do not know. occupations, but I put a little 'sad.
not sadness, but sadness.
sadness and nostalgia.
not have memories of when I was young and green hat, and with the parkas and the little red book and the words that warmed the assembly and nights in a sleeping bag and a lot of dreams in your pocket.
perhaps that is this.
for those dreams. who remained in his pocket. increasingly blurred. and frayed. and evanescent. and, ultimately, death.
dreams of egalitarianism. impossible.
dreams of meritocracy. possible but violated daily.
dreams to dream. in vain.
now my kids in high school I was asked to participate in their employment.
I said no.
to prevent me beautiful on the dreams of others.
not to be pathetic.
and because they are an organic part of a generation of old burned generations of young people.
young people are good to get angry.
hurt but to seek alliances in the old.
and hurt to trust those old men who dress up forever young. making permanent revolution to crush the revolution.
(moral of the story: I hate - politically - the Mariastella, but ...)
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