There is one universal truth in this world, and it is that social dizziness can be created with just a little of ‘booze’ where a nation is historically poor and is ready to grab and redistribute until only the people exhausted, woolfy, ragged, and socially furious, remain to keep the order they have established.

With nations that have passed through this period, more ‘incentive’ is needed, that is, in times of stagnation, one may leave larger amounts of money to be redistributed, hoping that at least one per cent of the people will invest into such creative ventures that bear long-lasting fruit.

With poor nations, while they are engaged in inner social wars, social confidence fits, or social dropping out, one can wedge in a bit of creative construction, and be sure that the jobs one creates are a large enough reward to many voluntary guardians, who will use what is served, dine, and leave the table uncleared, forgetting all about the world; or will struggle on the hope that some structures are eternal and will protect the one in which they have their social and economic positions, forgetting all about the world too.

Now that the economic stagnation in Bulgaria has passed through the economic recession, and is at altitude point zero in a new economic stagnation, with the people learning to live at different standards heights in one location, I think that lots of books will come out like my “Dorman”, which you can read for free at http://www.vpt.hit.bg.
In line with this, I will quote an old poem of mine, wishing everybody a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year 2009,
An Empty Package

At that time when, upwards and happy,
the independent Dorman man-
with very few survival needs,
and very many tricks of wisdom-
was going up to have a look,
assessing when the time to sleep,
and when the time to wake, were fitting
the space and tasks freed on the ground-
freed by engaged in world routines,
responsible to life’s styles, people
Someone was whistling an own tune
and morning-clearing the boxes
to dump their litter in the bins
He left some spilt upon the ground
for grumbling sweepers to collect
to keep their offices and wages
A package empty flew and started
along the street, then hesitated,
slipped on the rails, crossed the street,
then came back for some inner reason,
then waited for a larger vehicle,
then was passed over by a truck,
then stood a while to catch its courage,
then hesitated by a window,
then waited for a streetcar coming,
and was about to get on
when one man in a warm black coat
pulled out of his deep warm pocket
an empty packet of a thing
and dropped it on the very spot
which that freed wanderer had missed
We were, then, wandering and learning
about levels in world’s freedom
and what we really liked or hated
And Dorman was somewhere global
to see which seat was free and empty
so he could come down to pass orders,
or which bed was then free and empty
so he could come down and relax
His eyes on us in wakeful vigil
Himself the core of our life-
when matters came to his survival
Himself the heavens round us-
when he came to conducting matters
We, in the hope to be dropped,
we try to hide in someone’s pocket
V.P.T. 6.03.2004
Valentina Petrova Toucheva 23.12.2008 Sofia, Bulgaria