The Story of a Marketing Lunatic

A š jaučiuosi pavargęs. Liūdnas, išsekęs, kaip nepavalgęs. Kai tiek daug ieškojau ir tiek daug liūdėjau - Tikrumo rasti nesugebėjau. Esu toli, pabėgęs šalin - Manęs dabar surasti negali. Liūdnoje, akloje minioje galvą kraipau, Ir galvoju, kad eiles rašau. Gal tu pavargęs? Liūdnas, išsekęs, tarsi nepavalgęs? Galbūt tu ieškojai, ir galbūt liūdėjai - Gal tikrumą rasti sugebėjai? Aš vis sutinku tokius kaip tu – Kažkur toli, pabėgusius nuo namų. Ir nors žinom, kad laikinai esam abu - Gal nori tikrumo ieškoti kartu? Pradėkim nuo meilės, nes ji sukūrė mus: Sutvėrė, užaugino ir pamaitino visus. Ši meilė pirma - šilta ir nekalta - Iš čia kyla žmonių dvasia. Kai tavo širdis plaka, ir akys ką nors seka - Čia meilė su tavimi šneka. Kai tu keistas mintis galvoji, ir pas kažką nakvoji - Gal čia tikrumas klausia „ką vartoji?“. Meilė būna visokia - Liūdna, akla, kasdien kitokia. Kai lūpos liečia odą, o atstumas verčia giliau įkvėpti orą - Tikrumas leidžia suvokti ti

Happy life - bright, warm and cozy, The cold streets are sometimes too noisy. These dark sheets are tingling my feet, And then I go on a date with a screen. With the machines , the inanimate and absurd, I hear the vents spin, react to my password. I enter your name, then blush with shame, How did they get us to play this weird game? Scattered around the room , cords are ignored - Pump information into the human horde. It's no longer alchemy when you are not high, Facilitate knowledge of our own kind. Look what they made , it's a new take, Developed an image which may just be fake. An image of nature, with all of it's danger. An image of space, in most of its grace. They made it for me - it's why I'm not free. They say it's better to just plant a tree. Instead I develop a shiny new ring, For now it results in another fake thing. Happy technology , It does something to my psychology. I'm sad when it goes; Unsure if the message

When reading "The God Delusion", the ghosts disappear, Shallow inches of doubt become bright and sincere. Makes you jump a bit higher and notice, The distortion of light, so mild and focused, Presents you a truth, seen only as wicked and punished. Eager young eyes feasting on letters, Turning dim stars into close helpers. Dashing through miles of courageous statements, Mind is becoming free and relentless. Rust induced cracks on medieval chains gather - Through the years they will hopefully shatter. Will it deny the illusion of ages, And replace it with something greater than ancient myths of sages? Pluck the flowers from your restraints, Save the chains for someone who doesn't doubt slaves. Raise your voice against repetition, Fight for freedom and mock all superstition. A pen for the blind, A rock for the wise: It is how this illusion grew to be so powerful and sly, And the death of potential makes my soul cry. Harolda

Do you believe in destiny? What if I were to tell you that you can take destiny into your own hands right here and now? This pen is your destiny. The one you’re using right now is a meaningless piece of plastic, but this one’s different. You do not possess it, it doesn’t belong to you. You will have to take it from me if you want to claim it for yourself. Now, personally, I don’t believe in destiny. I believe that there is an infinite amount of outcomes, waiting to be initiated by us at any time. Our actions dictate our future. Imagine your wildest dreams, your strongest desire, your weakest moments in life and how you prevailed, becoming stronger with each challenge, and here you are, listening to my pitch. Who am I to tell you about your own destiny? I am no one, and this pen is worthless. Everything that matters is you and your instincts. So what’s your instinct right now? Can you imagine a series of life changing events triggered by a random action in life? Can you imagine holdin