Breck Road Lover

4:27. за окном серость. смотрела Жизнь Адель и не заметила как подкралось утро. теперь спать совсем не хочется. сестра болеет, спит беспокойно, а я сижу среди темной серости, слушаю Mumford and Sons, читаю странные мысли незнакомцев и как то пробирает: то ли музыка такая.. простая, но пробивающая, то ли настроение само по себе ни к черту, но слезы так и текут. беспричинно и очень глупо, но мне совсем-совсем тоскливо

— Suddenly there was a great shout, and from the Gate came a trumpet call. They had forgotten Thorin! Part of the wall, moved by levers, fell outward with a crash into the pool. Out leapt the King under the Mountain, and his companions followed him. Hood and cloak were gone; they were in shining armour, and red light leapt from their eyes. In the gloom the great dwarf gleamed like gold in a dying fire. -

There indeed lay Thorin Oakenshield, wounded with many wounds, and his rent armour and notched axe were cast upon the floor. He looked up as Bilbo came beside him.
" Farewell, good thief, " he said. "I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate."

Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. "Farewell, King under the Mountain!" he said. "This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils - that has been more than any Baggins deserves. "

"No!" said Thorin. "There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!"

- J.R.R.Tolkien, The Hobbit. Chapter XVIII

Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria…but our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race, Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the King. Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed; we did not know. We were leaderless; defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him; the young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armour rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield…Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back; our enemy had been defeated…but there was no feast nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived and I thought to myself then ' There is one I could follow. There is one I could call King '.

— The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a little glade not far from the lake he found Boromir. He was sitting with his back to a great tree, as if he was resting. But Aragorn saw that he was pierced with many black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand, but it was broken near the hilt; his horn cloven in two was at his side. Many Orcs lay slain, piled all about him and at his feet.
Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. ' I tried to take the Ring from Frodo ' he said. ' I am sorry. I have paid. ' His glance strayed to his fallen enemies. He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again.

' Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed. '
' No !' said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. ' You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall! '
Boromir smiled.

They laid Boromir in the middle of the boat that was to bear him away. The grey hood and elven-cloak they folded and placed beneath his head. They combed his long dark hair and arrayed it upon his shoulders. The golden belt of Lórien gleamed about his waist. His helm they set beside him, and across his lap they laid the cloven horn and the hilts and shards of his sword; beneath his feet they put the swords of his enemies. Then fastening the prow to the stern of the other boat, they drew him out into the water. Sorrowfully they cast loose the funeral boat: there Boromir lay, restful, peaceful, gliding upon the bosom of the flowing water. The stream took him while they held their own boat back with their paddles. He floated by them, and slowly his boat departed, waning to a dark spot against the golden light; and then suddenly it vanished. Rauros roared on unchanging.
The River had taken Boromir son of Denethor, and he was not seen again in Minas Tirith, standing as he used to stand upon the White Tower in the morning. But in Gondor in after-days it long was said that the elven-boat rode the falls and the foaming pool, and bore him down through Osgiliath, and past the many mouths of Anduin, out into the Great Sea at night under the stars.

- J.R.R.Tolkien, The Lord Of The Rings: The Two Towers. Chapter I

would you be so kind and lend me a napkin, because that is THE moment for crying out loud.

утром я шла в универ, светило солнышко, пахло весной, волосы свободно трепыхались на теплом ветру, йен кертис говорил мне, что

It's getting faster, moving faster now, it's getting out of hand.

On the tenth floor, down the backstairs into no man's land.

Lights are flashing, cars are crashing, getting frequent now.

I've got the spirit, lose the feeling, let it out somehow.

What means to you, what means to me, and we will meet again.

I'm watching you, I watch it all, I take no pity from your friends.

Who is right and who can tell and who gives a damn right now.

Until the spirit, new sensation takes hold, then you know.

I've got the spirit, but lose the feeling

и я думала о том, как прекрасная жизнь, что нет человека счастливее меня, что мир так красив и чудесен, что жить так хорошо, пока молодой, пока ботинки такие яркие и так крепко сцепляются с асфальтом, пока можешь одеваться бомжом в школьной клетчатой юбке и люди будут на тебя засматриваться, пока есть чему учиться, пока есть куда идти, пока, как сказал Виктор Робертович Цой, есть в кармане пачка сигарет, все не так уж плохо на сегодняшний день
_

а теперь ночь и я давно не была в таком угнетенном настроении. Кас говорит, что мы напишем книгу и станем известными и из мусора станем звездами. а мне этого и не надо, мне нравится валяться тут. потому что я знаю, что мы не напишем никакую книгу, что я не выберусь из трясины, что все мы состаримся и умрем, что счастья нет - оно существует только в мгновениях, которые так быстротечны, что насытиться невозможно. и еще в памяти и мечтах. но последние только травят душу. поэтому счастья нет. и, как его не жди, оно не наступит. не наступит так, как мы этого хотим - прочно, надолго и в соответствии с желаниями.

поэтому все, что остается - до дыр засмотренное кино и Средиземье. я перевалила за середину этой истории и вот он - панический страх того, что книга скоро закончится. что делать тогда? наверное помру. или возьмусь читать в оригинале

не хочу восстанавливать страницу вк, не-хо-чу. надо отметить, в какой день удалилась, а то прохлопаю месяц и не смогу вернуться

небольшой, но многозначительный post scriptum:

мой вьюи полностью исцелился от рекламы. bless you, adblock plus