Классная идея, обязательно прочту книгу. Я тоже пишу про Иран. Напишите, пожалуйста, в лс)

Треш. присмотритесь к картинке - это настолько нейросеть что буквы в слова не складываются. достоверность информации, полагаю, такая же

очень интересно получилось, непривычно 👍

Tenderness of rose branches. Through the cover of confetti in whitish scraps of gray fabric - after the morning - the heady air of freedom - an enveloping silver non-fading shroud, weightless, barely perceptible. DNA, RNA, proteins, nerve cells and other elementary particles, born from a shameless triumph - deep mysterious peace and piercing prayer - they will shrink and fall asleep in one boundless space ... Something indignant, begging, friendly. Life is like a real incident, dramatic and pure. The pace of time. The state of insight. Expansion of consciousness. The chemical factor of the image and symbol. Colorful space. Periods alternate like ripples on water. Golden light reflected from the blue waves of the crowns of poplars. Radiant marble facades. I open the door, damp grungy marble. It smells of the sea and some exotic plants. Time is focused. Breath runs, as if racing with the beating of the heart. The creaking cries of seagulls, reminiscent of the inescapable essence of earthly existence. Feelings of this kind are elusive. Along the sun-drenched valley, where sugar grains melt, hazel trees bend under the weight of wild pears, meadows bloom and burn, vanilla and almonds are in the air, that’s why it smells sweetly of cookies, even the wind coming from the mountain ranges is caressing, like that foam of clouds in the ocean. Attractive, sophisticated, assertive. Iridescent emptiness. Voices of flutes and pleading lamentations of symphonies. At the crossroads of blue, red-black and yellow mirrors. I walk along the bushes, past the flowering cemeteries, through the dull rains. And everything I want to know oozes tears from the eyes in which the ringing has settled. And in a small pit, as in a womb, something burns softly, unknown, incomprehensible. Something that speaks in dead languages.