Long post

How yesterday I was a famous writer, world-famous in machine translation.

Postscript: I didn't want to publish such nonsense yesterday, but today I want to put a period. or at least some punctuation mark.
The book impressed me and I even became a writer for the evening. Well, all writers after this postman are his imitators one way or another. But he is an imitator too, as his Lady Death admitted.

But this biased sorting of women by a man is the idea that there are no irreplaceable ones, nothing else. And this phrase always makes me furious with indignation. Well, the book is called women. Well, both sexes agree with this objectification of "there are no irreplaceable ones", and without exception, in relation to themselves.
Yeah "..And I never buy umbrellas, For there's always one around."

I have no time to think about it now. I'll just leave it here.

Well, it was a long time ago, I argued with the casino manager. He wanted to repaint the walls in the hall.
He told me that the design level of your work is average, actually.
And there was a girl sitting with him, she apparently came to get a job as a dancer, fuck, there was a striptease in this establishment.
And the conversation took place in her presence. She sat with her eyes downcast quietly.

Well, I answered that I was actually a genius, but unfortunately there was no one to confirm this.
Then my phone rang with a guy who, by the way, could confirm my words. I didn’t ask for a recommendation. Why I leaned my elbows on his secretary’s desk so much that I was almost sitting on the table, I don’t know.

And he continued to look at my portfolio on his tiny monitor with a sour face, moving the mouse across the screen. For some reason, this reception area of a huge casino was the size of a closet. He told me “average level”? I couldn’t believe it.

I said I'm a genius actually looking down on him, well, that is, he was sitting and I was standing. There was a long pause. I was furious, but I didn't show it.
And in order to end the conversation as politely as possible, I asked the girl on the chair:

You're a genius too, aren't you?

Involving her in the conversation, since she was there and heard him.
And she answered: no.

No!?
It seems that not only I lost interest in her at that moment,
but the manager too, although maybe she was counting on..

Ouija I don't even remember their faces!

I can't be a writer today either, I don't have time for it. Yes, "engineering of human souls"

yes, a modest engineer worked in one architectural bureau,
these were serious matters - high-rise development, and he was a specialist of the highest class,
but he always modestly said "well, I'm just baking pies here."

so engineering? I'm just baking pies!
I don’t know anything else about the yacht and other crazy things; it was on the online news yesterday.
there are no irreplaceable ones? this can be a test question that answers many things at once.
Well, someone's shabby mattress yesterday declared in a large headline with knowledge of the matter "the truth is that no one cares about you."
But this is also a paraphrase of this notorious attitude that "no one is irreplaceable."
I am outraged.

Ouija, leave me alone with this, I answered this question a long time ago.
You didn't ask? And who?
Apparently this topic flowed out of a book yesterday.
All this classical literature, it always contains some kind of liquid at the bottom.
In this case, I'm afraid that this is not wine.

-------------------------------------------- Further yesterday's text.

Casino Royale.

If the ocean yacht Casino Royale here
This is the dimension of the minimum difference
between you and James Bond.
The yacht is the president of the class, according to rumors.
I haven't seen the movie about this casino, besides,
this agent has too many faces.

But the bow tie suit and the escort of female companions, I think
In evening dresses, they should remain unchanged.

And so I have nothing more to say about the symbolism
in this context, except that the movie is probably about secret agents gambling
with high stakes and a chase.
A yacht franchise could also have the same plot.
The name of the yacht was probably changed for a reason.
It was renamed, that's the whole point.
Although, of course, it could have been called Big Jackpot.

Besides, I spent the whole day in the company of Bukowski and his girlfriends.
Well, we didn't do anything, he just got lost in the forest.

We're talking about aesthetics and ethics now
And a little about the size correspondence.
Well, they carried the plaster bust back and forth many times.
James Bond would hardly do that.
Comparative difference in parameter. Well, yes.

What makes you think I listened in an abbreviated form?
No, without cuts, but I am omnivorous like a trader from a Chinese market.
I have a hearty breakfast of bats with a dessert of candied locusts.
He didn't hear, it was an enthusiastic compliment.

But what if on this frail little vessel in the ocean?
No way.

If I ever left the shore, it would only be on a platform tanker.
Do you envy James Bonds in captain's caps?

There is another condition
Socks with garters, you can't take off your bow tie in the shower.
A casino is always a dress code and respectful restraint,
As the vacationer Hesse told us
In a moment of heightened pragmatism and sciatica.

If this casino is really a casino there according to the plot, I don't know.
Well, it's just that the name of the ship is always its fate.
"as you name a boat, so it will float"
That's why the plot of the film is an intrigue, really, a materialization of ideas.

You want to contrast these two random titles?
It's impossible.
Well, why not?
I'm certainly not a writer, but still a potential comic book artist.
For example:
Bukowski wakes up in the morning, looks in the mirror,
and sees James Bond in his reflection.
A terrible plot?
Exactly.

"...any baby in a cradle has more potential than me."
Be careful, he might trip and fall again.

and even break something.

What the hell is Ouija? I'm actually at work.

Well, one commentator really praised the writer,
noting authoritatively about lowering energy
from the head to the lower chakra. She's probably a yogi.
Why did you draw her here too?

Well, she is dry in big glasses
and she has a very intelligent face.
You have violated the classification criterion of sorting by the narrowness of the slit.
Perhaps I will not risk continuing this comic further
for reasons of decency.

What is permissible for a classic of literature
is in no way permissible for James Bond.
What you must sacrifice you must choose.
Between what and what must be named.
And you are going to choose between something and something
that you cannot even define. Congratulations.

One criterion is always measured by one.
Well, how can I say, legs are compared with legs.
And all sorts of antimonies are always behind the scenes and between the lines.
The riddle does not pronounce the word of its solution.
And you may never guess what was being discussed.

Do you want to put those big glasses of that female critic on me?
Well, I don't wear glasses and I can't see very well without them.
I won't do a literary analysis.
Especially since there is neither a subject nor criteria for it.
Maybe this critic is a guru-yogi and can measure anything with her lotus and water lily.
And anyway, I'm at work.

The main thing is not to be like them.
I don't even have the habit of thinking at all.
As well as universal measuring devices.
Legs should be compared with legs
and anything else with anything else.
Terminology is the classification of species and subspecies.

You have a caveman's consciousness.
And what are you comparing this to, Ouija?
I earned money for our alcohol,
Until I was distracted by all sorts of nonsense.
There is nothing worse than pointless conversations.
There is a subject for conversation here.
Really? And I'm even afraid to guess what it is.

I just didn't even finish listening to the book.
It's clear what we're talking about, everything should become clear in the finale.
Humor?
I'm trying, yes.
I can write like that too:

Here, this electric bike food delivery guy almost ran into me while driving through the parking lot today, but I jumped out of the way, he looked me in the eyes. He was angry and he was obviously hot.
And then, literally three steps behind me, he crashed into the wing of a beautiful terracotta car with a dull thud and fell down with his electric bike and the box, and he fell down too. He seems very
dented the car fender.

I glanced back briefly at the sound and walked away from there, because I didn't want to be a witness. There's an intersection of a parking lot with a secondary road and a poor view of the through road. And this poor Mazda just slowly and carefully turned from it, not expecting the ramming food delivery guy in its path.

He was a plump blond with a red face and a huge yellow box on his back. A second before the dramatic collision, his short curls stuck to his red forehead from sweat.
--------------------

See the difference? It's not that simple, writer. Don't write anymore.
There's only one Charles Bukowski.
Well, yes, I couldn't describe acne, it's disgusting.
And what about everything else?
But, by the way, your description would be suitable for a police report. Why did you leave the scene?

Yes. "don't try" what did he mean anyway?
Well, I'll assume that in order to be a writer you need to have a lot of toxic relationships and sit at the post office for twenty years. And then describe it all. Not everyone is ready for such sacrifices.

Thanks Google Translate!

Don't believe if they tell you that there are no irreplaceable ones.
that they are all indistinguishable.
after all,
in fact of eternal existence, Man is unique in himself and not in comparison with others.

thanks again.

don't quote yourself. these are banalities.

it seems to me that they are not such banalities again. and excellently said besides.
=====================================
I forgot there were these two lines in the middle!

Beyond the framework of life is the unique core of the living.
It is beyond the human border.
!

Too late.
I can't remember everything I've ever written. Brains aren't made of rubber.
But I remember a bunch of other people's poems.

"The cruel truth is that no one cares about it."
You, Ouija, prefer to quote not me,
but the sayings of some unknown prematurely worn mattresses?
This is in vain because:
The cruel truth is that
I have never heard anything more positive than this statement.
if you are free from the attention of strangers, then this is happiness, not grief.