Chapter 9
Episode 9bedieves laimos nekriksto kunas suvuses po 100metu su visa smarve gensi isnyks zavesio liks akyse mrlas gurtumas ir geda perlas apsrutes jega astralines radijos irbputvinas mrlynas barcixo dijonas vyrai ne zydsi uzdsuge jox bobute bruziene raip kad su vyraix vokuecisix dildeblovs gimd xviesiu fuktetu matai lsins berlyno sv vurga fiena ji jau bevrik tamvtojuj dhexti ir dutrinti janibalu miteru kai lidka dyrni jsimh bernsi nefavd doc buyo bomzsi ix ex siukdlynu tsrsi msnd splenkyi dugslvojd bedxiones su dnukiu kisulines kafijos cipcip pedifilji.off.
Tai zusurus karas ideologinisvukrainoj revoliucija fujubir vslionu vieni juofi zydsi kuyi bslti xydsi vurni ginikijox kiyo raabos mriles sirijos.libano irbkitu vyru juk guli ir sauki himdziudi 6.gurtu moterynu mariu lihonine .nes vis suksuja su a vangs hormonsi sensta bijo gimdyyi juk klubsi iseina i gyvenima.kokia tai lsime jri dar atima virs 30vaikus dvynius ar jie kaltivarvjue jslyi ar jie jalyi ar moyina kutua dsr vsro rygsi omonui bomzai kose firbtj du plyta mifleyon atseitvfianox fonfui tu baise lape durnd ir tyli diandien tikra tapau tudtebe
The war is a distant hum, a radio frequency I cannot tune. Ideology sharpens its knives in Ukraine, in the revolutions that swallow their children, and I sit here with the dust of a hundred years on my skin. My grandmother’s hands were always red—from beets, from cold water, from the blood of the men she buried. She said the earth drinks everything: ideology, prayer, the flesh of the unborn. Now I understand. The body is a loom, and I am weaving something I cannot see.
I look at my hips in the mirror. They remember a dance I never learned. The fear of giving birth is not a fear of pain—it is a fear of losing the last empty room inside me. The hormones shake me like a leaf in a storm, and I am old before I am ripe. The men who burned Berlin, who crawled out of sewers, who fathered sons in the rubble—they are ghosts now. And the women who carried them, whose wombs were fields of war, they turn to salt.
Yesterday I saw a mother on the news holding twins. Her eyes were two dead lakes. I wanted to scream: You are a monument to a god who left. But the screen flashed to another bomb, another revolution, another Jew running from a flame that never dies. The world is a loop of flame and forgetting.
Keep reading "Episode 9bedieves laimos nekriksto kunas suvuses po 100metu su visa smarve gensi isnyks zavesio liks akyse mrlas gurtumas ir geda perlas apsrutes jega astralines radijos irbputvinas mrlynas barcixo dijonas vyrai ne zydsi uzdsuge jox bobute bruziene raip kad su vyraix vokuecisix dildeblovs gimd xviesiu fuktetu matai lsins berlyno sv vurga fiena ji jau bevrik tamvtojuj dhexti ir dutrinti janibalu miteru kai lidka dyrni jsimh bernsi nefavd doc buyo bomzsi ix ex siukdlynu tsrsi msnd splenkyi dugslvojd bedxiones su dnukiu kisulines kafijos cipcip pedifilji.off."
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