I nizverzhen. One more fallen angel. I run into atmosphere, I am heated and I flash, I am am compressed by a gravitation vice,
the black loop of a flaring flesh remains behind me. I turn, somersault, to a grief, a grief, a grief. Falling on tverd does not bring
simplification - at last painfully I hit about a floor and, choking with shout, I am spread on it by the jellyfish thrown out on stones.
One more eternity. And again tortures. Now from powerlessness. I, as the cripple, not got used yet that at it was not present
now hands and feet that it has gone blind and has grown dumb, and which vainly tries to move already nonexistent finitenesses,
silently to shout and peer into blackness. It is so awful that during the first instants I am hardly kept from a panic burning reason
and transforming cripples in madmen. I calm myself and I am sorry. To me it is sick, but a pain - my ally, it relieves of thoughts and
clears up only the one and only desire - to stop up it, to kill, persuade, drive into a corner and to have a rest in serene rest of the
crippled cut away by drugs.