When a proverb becomes poetry and poetry becomes a proverb, when entropy is faster than success. We are a multitude of endless attempts to find speakers of the same language, a multitude of inadequate translations, a multitude of attempts to learn foreign languages, a multitude of dull fatigue. In the unity of rosin we agree with each other, but then we are together wrong. Nevertheless, this tale calls for a story “it takes place, or rather it took place in the world that existed before the great war.” It constantly demands the question – are you proud of yourself? Baby don’t say anything because I can’t even hear … let’s dream.