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Imagine you're sitting on a rock, a cool rock, dark grey with white-ish streaks, glittery, pointy on one side, slope at a perfectly comfortable 45⁰, maximizing the sun you're getting on your back, while allowing your gaze to drift upwards to the sky where clouds chase each other, acting in strange plays, falling in love and disappearing. Life is...

When you don't want to talk about politics
Is it because you don't know what happened in 1949,
Or is it the fear that you don't actually have an opinion?
An informed opinion.
An informed opinion?
What even is that?
Isn't it just patching together bits of history,
other people's opinions
and fake news?...

They snicker, scrâneşc şi latră

Белый или чёрный, мне все равно