Go Forward

Go forward, overcoming weakness? Oh, screw that — look who showed up! Big joy. Go where? Go why? I'm against it. You can't create without spoiling something. And this "new" — isn't it just what was forgotten? Like the old woman's aged trough: it stood, it was, wrecked by a platoon… And once they remember — they dance in circles again. And they rejoice — as if for the first time, as if they'd been shown some marvelous little beast. And for them it's still "here, now," and money under the mattress, those disloyal to the new — against the wall and in the crosshairs. Go forward with a weakened body? A court eunuch won't take up wanking. Forgive the style — such vulgar lines, but the rule is simple: if the body can — the body wants. Honor to the one who, having strength aplenty, in whom, little by little, a fierce smith switched on — a blacksmith unafraid of happiness, ready to smash it to pieces with a steel character. For there's nothing worse than settling for "it'll do": who was a herd — moves like a herd. Where's he to go forward? Ahead — his brother's ass; he sticks his horns in it — and hears a mountain of swearing. But such are the times there's no chance to hide: nibbling salad off blue faience calmly won't work anymore — from here, only karma: health, money, loved ones — helpless pharma Will create the illusion of reality, leave you in after-school care, make you stuff your canned stew with white ones. Old Bessie's worn out… two meters to retirement. Now just a cross, and the sound of pine and cedar. Go forward — maybe, even if you stand on two legs or sit in a wheelchair. And if you fear neither victory nor collapse — no white shirt will tame your Eddie.