the side of some dept. directors climbed up a ladder to inspect the significant aspects echoed from the parade escorted by clamouring sounds. These were really to be in accordance with jobs which could have been left to the main procedure: reparation although the officers carried on only-not applauding of course-saluting them with hurrahs with great enthusiasm, maybe because they were particularly fond applauses or maybe because there was some other reason why one could not trust the welcoming ceremony ceremonies to anyone else but celebrities. “It’s all ready now!” one of them finally cried and vibrated as one should do climbing back down any ladder.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba


Teaching Annex
TO WHOM IS THE SEAT ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ABOUT?

Those who achieve success and victory early, idle the rest of their time until they die, they are not worth the matter. Napping is already a painful definition: we have no chance of lying down, running around or sitting! Naturally, there is no room for them in the additional information. Can he be considered one of those that everyone whose window overlooks the park sees frequently? No. In other words, it is the only one that should be included in the additional seating information!
He- whoever he is-comes and sits, but after what, before what... he knows this himself or can roughly guess: who is this sitting, what is his purpose in sitting? Neither the sitter nor the sitter observers can explain the question. For example, streets, avenues, etc. are only for walking purposes: everyone takes into account both the people walking and the people walking, including himself, at least in order not to bump into anyone. Walking areas, like every field, help us think. But sitting down again does not lead to any thinking about issues that are now time to think. Can it be said like this?
If there is no movement, it does not attract our rightful or justified curiosity, it does not enter our scope of description. His situation, for example, gave the impression that he had survived a flood and was sitting in the first place he found. Perhaps, I mean definitely, what we understand from sitting again and again is this suggestion: When it comes to natural disasters, sad tears are expensive, you cannot feel sorry for yourself easily. Frankly, you may feel sorry for yourself if there are some things you haven't lost, but the rest is just falling into a heap because you don't know what to do. Later? Then, life will be built again, one will stand up and move out of the additional sitting information,
Okay! Let's get back to our story: he's still sitting. His position is more likely to be found right than those who do not sit, because if he is not sitting on a living creature to cause harm, no one can find him questionable about his rightness.
He must have thought about what was written about him, because a note was wrapped in the stone, he threw against the window saying:
“The common sensitivity of all of us is the right that is the basis of law. In fact, law is in a causal relationship with people's ability to stand on two feet, which is considered a very privileged function in the world. Even today, no one would think of keeping under observation those who do not stand up - roughly, those who do not stand up."
In the note sent with the memory attached to the stone, "Stop making generalizations, of course, individuals do not talk about rights in life other than looking for an authority to take shelter in order to protect their rights." It was said. As someone who took part in the notes, although I was not ashamed of our collective response, I felt uncomfortable. Because right is the only universal foundation. Even if there is only the narrator in the notes, it is a special crowd.
When you sit down, it becomes clear that everyone is the one who sits down and starts talking. No narrative can be achieved without getting up and moving. Apparently, sitting is an impossible task, such an impossibility is the basis of our birth. If the game has started, of course we have to sit down.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

THE CONTINUE OF THE STORY...

We all know that everything that goes on leads us to a birthday party. I pulled my car into a pocket where the asphalt, which looked wet in the sun, met a coke kiosk selling beverages and middle-class pocket wafers, and went down. I approached the window-like sales counter, waving the rosary keychain in my hand. On the other hand, I was watching myself from one of the side windows of the formation. Honestly, I was very stylish because the place I went was the lobby of a small but famous hotel where my father's birthday was celebrated. As stated by the new president, who started to rule the country I was in with a military intervention, if there was no danger within the family - which there was not - I considered myself completely safe outside. In the past, the wide and spacious asphalt roads passing through the rural areas always suggested to me, "Take the village roads and learn a little something from experienced villagers." Let me tell you the truth, if the governments, for better or worse, are fake or not voted in, we, the intellectuals of the world, are trying to learn how to learn, let alone learn. I just wanted to have fun along this journey to joy. Honestly, I can't say that the devil didn't make me think of poppy: If the effects of the new law in Germany have reached us and I can buy 50 grams of marijuana within the legal limits from behind the window counter in front of which I stopped my car, why wouldn't I smoke my marijuana at the party while dancing the happy birthday dad dance figures? Even though we Americans ban poppy planting left and right and show off, humanity does not sit idle and some civilized countries have already passed a law on the sale of marijuana, which is much less dangerous than a watermelon infused with pumpkin genetics, provided that it is not in large quantities. (In order not to make a mistake in the date, I write the date in my notes, please note: March 24, 2024, 16.30 CET / Central European time, four and a half; here it is 6.30 in the afternoon)
Even if I obeyed the traffic rules on the road, I should have been allowed to go off the road a little because today was my father's birthday. I first gave this order to the man in charge of the buffet, he turned pale and scared, it could be easily noticed even from the outside that he took a step or two back from where he was. Reasonable drugs are still prohibited here. When the kiosk guy looked at me strangely, I bought a cold bottle of coke and returned to my car. As I was getting into the driver's seat, I looked back and - excuse me - the kiosk man was looking around in confusion. I grinned, showing my thirty-two teeth as if in mockery, and stepped on the gas noisily. I learned this reaction from my father, who still trades in antique trinkets, and from the uncle who runs his business around him like his shadow. This man's nickname was Sledgehammer. Really, his arms are no different from a sledgehammer handle, they are so strong. If I had brought my naturally platinum haired girlfriend with me, we would have been making jokes about being strong in this medium distance. But the girl was a professional spy for the federal government. I don't know if anyone has seen people with such a profession attend birthday parties? In fact, before joining the party last year, I returned to a village close to where I was and had the opportunity to talk to the headman about similar issues. I still remember the advice I received from the experienced residents of the village: "Do not take advice from us, the rural people, and even if you do, take pity on your memory and try not to keep it in your mind," they said.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba


THE UNCENSORED STORY OF THE GOAT WALKING ON THE CEILING

The goats climb a thousand or two thousand, maybe more meters, and eventually the slope ends at a moderate angle and a wall appears in front of them: a straight wall, that is... To get to the top of the mountain, they must overcome this straight wall. In fact, the goat continues on its way in peace, but according to documentaries, the wall bends towards the goat after fifteen to twenty meters, like the ceiling of a tent. It is no longer a question of the goats climbing the wall, they will have to walk on the ceiling. In fact, more goats are forced to walk on the ceiling than we think, and in general, most of the goats are condemned to this reward of walking on the ceiling. They complete their work successfully, and most of them reach their destination even if they are a little tired, older, or even with minor injuries.
The prolongation of the animal narration naturally forces the narration to change in terms of form, and in the final stage, we encounter this tale. Well, don't we have to tell the story we started and tie it together? It seems like ending a job that has been started without a reason is against the chain of rules called the flow of life, which we only define from a distance, but from which we are not exempt with the excuse of knowing from afar.
Accordingly, we must continue. Let's continue then: from a comprehensive perspective, the goat's climbing on rocks that are not suitable for its slippery hooves except for suicidal purposes is identical to the fate of human beings. Now one must ask: Which of us got to where we are without walking on the ceiling? In the words of an honest citizen in the countryside-for the sake of justice-everyone should give the correct answer by looking at the life adventures of their relatives. Even before the world was created, we had the possibility of being mistaken for a wizard and being made to climb onto iron punishment tables where oaks were burned to be burned-the kind of escalation that even a goat walking on the ceiling-would want to escape from. Let's talk slang: let's say we are cut fine this possibility. Wasn't it possible that one would go to the gallows on September 12 because living in Turkey and being a member of political movements, one had never met aroused suspicion even for a familiar person who was elected American president by a slight mistake?
Each of us has enough ways to get out of trouble to have a mediocre belief, even if it does nothing; We get caught trying to escape from this chance, but the goat walking on the ceiling would escapes from neither the adventure nor the reward of climbing.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[SOLZHENITSOF]

THE WORST VIZ. THE BEST

By Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF

Continuing from the previous chapters...

FINALE-BOOK, SAY TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FORM OF PURE ART

(Tags: Soviet influence, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, Syria, Morsi’s Egypt, Cuba

SETTLEMENT
(Continuing…)
The Jewish sailors who went on a Far East expedition with Arab captains fifteen hundred years ago devoted as much time to the profession of piracy-if it can be called a profession-as much as they devoted themselves to trade. This should never be forgotten: If we consider the situation with the very cheap dream type of a trading sailor, the ladies he lost his lovers with, and even the children they had with them, the incident could have been a dreamlike family. But piracy has always blocked this chance.
A pirate gentleman who cannot start a family will, over time, easily forget the family of which he is a child. No character, even if it is completely virtual or extremely real to a documentary extent, resembles anyone whose story we have included, any person who has lived or has not lived. For example, if the evil within us seduces us during a holiday ceremony in a humble town and we try to describe the district governor in his absence, that respected administrator who is giving a ceremony speech far away from the place will take advantage of the momentary dissonance and make a move to jump towards the largest wind instrument of the band passing in front of him.
He will sit cross-legged on the horn of the super bass instrument as if he were sitting on a cauldron, chanting:
Sledgehammer, fetishist, bigot person, May is the twenty-seventh of the month, twenty-eighth of a thousand years, do not count tiredly;
This microbe is more than a hundred years old it changes names, it never stops: keep going, "keep going";
What is the name of the building... cul-de-sac empire; let’s turn and return, under one roof, we'll come back friendly,
Be patient, citizen, when the superpowers end, we will get into the demon like game, thieving gangs, and guggul dancers’ ring!

TO BE CONTINUED...