I lose a lot of blood, as I do not undertake anything to appease it as again I will cripple a poor nose which has swelled up, has
lost sensitivity and, probably, has got a red-dark blue shade.
My nonsense reaches not at once me. An enlightenment not is logic of mind, and function only laziness, or a pain. To me my
dullness, the slow-wittedness, costing blood, pains and a dirt is ridiculous. Now I do not rest even a forehead, and my nose is in
semicentimeter from a firm surface and does not bleed. Language slips between a teeth, cautiously moves apart ssohshiesja
from long works and thirst of a lip, punches a thin film between them, in due course turning to a white touch, and then and in
sores, lasts, reaches for a floor, expiring a saliva and even in air feeling taste of a tree and a paint. Here it, here it here, at me in
language, a long-awaited dust of pearls-trues which I spilt out and pressed the nevedenem