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      Today is January 5, 2011   and the truth is
that I used to read a lot     and I have a lot of
books on which dust is sitting      and there are
only a few among them that I will read again    -
but I will not throw away not even one.
      It's strange,   because the records and the
cassettes    - I have already thrown away and I'm
starting to look at the CDs mischievously  (there
are too mach of DVDs also )    but I have all the
books.        Even the book Le Rivage des Syrtes,
I didn't throw out, and that's a complete torture
- I forced into her like  a cowardly gay into his
naked mistress   (I liked the fine French name of
her author) up to after her half      - I said to
myself: sorry: I can't go on        - it was like
sprinting out from the sauna at last      - I'm a
terrible snob.
      I remember proudly carrying   Dostoyevsky's
novel The Double, nicely unpacking,  with letters
out: let everyone see: like wisely and brightly I
invested      - smooth greasy paper was amorously
slipping under my thumb     - and my eyes got wet
from the emotion     - how far I can gett with my
education. One day someone from these interesting
people: here at the bus stop: will remember: yes:
it was the young man with Dostoevsky  in his hand
and today ... the Nobel Prize!
      But again:        I could not to finish the
reading,    I was terrified that I am the bumpkin
probably  - who does not understand nothing and I
should rather focus on sudoku, but I found myself
inside of Idiot several times thankfully,  and in
any case, this is     the best Dostoyevsky's text
and I mean it seriously - I am Prince Idiot.
       For some time,      my masochistic snobism
forced me to romp all sorts of riots,         for
example: I wore Leninka: such a round cap,   what
Ilyich also wore, God of God -       it seemed so
intellectual for me    - I had a fat reddish face
and  I walked around the cold Bratislava proudly.
I just stopped with it one day: when I was at the
Art-Forum bookstore and I came across a gentleman
in a indigo beret - in the reading room - between
his thin curly beard    - he was lightly inhaling
from a pipe -    the mirror: what the coincidence
put before my face - was too much frightening.




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