One night, flipping the tape in social networks, stumble upon a note, and only in the morning realize that the plays of Camus and Sartre, is not a metaphor. This is the reality. 

just imagine, a man beaten, he goes to the other and says beat me, and he got the bag cool, then another, and on the story about what happened says you're a great guy, and the third said I was always struck by your confidence. And so on. What happens to a person? In families where the words of a child I fell him ask soup be? That is not a doubt in truth, it's her complete disregard.

In the article, which I came across, my virtual friend writes about himself in the center of the text grows a terrible story about the attack on her and how she was able then to fight back.
I can enjoy the experience.

I'm writing the review. And I see a lot of words from different people, that content is roughly about how her dress is beautiful. how great it is. And it's true, she has a beautiful dress and she's really great. BUT no mention of the history of the attack, even indirectly. That is so true, but with «lowering» Central part.

I rubbed eyes. I think maybe I was imagining things, that there is no violence. Read again, there is. Doubt, fall asleep, Wake up, read again, write a message to the author, I think, if not imagined, then what is it there - to see what happens.

in the Morning, get an answer, I have not imagined.

And then I realize what happened. I helped the Association with Camus "Misunderstanding". The final scene. Looks like I was able to describe.

it Seems the readers of that piece notes the history of “fell”. Is not it. What you have to have a “otsortirovyvaya” mechanism to throw away, not to see. And I also do not see anything. So here I respond. When I “sinks” and I do not see a fragment of reality. Nose-to-nose. Here where horror.

When it is not at all about something far away, but on the specific live person who you told your story. You have not heard. Or didn't hear me.

This story has brought me here to this stupor. It's about the split, the erosion of borders. So in families happens when you don't recognize the part of the child. Can't see it. Do NOT deny and do not see. And then the child one of the ways it will continue to split themselves, their reality, in order to survive in the reality of the family. If to expand. Resembles schizophrenia.
R. lang is the book “Split”.

And here we can assume the uncertainty in their relevance, fear of madness. Well, if you say, but if you do not, you as transparent.

Maybe I'm not one reacted, maybe some of the other commentators brought the hand above the keyboard. And then I read the previous comments and thought, Yes I really? And under the pressure influence the opinions of others. And wrote not what you thought, and that was the wave of the total. Someone running waves.

In his youth, when he read Camus and Sartre asked questions and what to do, how to be in this world? How to live with it? Now these issues are already on a new coil. We need more and more to expand their field of vision, to weed beds, to less “fell”.

While writing this text, to open the play and here's what it says in the Preface, Camus "the Play calls for rebellion, and in addition, may teach a lesson of sincerity. If a person seeks recognition, he should just admit who he is. But if he remains silent or lies, he is destined to die alone, and then everything around it is doomed to misfortune. If he's telling the truth, he, of course, also have to die, but only after he has helped the lives of others and yourself”.

Well, not yet to the main topic, but perhaps in addition.

Maybe even stopping to say what yet adopted by society response on the subject of violence, some had been taken to hide. Perhaps we need to develop the words within themselves and in the group. Then in such cases to know what to say, what is appropriate, if difficult, for various reasons, to react spontaneously. Many to your feelings, to yourself, the course is blocked from his own injuries. But to one who doth not feel strange, lonely, vulnerable, what's next anyone. And he alone with indifference and coldness, as in the plays.

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