Mrak će razumeti, Leila Samarai


Mrak će razumeti(zbirka pesama), Leila Samarrai

Izdavač: Edicija „Prvenac“ Studentski kulturni centar, prva nagrada

2002.  ISBN 978-86-7398-010-2.

***
Vašoj milosti*
U hlad ruža htela sam da se sklonim
Ali zaspah u knjizi
Otvorenoj na pesmi o (m)učitelju

Pesnici davnašnji
Pod senkama i zemljom
Računaju li na serafime
Na tamninu, na prozorska okna
Na odškrinuta vrata i tajnu života
Na grane čempresa koje tišinom mame
I dugo severno jutro pod harfama

Na izmaku vidokruga
Neka nam ćutnja iščupa istinu
Od kamena spevanu

* Upućeno čitaocima
1
Tuga je skrivena u glavi ovenčanoj krvlju
Ka mudrosti zvanoj Jerusalim
Ubijate čoveka što daljinu osluškuje
Je li tamo zbilja „Ecce Homo“
Viša hijerarhija Španije
Dok teče vreme očaj silazi do krvarenja
Bolno nikad, ne priznajući bol
Ptica sam
Ptica sa željom da umre u Španiji

Napisaću u izveštaju
U mekim plodovima krije se
Namučena Hulija Burgos

Onostrano sećanje otkucava šest časova

2
Taština na lisičjem tragu
Gle, čuda!
Čas naizgled jednoličan
Pogodan za izokrenut tren ili večnost
Mučenica i njena kćer što peru noge
Ukrašene ekserom umesto sandalama
Ćutke razgovaraju

Samo ne žamor iznutra
Obale i strugotine maštaju
Kćeri želiš da ti se omakne prah
I uznemiriš teret, nebiće i vitice
Zamišljena preko puta kamenja odolevaš
Crnja od noći
Strah te da neće više biti kičmenjaka

Treći je čas u noći Posle

3
Ne shvataš – prosuta krv zvoni
Od otkrića pogrešno strepiš
U agoniji sebe same
Dok vapimo na grčkim terasama

Kćeri
Mirne su reke čujne u naporu
I to zajedno

U ogledalima je put ka mrtvoj zemlji
I obožavaoci hronometra
I neostvarivi cvat leta

Goluba na vatru kćeri moja
Naješćemo se
I skakavce kćeri moja
Pre nego nas napuste kroz prozore

Predosećam da nepouzdani čovek
Stišava dah i kreće putem
Lepote, Zapovesti i Ratova

Znakovi pored puta jedino ti preostaju

4
Tako mi govoraše mati

Ne traži više zemlju
Zaboravljena među drvećem
Ispod kojeg si rođena

U izabranoj noći
Kada su skakavci odleteli sa terasa
U gomilu glasova punih mržnje
Ka meni upućenih

Majko tiha
U meni ni glas da zapucketa
Otkud sam mogla znati
Za drugu stranu karata

Dolaze li već da me povedu
Ukorenjeni u poslednjem jutru metka

Ustajem bosa
More se uplašilo
Ko zemlja od groma

Trnov venac više niko ne pominje

5
Iako svaka rana ne krvari
Ipak
Svake večeri umire po jedan čovek
Zašto

6
Nastaće polutama i osama
Služiću sama u sebi, iako nisam svoja
Pred ranjenim kolenima sve se otvara
Cvetovi i misli, priče o pravdi
Lobanje razuzdane i doba bez predaha

Znam kazniće me Bog
Ali u grču strasti
Neće me slomiti odsutni

Igrasmo celoga dana
Samoća ponovo dolinama
Grlena iznad kladenca
I ljudima greh

Uplašim se da budem

7
Sen bi tvoja bila
I nevestinski veo
I vrisak prvi
Zločin iz strasti
I krv vremena i nevremena

Bolje da se uplašimo

Tajna paprati i beše i ne beše
I strah
Odnekud samoća izgreva neokrznuta

Zatvorena u zvezde u sebi
Očima volim i dalje
Bez ljubavi mrak će me razneti

8
U postelji se ne uzdam u zapovesti
Ruže već bremenite vetrom
Koliko časovnika pitaš
Dok kasni jutro načičkano večnošću
Jutro bunilo

Proriču kraj sveta
Kroz zvezdane kapije
Želeće otvoriti ih, otvoriti ih neće moći
Želeće zatvoriti i njih i put
Pesme će oglasiti mrtve
Mrtvi i živi krenuće lažnim ustima
Bez ijednog čula

Moj Bog spava mrmljajući molitve
Posle čega nasleđujem tugu, vetar, planine i ptice
Ipak ruke i stabla odolevaju

Nije me strah od metka
I konjanika apokalipse
Već od tebe
Voljeni moj Oče

9
Biće vremena da ti kažem
Hoće li se i sutra okretati reči
I suština bivati konac

Vrebaju me povijeni svećnjaci
Između čežnje i straha
Između strasti i postojanosti
Uvek su prisutni dok spavaš nemirno
Tamo gde počeci končaju

I samoća je uhvaćena, oblikovana i ograničena
I njen sadržaj oglodan u vetrometinama
Gde se kraj i početak sastaju
Svakog punog meseca

10
Još jedan san

Vrisak troje dece među lišćem
Blizu vodopada i provalije
Ruže im preblizu
Da li da ih sledim ili previdim

Odluke čudne
A deca čuda bez samouzdanja
Treba na vreme poznati zemlju i sazvežđa
Da poslednje otkriće
Pusto vreme ne bude
I razapet odjek koraka u osami

11
Biće vremena da ti kažem sve

Strepimo, ne živimo
Igramo po prostirkama od paprati
U ritmu izvesno mrtvih

Čuvaj se suze ludaka i mostova bez ograda
Žrtava i samoće molitve
Tapšanja po ramenu
I praznine u kojoj umiru savetnici

Čuvaj se
Ne budi opet pronađena

Strepimo
U međuvremenu ne živimo

12
Između proleća i zime
Belog i crnog
Srca i krčme sve nižeg vinostaja
Između prerušenog i slomljenog
Nestvarnog i tornjeva izvrnutih očiju
Između svemira i „da li smem“
Gradske lude i „isplatilo se“

Između „donekle“ i postojanja
Smirili su me plač i post
Klanjam ti se
Pomoć ti ištem
Gospo tišine, vatre i iskušenja

13
Idi u mirnu jesen
Nemoj vedrino pozna u groznicu
Kraljice kikota neodlučna ćeš reći:
Kad u Singidunum dođoh tražeći tuđi svet
Ne videh zamišljeno
Već svežu kap krvi niz nogu
I nedresiranu reč bez volje da se izrekne

Šumski slavuju
Ako možeš u ponoć da zapevaš
Ovde ću te čuti
Između noćne radosti i zore

14
Kako brzo prolazi sen reče Marko Aurelije
Duša je prolazna, zar ne, ponada se
Udružen sa demonima po treći put
Krivica mu prišt, čovek žrtva, a život podvrsta čira

Nezadovoljstvo je ono savršeno
Od pamtiveka ne možeš izgubiti ono što nisi imao
Razmisli

Odvojiš li se jednom
Saznaš li za pravdu bola nasleđenu
Mogu li otrov i požar biti korisni
Nisi li postao previše popustljiv Marko Aurelije
Pred deobama i žudnjama
Namerno izazvanim

Neka te ne muči više juče
Sve zavisi od Bogova

Danas su stvari potpuno otvorene
Dok ih krvožedni vetar ne obori
I odnese u sutra koje neće biti

Zato Marko Aurelije kad god se pogledaš
Seti se da li je oblik prepreka suštini
I odgovori ko je veći lažov
San ili sen u ogledalu

15
Kada će početi ništavilo
Kada ćemo čuti odjeke jutra
Lišenog brzine, ljubavi i mudrosti

Doći će čas
Biti istovremen
Biti tišina i bljesak
Biti sudar i stvaranje
Da bi kroz trenutak ničega
Došao na ovaj svet

Od tada se širi kroz ukus ničega
Kao talasi vode

16
Zagrni usne i odvike
Udahni miris vetra i promena
Odškrini kovčežić
Pusti nek izlete sve stvari
I mirne noći i uspavanke

Odrekni ih se
Dolaze pometnje i druge noći

Poželiš li šapate i guste zaklone
Čuvaj se
San je čuveni sejač
U doba novih iluzija
Koje device pretvaraju u život

17
Zašto nema granica
Između laži i života
Pred devičanskim kolenima

Rodila sam se u igri svetla i senki vodopada
I čekala da zagrizem plodove
Kroz jedan svet ili vek

A oni gorki iznutra

Vraćam se mirisu doma
Ostrvu sto pliva u noći i vodi

18
Groznica nema kraja
Pesma ostala bez zvuka i vatre
Magle ne haju da budu opevane
Pa nema razlike između vode i blata

Devojka uplakana bez uporišta
Dok zid zavičaja dogoreva

U podsvesnom dijalogu
Niko nije budan

19
Ja uporno napasam reči
Dan i noć
Prvo ih tražim
Prepoznajem čak i u gušterima
Koji nesreću najavljuju
A Vi bi vreme i puteve, iako isprazne
I plave krugove iznad izvorišta brzih reka

Vi mesečeva deca
Ja usamljena stabljika
Vi upamćene boje
Vi pesnici, a ja nisam još

Ja Pan zaljubljiv
Koji ne zna kako se na Vašem jeziku kaže pustoš
Obeležena da pevam žudim Istoku
Gde bih mogla da se spalim
I u zvezdu konačno pretvorim
Kao Kecalkoatl*

(Kad bih samo mogla da se zanjišem
Na trenutak
Ni muzika nije potrebna)

* Kecalkoatl- mitsko biće Tolteka, prvobitno vladar i prvosveštenik a potom i vrhovno božanstvo. Po predanju sam je sebe spalio i pretvorio se u zvezdu
20
Kako su radosni odjeci ravnica u susretu s vodom
Krošnje se zavrtele
Ispod njih šćućureni reka i ja
Ne za dugo

Muzika straha i pukotina groma
Dižu vode protiv nas
Koje do tad nismo poznavali
Ni moje Juče i Danas

Zatočena sam
Da ne bih otišla u mesto gde se prelivaju vode
Čineći naše odredište
O zakonu spojenih sudova

Svejedno mi je
Samarićanin je umro

Otići ću u pustinju
Napraviću masku sebi i prizivaću kiše

Vidi li nas Veliko oko

21
Ne zaboravi
Voda je talas do praznine
Voda je pad kroz metafore
Koja moli ogledalo
Da se vrati
Na manjkava mesta pesme

Samo da mi san
Ne dovede do dna

22
Nikada neću reći
Na šta vonja mesečar
Sposoban da bude budan

Nikada neću zaspati
Bojim se misli

Šta čekaju oni
Koji se sećaju mojih reči
One su kamen koji se kruni

23
Zaškiljim kroz videlo rešetki
Nadiru
Šumovi detinjstva
Simboli intime
I snovi
Jedan po jedan
Jedan po jedan
I nasta vreme
Vreme sa druge strane zida
I života iza nas

24
Volim ponoći bez umora
I ljubav bez razmišljanja
Proždirane usne
Između pospanog drveća i zore

Dete sam na plećima oblaka
Neću da zvuk ode predaleko
Ni svetionik da se izgubi u mraku
Ni čuvare što bdiju nad mojim tajnama
(Ni slavoluke od blata)

Želim košulju od srebra
Da pokrijem tuđe poglede
Želim samo tvoje oči između zidova

Dosta mi je zbunjenih i zavijanja u noći
I onih što me traže i zaspu pre nego me nađu

25
Noć i otvorena vrata
Sablast mi glavu obuzima
Vidim ti oči
Sudnji čas – tačno izmeren tren sagoreva
Vidim ti oči
Ne pripadaju meni

Bacih svoju dušu
To su dužice povetarca – viču mračna ogledala
Istrošeni glasovi iz krvi izrastaju
Puzeći obaraju stabla

Ti se vraćaš
Grubo vlažeći svetinju mojih usana
Ja
Nema i ukočena na pragu
Izgrižena prvim bolom
Bljujem zmijski otrov

To su možda tvoja tišina mržnje i moj zaborav
A zapravo
Ni ti, ni ja, ni pričešće

Ni mornari
Ostavljeni na izgubljenoj obali sablasti
Ni plač brodova u noći
Ili je to pesma nasilne ljubavi

Ona nikad ne ostaje bez glasa
I kad se ne čuje

Šume spavaju
Ne znajući
Za preplašenu travu
I njihov uzdah

Naročito
U doba vetra
I biljnih padavina

27
Tišina kamenih spavača
I prevarene publike

Ćutim pred nemuštim zvucima
Groznicu slutim
Čuvam te tišine
I gradskih uhoda u cvatu
Iako nas očevici razdvajaju

Nestanak boja
Dan pretvara u noć
I obijenu hrid

U deveti čas

28
Nalikani leševi se raspliću
Nikako da ih potopim sve
Kao ni istorija crne marame
Spremne na pomeranje vremena i vazduha

Tokom ove
Hiljadu devetsto devedeset devete
Teško je stišati plač iznad posmrtnih izveštaja
Šume i trava i dalje niču iz nekada živih
Jer su najpouzdaniji

Sa nebesima pregovaraju
Oni što su neposredno došli iz zelenog pamćenja
I grobova pre zaborava

Motre nas živi i mrtvi
Da mrtvi nisu živi
Ostali bismo svi bez jezika i plamena
Zar oni nisu i Vaši dvojnici
Da živi ne potiču od slabosti možda
Kada se u odsustvu
Predaju jedan drugome

29
Jeza mrtvih ptica
U ambijentu zasede
Poj krvotoka je

Postoji
Misao malo glasnija
Kao što se daljine
Tišinom umivaju

Otplovite oči
Atilinim zlovirima
Iskopajte ptice
Koje su sebi dovoljne
Ubeđene
Da najlepši glasovi
Dopiru
Iz mrtvih redova u zemlji

Trebaju nam
Na početku i kraju ljubavi
Uvek ih tada dozivamo

30
Kalderon reče: život je san
Varljivi pratilac između dva buđenja
Ni život ni smrt
Ni nešto treće
Ni život posle smrti
Ni smrt pre života
I zamire među kazaljkama
Pre nego zanoći u našim telima

Sigismund uzalud okovan nepouzdanim zvezdama
Objavljuje veliku varku
I krugove nemuštih snova

Posle hiljadu i dvesta noći
Vidim u vrtovima vire moje kosti
Kad bi beskraj zavladao pre jutra
Možda bi iscelio usamljenost

31
Dva zagrljena oblaka
A možda i dve ptice
Ili poznata marama u čvoru
Ili san između dva oblika

Uzalud se krv osamila
I tišina sa senkom
Pršte kalemovi i bezbožni udarci
Koje ne razumem
Kao ni odsutni zvuk koji sledim
Dok se oblaci ne pomeraju

32
Senke uzmiču
I serafimi se izgubili
U sebi grizu sve strane sveta

Kuda ću ako me mračni san savlada
I vampir

Sablast tvog života još nije iščezla
Poput koplja zabodenog
U oči idolopoklonika

33
Niz proplanak klizi mesec
Ali raskršće je još uvek u sumraku
Iz kojeg koščate ruke i bajalice
Tvoju bi nagost u grču

Uzdah pod plaštom ljubomore

Oslušni
Ne čekaj Sunce bez senke
Ono ne razlikuje bludnicu
Od davljenice na obali

Nek poljubac pesništva
Bedro ti prepusti mojim usnama
Nek krik ućutka sve
Osim nežnosti kiše tek pripremljene

Nije mi žao
Što će rečni pesak prekriti svaki stih

34
Lirika pripada svima
Ni bekstvom ne možeš izbeći njenu težinu
Zato nikud ne žuri
Ne napipavaj prstima trbuh mraka

Neko će umreti u prvom sumraku
A ja ću pisati o kometama
Zakidati na hlebu u tvojim rukama
I pripremati uzoranu zemlju
Da se mrtvaci rumenih usana nadišu

Mirno spavaj
Krivotvoriću sve što treba
Pobiću kokoši ako ih ruže ne zaustave

Ti pronađi one koji su nas optužili

35
Zaustavljen strahom od čekanja
Ne izrastaš
Ni u snohvaticu

Kad plamen plamenom prećutiš
Iza tebe praznina i vetar
Postaju spojenost irealnih čvorova

36
Stakla ulepšavaju život i ljubav
Nek samo pokušaju da razbiju sočiva naših kuća
I saksije što kipte cvećem greha

Vi što se smejete pokazujući crne zube
Zalud Vam pohlepa i strava
Ako Vam lik zanoći u rasparčanom ogledalu

Svejedno
Ja odoh na sever čija je odsutnost mislena
U tišinu i stud
Gde jedino drveća podsećaju na ljude

37
Slepilo – usud prokletnika
Ćutanje – navika ubice
A san – java smrtnika

Mogla su to biti tri čoveka
Spojena očima
Iako je jedan od njih slepac

Sresti čoveka sa svim čulima je retkost
Jer put nije označen
Još
Ako ne vidiš
Ili ne sanjaš
Ili ne umeš da ćutiš

38
Verujem u božanstvo smrti
I u istinu demona
Jer u njima lepota zaglušuje

Priroda je u stanju da ubije
Bez razmišljanja
Da bi razdvojila iste senke

Oči moje
Svejedno mi je kada ću umreti
Vaša me varka ne može utešiti više

Priroda ume da kazni radoznale
Nezavisno od greha
Samo da se iluzija i istina ne susretnu

39
Noćas purpurno naličje oblaka
Probudilo poslušne mrtvace
Koji podigli glave
Oslonjene na koščate šake

Ne znaju jesu li živi ili mrtvi
Prvog su dana čuli trube
I zaspali ispod zastava i oblaka
Pod kojima su
Umesto pod zvezdama prodisali

Drugog dana objavljeni tišina i cveće
Ne verujući da postoje

U međuvremenu nebo je uranjalo u sumrak

A trećeg dana
Mrtvaci su slavili budnost mimohodnika

40
Dolina stihova još uvek mami
Kćeri svetlosti u luninim haljinama
Jedna drugoj sestre
Po zemlji bešumno se dozivaju
I mene u kolo pozivaju

Prihvatam ruku jedne od njih
Nezgrapna
Saplićem se

Uzalud
Usiljeni koraci ne udaljavaju
Od ponora i uporišnih tačaka

41
Nestali-sveprisutni
Plač im nalik na nokturna

Dok ruža života zaleđena u istini ogledala
Nespokojna
Na zaravnima povrh čarolija
Kaplje po mahovini
I razvalinama sveta

42
Devet časova spava
I devet kazaljki sveta

Usta blagosti odbegoše
Kao cvetovi narandži
Kad dođu da ih seku
Iako nenajavljeni

Sem vremena, sve je u znaku prolaza
I drvo maslina
Što izdiše pod insektima

Ipak
Za svakog postoji odgovor
Prezir, ljubav
Ograničena svetlost
I nasukani brodovi

43
Je li istina neverni Tomo
Da rekoše mu:
Za svoju stvar
Iz tvojih usta izbori pravo
Dok ti umire dan

A on
Osuđen na okolnosti u poletu
Pretvara se u svakog ko ga podržava
Daleko od puteva koji glođu nevernike

A on
Na prvu reč ne zbori, ni na drugu ne uzvraća
Tek na treću smerno i obazrivo

A on
Zna da je ovaj život za mrtve
A ne za žive
Ni zid ne huli

A on
Moli za providnu nevinost sa očima od melema
I za podvige očajnika

A on
Ne mari ni da ga među ljude vrate
U molitvi učeći

Ipak jedno ti ne verujem
Ne verujem ti sveti Tomo
Da nije dovoljna uteha
Izmišljena u obliku žene

leilasamara

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La Oscuridad Del Entender, Leila Al Samarrai


La oscuridad del entender (poemario), Leila Samarrai

Editorial: Edición “Primogénito”, 

Centro Cultural Estudiantil, ganadora del primer premio

2002. ISBN 978-86-7398-010-2.

leilasamara (1).jpg

1.

La tristeza está ocultada en la cabeza con la sangre laureada

Hacia la sabiduría Jerusalén llamada

Está matando al hombre que la lejanía está escuchando.

Está de veras allí “Ecce Homo”,

De España jerarquía alta,

Mientras el tiempo transcurre la desesperación baja hasta el sangrar.

Doloroso jamás, sin reconocer malestar

Ave soy,

Ave con deseo de morir en España.

Escribiré en el informe

En los suaves frutos se esconde

Julia Burgos Mortificada.

La reminiscencia de más allá muestra que.

Son las seis en la noche

Después.

 

2.

Así madre mía a mí me decía

No busques más a tu patria

Entre los árboles olvidada

Debajo de los cuales estás nacida

En la noche elegida

Cuando los saltamontes de las terrazas volaron

A un a un montón de voces odiosas

A mí destinadas

Madre quieta,

No suelto ni un chasquido

¿Cómo iría a saber yo

De los naipes el otro lado?

¿Vienen ya a llevarme

arraigados del disparo en la última mañana?

Me levanto descalza

La mar asustada está

Como del trueno la tierra

La corona de espinas ya nadie menciona

3.

Vanidad en el camino del zorro

¡He aquí un milagro!

Supuestamente unilateral en instantes

Apto para un momento revuelto.

El mártir y su hija que se lavan los pies. (no se)

con clavos en lugar de sandalias

Conversando en silencio.

Cualquier cosa menos (no se)

Orillas y raspaduras fantaseando.

Hija, ¿quieres que el polvo te resbale?

Perturbar la responsabilidad, el no ser y los zarcillos.

Anhela a través de las piedras que superas

Mas negro que la noche

Temes que ya no haya vertebrados.

Es la tercera hora de la noche.

 

4

Y habló mi madre

No busces mas la tierra olvidada

entre los arboles debajo de

Los cuales naciste en la noche escojida

Cuando los grillos volaron lejos de las terrazas,

dentro de las numerosas voces llenadas

con odio dirijido contra mí

Madre silenciosa

Ni un sonido que resona adentro de mí

Como hubiera podido saber de

Los otros lados de la carta

Es que me van a buscar ya

Enracinado en la ultima mañana de una balla

Me levanto descalzo

El mar está atterorizado como tierra del trueno

 

5

Mismo si no todas les heridas les sale sangre

Pues

Un Hombre se muere cada año

Porque?

6

La semi-obscuridad y Soledad se van a ir

Me voy a servir sólo adentro de yo misma

mismo no soy mía antes de las rodillas heridas,

todo se habre flores y pensadas, historias de justicia

Cranios de wanto y eras sin descanso

Dios me va a castigar lo sé

Pero en el crampo de la pasión

No voy a ser ronpida por los absentos

bailamos todo el dia

La soledad, una nueva, cojida por los valles

Ariba de las cabezas de primavera

Y Pecado del pueblo

Yo estoy aterorizada

 

7

 

Voy a ser tu ombra

Y la vela de matrimonio

Y el primer grito

Un crimen de pasón

Y la sangre de las dos veces, enfermo y bien

Es mejor de ser asustado

El secreto del helecho*

ambos era y no era

Y el mieso

De alguna parte la soledad quema sin essuciarse*

Confinado en las estrellas adentro de mi

Me gustan todavia mis ojos

Sin amie , la obscuridad me va destruir

 

8

En la cama, yo no dependo delos ordenes

Las Rosas ya han peleado***?

Con el viento

Cuantos relojes me preguntas

Mientras que la magnana llega con la eternidad que

Esta tarde

Magnana de delirio

 

27.

El silencio de los dormidos de piedra
Y del publico engañado
Frente a los sonidos mudos callo
La fiebre presiento
Del silencio te defiendo
Y de los espías urbanos “que florecen”
Aunque los testigos nos separan
Desaparición de los colores
Al día convierte en la noche
Y en acantilado golpeado

A las nueve horas

 

 

28.

Los cadáveres pintados desarrollándose
No hay modo de que yo los hunda todos
Igual que la historia del negro pañuelo
Dispuestas a mover el tiempo y el aire
Durante este año,
Mil novecientos noventa y nueve
Es difícil callar el lloro sobre los informes de luto
Los bosques y la hierba siguen brotando de los que antes vivían
Porque son los más leales
Con los cielos negocian
Los que mediatamente vinieron de la memoria verde
Y las tumbas antes del olvido
Nos observan los vivos y los muertos
Si los muertos no hubieron sido vivos
Nos hubiéramos quedado todos sin las lenguas y las llamas
¿Acaso son ellos sus dobles también?
¿Acaso los vivos se originan en la debilidad,
en la ausencia,
al entregarse unos a otros?

 

29.

Repeluzno de las muertas aves
En el ambiente de la insidia
Es el canto de la corriente de sangre
Existe
un pensamiento razonable
Igual que las distancias
Con el silencio se lavan
Váyanse flotando los ojos
Por las fuentes maliciosas de Átila
Exhumen a las aves que autosuficientes están
Convencidas
De que los sonidos más hermosos
Llegan
Desde las filas muertas en la tierra Las necesitamos
Cuando empieza y termina el amor
Entonces siempre las llamamos

 

30.

Calderón dijo: la vida es sueño
Acompañante engañoso entre dos despertamientos
Ni la vida ni la muerte
Algo tercero tampoco
Ni la vida después de la muerte
Ni la muerte antes de la vida
Y está expirando entre las manecillas
Antes de que anochezca en nuestros cuerpos
Segismundo en vano aprisionado

03.ci_web

34.

 

Con las estrellas dudosas
Proclama el gran engaño
Y los círculos de los mudos sueños
Después de mil doscientas noches
Veo en los jardines mis huesos divisándose
Si la infinidad predominara antes de la mañana
31.

Dos abrazadas nubes
Y tal vez dos aves también
O el pañuelo conocido en el nudo
O el sueño entre dos formas
En vano la sangré se aisló
Y el silencio con la sombra
Estallan bobinas y golpes ateos
Los que no entiendo
Igual el ausente sonido que sigo
Mientras los nubes no se mueven

 

32.

Desaparecen las sombras

Y los serafines se han perdido

En sí muerden todas las partes del mundo.

¿

¿Y adónde iré si el oscuro sueño me rinde

y el vampiro también?

El fantasma de tu vida no ha desaparecido aún

Como una lanza clavada

En los ojos del idólatra.

 

33.

La lírica pertenece a todos

Ni siquiera huyendo puedes evitar su pesadez

Por eso no te apures

Y no intentes tocar con los dedos la panza de la oscuridad

Alguien morirá en el primer atardecer

Y yo sobre las cometas escribiré

El pan de tus manos quitaré(¿?)

Y la tierra apenas arada prepararé

Para que los muertos de los labios encarnados puedan respirar

Duerma serenamente

Falsificaré todo lo que sea necesario

Mataré a las gallinas si las rosas no las paran

Tú busca a los que nos acusaron

 

35.

Parado por el miedo de la espera

No llegas a crecer

Ni en la somnolencia

Cuando llegas a callar llama con llama

Detrás de ti un hueco y el viento

Llegan a ser la unión de los nudos irreales

36.

Los cristales embellecen la vida y el amor

¡Que intente la gente romper las lentes de nuestras casas

Vosotros que os reís mostrando negros dientes

Vanos son sus avaricia y horror

Si su imagen anochece en el despedazado espejo

Igual,

me voy al norte, cuya ausencia es inteligible

en el silencio, en el frío

dónde sólo árboles parecen a la gente.

 

39.

Esta noche purpúrea antifaz de las nubes

ha despertado a los obedientes muertos

que sus cabezas han levantado

apoyada

apoyadas en sus huesudas manos.

No saben si viven o muertos están

el primer día las trompetas oyeron

y dormidas bajo las banderas y nubes quedaron

bajo las cuales a respirar llegaron

en vez debajo de las estrellas.

El segundo día silencio y las flores

sin creer que existan.

Entre tanto, el cielo se hundía en el atardecer.

Y el tercer día

los muertos a los despiertos viajeros celebraron.

 

41.

Desaparecidos – omnipresentes

Su llanto a nocturnos se parece.

Mientras la rosa de la vida congelada en la verdad de los espejos

Inquieta

En los planos encima de las magias

Gotea por el musgo

Y las ruinas del mundo.

 

42.

Nueve horas duermen

Y las nueve manecillas del mundo también

Las bocas de la suavidad huyeron

Como las flores de los naranjos

Cuando vienen a cortarlos

Aunque sin aviso alguno

Salvo el tiempo, todo esta marcado por lo efímero

Y el olivo también

Que expira bajo los insectos

Sin embargo

Para cada uno hay una respuesta

El desprecio, el amor

Una luz limitada

Y los barcos a la deriva

 

43.

Es cierto, Tomás infiel,

Que le dijeron:

Por lo suyo

De tu boca gana el derecho

Mientras el día se te muere

Y él,

Condenado en las circunstancias en el brío

Se transforma en cada quien le apoya

Lejos de los caminos que a los infieles muerden

Y él,

No dijo nada después de la primera palabra, ni a la segunda no contesta

Apenas moderado y con cuidado a la tercera

Y él

Sabe que esta vida es para los muertos

Y no para los vivos

La pared tampoco blasfema

Y él

Rogando por la transparente inocencia con los ojos del emplasto

Y por las hazañas de los desesperados

Y él

Sin importarle que le regresen entre la gente

Aprende rezando

Sin embargo hay algo que no te creo

No te creo santo Tomás

Que no es suficiente el consuelo

Inventado en la forma de mujer

Babylonia 2, work in progress, by Layla Al Kiz Kulesi – Not for you


Dedicated to Hatun Amira Sirbegovic, Sarıkız of Gure, born in the kingdom Kurkuma, Sultana’s Efendi, Kizlar Aghasi, general of the girls etcetera.. An inscription as well as a dedication found in the Orhon valley on the language of unintelligible speech, a really badass alphabet., next to the bloody dagger and Turkish runes, written in a pretty messy way.

Translated into English: by a completely self-taught idiot

time and place: Belgrade, 2019 is under the water and under the Turkish invasion of operation Atilla code.

The poem follows a fair maiden Dihya Layla al – female seer and military leader who has just returned from 7th century mission in the Maghreb, known as Kiz Kulesi, leading the resistance of  N’Nonmiton Beninin our mothers amazons under the parole Things Fall Apart, about whose lady mother, Valide Hatun is quarantined in an Clinic for Infectious Diseases for 20 days while reading the book of Leviticus that tells how to quarantine leppers and other creatures suffering from a new age zoonotic virus and, fair maiden’s mother in a desire to overcome her naturally caused  thanatophobia, even when there is no sign of any illness, obsessed with the idea to arrange her own funeral as in the scriptures, the nails and hair trimmed, a burying-place out of mundane sight. Highly on both visual appeal and price – it costs a deal of money.  “

Only one person in Belgrade under the water and under the Turkish invasion of operation Atilla code is idle rich and get nailed with expensive funerals, that is Hatun Amra Sirbegovic, Sultana’s Efendi who already bought off off-street visitor parking breaking parking restriction for Turks at cemetery Highgate in England.

But Amira and Dihya Layla al – female seer fair maiden used to be best friends, but now they avoid each other at all costs…  using only diacritical sign, or accent – or a glyph added as a form of ancient The Ghegs communication often fails to give Layla the necessary visa to enter Belgrade under Amira’s ancestors’ concubinage… illegible handwriting…  

This poem had a number of beginnings.

The thoughts are real. The language is nothing.

As i lowered behind ‘tisnt pleasant place

I shhh the breath of screaming inside beginning

I listen to her lung congestion

Limit fluid with damp swabs

Scattered the herbs given by her doctors

She’s my mother quite abjured

With all the death rattle winds that blow

Doth my mother yet survive

Ask Eyguieres curse tablet

Holding pet birds as offerings

 with healing and resurrection.

A winged  beardless youth and old

Will trap her in a sack

A down-turned torch and wreath or butterfly

Buried on the battlefield as spartan

Sentimental gesture

In ériubanbafódla a world of delights

She’ coughing annwyfn, annwvyn, or annwfyn
to this outburst of impression with voicing

Like a whisper of the valley beside the golden plated river

Full of shit.

Mother continues:

Yet many of the cobbles rose up from smitten wisdom

House of Lazarus, house of ruins

Drunk with the innocence

Burning bamboo flute with the holy spirit

Leave the bloody track behind

As i am of silent but gazing roses as in strange land

Where an earthquake endears the choking sighs of men

You, thus hammered by your moistful hatred, created sheckels of

Slaughterers sight, stubborn little twat

This pale you are, like the dead on the board to the cemetery

Mother is angry:

You, fashioned through your grim advances

To common sense appealing like a pyet of honest man

I will not wind a long worn confessions

Obscurities to hide my desiderata

But augment my blisses and talents and your

Mommas bardship, you little cunt

Thus I made a pax and bonum with your enemies

I bravely fought like spartan god of laughter

Their narrow-minded provincial pettiness

As requiescat in pace may rest in peace

Your leering forward wars passed this noon long time ago

, so tis all in case I shall die

Someone must pay the funeral

Quick you purmblid brat hark

And swift, push away every ounce of furore

In all of the inferno bibles writes

Fringe the sad toothless minstrels

And idly forgive, while doing so, collect some debt

Ask our foe for money, is the urgency where to organize my funeral

Cast the bitches away they are changeful with stitches

‘tis all in case your mamma gone away

Oh stars shining through the weight of centuries

Not to a gall to an enemy but a pride, your enemy is sage in this unfortune

To fight or stand-alone far from the work of divine

Yet a tower is melt and she’d helped to  stood hard by…

Mother is grabbing my cloth resembling jesus garment. Her mouth, agape:

A tragedy. Yet I made a deal with monster

With her bestial sense and will

Gorgona is expecting you at this moment, ah!

Grasps, than fractured, decentred, she faints.

2

Such malice i subdue it and go

To procession

To not so tender creature

And quiescent, down to the 4 deeps

Impossible, for monster to ascend also

Troubles behind its nature stood and bound

Her thorn mind, stupidity in terror’s strength

Obedience to common sense, glowing on the idiot’s shore

Thundering the spider’s pavements

As I sermon Belgrade’s street preparing for the march

Rescinding mid flirtation, breathing beneath blocks

Apathetically dazed.

The final act is done than changed

Not yet with an eager move

And cold incessant

I dare not name it

A sceptre form insatiate – armour shining

Possible, yet how impossible

I do believe and I do not believe

The grave is closed and cradled and now respire

My mother, piece be with thy possible ashes but this shall not thrive

Not a shackle to borrow either friends or foes

And this one yet appals, with horn and falls

Ambitious killing brand

Carnage fruitful vile and many falls

From her false peaks of goodness

Profoundly disturbed drunk sloppy

Of a lucky fate still soul-sucking ghoul

Praise be Gugalanna, more then mongoose

Of nightmare size

Of vampiric menace,

On earth sent

So soft the farewell once was – snatched from ashes

From cafes… flashback (sentimental mode on)

Once generous fire I loved (not holding back at all)

Remnant of madness almost as my arts

Engaging in the falsehood of charm

And sparrows to her bosom

Her belongings, golden hair as my memories

Secluded before me

I could worship you!… To funerals.

My mother! An endosperm of mirrored settlings

Deals and horror by the devil’s river

Daredevil sticks

For since they two together draw a new book

Secret circle to reclaim the wise reward, a mystery

Not rest, may the liquor absolve you beyond compare

Rest not that buried a long time ago

Since than gugalanna drinks my blood compelling

So sweetly bloody Renfield’s syndrome

As cocktail in sunrise with ice and cookbooks.. For the bloody slaying

But…

End of flashback (obsessive pathetical pathos mode off)

All the Tartini’ sonatas in woe

Flaming with pitless perdition

This being done, my winged mother, by clavicula salomonis

Is not enough to cure a witch as you are her physician

Still muse upon the mother’s spirit in wish to comfort bring

The poverty foul of carrying all complete,

Mother’s proposals make to hast seen Mupphy…

To gather the light from the beast pocket and arrange

Her shiny happy laughing funeral.

Washed in running water.

After being laid on a flat board…..

Resistance

3

And how from thence I…

Facing the blossoming willows of mine

Estetica etica

Facing anxieties and colonies a la lazaretto

Leprosarium in Ceasar’s house

Before the judgment in wrath and fury and torture

And time – kama pazam yesh leha ?

Help Amira

Why patterns gold and darkened

A  pound, an ounce, the box of a mind

Will be opened from the heart

Between fields and tripled cover blooms

Dismal to shroud me, thy is the castle

Can tie breed idolatry for salad for I am poor

‘tis some bravery of which I am ashamed of

That there is nothing but

 miles left to go to cemetery

Put no difference friends or foes

To dust we all returnest

And overflows has passed

Duelling thew grave, magicians and mobs

Such is a graveyard, overcrowded

Off to the open moor  forever shared

A large box a choice of colours

A blind glass and a plate

With fitting body worth of engagement

As well as our friendly foes.

Thy is the castle! Thy thy!
Thy is!

No need to waste money on broken someone’s hart

With the sound of the gusle

The Turkish March, a crystal chandelier

And a long-nosed ballerina
and cruelties’ deadly disease

Mistake  may be hours, Amira said

There there my fatigue

By my distress

I cried over the misery
of a stone forgotten who won’t shine

On shiny dollar

No shine will follow by the silent dust

Again again again in the night

A drowsy thing

Disever

Amid the

Dull

Deem

The tamarind…

(the tension rises)

… from the nemrut mountains to kütahya fortress!

With choicest

Defunct, I, pazamnik

Sword in one hand, quill in another

                                                          janissary agha, imotional

Haya basir tip haca giziroglu

Sultan Mustafa, tsar of all the Turks

Made his dawn attack upon  the beauty matchless Layla kız kulesi

By the swordlike words in black robes and black clouds

Kanuni Mustafa

 Was an imotionally man, by zodiac of the Turk

The battle at the dolomites peaks

 And there she is,

Switch, call-in, with privacy position mounted on 1-gang plate

Surface mount, one single button

Pale as the dolomites peaks

She presses and presses and presses and presses

Buzzing sounds coming from one

Hill to another

From vashundol to  foulfell, and the abysm

And the rest’s uncertain.

A murmur, a rustle a beeping

To the stars and moon, imploring the Jupiter

Until my name has cast its light upon the dolomites peaks

Less attuned her voice to the tambur

Membranophone foe with variola face

As the outline of the hills, repeating forms or not

But two equal halves, a slouched by the

Seeing Turkish forces on the magic work

O prince warrior of old kurkuma brave

Defending every piece of his interefone

Kız kulesi:

Intercom kingdom it is called, after capturing Belgrade

In 1501.

 By agha kanuni and his beloved daughter

Sarıkız of gure to

Prevent kulesi to purge the evil fire and

With two-headed dragon would

Take it to it to the tower

What a Kaz,

With one blue eye and one eye either green, yellow, or brown

At maiden’s tower

At the intercom’s pallid peak they peaked that grey wolfess

With šayṭāniyy tricks and pale intercom buttons.

                                                 and now, without further ado

How do you like dragged Diana fire blow?

Sancta maria out of the woods!

Bless death!

And the devil of another

Compathy

Bloody  mounding tall chains of pearl

Becoming one Bosnian bastud that occasioned

If we teeter at my last circulation

An alt-right gauntlet!

A nitro through our Thora(x)

Argon through our mouth,

Or in through our corpses out

 sonderkommando

 down through our gas chambers

In pits, on pyres

With petals and then dumped

Two words – five syllables

Through vapours and vista

Into reverie

For rich clouds to use rain

Like blaedre, blaeddre use catheter bag

For peeing fever and chills

And my hollo perish even in fog smoke white

Pain antediluvian terrafirma destruction

Becoming one experiencing fasciculation

If shaitan don’t die of

Twanging a wiry  mind

Amoebas first I trust he will use

The remains of that former argosy sometime in

The course of the year present.

Of vinal ism

An infinitessimal

 I shd.

 spectamur agendo; or rather, not by the act but the effect

Shd. Etc.

+al philology

. (parenthesis. Can’t afford high gates’ hands well

At the outset.) Not.

 absolootly

The cruel scorpion Sigismundo in the chains

Beneath the toad &venomous web, the lucky golden

Accordant of mortal arm

Will  keeping the wolverine from the

Work in progress

Vurryspeshul

Tranquil pill in ageless freedom

Quarantine is fangless tooth

A loveseat hell den all imposed

illegible handwriting…  go and cut the Cedars of Lebanon… 

You are safe

You are free

You are beautiful

 

And as far as anybody can tell, sub-power of Enhanced Speed – Lady Mother is still alive, suddenly appear then disappear from Europe, especially when flying. bat-like wings which they use to capture prey,  using gothic makeup, she eased the dread and worry of thanatophobia and viruses, an avid taphophile, attending the course of gravestone arts, epitaphs and how to dig the tombs without using the wings. Someone reported a great fire near London – the Highgate East Cemetary is still badly damaged in an arson attack by pyromaniac extremist in 2022. There is a cenotaph of a famous Sir stolen)

Moments in History That Inspired The Handmaid’s Tale


Almost everything described in the book and the show Handmaid’s tale has a parallel in a totalitarian or religious state, military regime, religious order or cult, or, chillingly, in Western society today. Margaret Atwood, the author of the book “Handmaid’s Tale,” on which the show was based, keeps saying that “Nothing that I’ve written hasn’t already happened. And nothing that we build doesn’t already exist.” Which historical events inspired the Handmaid’s Tale author and the show’s screenwriters, and why The Handmaid’s Tale can serve as a warning to the whole world? Forced pregnancy in Cambodia, kidnapping, clothes as a way of humiliation, environmental destruction and other moments took place in the past and in present.

Currently watching First they killed my father https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4882376/

 

Tarot card: Justice


Prema zakonu čovek je kriv ukoliko naruši prava drugih ljudi. Prema etici on je kriv ukoliko samo pomisli da to učini.

Imanuel Kant

By law, a person is guilty of violating other people’s rights. According to the ethics he is guilty only if he thought to do so.

Immanuel Kant

https://www.libertarianism.org/columns/immanuel-kants-theory-justice

U članu 7 Rimskog statuta dati su osnovni elementi zločina protiv čovečnosti. Zločinom protiv čovečnosti smatra se preduzimanje navedenih radnji pod uslovom da su one preduzete kao deo šireg ili sistematskog napada uperenog protiv bilo kojeg civilnog stanovništva. To su sledeće radnje:

  • ubistvo, istrebljenje, porobljavanje, deportacija ili prisilno premeštanje stanovništva, zatvaranje i drugi oblici lišavanje slobode koji se preduzimaju uz kršenje osnovnih pravila međunarodnog prava
  • mučenje, silovanje, seksualno ropstvo, prisilna prostitucija, prisilna trudnoća, prisilno sterilisanje i svaki drugi oblik seksualnog zlostavljanja ovakve ili slične prirode
  • proganjanje bilo koje grupe ili zajednice na političkoj, verskoj, rasnojnacionalnojetničkojkulturnoj i polnoj osnovi, ili po drugim osnovima koji su međunarodnim pravom unverzalno priznati kao nedozvoljeni
  • nestanak lica, aparthejd kao i drugi nehumani postupci sličnog karaktera kojima se namerno prouzrokuju teške patnje ili ozbiljno ugrožavanje fizičkog ili mentalnog zdravlja
  • https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crimes_against_humanity

“Not only did few of them sense a moral responsibility for the part they had played, few of them thought to question whether they should.”
― Ann Tusa, The Nuremberg Trial

“new evils require new remedies … new sanctions to defend and vindicate the eternal principles of right and wrong’.
― Ann Tusa, The Nuremberg Trial

 

Crimes against humanity are certain acts that are deliberately committed as part of a widespread or systematic attack directed against any civilian or an identifiable part of a civilian population. The first prosecution for crimes against humanity took place at the Nuremberg trials. Crimes against humanity have since been prosecuted by other international courts (for example, the International Court of Justice, the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia, and the International Criminal Court) as well as in domestic prosecutions. The law of crimes against humanity has primarily developed through the evolution of customary international law. Crimes against humanity are not codified in an international convention, although there is currently an international effort to establish such a treaty, led by the Crimes Against Humanity Initiative.

Unlike war crimes, crimes against humanity can be committed during peace or war.[1] They are not isolated or sporadic events, but are part either of a government policy (although the perpetrators need not identify themselves with this policy) or of a wide practice of atrocities tolerated or condoned by a government or a de facto authority. War crimesmurdermassacresdehumanizationgenocideethnic cleansingdeportationsunethical human experimentationextrajudicial punishments including summary executions, use of weapons of mass destructionstate terrorism or state sponsoring of terrorismdeath squadskidnappings and forced disappearancesuse of child soldiersunjust imprisonmentenslavementcannibalismtorturerapepolitical repressionracial discriminationreligious persecution and other human rights abuses may reach the threshold of crimes against humanity if they are part of a widespread or systematic practice.

source: Wikipedia

Mars Exulti/My personal Mayday


I could not hold back my tears,  I was deeply touched and I was deeply moved the face of the heroism of this seemingly ordinary woman who was   forced, by specific circumstances to undergo the “Daenerys Targaryen” phase, to experience a nervous breakdown, to cast out her humanity when necessary, to be raped, beaten, to endure what it cannot be endured, to survive her evildoers and the whole twisted nazi Gilead society and to become a fucking superhero. 

whoever watches this series knows what I mean when I mention ex USA, Republic of “praise be” Gilead where women are tortured and mutilated if they want to read a book or be sent as concubines from home to home, from one commander to another, as well as with their wives to be raped in an obscene, profane ceremonial ritual in the name of the Lord as a concubine for “ecological disaster and birth defect”, where girls are raped at 14 while forcing them to pray to the Lord to be wives and mothers and where they cut their clit if they, for example, wear the wrong dress or  fall in love, where fertile women are handmaids, and all others are Unwomen, forcing them to die in poisonous colonies to work   until they fall apart, piece by piece of their bodies due to toxic gases .. public hangings are everyday. with prayer, watching is a must, as well as participating in pulling a rope, stoning, too .. This woman eventually became the boss of the monstrous Gilead, took matters into her own hands and became the one who is in charge. A woman respected by the greatest villains and architects of Gilead. How the hell did she do that? this is a hypothetical question, and this woman should be a role model for anyone going through difficult times.

in this time of indifference to human suffering, a character interpreted by Elisabeth Moss (the best actress I know, and know a lot about the art of acting) by Margaret Atwood’s book “The Handmaid’s Tale”, I thought of every tear that is shed every moment in the world; each different, and together they form an ocean of despondency that invokes compassion and consolation.

.Most cathartic my tears are those caused by seeing from this example of human exaltation; I was looking at tears in these people, I saw all those who were separated violently from a dear person, I have seen   tears of grandparents, mothers and fathers, children in hands of evil people who would have been deprived of their childhood had it not been for the heroism of female Moses June Osborn. My tears called for comfort and with their answering tenderness, I wipe the sorrow from my heart.

it is the testimony and story of an ordinary woman, struck by a tragedy called Gilead that saved more than 52 children of Gilead and a bunch of martyred and enslaved women by providing them with a plane to keep them safe, fleeing persecution and cruel violence, people and children who were victimized, raped, tortured, mistreated in this newly constituted theocratic rapist country.

Someone in such circumstances, from abuse at the hands of ruthless people, becomes evil. Someone becomes human. Someone becomes larger than life. And that’s not a phrase – I saw it in everyday life, I saw (admittedly not much .. which is why it’s so precious) people with integrity, real heroes, real “Lara Crofts”.

And I learn from them.

And what have you done in your miserable life, you that acting tough and cocky, laundering money through your so-called legit businesses,  to think highly of yourself (and there is no person who doesn’t think nice about herself) did you save someone’s life? Is there a work of art created with your hands and mind? Look at June Osborne and people like her … what do you have to do with such humanity, you little thing?

I haven’t cried in years. I couldn’t…. be disgusted by the crowd of sociopaths among whom I currently live in a kind of Gilead .. honestly, I didn’t have the luxury of something like that .. a bunch of ruthless cowards whose sole purpose of living  is their miserable bare useless existing in fact, for example, to make someone’s life hell and enjoy their sadomasochistic psychopathy, their madness, madness and stupidity. To exist just one moment in time not to give a phone to a girl in need if she urgently needs help… to yell at someone at the counter, to say meaningless nonsense on the bus and to disappear afterwards .., to kick scared daughter out of the door while her mother is in hospital,  to steal, to lie, not to give a glass of water to the thirsty, I wonder: how did they dare to be born at all? who needs them? what is their purpose? Today I cried (amazed) because I know who I am, I know why I am, I know that there are others like me, that I am not alone and I am glad about that.

 

a bit of cynicism: I felt like a pope at a prayer vigil after watching this …

The Lord said, ‘I have seen my people in bondage, and I have heard their cry,’” she says in voiceover as the handmaids carry her through the woods. “I know their sorrows, and I have come to deliver them from the hand of evil men and lead my people out of that sorrowful place, to a land flowing with milk and honey.”
Those symbolism-heavy sentences are an inexact quote from the Bible, a book packed with fire, brimstone, and tragic martyrdom. In fact, the star of the Bible died in an attempt to save the souls of his people and create hope for the world. There are many New Testament lines June could have used to suggest that she, like Jesus Christ before her, has died (luckily she didn’t) for the good of mankind. Instead, her parting season 3 words come from the Book of Exodus, which follows Moses’ flight from Egypt with the Israelites. The Israelites, like the handmaids, were slaves until someone saved them from their abusive plight.
Be stronger than any odds stacked against you. hdhjdhj.jpg

	

Becoming Writer


In the secrets of
fathom deep
of guarded embroiled
guarded Frontieres
of intercoursed sapphire
and intercourse willing feet
desperat and eternal
shackles into layers undiminisht
by utter darkness and durst in dreadful deeds
QUEEN:
I’d not fit as return’d not lost Seraph
as the smack of feverish and the transpiercing aeons
Unanimous twists and handkerchiefs
flamed blood bitten gentlemen
I lay bare unfit

A skirt. the mightiest. so pondering durst ink.
the number of stones or red bricks thrown
exploding fingers, the red graved letter
by drunken writer engraved beneath her window.

WRITER: She ripped off funky letters from parchment’s
lightspeed body
during
her princess’ first inaugural ball
pulling muffler like a strip of wool
but then, again, isn’t the key sum
of all things best played on a harp
made of pyrite, snakes &n’ roses caught in the strum?

QUEEN (scribbles)
Boring boring balls
to a courtesy farewell letter
the strokes
of a maddened keyboard
the normality of it
made me tremble
oh, how painful has been my platitudes
exults in my strength, divided by lip
the footsteps of burrowing mammal
a goblet of words are uttered only by the wild cat teeth
upon the retina of finger burned deep
and the synoptic lays of a synoptic lays of
the adverse spreads havoc; my novel grows

WRITER: and it’s you are whatever
a misunderstood noblewoman
but ignobly lioness of the wood
write horror tales and never kiss away all the
tender castles
seem to lie at you
even the mildest of the savage can become a writer
that tells the story of
Hamlet’s brilliant-hued chestnut
What can it then avail
apparent Queen’s solitude
a javelin cords
a smitten sound
a splash to an admiring toad
intuitive and capable of more
in this bright wanderer degrees
but by such Sea-maid haste
sets now know whence learnt: sackcloth glow
at the end of necrotic moist
all things tender

QUEEN WRITER: Bad bad doll. How far is it to
the bog swamp than?

longing for [the girl] friend’s embrace/and between females


1

longing for [the] friend’s embrace

 

the way I hate when men many dedicate a poem to me

there is something aforesaid in this, foreshadowing.. unnatural with regard to excessive polishing of swords

for sacrifice, sheep slain of copper

Covered with roast beef

hard and black and dead

whatever this Bovinity meant to say to me

there may be something Beef noodles in there

at times plaster and bovine hair of  a

Erebus locus of all the

scuffle of

my 42 sternward nudities (run sprung unstrung wrung

bursting to light across my desolate shore, but still I

shrunk and run and brunt recording beef smile and

Boast of the grief (very occasionally journeying a roar)

he saw me not borgne Chelbt the Necessity of what is

Unnecessary

Lo! of hundreds who fuck trampling female

steers

bestowed a right to the portion

of a camel

algebraic hécatombe  Bearing a pack of

quiescent Venus clay

out  budding what a sweet creature

she has sweet prehistoric uvula Arabian Serbian

bud, fuzz grows above sweat glands, sweet odour

let’s..  then,, Zéphir s’ et le présage Faire crac-crac

niqer sauter…

out Se masturber, se branler en face..out en face

 

out en face merrily did we drop a sort of

Merrily did we drop a sort of incandescent beef

who will kill and eat

And between females means….

 

2

And between females

yoking through your half-moon of the pond

Beyond  Cyrene, beyond the throne of snares

Beyond Atalanta and moon hills

of the chariot, you came, fell weak tugs

and my delicious back

with her knife swells with the desire of betray

still

My want dives silky hair

Is glistening

The straining immortal kisses

Of the toxic breed of my betrayal friend

In the arms of  Hypatia gender

bronze-tipped javelin, wild breast on the battlefield

a sentient being,  a huntress companion and swore to remain unwed

to a heart in sweet tine

 

although she be of purple impressing flowers

rounded gently breasts strewed upon the trampled gilly

knees.

And grass between her legs bringing me a cloth.

Drops of water fell

stay here, here is my tomb, a real pint

is not only perdu, my darling, but perdu and perdu and perdu.

 

3

 

Have you not.

 

A long live hatred

O long-lived one

Hatred my life your/mine levedy love is that I hate

By the knives of circumstance,

And the last sacred backstabbing

In enchanted mourner’s bloom

But shall a gate of red fire tomb fall aside

Or have you not, sedulously full fifty filthy dull dull

Mots, same as beef, Beefinity, as merry as the

Sunrises between the devil’s horns

Have you not.

 

and what in my secret old shrine will happen

pipes the dithyrambs

and grieving serene

I am still grieved you sorely on my shore

Ere the lifeboat serene long

Add it to and long que doas domnas

A sicknesse, that may be hele

Phisicien, a matineuse aurora

a flail a

scabbard.

 

 

I hate your womanly love above all else

My disgust and despair led

My heart to the harvest of hunger.

Chacun retrouve les peines

Death companion newer still

as we parted for the canopy for eternity

 

Complexions..

…the ugliest…

Persists.

Even a man’s footprints of beef.

 

At least I shall know it wasn’t you.

It wasn’t you, harridan

It wasn’t you.

The best psycho caught on-screen, along with “Misery” – only Jennifer Tilly can do them justice


Currently, I am having fun watching Jennifer Tilly as a nutjob in Cord – Fuga Impossive 2000 https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0191915/?ref_=nv_sr_1?ref_=nv_sr_1

A desperate, childless couple kidnap a pregnant woman and lead her husband to believe that she is dead. Scenes from Cord a.k.a. Hide and Seek (2000) starring- Daryl Hannah, Jennifer Tilly, Bruce Greenwood and Vincent Gallo, dir.- Sidney J. Furie

“Sha had a nasty cesarian a few years ago and she is very sensitive to anyone seeing the scarring – I know she is unconsiousness but I think it would be a violation of her personal rights if you were  to peel at her clothing and look at the most intimate disgusting part of her body” (8.00)

The best psycho line ever! 

and this one:
“Yes I understand you took some kind of Hippocratic oath and you feel it’s your duty to take care of my sister but I really think you should go now.”

“It’s so hard being a mother

Priceless.

 

Runkeeper 6.2 miles practising, 1sy day, Saturday morning acca Now*update


5miles1night

On one hand, running 6.2 miles demands your respect and attention, but on the other, it isn’t so far that you can’t train for it and run several 10Ks in one season. It’s one step beyond the 5K and a great segue to the half or full marathon distance. …

On average, casual runners are usually able to finish a 10k race in 50 to 70 minutes. The median time it takes a woman to run a 10k is a little more than 64 minutes

As a short distance runner type I chose this distance as my discipline.. and as a great biker and non – swimmer, too : ) for reason unknown, good swimmers are usually awful runners.

Movies recommendations


Set in 1854 in the harsh Nebraska frontier, a low-life drifter George Briggs (Oscar-Winner Tommy Lee Jones) is rescued by a pious, independent-minded woman named Mary Bee Cuddy (Oscar-winner Hilary Swank). To pay back his debt, George reluctantly agrees to help Mary transport three women driven mad by the harsh frontier life across the treacherous land – where a kindly minister’s wife (Meryl Streep) has offered them hospice. The unlikely pair soon realizes just how daunting the journey will be and the group must traverse the vast Nebraska Territories, which are marked by stark beauty, psychological peril and constant danger. Directed, co-written &starring Tommy Lee Jones – based on the award-winning novel by acclaimed author Glendon Swarthout.

I recommend all of Hilary’s movies to a sophisticated audience. As well as movie Greta, https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2639336/ with Isabelle Huppert (I am to watch her as a sadistic and cruel Supérieure Saint-Eutrope in a monastery..) , all Elisabeth Moss’ movies and her TV series “Mad men” (she is the best actress I have ever seen in my life!), The Handmaid’s tale 2017, of course, also, Julianne Moore new movie Gloria Bell 2018 https://www.imdb.com/title/tt6902696/?ref_=nv_sr_1?ref_=nv_sr_1, Cate Blanchett movies..  so many great actresses nowadays and so many movies recommendations…. No, I didn’t forget Eva Green, Scarlett Johansson, Lou de Laâge and Alicia Vikander. How is that possible! I won’t even start with their upcoming short movies and TV shows!

Currently, I am having fun watching Jennifer Tilly as a nutjob in Cord – Fuga Impossive 2000 https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0191915/?ref_=nv_sr_1?ref_=nv_sr_1

“I know she is unconsiousness but I think it would be a violation of her personal rights if you were  to peel at her clothing and look at the most intimate disgusting part of her body”

The best psycho line ever!

Treat It Like a Job/Mount of her arousal…


From the vulva to the cervix [1]
the burden of a new tongue order
тетька Margaret of Gilead [2] was off again
Vaginismus it is called
of the labia majora
and the foreskin approach of
rhythm, especially rhythm
funny games [3], the metaphor is brought
to London’s Pie-corner [4]
and you are more deadly than life cum demon

soft as mushy, overcooked food
sometimes cum too early and sometimes is too late
or suddenly you knew how
to finish OFF
uterus outside the world
effective one-of-a-kind vulva
a adharcáil [5] box for holding
French withered pear
Placket-lace
Phoenix nest

just an easy-going penis
hidden hidden white stuff
meaning
to be
The Mind Behind the
Svacheem’s [6] flooding
liquid at orgasm.
It’s uncanny, how, you know.
It’s deep
even deeper twat
the deepest clue
like death
you, Cunt

I wish the involuntary spasm
inflames in the house AS [7] cursed
joyful devouring to Genesis
Sarai [8] the Barren vaginal discharge
Contra punctum her enslaved maid
and strengthen her pelvis while the sons of Jacobs
hoodwink my VJJ like a prisoner of WWII war

airneánach at Privy-counsel
you, Sarai, you gender traitor
ah, Vagina, you such a Belle-chose
and everyone smooch you

smooch smooch! sweet home Vagina, who are you wearing

to our plane to Lisbon? we’ll always have Paris… [9]

(gliding around red-light carpets eating Eva’s red apple for breakfast)

Every aiteall  I dykon you to Hoyden’s centre [10]
and every vagenius morning
I cut you with my Gillette Blade
stirring the bean curd
Oh, my honey pot…
I lick at everything as if I lick you for the first time.

enjoying the sound of heavy rain on a rooftop.

to plaudit

to burst

[NOW ALL TOGETHER] Feminist! Lesbian! Vagina! Squitch your master!

Gaelige bhacach! [11]  

feel free to abandon the piano [12]

and treat it like a job

 

 

 

  1. [1]The cervix or cervix uteri (Latin, ‘neck of the uterus’) is the lower part of the uterus in the human female reproductive system. The vulva is the outer part of the female genitals. The vulva includes the opening of the vagina (sometimes called the vestibule), the labia majora (outer lips), the labia minora (inner lips), and the clitoris. Around the opening of the vagina, there are 2 sets of skin folds.
  2. [2]Gilead was a mountainous region east of the Jordan River divided among the tribes of Reuben, Gad, and Manasseh, and situated in Jordan. … It corresponds today to the northwestern part of the Kingdom of Jordan. The name Gilead first appears in the biblical account of the last meeting of Jacob and Laban (Genesis 31:21-22).
  3. The Handmaid’s Tale is a dystopian novel by Canadian author Margaret Atwood, originally published in 1985. It is set in a near-future New England, in a totalitarian state resembling a theonomy that has overthrown the United States government. The novel focuses on the journey of the handmaid Offred.
  4. [4]Pie-corner– a famous corner in London for prostitution;  both ‘pie’ and ‘corner’ were both slang terms for ‘whore’ or ‘vagina’ (King Henry IV)
  5. [6] Svacheem, wasted sperm, a biblical reference to Noah’s flood
  6. [7] in the house AS , historical name for vagina

[8] Sarah, also spelt Sarai, in the Old Testament, wife of Abraham and mother of Isaac. Sarah was childless until she was 90 years old. God promised Abraham that she would be “a mother of nations” (Genesis 17:16) and that she would conceive and bear a son, but Sarah did not believe. Isaac, born to Sarah and Abraham in their old age, was the fulfilment of God’s promise to them. The barrenness of Sarah, cited in the preface (Genesis 11:30), stands in tension with the central theme of the Abraham saga, the promise that God will make him the founder of a mighty nation. With respect to the fulfilment of the promise, Sarah embodies the themes of fear and doubt, Abraham those of faith and hope. Her doubt drives Sarah to devise her own way of realizing the promise—she gives Abraham her maidservant, Hagar, so that Hagar might bear a child for them. When the promise is repeated, Sarah expresses her doubt in sarcastic laughter (Genesis 18:12). And when the promise is kept, Sarah, overcome by joy, still implies her doubt had been reasonable (Genesis 21:6–7). Her tomb at Hebron (Genesis 23) was a sign of Abraham’s faith that God’s promise of the land would also be kept.

[9] It’s a movie line. Casablanca, as others have said. Sometimes people say it when something profound has happened between them, even if it wasn’t specifically Paris. But it always refers to an experience with someone else that you treasure in your heart for the rest of your life

[10] aiteall is an Irish word for spring, Hoyden–A tomboy; a girl who behaves in a boisterous and unladylike,  Hoyden Centre, because of Lincoln Centre in New York, where June’s fight with Serena over Gilead’s mission to get baby – The Handmaid’s Tale Gilead’s Capital 

[11] broken, Irish speech to describe misery

[12]Sam’s piano in movie Casablanca, the expression of the soul and heart when words are insufficient

art and taboo


taboo and art are mutually exclusive. I personally do not believe that there is anything that cannot be expressed through the verses. but, good articulation is important, because, with good articulation, the artist manages to nullify the mournful sense of shock over a scene of, for example, a realistic severed human head. Good concept, good articulation and – this ceases to be just a severed head. However, whole armies of “artists” think that it is enough to put their severed head on the gallery stump and that in doing so they have succeeded in ejecting their unprecedented artistic inspiration from themselves and presenting to the audience.
And the audience as the audience – when they see (their) severed head or severed vagina .. is overwhelmed by the natural rush of empathetic horror.
Big deal- Black & Decker chain saw under the balls ..
Really pulls the drawstring tight on your coin purse, huh?
Unintelligent. Art is played with taboos. Personally, to date, the most complete artists have run away from it – and even when used (taboos), it was in the function of honest, fair articulation (nudity on the Sistine ceiling) rather than shocking anyone.

My heart goes out to spark of life


My betrayers have escaped
and their scoundrels went off
they slipped out of blood with deft of guileful

The moon is darkened
with the treacherous skill
while they guarded their misdeed

I tore off a rose petal
the other
and the third
all their green youth

I picked up…

The first blackguard
the second
then the third

I became Mars
I became iron
I became stone

with myself
I branded wretches
villains, hypocrites and scoundrels
with myself
I kissed evil ones
and hugged all the wiles
and toads, and idolaters
Still

My heart goes out to innocent blood
my heart goes out to tender hearts
my heart goes out to spark of life

Night and an open door


Night and an open door

Spook takes over my head
I see your eyes
Judgment hour – accurately measured moment burns away
I see your eyes
They do not belong to me alone

I threw my soul
Those are the irises of the breeze – yell the dark mirrors
Used up voices grow from blood
They knock over trees by crawling

You return
Roughly wetting the sanctity of my lips
I
Mute and stiff on the threshold
Bitten by the first pain
I spew snake venom

Those are perhaps the silence of your hate and my oblivion
In truth
Neither you, neither me, neither communion

Neither sailors
Left on the lost spectral shores
Neither the cry of ships in the night
Or is it a song of violent love

She is never left voiceless
Even when unheard

The inscriptions of a stoic


As I sing in the cage, the verse comes as a reflection, as …. diversity.

1

ETERNITY
The fragile time of human life
stretches in big words
it meditates for eternity
that will disappear
the moment the big words are complete

2
HUMANS
Human bodies
like clamped rings
they walk,
interwoven with steel joints
and springs
People imbue their minute fluids
into the ears of silence as they speak …

3
POVERTY
Poor kids drag their feet while walking,
ashamed of the shoe,
Marked kids laugh
their unguarded shoe,
The poor feel discomfort
The girls first looked at each other’s feet,
then at their faces

4

PASSION

you are perverse to Didro’s
chief,
or rather Livia,
no
(Later …)
I’d love to call you Gorgon or Messaline.
to good and evil in a precise hour,
in the required and expected context
there is time left to give birth to tragedy

5
GREED
Noble vases
they break more easily
moon sucks lightning and out of real soap bubble
brandy for emperors
because they bring you gifts
6
ON FREEDOM, LIGHT, HOPE
if you awoke one day and find yourself
famous
happy, however mighty might chill you into misery
suffice it, by bidding an anchorite
sail upon the restless darky shore
and long will you feed dread the willow branch foeman
do not let light give up again
TO BE CONTINUED..

Širbegović’s artistry


I put one family in my backpack
they have mice in their heads
and they think of themselves as a cat
and peeks through the lashes scared
they are fake for short-term hunger
they have many art objects in the house
they slip into the stomach limb of painting
the daughter is an artist
protects compiler benchmarks
the quality of the spiritual interior
the bait gives the buyer’s eye
and is capable of long term
reinforced with tan leather
taken from her sister’s breeding bull
the way they combined luxury and artistic adoption
into a new structure of cognition
in the intensity of ignorance and disharmony
they made the artist take hold of the impulse
and write reviews to them
harmony and taste in battle
for the love that never was.

From the diary of a mad writer after…/ the shot


Soon it will all be over. Damn them, the reversed optics of my intracranial madness are picking up the pace. I am no longer a woman, but a macroscopic particle. A peg-top. Call me Peg-Top. This I will do so suddenly, so feverishly, and yet so calmly, my hand will not quake. I will lightly lean forward, legs spread to the width of my shoulders, yes… Calm your body. Aim carefully. Pull the trigger. Take a deep breath. Aim, pull, calm…calm…

Beside absurd begins the strategy.
The wheels of the little machine drill,
She! Grinds the finger rolled in gunpowder with the trigger
Like in the dough,
Illuminates the brain with destructive noise.
May they fire, the clerk murderer should fire and all those others
Who will after the shot carry me out in pieces.

Scattered family after Facebook block


As strip uncorrupted faceted coats
hard shell and blanketed like a universe
cold coldness
of my being
to be
feel like
Carnallite
a bad taste of Taconite
such a cruelty

Whence fear no assault but all that spake
in the beam
all square sides
.. Potere… Elbaite with albite and Lepidolite.
striffing the acrylics
shine, you gorgeous butterfly wing jasper
oh shame to onslet painter
enslaved
artist
’tis, my shuly lungurous etcetera
to confound the pace
but wither- amateur
de blanc et de noir,
a slant of it
allegro
softly coming from anon
thirst-ridden sinews each dim
winch is to toss trails, into the lap of andante
and the harsh fervid moon over feet she lifts
on light footed germinal egg
The Dickite of facebook family block.
The Fukalite in the loud flames
of her benevolent heart,
Disconsolately, I think
she is going to kill herself by
Shawshank gems, rock and pistol.
when the grocery can opens and camels looks like Canterbury
windows
she will do it then
by then
the pastures will glisten
the pocketbook will listen
copper chromate arsenate hydroxide
in visions of endless love.
Scintillating
day, night, aunt Margaret
shall I tell you a secret?
alas, wee birdie and beast
this is the trushes of songs
but still keeps carving dark dark
and the cry works all the time

But mistakes her for the medals
for too long, the bingo father
and the bingo mother
and the bingo sister – lover,
and a flutter, outside the big
retro box full of slime
and nothing but a slime

and the Mind House spots me in Poland
bamboo leaf for lotus, Atomium, La Pedrera
so don’t blame panda for my family corduroy
I have to go somewhere.. I know.
I gotta go swimming in Mid Atlantic
supported by the Meta Picture of myself

feel like
feel like
for daddy may come and daddy may go,
but mummy will go on forever.

Moolooite, hear me
in that Emanating dim pit
stings my smooth plastic absolutia
for I am quartz, a chert, a life
sitting in a fetal position under a large rock
with other dead souls.

a fairly set.

Poems from my travels 2 – Jerusalem


As I crossed my hands, leaning towards the scroll and gazing into the gelded ring on his left hand, adorned by cameos.
I met a furious passenger knight who slammed the pitcher of mead against the table.
‘A bloody mess’
while descending down the stairs of the tomb with a lit torch.

You messenger who mounted upon white tombs
with no desire to do my ought but good
the history of your work may explain my faults
and deeds and strength to fulfil
how I act in hostile daring heat
had vowed to treat my enemies as harlots
with splendour art

Of tombs and shields and gentle ear
escaped by strange occurrences to be long live forgone
to meet no one but you, yet further on your way, where art you going?
Traveller, why mount the weary soldier’ cold corpse,
for this cavern sake that my bones hold?

I travel to blaze all who bears a mortal shield ’tis exposed
my poor unfortunate, afflicted, I best for whatsoever in the
world I found
a captive as I am, usually they crave in graves
from that, to add another visit to the dead seed
by herbage dukedoms, I long to see the things attempted
that never bleed.

Then go ask the tombs’ gallants, not corpses speed, o daughter of Samarra,
they reeked of rottenness, as my valour was ill-fated
not a hathened has remained in this dead body
and my casket of a noble form packed up with silver
and the caskets were surrounded by massive, bare stones.
One of the doors led to the secret chambers. Try to pay your debt through that part!

“But what has happened to you?”

Wide-gaping lion of Judah towards a caval of
Divinity drowned in the woe of burning adamant,
next to a blue shield depicting a menorah
there lie the corpses, like thoughts I loathed,
they rot below the great ball of fire,
while one more favoured higher place
SHOOTING STARS!
on the crystal pavement beneath Mount Zion’s
Here Siege has ceased, irreparable blustering vote
Arabian Googles are… up for proffer
or if in my rising I seemed called
by the tar of my throbbing leaves,
for such another field, her name was Via Dolorosa
surrounded by olive branches
Simplified 5-Step Approach to mesenteric blood flow
swing with Cross of Lorraine from trenches,
The hollows of erstwhile eyes are filled
with mindless thirst an acorn cup in light and shade
Ooze, like tears, trickled down them in thin streams,
or was it, perhaps, blood?
swaying on the scorching sun.…miserable wretches, goodness gracious I died!~

For bold to rest by fate arriving in the sore tide
there, my captive arc, Isis, Osiris
maimed my brute shield, my hauberk, my gaunts
The half-clothed hauberk alone the dreadful voyage
the dreadful for the penny of hazard as for the honour of
Charon’s boat aforesaid and impregnated
form in the air
go ask amid a dune, O daughter of Samarra, through the forest hies

nothing is so beautiful than
thirsty lips enemies stranded ashore
bid them farewell with gunshots

And for my spirit – mild voice persists, capable of rejuvenating hearts and souls,
for fire burst among the bare castle stones,
swallowed the black crows and toothless witches,
and then died down the same moment

Ask how I aflame the dreaded fire to ingle and ash.
Fire tongues of my enemies a huge bonfire
of spirit consists.
Geysers of blood are bursting out of the flaming masonry.

I treat my enemies like harlots.
for the devil follows those on Earth which build their churches in graves, dust and blood
Ask how I act, burned by the sun, the ancient rage I bore in my heart,
the wrath of the gods from the beginning of time,

through the centuries brought to the boiling point,
a wooden statue of an angry Arab god shaped by blows and insults,
by time itself.

Yet sometimes I stepped away, dismounted and threw open an expensive canvas before me.
and sometimes I ran out of breath.
I fell to my knees, facing the hellish building
of the Mameluke ruler Baibars, whose symbol was a Cheetah.

I believed that if I were to touch the illusion, the dream will dissipate and I will again be at the battlefield. Maybe even in front of the Lion gate itself…

Ask, a spark of surprise in her eyes – I drank ginger ale with the Queen of Sheba, bringing her spices and herbs from Cana and many a treasure by sea, from India.
I broke bread with ancient Chaldeans who taught me the secrets of science.

The magical force rules over the wicked jokes,
the learned Chaldean is sworn and ordered to vengeance.
If this all isn’t a dream, I can hardly wait to tell Gods of all of this nonsense

And before you go,
May a powerful word shake up everyone’s hearts,
and let the famed cities weep in despair – for the devil had come to Jerusalem!

The holy arm of the Lord cannot touch that tale – I mock you– but only the devils!
The devil, satyr, the shaitan and
may black foreboding link the passages instead of sentences.

All of the trees around Jerusalem had been long cut.
Days collide and go by, shackled by the thick adamant of swelter.
I breathe through my pores, bleed with the desert stones.
The hills of Judea crumble and get washed away in stuffy, grey dust.

But I remember a cannonade and explosion of a force unleashed
as I squint under the heavy, blinding light

I remember .. everything. Every drop of blood. With nostalgia.

And not to be misunderstood – this is hell.

Pastor doktor Miroljub od Ameriku 2, kamenjarke, buzdovani, zob, reč božija i vakcine


još direktnije na liniji s tvorcem intermedijarne stene na severozapadu Kanade

Zvučni efekti u pozadini su Jerihonske trube,  duvaju pod bedemima korupcije u Srbiji.

Zatrubilo je tačno sedam puta:

  1. Prvi pečat nas upoznaje sa Antihristom – Prva truba izaziva trag vatre koji uništava veći deo flore na planeti
  2. Drugi pečat izaziva velike ratove – Druga truba donosi ono što liči na kometu koja udara u okean i prouzrokuje uništenje velikog dela morskog sveta
  3. Treći od sedam pečata prouzrokuje glad – Treća truba je slična drugoj, samo što se posledice odnose na reke i na jezera a ne na okeane
  4. Četvrti pečat predstavlja bolesti, predstojeće gladovanje i buduće ratove –
    Četvrta od sedam truba izaziva pomračenje sunca i meseca
  5. Peti pečat govori nam o onima koji će umreti mučeničkom smrću. Peta truba donosi invaziju “demonskih insekata” koji uništavaju i muče čovečanstvo. Bog čuje njihov plač za pravdu koju će im i dati u Svoje vreme – u formi
  6. šestog pečata, zajedno sa trubama i sa čašama suda. Šesta truba oslobađa demonsku vojsku koja ubija trećinu čovečanstva. Kada su slomljeni šest od ukupno sedam pečata, dogodiće se razoran zemljotres, koji će prouzrokovati ogromno pomeranje i užasnu pustoš.
  7.  Sedma truba je prethodnica sedam anđela zajedno sa sedam čaša Božijeg gneva.

Sedma čaša suda objašnjena je u Otkrivenju 16:1-21. Sedma truba poziva sedam čaša osude. Prva čaša izaziva bolne ozlede koje uništavaju čovečanstvo. Druga čaša je kobna po život svakog živog bića u moru. Treća čaša izaziva pretvaranje reka u krv. Četvrta čaša izaziva da sunce sija intenzivno kako bi izazvalo veliku bol. Peta čaša stvara veliku tamu i povećavanje bola prve čaše. Šesta čaša izaziva reku Eufrat da presuši i da se armija Antihrista okupi zajedno kako bi se vodila bitka Armagedon. Sedma čaša izaziva katastrofalni zemljotres praćen ogromnim zrnima grada.

Slomljen je sedmi pečat…

Hush


Like the dead that squint
Near strong light
The victors at the end of all suns
Who brought forth the octopuses on the shores
Usually rising
With a finger on the lip
whispering.

The dead are hungry on flame
Joy is their power
By the vermilion of shame
Each new morning is provoked.
The sign of shame before the living
Is achieved by watching:
Roams the eye oblique onto the elbow
And the sharp taste of the living.

Tell me what I merely remember
And what haunts me in the dream to remember
Uncertain is the speech
The hush curses it.
You get the sun used to dieing
On the place where I dissolved
Speaking and hushing,
I hear only that which
Echoes
With barking silence.

Who extolled the dead
Who sang,
Ash or fire?
Do I hear a voice?
Or is it just the falling of the leaves?

I no longer hear you
Nor is my throat strained by vessels.
So have the dead decided
Young lovers
With tongue under the throat
Flung back
towards the twisted death of the living.

A Thousand Ways In Which My Father Died


Some say that my father died …

beside the Tigris, mighty, silent, mysterious.
Witnesses say that his body protruded
from the liquid hot sand,
his face was a mask, a misleadingly golden hue
in the never-setting sun.
Others say that my father resurrected.
One can see him stumbling down the deserted streets
wearing dark sunglasses
escorted by combat Hummers from machine-gun turrets,
escorted by easy -on -the -trigger -boys
(What a lie! BANG BANG! BUM BUM!)

Legend tells my father died
when the huge Erbas E300 Air France crashed into the Atlantic ocean, the most modern aircraft and the pride of the French company.
The ocean whispers he never flew by plane.
Somewhere in the background, I can hear their booming voices: He died dressed in a camouflage uniform of the Iraqi Revolutionary Guard with a glint of the sun on the epaulettes.
He still had a desire to live; at least until the moment he pounces his plane on a selected target and joins the virgins in Paradise.
But the witnesses do swear that he, a martyr – suicide, casually pulled the plug to open the cabin, once, twice, three …
“Damn bastard” – he thought at the time – “Again, there is no electricity! It must be that the fuse under the dash burnt out
once again. The last one we had.”
(Can you imagine that?)

An aircraft runway in front of him has become heated, sand around it shimmers with a bluish light. Across the sky, dark clouds began to spring.
There are rumours he went mad before his death.
He saw the figure of an old woman dressed in mourning dress at the site of the automatic pilot, a contrast to her unreal pale face as if she were immersed in water for days.
He froze in horror while she was silently watching him with empty eye sockets.
“Open the box.” – She said, this time it was a deep voice without emotion. “There’s a picture inside.”
A few seconds later,
scorched dismembered parts of human bodies were scattered miles around. Tormented by madness he died in hysteria, alternately he laughing and shaking with fear
(This is catchy, I give them that!)

In unison voices, they baptized their Gentleman testifying before the global audience:
there was a body of a child, it sailed to the surface,
there was an intact body of a wrinkled old woman with eyes closed, as if asleep, her face pale almost white, her hands turned blue from the water. Beside the corpses swam a black box.
There was a picture inside.
The old lady was me.
The picture was mine.
(I do not know even what to say..
What an imagination!)
They say my father blew himself up with a bomb somewhere, besides the Tigris, mighty, mighty, silent, silent-
mysterious-
Oh so mysterious,
witnesses say that his body protruded from the liquid hot sand, his face was a mask a misleadingly golden hue.
After all, who cares if the bastard died?
You see..
I believe none these stories, do you, Father?
You Father, you murderer, you Father, you murderer.

Morning


This poem was inspired by waking up without coffee (I’m just going to buy it ..) as well as being near Nietzsche where I read his Genealogy of Morality not as a reader but as a hammer reader, strict and concentrated in righteous anger, and eventually I brought decision, to be like a handsome Erendira,  a character from a novel by Gabriel García Márquez, who is slandered by three-four soulless old hags that embody evil and corruption, and Erendira, especially after drinking coffee, embodies innocence and love. At first I thought, looking at García Márquez, I would write a poem reminiscent of medieval hikes, provencal or troubadour tunes, immersed in the dense and fertile world of the Caribbean, but eventually, I decided on a Kafka-Nietzschean kiss in the courtroom with the aforementioned three old crones.

***

Morning, will it be thrust for absolution and we will find it?
continue at full gallop towards twisted lip grown
Morning – gains it gives away.
Yet wonder.
The blood lood in a leather water bag
midnight express mattered maddened
of hemp to a solid kettle
My inflamed Midnight Express set greedily
to sail sailed boulevard chest with luminous shafts
and I, straining in strength, almost sweeps the wariness
till spiced wine has blossomed I clutch beyond dark sense
of boiling kettle
clinging to the staves of a billboard, carved with stones
storm air now hurled awakened, now brushed its coolness on my mouth
I drink my tea the grass-filled mouth root-bulbs..
I stare at the next morning,
the eye could scarcely petrify my
runaway monstrosity
But, my morning – in all is innocent, untested in its passion.
Morning – clear checked to crawl on its glabella
the sluggish slowness of the weird noses of the snail
the intestines drag behind it like an inconspicuous shit show
cracked turnip heads are fevered with a bunch of opioid wasps
I am waiting for an ambulance that is forbidden to come
I’m getting cold though I’m already getting hotter
in future courtrooms, in n Blekinge, Sweden, where I spill the eye of the killer who BjörketorpRunestone(s) me by mobiles:
Incessantly plagues by Maleficence Heerz tooya
a genus of parasitic moth found in Mexico’s mornings
make a night’s work of her neck, so long as the qualities of
morning skinny band of tissue spurted down
I’ve already stood trial for those hope diamonds.
The Curse of the Crying Boy Painting
I stole at St. Peter’s haunt club
a malachite, vibrant indifference femme fatale
the gamboge tree pace the Khmer fields
waiting for widow spider nymphs hourglass-shaped widows

Sheds, barns, and cobweb outhouses.
the iconic courtroom sketch
wandering vendors and loud neighbours and
short weird film behind Kafka whose future
is in the egg.
a fixture in the K. poetry scene – a cigarette femme fatale holder
drinks her menstrual cup blood bedecked and thickened blood
earrings and a comb for a disgraced bold judge
of femme Fatale slanderer, half-sleep yawns
the surrounding swamps of the travelling circus
a gatekeeper a stool
pair natural prairie dog foot earring
a labyrinth utterly find as quite as cold

I’m no longer cold but someone else is always hotter
dark funeral hat for or next to the naked mole-rat 
on a dark night full of corners
the imaginary gaze of a goth Kafka’s tint
to let the letters go racing a bit demented
Luciferian smokiness
until within the ring-dove wails of morning winter

Oh, Daisy.

For you it’s , and for us – Just waiting for someone to come to get us

to grab us,  give us a sitz bath, to kiss and bring us together.

 

 

 

 

I Am Easy To Find – just patiently check out my crazy Libra sign alter egos one by one


I always thought the astrologer was wrong about my horoscope, but looking at Alicia Vikander’s projects, I realize that we share a common infatuation (as well as a horoscope sign, we are both Libras) to beautiful visual statements that invite sophisticated audiences to philosophize about their own lives.
If the concept of Samsara is excluded from the narrative, we are all born, living and dying creatures. Or maybe not.
A fact that many do not accept – thanatophobia leads them to religion and faith in the afterlife – Most people fear death, at least a little. I believe that sincere believers and their opposite, those who do not believe at all, including myself, are least afraid of the end of their lives.
I Am Easy To Find is a short (about 25 minutes long) movie that conveys this not accepting or accepting death quite well. Both an album by The National (Alicia is their confirmed fan), and the movie are playful siblings who like to steal from one another. They both share music, words and certain aesthetic elements.
Like Alicia and I share our crazy Libra zodiac sign.. and we both played Lara Croft 2013 at least more than 40 times (as for myself, for no particular reason 🙂
I’m not interested in the band at all, but in Alicia’s short (and long )films, in general, and in Alicia, of course! (Love is in the air!)

I saw them all.

Between commercial  roles like those in the fantastically stupid movie Tullip Fever, the role on which La Usurpadora would envy her, that sweet Swedish lass,  flicka who looks like a Creole girl, Alicia, who would be the envy of Fiorella or the blind Esmeralda for who you would never think she’s gonna see again! .. or any heroine from Latin American soap operas would envy her commercial roles…,  meanwhile likes to play with avant-garde movie projects, mostly projecting her own self… (at least one of her “I” because every Libra is at least a duplicate personality .. (as if the director is looking through her mind, it’s all so insightful .. I bet Alicia who talks like a chatterbox, otherwise, would state something like this …

It’s famous Libra’s diplomacy, not to mention Alicia’s social gabble-gabble, because Alicia is, at least to my opinion.. all just not a devoted wife and mother. It seems to me that her life is a little more interesting than the universal mediocrity heroine in the film – at least when she is in the role of Lara Croft (sequel confirmed, 2020, by the way ..)

In fact, it seems to me that even for the mediocrity standards the life of a “Flicka” in the movie is boring to an Olympic degree. It seems to be a deliberate exaggeration – a parody, even.
The twist in this movie where Alicia fascinated me with her transformation is that there is no twist at all which is a cliche for me, and a disappointment for my dramatic nature – there is no big change in the whole heroine’s life, just small adjustments and tender regrets.
Sound, images and a certain feeling are the main elements that make this movie work, but the story is, however, surprisingly non-spectacular and that probably makes sense… As many art films are open to interpretation, many will see different things but trying to try out their own interpretation…
Honestly, if Alicia hadn’t starred in this movie, I wouldn’t have found anything to connect with, so – I have no interpretation, and I don’t like the band, too.
What I liked about it was Alicia quirkiness in the way of a “crazy Libra”, which I associated with completely and laughed sweetly at her exaggerations for which I have no particular interpretation but a statement: “It’s Alicia Vikander”. And I like, like most people, something or someone I can connect with. Also, the fact that the video was shot in beautiful black and white and subdued but also somewhat dynamic images work just fine…
Basically, the movie is about the desire of the majority to make the most of their lives, which brings pressure in the stages of life in the domain of work, family, home .. find the right husband, wife! Buy a house! Eat breakfast cereals! Logic dictates! Born! Die! Don’t die! Don’t be born! Have at least one child! an unrealistic challenge that is doomed to failure from the start. Life brings both failures and opportunities to make adjustments and choices that will always hurt us. Alicia captured well the fragility and elusiveness of that “substance.” That is why there is no place for noise and drama, but for an artificial and quiet way of film storytelling and agglomeration of life with music that is a reflection of the same. At least that was, perhaps, the intention of the director…
After watching the movie, I realized how I would not want to live, which is an absolute cinematic success and for that, I thank the entire film crew.
Alicia is already preparing a new commercial role, but I’m glad she left for and she will continue to feed her alter ego, for everyone’s enjoyment as well.

Till the next Lara Croft 2020 sequel, no more Tullip Fever, pretty please.

Utamničena lepota/La belleza encarcelada (video version in Serbian and Spanish)


https://leilasamarrai.wordpress.com/2012/04/12/utamnicena-lepota/

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0067881/?ref_=ttrel_rel_tt

Helen: [to Menelaus] Am I allowed to speak against the charge? To show you that if I die that I shall die most wronged and innocent?
Menelaus: I have come to kill you, not to argue with you.
Hecuba: [ironically] Oh, hear her. She must not die unheard.

https://leilasamarrai.wordpress.com/2012/09/24/la-belleza-encarcelada/

 

It’s all Cersei fault/you don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?


“I have a gift for you as well. Your life.”

Daenerys Targaryen

(11.10 ovako ću da se i ja pretvaram da ne znam srpski bilo gde gda se nalazim..  , doduše neretko to činim u javnom prevozu u Srbiji  i što je najsmešnije, prolazi mi, fino se ispričam na par jezika, pa i na dotračkom kog već poprilično dobro govorim.. valirijski mi je težak 🙂 možda smislim svoj.. dobar lingvist to može, a i i imam jedan u rezervi koji sam koristila kao klinka i još ga koristim za neka pisanija – nije alfabetsko pismo…)

“Speaking to Cersei will not prevent a slaughter,” she says. “But perhaps it’s good the people see that Daenerys Stormborn made every effort to avoid bloodshed, and Cersei Lannister refused. They should know whom to blame when the sky falls down upon them.”

Daenerys Targaryen

 

All fiction has to have a certain amount of truth in it to be powerful. George R. R. Martin

Daenerys has always had a problematic attitude towards violence.

https://www.insider.com/game-of-thrones-daenerys-george-rr-martin-morality-war-violence-2019-5

BUT.

Every ruler in history, Caesar. …
Alexander the Great. …
Joseph II. …
Genghis Khan. …
Queen Elizabeth I. …
Charlemagne. has always been faced with difficult decisions to make. Sometimes good intentions are not enough to make the right choice. Daenerys would be a good ruler. She’s a visionary and a conqueror, and we know what’s happening to them – see the list above … (Caesar and Alexander)
It’s easy for Sansa to make decisions while gossiping about Daenerys
from the crypt ..
Cersei knew she was impulsive and all she needed to do was bring her to the edge.
If I were Missandei’s place, to Cersei’s annoyance and knowing Daenerys, I would not utter these words, but rather tell Danny to calm down and wait for the city to surrender. That would be Cersei’s defeat. The bitch Cersei calculated everything in advance.
Again, I understand Missandei .. beneath a peaceful surface od a delicate and intelligent woman is a person who has spent her life in slavery. what about her wrath?
The problem is that Cersei may have been one of the smaller problems for Daenerys in Westeros, where they are quite unaccustomed to the people of her forge.

Actually, I have much more respect for Cersei ‘(inverted mirror of Daenerys) than for the mediocrity Sansa. I do not have complains about season 8 in terms of what happened already HOW it happened. They did kind of gloss over that in the movie.  Emilia did her best to fix that and she did. As well as Lena. The cast is awesome and Martin created some brilliant, complex and nuanced, interesting characters. 

And once more for the history records! Best version 🙂 p.s kudos for Grey Worm.

 

 

Blood of my blood/Qoy qoyi youtube playlist which I am often using when writing poetry


Blood of my blood/Qoy qoyi

 

there, this music inspired me, while listening to, I am writing this:

in unison: we kneel
we scandal, amazed to hear
where lone fleeces set in white and meat and whine

She enters the bet of an eye
she enters the pride never spoken.
she enters the downcast kingdom’s turfed grave
of Babylon mouth

La belleza encarcelada


En tres capas, una noche tártara.

La belleza encarcelada desvaneció

En el abrazo de Érebo.

Helena, Helena, la intriga te carcomió…

Esto es muerte, pero no la pura,

Sino una bestial, malvada y sucia,

Maniobra de venganza de las mujeres celosas.

Némesis, estamos en el cruce de nuestras vías

Que como agua se agitan,

En la boca a lo amargo me sabe

Por los tiempos pasados y los tiempos futuros.

Al yacer desnuda entre cuatro paredes

Machacando las heridas del cuerpo encadenado

De las olas sale la verdad desnuda y ciega, pero casta.

La vida es mala, y la belleza es taimada.

¡Las Troyanas, barbas de los guerreros!

Mítica, mi muerte recuerdo eterno será

en los pómulos abultados, palidecidos,

Al fiasco carente del Sol.

¡La muerte!

Anémica,

masticada,

bella, por la fuerza escondida.

Piel con la rabia enfurecida

Incendió los ojos del mar,

Se fue navegando la estrella

Hacia la ETERNIDAD.

They steal/Advice to poets, Beware of www.allpoetry.com


allpoetry.com stole my 85 poems, along with the mandatory (it seems that this can not be avoided, I must be irresistible ..) sexual harassment.
This way: in order to prevent further theft (this is not the first time, poem hunter is not much better.. ), I will not post anything on the blog until it is published with a renowned publishing house.
Advice to poets: do not send anything to magazines, do not put your poems on any so-called website for poets and similar nonsense, nothing that is not copyrighted in the form of a book.
They steal.

SAMIRA’S COMFORT


You bite the poem under the tongue and words which made reminiscences into dust

They do not understand you, actrisa.
It is time for aktshluss

You were chewed by the populist phenomenology
Of verses devoid of poetry
In the band of false troubadours, you cannot be actor primarium patrium
Aristocrat among poetesses do not forget that the Arabs divined your fate with arrows

Do not worry, Leila, I enjoyed reading your verses,
I Samira, the trade woman from the satrapy of forgotten empires
On my breasts, I bared the burden heavier than the grandiose pillars from Hatra
Forever banished from the cradle of two folks I belonged to by the disfavour of Alan and Beog who found a dying city

samira

Do not worry, Leila, with you are Greeks and Sarmatians and your name is nailed into the Grecian affiches
Announced by Sophocles on fliers and billboards of alternative theatres
And Caligula dances with your Greek single act dramas on Palatine games

Do not worry, Leila, unpopular poetess in a world which you overcame
With the miracle of discovering the secret home in which you mastered silences

Do not forget everything is a matter of injustice because there is no justice
Do not forget the world became a minefield and an insult
Do not forget another world will be chiselled by your verses of immortal longing

Do not worry, Leila, there will be time for all those who hotly growl on the mention of your name to understand

The unbearable ease of existence and the feather of your French Alexandrine.

Hash yeri m’anhoon, ma jinne m’ayyeyaan?!


Hash yeri m’anhoon, ma jinne m’ayyeyaan?!

Anha aqafak san ale yeroa ei Khaloon ray qaf khalasaroon mae!
Hash yeri adothrae hrazef ido yomme Havazzhifi Kazga?
Hash yeri vaddrivi dozge anni ma khogaroon shiqethi mori majin vohhari okrenegwin mori?
Hash yeri vazhi anhaan Rhaeshis Andahli, jin azho me-Khal Drogo ast asqoy mehas hatif Maisi Krazaaji kash shieraki vitihir asavvasoon?
Hash yeri m’anhoon, ma jinne m’ayyeyaan?!

Preporuke “LGBT” filmova – sveto trojstvo


The Perfection I would recommend this movie, too. It’s lesbian and it’s weird. Not a spectacular movie but enjoyable if you like “sick” movies”.

Vita y Virginia – Too bad Eva Green discarded this movie. I would love to see my girl as Virginia. Well, she had her reasons, I believe something is not quite there… for her… I would discuss it more if I had seen the movie. For now, I will shut up. (Btw I adore her newest movie “Dumbo”. What a cute blue-eyed elephant and his ma’ miss Jumbo)

“Independence has no sex”

I cannot find it anywhere to watch it but this trailer.

Vita y Virginia

I find it difficult to (I’m talking about this video in which  I speak in Serbian) find a film about a “female” love who is not stereotyped, mounted   and abbreviated, crippled in every possible sense, the films are not sufficiently communicative, they lack depth, there is usually one actress butch, the other is a fragile and confused femme that cheats on its fiancé .. I do not want to look at any alternative to a heterosexual relationship if I decided to watch a film about  love between females. (if love should have a prefix .. it seems that in this world it can not be avoided)
I recommend “Disobedience”  https://www.imdb.com/title/tt6108178/and “Ha – Sodot” https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0782867/?ref_=nv_sr_1?ref_=nv_sr_1
I will not even mention Aimee and Jaguar and Lost and Delirious. These are cult films for the nonsense that are being recorded today regardless of the sexuality of the characters.

Video N0 1

 

 

Video N02

 

 

Video N03

 

There will be time for me to tell you everything


There will be time for me to tell you everything

 

We quail, not live.

We dance on rugs of fern

In rhythm of the certainly dead

 

Beware the tear of the lunatic and bridges with no fences

Victims and solitude of the prayer

Patting on the shoulder

And emptiness in which the counsellors die

 

Beware

Do not be found again

 

We quail

In the meantime, we do not live

Mockery


In the words of a woman – a woman is dying
(an absurdity, a dream)

while she is traversing the centuries
(a hundred years in a minute)
secluded illusions hurl mockery at her
like sober sods
to a drunken passer-by

So, ask the circle how cruel and seductive
the Himalayan seclusion is within a cube

The Second Birth Of Tragedy/Gods too seek sanctuary in dreams


Gods too seek sanctuary in dreams
(Conversation of Hypnos and Melpomene)
(place of deed: the cave of Hypnos)

(Hypnos sits in front of the fireplace, wrapped in fur, shivers from the cold while simultaneously playing with a pendulum carefully observing it from all sides. It appears as though he deeply thought over, those thoughts brightening him. Melpomene enters, all in rags, unkempt hair, bareheaded.)

MELPOMENE:
Do not look at me with sleepy eyes! I know where I should be now!
(ripping the remains of the dress from her body and plucking hair. She wept.)

HYPNOS:
Have you cancelled the play?

MELPOMENE:
Not I her, but her me… Not I… No longer.

(Hypnos returns to the pendulum and wraps himself in a black chasuble, while he shivers with his entire body.)

MELPOMENE:
(gazing at him)
Trickster, oh Hypnos
Wrapped you are in theatre curtains
Blacker, they are than thy cave
Wave towards me with your pendulum
I dreamt with an eye open
And I have seen reality, oh Kirkan
That beloved lie of the Theater
Do it!
Mesmerize me!
For the whisk of the mad hypnotiser
Sways even the wings of Gods
Illusion!
The wings of a bird
Overshadowed once a dream!
(A Shadow is hard to overshadow!)
Livid, pale, awake to death
I am no longer Melpomene!
An aggressive clown I am
In the theatre of comedy!
(Follow me into the theatre!)
Come! Do! Wave your hand!
In front of the audience, the wild beast
With a thousand soft heads!
Overshadow me! There, in front of all!
For
Perhaps clean laught(mock) er(y)
Summons the mind to play
And Nature to believe the Truth
(Who to whom but an illusion to an illusion)
Perhaps destructive фортура
Fills the emptiness in the act
In role!
Enchant me!
Either I sleep as before
Or close my eyes.

HYPNOS:
Let us go, but after I stoke the fireplace.

MELPOMENE:
Yes, too cold is for dreams… And I…
Play passions
Improvising merely…
Here and there…
No flash

HYPNOS:
Tragedy!

MELPOMENE:
Fixed her eyes on me, horrified!
Оh, my loving Hegote
From whose lips
I drank
Plunged the knife to hearts
Murdered heroes
In a role, I play
And all that…
Miserable, miserably lifeless
Are furries prosecuting me?
Must be because of Megara
She set me against Talia
Maddened by jealous
So my wag sister
Derides me out of vengeance.
Let us go now, depart!
(rises suddenly)

HYPNOS:
May the fire burn
Now that I have stoked it!

MELPOMENE:
One wood is breaking
In the fireplace. It is raw.
His organic nature
Does not let it go aflame!
Same as I… Burning
With fire of violent passion.
Violence! Without passion! That is it!
And the violence!
She burns, but I do not see
Nor the senses feel her.
If I could like before
Believe in passion
I would birth the truth
And be the same old
Playful tragedienne
I lost myself in the theatre!
(Why I?! Melpomene!)
Merely I am a wild cavewoman
Strolling the theatre, but not walking it
The play does not survive.

HYPNOS:
Console yourself, Melpomene! That is good tragedy!

MELPOMENE:
But unblessed!
Unawakened by conscious, how was she made?!
Not by my skilful hand!
She made herself!
Broke loose from her Createress!
Run amok!
No Muse to tame her!
What inspiration is it?
It is sinister grimacing
And roaring of Omni-human
In a shroud of theatre curtains
Dead souls, dead tongue awaits me.

HYPNOS:
I am life for I am Dream
I am Illusion and Companion
What I learned
Teaching Calderon
And few more awakened Dreamers
Walking on dreams
Whipping their hopes
Waking untamed desires
Benumbing reminiscences
Rinsing the dream of Gods!
That much double-natured I am!
No need for a sabre nor a blade
Nor a mask
To kill the knavish king
If you can see
The fire of fantasy in the fireplace,
Do not accede for untruth
And do not play from the heart (A Woman!)
Against the Stanislavic pendulum.
(As he spoke it, Tragedy reborn.)

Disappearance


1
Who could speak the language
of Gods, and remain forgotten yet
unloved, a sailor
who dreamt of bridging the wings
of the earth, the blind
man who survived the sirens
and remained aloof and well known on the shore.
2
I swung in the rain in Hades
and torched the warrior’s burgh in windy Troy.
I cried over the misery
of a stone forgotten me, a solitary
woman in solitary confinement,
the sun of a day askew, a skeleton
waving, a bird in the pink afternoon,
my sigh shimmering towards the horizon…
3
Fires shrieked!
Lord! My chorus burst forth
and all wishes evaporated
into the all-knowing, faded margin.
4.
Storm raging inside,
my head aching out
a grain of salt
in this driblet of blood.
5
Et Vous… pagans who gnawed my manuscripts,
listen to the wind of centuries
tangling the strings of a gaggle of pissed off gods.
6
Unloved, peckish heart!
Rainy absence on the shore
become my name!
7
I saw these images
on the bloodied road:
first: me falling to my knees.
Second: back on my feet, struggling.
Third: the lips of Judas.
8
Words speak
silence, not lust nor
curses, emptying
in darkness, fragmented, apart.
My nothingness announced.
9
Everything was said,
phrases like crushed glass in the mouth,
heard only as lies,
if heard at all.
10
As I trudge through the light-trickled night
I wonder why, is it just me,
my heavens, my uncalmed darkness.

Brinkman’s poetics for supper


If I had a machine gun, you would now be dead!
masturbation-live as others,
spermatogonia shabby dinner-to win back
Brinkman’s poetics for supper
super hero-super-paedophile-tailored costume
Erkundungen!
To the west 1 & 2,
Hitler and Eva Braun exercise oral sex.
Keiner Weiss Mehr
silent scream impasse.
The rest of the milk in the bottle,
hairs in the comb and stockings
Ultimately everything sneaks through the nose
and spit again. And on that watchmaker,
you, the Capitalist cunt,
I’m sending you saliva,
and what will you send to me wiederum?
if I had a machine gun, you would now be dead!
*Rolf Dieter Brinkman (Rolf-Dieter Brinkman) is a leading underground poet and one of the founders of a new rebel-line in German poetry

Marigolds, My Wounds


Sipping wassail at the grave
of the Russian mystic,

lunacy crucified in his eye,
I knit a wreath for the vixen

suffocating next to the shaft,
gnawing the grid with her teeth,

cracking joists, swallowing
sonnets. She rode the Lion’s gate

in a low-cut dress, separated
with her axe and tossed in the pyre

the heads of the five Mycenaean bulls.
Blindness tucks me into that bier

of ravaged marigolds, wounds
serenaded in shadows

and my body, reeking,
unlike one who never dies.

Lulled within the years
a bloodied sun rises in the west.

Tartaria


We got out of the little finger’s body.
Hold on for
stilts
On the panel heads.
but our blood on their bullets
we lit
aversive quantum. caboodle
scarlet ferocity.
on the Vinalia
behind the avent scenes
up again, then up again and the door mirror …
It is a virtual spotlight
three containers
streaming down
vitriol
something stinks here
this fucking hell maternite
mater ma ‘
if .. if .. if!
those who have nothing will have eaten.
eat junks
if you do not know any tricks
fair and square.
junks. Mother’s milk.
Tartarean
where stomach rages
as the sky toward evil thoughts
eat. me. tarator – sauce

20120229001840kontejner2

Instead of my biography, to all..


I am not thoughtful
Atalanta who’s hopping
near the court of Harita and Himeros
inspired by the announced visit of Papa Legbo
through the Caribbean bays and with the astonishing rhythm
of all possible percussions with the fish pepper from Florida,
bathed naked body in the waters of Permes.
On the contrary, I pay for a joint septic pit near Belgrade Krnjača,
I’m just someone who is an inadvertent speaker, looking for an editor, a poet,
with the echo of the whisper,
with the one neuron that remained in my head after postwar stress… and it serves me for knocking on my keyboard’ door for heaven is not
a place on Earth.. well, logically speaking, Belinda… Xiao moto (Sorry about that in guajarati..)
.. In vain, in vain…