LoriJenkins
06-09-22 0 Aufrufe

We gave up that kind of navigation centuries ago. Space travel is wonderful, but we can't escape the here and now. He added with a slight smile: In addition, any travel belongs to the universe. Going from one planet to another is no different than going from here to the farm on the other side. When you enter this room, it's also a kind of cosmic voyage. "That's true," I replied. People talk about chemicals and animals. The man turned and looked out of the window. The plain outside was white and silent in the moonlight. I plucked up my courage and asked: "Are there any museums and libraries?" "No.". In addition to writing elegy, we should forget yesterday. Commemorations, centenaries, statues of the dead are gone. The science, literature and art that each person needs must be created by himself. "In that situation, everyone must become his own Bernard Shaw, Jesus Christ, and Archimedes." He nodded in agreement. I asked again: "And the government?" According to tradition, the government gradually fell into disuse. The government calls elections, declares war, collects taxes, confiscates property, orders arrests, and imposes censorship, but no one in the world listens to it. The press no longer publishes articles and photographs of government dignitaries. They had to seek honest careers; some became good harlequins, some good doctors. Of course, the reality is more complicated than I said. His voice changed and he said: I built this house just like all the others. I made these furniture and utensils. I cultivate the land, others I have not seen, may grow better than me. I'll show you something. I followed him into the next room. He lit a lamp that was also hanging from the ceiling. In the corner was a harp with only a few strings left. There are rectangular canvases on the walls, with yellow as the main color. "This is my work," he announced. I looked at the canvases and stopped in front of the smallest one. The figure on the canvas was probably a sunset scene, and the artistic conception was infinite and profound. "You can have it if you like, as a memento of a future friend," he said quietly. I thanked him, but the other canvases made me feel uncomfortable. I can't say they're blank, but they're pretty much blank. You can't see the color on it with your old eyes. I could hardly hear the sound of his slender fingers plucking at the harp strings. There was a knock at the door. A tall woman and three or four men entered the room. They may be said to be brothers, Drive in racking system , or to be about the same age. My master spoke first to the woman: I expected you to come tonight. Have you seen Nils? "Sometimes we meet.". You're still painting. "I hope it's better than your father's." Manuscripts, pictures, furniture, utensils; nothing left in the house. The woman carried with the men. I felt ashamed that I had no strength and could not help them. No one closed the door. We moved our things out. I found the roof to be double pitched. After walking for fifteen minutes, we turned left. There is a tower in the distance, with a round vault. "It's a crematorium," said someone. There's a death chamber inside. The inventor is said to be a philanthropist, probably named Adolf Hitler. I was not surprised by the size of the gatekeeper, who opened the iron fence for us. My master muttered a few words. He raised his hand before he went in. "It hasn't stopped snowing yet," the woman said. In my office on Mexico Street, I keep a canvas painted by someone thousands of years later, and the canvas and paint are universal in today's world. w w w. xiao shuotxt. co m Avelino Arredondo ! Small @ say # txt $Tiantang & It happened in Montevideo in 1897. Every Saturday, several friends always occupied the table against the wall of the Global Cafe, just like the decent poor people who knew that their home was too shabby to entertain guests, but wanted to escape their own environment. They were all from Montevideo; at first they found it difficult to get acquainted with Arredondo, who had come from the interior and was reluctant to confide or ask questions. He was in his early twenties, thin and dark, rather short, and a little clumsy. His eyes seemed sleepy, but aggressive, and otherwise his appearance was very plain. He worked as a clerk in a grocery store on Buenos Aires Street and studied law in his spare time. Arredondo was silent when others condemned the war, said it was a disaster for the country, and, like most people, said the president was delaying the war for ulterior motives. When others teased him and said he was stingy, he did not speak. Shortly after the Battle of the White Mountains, Arredondo told his companions that he was going to Mercedes and would be away for a while. The news upset no one. Someone reminded him to be careful with the Gauchos of Aparicio Saravia. Redondo smiled and replied that he was not afraid of the White Party. Remind his people to support the White Party and say nothing more. He couldn't part with his girlfriend Clara when they said goodbye. He said the same thing, but the difference was that he said he was too busy to write to her. Clara didn't like writing letters, and she didn't have a problem with it. The two of them have a good relationship. Arredondo lives in the suburbs. He was served by a mulatto woman whose parents had been slaves to the Arredondo family during the war, so she took her master's name. The woman was very reliable, and Arredondo told her that whoever was looking for him should say that he was in the country. He's got his last month's pay from the grocery store. He moved to a room in the back dirt yard. This measure was of no use, but it helped him to begin the life of confinement that he had imposed on himself. He resumed the habit of taking a siesta, lying on the narrow iron bed and looking a little sadly at the empty shelves. He sold all his books, not even the introduction to law. He had only one Bible left, which he had never seen before, and which he would not finish this time. omracking.com 


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