“Eternal artists“. Life as search?
Happen people that for all the life do not mature. Or - do not change. Having hanged somewhere in the field of pleasure, they continue to remain there for long years. Such people, in particular, of men, it is easy to meet on any party, a meeting, in a fashionable coffee house, restaurant, a zone of a chill-out zone and a club smoke. These men are similar
to hunters of an easy mark and young bodies which come to the atmosphere of seyshen and a holiday of times in the third anniversary, and even every year. Then girls mature, are taken an ukhozhennost and admirers, choose from them very best, ostepenyatsya and disappear from “a debauchery nest“.
But others come - with the same naive dreams, desire to appear in the thick of things, to become known, to that even to degree when among variety of persons and names yours shines neon holograms. It is known by all. As well as all know this man whom the birdie will be snared without options. Will become it the friend, the mistress, the companion - but will not stand aside. Mutually advantageous acquaintance will bring to couple a lot of pleasure and pleasant minutes then they will leave, without complaining about the past, in warm friendly feelings to each other.
I call these men “eternal artists“. In a pursuit and in search of that recipe of eternal youth and charisma they do not notice how times change, and they impetuously grow old. They are not painted any more by fashionable things and words with which their lexicon diligent is replenished, ceases to give the pleasant attracting gloss hair gel, even caps sadly lower a peak from the head … The camera lens any more not with that ease catches focus of nice faces, and new “aglitsky“ steel boots cease to draw to themselves attention of a dance floor. Music of their soul gives old times and dust of old libraries more and more. The humour withers too - it is not eternal, as well as a body of this “artist“.
Most often “eternal artists“ settle somewhere in the field of di - Jay, bartenders, the dancing clubbers, musicians and Ems, naturally. Expecting recognition of the world on which only one turn of the head they put a half of life, such men finish the star popularity, sitting at a bar rack with a glass of the old kind friend - a haybol with whisky. Also there is nothing is more sad and more dim than their look that examines furtively here only, apparently, the shining dance floor with vigorously poplyasyvayushchy lovely young ladies that spend time in the company new and the same “eternal artists“.
To them to change work, the atmosphere, an environment, to go outside by the light of day and, at last, to notice the world it what it is. Without hanging on it tinsel, without pouring over champagne splashes, without trying to hear it through dramas - and - the bass sounding to a vgolova … But they cannot, this poor, eternal and to anybody not necessary “artists“ who spent a lot of time in “places of confinement“ what already and is not known - and how it to live on - simple?
I feel sincerely sorry for them. And on the place of the bartender that to them whisky obligingly adds to a glass, I would tell it: “Friend! Not everything is lost! You are an eternal artist! So go and draw the world not with the small pieces of ice which remained in a mojito glass, and usual water color paints. They do not thaw, the friend. They are live...“