Nostalgia

Wipe your snot, son.

And we're on the shoulders of giants like dandruff, and all that's left is to choke out a “kek”,
spitting into the sunset river of eternity out in the sticks.

Man has grown narrow — I'd widen him.

I built myself a mini-Detroit: Erich Fromm is there, Shakespeare with him, and Schweitzer...
Life is boiling in the little town, liquid nitrogen,
we're not from the beach, but sand keeps falling...

Time taps buckshot on umbrellas.
Lay the hourglass on its side
to get the infinity sign.

Inhibited, lonely, hopelessly outdated.
But if I could give him one piece of advice,
I'd say: “Screw it, I'm not a therapist anyway” 🕎

P.S.
Photo roughly from January 29, 2012 — in some assembly hall.

Vyborg Aviation Technical School of Civil Aviation.
(VATUGA, Vyborg)