1976s Laughing Little Girl Swinging High on Outdoor Swing

image: 1950s Laughing Little Girl Swinging High on Outdoor Swing


I opened the door to my intimacy ajar,

At the end, a tatter thrown to the road is left.
A fable interesting to none,

the secret in the service of the one who scares and enchants. 


Lo for Algol smacked me at the birth

    The path of the past burst forth

The path of rebirth is frightening

   The infant must burst forth

Expanding, expanding, expanding

   I art in a red heat glow

Colored in oddity

   Colored in oddity

Colored in oddity



I survived poison.

I was four… 



I was raised a wild one among the lunatics,
a tabula rasa with madness scribbled on it.
Howls of animus heard when the seminal
river breaks beneath the gibbous moon
below the navel where milky pearls
drip into deluges of steamy rivulets
below the eyebrow where the fears
woundingly drip into the eyes of undulant sadness
Très tremendous!



Numerous books in a single passage,

a secret whispering behind the scenes,

even Perun himself spoke to me,

 or an Arab Djinn of sorts, I

 got the Serbian and Arabian war gods mixed up

I do not agree with either Dem Serbses

 nor them Allahu Akbars

The kids are kicking a can

The kids are kicking me like I am a can

I ran the street in great fear,

but kept seeing them everywhere.

 Blind eye. Clap of hands. ‘Kick the arabian bastard.’



I grew into those wrinkled kids. At times I kick cans.

     The numbers mean fate.

I became so old and superstitious.

   I’m forty two years old. 


You, with a wax masque of a Summer rain, inconstant scatterbrain
You, who are present but not present,


Hate has a heart! The green heart of shot Lorca and wrath of God!
He, alike you:
Does not love!
Does not forgive!
Does not kiss!


I will devour your summer’s ashes.





My shriek hummed together

with the wind towards the timeless ocean of temporality

on the shores of cursed waters

where dead faces grinned, like this one here, and she kept cursing me.

 – May evil see you,

black tooth bite you…..

May you be buried alive.

She was drunk.



..with a whip…a poker.. on my back…and…

Please, grandma, don’t!

BUT she arose in the beer bottle

In her – are worlds – of rakia

She is a painter.

She arts in heaven.

By forgiving her..  I am a miracle!

The forgiveness itself was posed as a violent

Vision, light, unbound, round, spherical

And searing –!



Indeed, it’s all bones, skulls, rib – vaults

Places, places, next to possible perhaps…

-beneath of multiform pits of corridors

Please, uncle, don’t!

He is a painter.

pantera legged, mustached,

Yelled out at me from behind

Filled with the substance of nasty virtue

“You will all be up shit’s creek,

a bathroom attendant!”

Far less then geniuses
Who lead the fools
With fornication, cunningness and booze
To hidden thoughts.

He still waits

For all my anathemas.

and fumes his pungent breath into your soul!

Motherfucker is still alive.



… while my lip flesh quivered,

and teeth dropped, I…I…

An all the children around me all with aging faces,

 teeth corrupt to their roots and bloody

, and each of then growled at me

, for they were not kids,

 but Algol’s demons summoned at me for a cause.



Your knife cut through all the conditions of disorder.
It’s entirely safe in my hands.


I sat in

The centre of


Too holy to pray 

For a decade

It was the go-go Serbia ‘90s.

A tremendous sacrifice




My shadow takes you off the wall,
a wingless bird in the darkness of the room,
will skin the marble face and his smile of a victor!


Spartacus is beautiful

Beautiful enough for me…

 Stab them all!
Stab them with a spear!
Remember the dungeons and betrayals!
Remembrance is death for repentance!

Stab them, Sura and live free! 


I sit here quiet.

Nobody visits me, I visit nobody.

I know nobody.

I guess I killed them all.

When I eat I do not take the food at the table.

Books of wisdom make me feel nauseous.



Even hope at times answers to the mute.
The dug away umbra from the extinguished lantern.

I do not weep for the lack of life.

I made peace with being knotted in,

removed from the arrogance of worms,

into my own hole, dark kitchenette and all…



Burn! Burn!
Flame Pompeii, die in anguish!
May the abandoned children clap their hands!
May the thrilled audience scream of laughter!

Like I . . . Like I who screamed
Maasalam*, my Child! Maasalam!

*ma’a salama good-bye in Arabic

While resting from my presence…

image: Dreamlike Photo Manipulations by Mikko Raima

An existence
A germ of eternity

A peasant spouse, the God of Death,
With bulging eyes and mouths-a-shiver,
And then the story goes;

Befitting my dark being’s tastes,
In spite of insanity and oblivion –
With in tune, swings of the pen within the place.

My soul’s tale is clear.
I dissolved it.
A trap of hallucinations, thus I whispered,

(daring not to
listen any further.)
When I think towards a time when I was NOT
Without knowing how, or when, or from where
I stepped in deep darkness…

Wickedness with a wink,

but a concept of rhythm and tempo
Wherein the uttered swung enchanted,
Rooted in the intuition of this spirit of darkness

Or whatever was sent to get me
I melt.
An unfinished temple

With the presence of the spirits there for eons,
The true polyglots, storms of words,
Yet calming, mildly warning,

A vast gathering around me, out of nowhere
An unseen ghostly hand recording what is happening
And out of nowhere and unbeknownst to me

That self-exile, quite disgusting mystery
My malice is going for theatrics.
For I AM, for I am NOT,

I am exactly the same, the cross built,
A shrine in the castle,
(Of the entire
human experience…)

Sick of scribbles – nothing
Sick of wisdom – nothing
Too alive to die

Entangled with the ray of death
And stepped away suddenly,
Neither dead nor living to live,

Everything lasts in shades long buried.
A wild eternity dismembered
By monstrous hands of the gods moan.

I reached the edge of the gradient,
Entangled with the ray of death and
Stepped away suddenly.

And finally, at once,
Until I’ve taken a
Bite of my mental wellbeing…

I shut my eyes…
To fill with fear
To inhale the scent

While resting from my presence.

A golden effigy

image: Tantric Sorcerer,” William Mortensen, 1932


Let no single stone in the world suppose
After breathing, pain and dying
Slowly, shileded by new cloth in well – devised battle

Oh, my lions…

March in dark blue trousers, again and again
with the nerve!, between tooth decay and the pure
hill of milled edge.

In preaching of apostles
in credulity of harlots
I arise to – day, forged within

A golden effigy.

quick to take an artistic hint
avoid the obvious and
the commonplace;

For I am invoked by the blood, through
the flesh blood and the malignant scorpion
I dispel Irae in the heart and soothes…

I copulate with half-said thing.
For I am a dead scholar.
Sink not upon a bad of pyre, It is a flowery pain.

It’s coming down in buckets
Looks like a stigmata
My buckets runneth over.

Holy me!

For I am in twirl and retreat, through utter crack
I swim with yama – ubas grotesques.
Dance deathless

When I die
I make a meal
of myself.

For I tore down my images…
A weary time through confession of
Every man who speaks of me

I am a beggar of all churches
I am a Being of all trades
I am not here
I am not even – there.

May imnmutable secret shine brightly upon
our withered body:

I summon thee, Unreallity, that thee
may see when trick is gone.
I remain.

By the virtue of all deaf and dumb and Lazarus,
I command thee: come forth and beguile them
with lies closed behind and orphaned moons.

Erotic to the soul, fair golden goddess
decieve us.

Fitness actually helps you become a stoic

“No man has the right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training. it is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strengt of which his body is capable.”


and the body serve the aim of bringing the mind to its full potential.



why I work out at home

Marcus Aurelius quotes

“Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be One.” – Marcus Aurelius

(Limited edition print available for purchase.)

“Think of the life you have lived until now as over and, as a dead man, see what’s left as a bonus and live it according to Nature. Love the hand that fate deals you and play it as your own, for what could be more fitting?” – Marcus Aurelius

“It never ceases to amaze me: we all love ourselves more than other people, but care more about their opinion than our own.” – Marcus Aurelius

“In your actions, don’t procrastinate. In your conversations, don’t confuse. In your thoughts, don’t wander. In your soul, don’t be passive or aggressive. In your life, don’t be all about business.” – Marcus Aurelius

“If it is not right, do not do it, if it is not true, do not say it.” – Marcus Aurelius

“The best revenge is not to be like your enemy.” – Marcus Aurelius

“Choose not to be harmed — and you won’t feel harmed. Don’t feel harmed — and you haven’t been.” – Marcus Aurelius

“It’s time you realized that you have something in you more powerful and miraculous than the things that affect you and make you dance like a puppet.” – Marcus Aurelius

“External thinks are not the problem. It’s your assessment of them. Which you can erase right now.” – Marcus Aurelius

“If anyone can refute me—show me I’m making a mistake or looking at things from the wrong perspective—I’ll gladly change. It’s the truth I’m after, and the truth never harmed anyone.” – Marcus Aurelius

“You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” – Marcus Aurelius

“Be tolerant with others and strict with yourself.” – Marcus Aurelius

Seneca quotes

“We are more often frightened than hurt; and we suffer more in imagination than in reality.” – Seneca

“If a man knows not which port he sails, no wind is favorable.” – Seneca

“No person has the power to have everything they want, but it is in their power not to want what they don’t have, and to cheerfully put to good use what they do have.” – Seneca

“Nothing, to my way of thinking, is a better proof of a well ordered mind than a man’s ability to stop just where he is and pass some time in his own company.” – Seneca


“He who fears death will never do anything worth of a man who is alive.” – Seneca

“This is our big mistake: to think we look forward to death. Most of death is already gone. Whatever time has passed is owned by death.” – Seneca

“Life is very short and anxious for those who forget the past, neglect the present, and fear the future.” – Seneca

“I judge you unfortunate because you have never lived through misfortune. You have passed through life without an opponent—no one can ever know what you are capable of, not even you.” – Seneca

“How does it help…to make troubles heavier by bemoaning them?” – Seneca

“People are frugal in guarding their personal property; but as soon as it comes to squandering tim ethey are most wasteful of the one thing in which it is right to be stingy.” – Seneca

Epictetus Quotes

“How long are you going to wait before you demand the best for yourself?” – Epictetus

(Limited edition print available for purchase.)

“Don’t seek for everything to happen as you wish it would, but rather wish that everything happens as it actually will—then your life will flow well.” – Epictetus

“First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do.” – Epictetus

“Curb your desire—don’t set your heart on so many things and you will get what you need.” – Epictetus

“That’s why the philosophers warn us not to be satisfied with mere learning, but to add practice and then training. For as time passes we forget what we learned and end up doing the opposite, and hold opinions the opposite of what we should.” – Epictetus

“Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it.”- Epictetus

“The chief task in life is simply this: to identify and separate matters so that I can say clearly to myself which are externals not under my control, and which have to do with the choices I actually control. Where then do I look for good and evil? Not to uncontrollable externals, but within myself to the choices that are my own…” – Epictetus

“If anyone tells you that a certain person speaks ill of you, do not make excuses about what is said of you but answer, ‘He was ignorant of my other faults, else he would have not mentioned these alone.’” – Epictetus

Cato Quotes

“I begin to speak only when I’m certain what I’ll say isn’t better left unsaid.” – Cato

Viktor Frankl Quotes

“What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for some goal worthy of him.” – Viktor Frankl

“When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” – Viktor Frankl

Dark Eros

You are here again,
observing, waiting within me…
brutal eye

„Turn around“

You arrive
In nudeness
Of a black seam

„Begone, pensiveness ! Leave the red lace
and a ducat to the mourner for the last blues.”

But, behold!

You and I challenge each other
For thirty six years
With pride we welcome the morning
In fornication.

If I would to eat you, sharp ear!
And devoured the hood
If I would… sharpen your dagger
And your spade, Lady, kiss in the darkness
I could with you –with a bullet to the forehead!
Into the creak of the sky

For There and Here
For Now and Never
With a clap and colors
In cold hue

In the womb of a casket, laid and pale
To shine with you in moonlight.



Tri pesme istkane u magli


Ja imam tog nevidljivog nekog
nevidljivi neko ko bi mi sasio haljinu

od meteorske tkanine
i pod modrim kolutovima ociju neka!
telo je krvavo i nago
na nemu drhte boje, ti, velicanstveno raspadanje!

ja nemam pesme, nemam nade, nemam odjeka
biti tek u laticama stihova nalik na sprovod
magla zalosnih, zudeci, zudeci, iz besmisla
jurim na svetlo i cisto…

u ludilu uma svaki cvet besprekorno blista
kao vrhovi drveca sto cakle se.. ocnjaci
na mesecini i belina papira / hajde napisi, mozes li?
crne kutije s ocima
dok zver raste i misli se prevrcu
svi cemo jednog dana umreti
obojeni krvlju svojih mrtvaca


u noci zabodenoj u  telo
s vrha najviseh tornja do mora
bacila se dama, galebovi svedoce da se kikotala
“Letite, letite odletite mladi!
u kasu od krvave pene
a onda su galebovi zaplakali
magle narikale
kule tugovale
tornjevi izvrnuli oci
strazar se zakikotao

bila je..
potpuno srecna. ne kao u zivotu.
leti leti ka nocnoj kuci
bogovi su se ugodno nasmejali
prekriveni plastovima, zutom, crvenom,
otvorene grudi
pocepana utroba
uradila bih sve kao zaljubljenica iz petnaestog veka
iskusna kurvarka zaljubljena u matorog coveka
ili lezbija cija svetlost bila je kratkog veka

svaki dan procitam ili izmislim dva tri ovakva romana
mentalnog zdravlja radi
jer moja smrt je razdrazujuce pretvaranje
kao svaki smrtnik pridajem joj vaznost
onoliko koliko po nuznosti pridajem vaznost
kamenim oblacima sto ridaju u skoljci neba


Nesto plazi oko vrata, to je
zla zvezda koju krivim za zastave koje stenju,
za prebijen oblak, za rodjenje moje smrti
s visokih kula ili supljeg suda
samo treba pratiti suzni trag
sipati suze u vrc, drazesni dar
gubavog bakalina
ako i znam put,

i tako se s vrcem gegam palubom ladje drevne,
stare legende
sto je izronila iz mora

nasred sna…
umirem u bojama vode,
ja strankinja smehotresnih ociju
medju zracima sunca i ognjenim talasima
poigravajuci se plavim, veselim pucinama

i krivim zlu zvezdu i price i sne za umiranje
moje smrti
za poslednji odjek

i / tek u snu / mom…

tako tesko je u ovoj mracnoj sobi
toliko nedostaje prijateljstvo i obilje, rekao je Pesnik
zinula sam da progovorim, a onda zapalila pisma
duh koji umire, rece: Nevazno! Neka cvili.
cela ceta duhova u borcu, nemani
obasjana zutim svecama u mracnoj sobi
preki ratni sud spram onog sto vezan je
u mracnoj komori, a vrisak mu sapuce sve jace
i / tek u snu / mome…

tela slicna jedna drugome
slicna jedna drugome
tela.. u skladnoj tvorevini
ona tako lepo peva, senka
ona ubira plodove
to je.. samo senka.. sen ljubavi
tezina koju sam ponela sa sobom
huji mi mozgom dok Gospod kaze
nemas se cega bojati, ti sto krijes
suzne oci grejuci pustos paklom
u nedrima kraj svog prozora
dok si sanjala budjenje iz bauka u mraku
dok si sanjala obmane i tajne, isecena
bronzana lica, psa, maglu i blato
obucena u krpe, mislis na slepo
mislis da sanjas, mislis da vidis
i mislis da ces napokon moci
sebi samoj verovati
da kao zadivljeno dete poslusno
mozes zapaliti sunce u svom srcu
tom prekrasnom komadu zemlje
da se ushitis i da podaris
kao sunce, u mracnom satu vrta
zavesa za stakla prevucena preko
Getsimana, vecna ponoc
utehu za sveca
kroz molitvu
Svetac rece / u muzici trajes, proslost narasta
sadasnjost uzivaljava, buducnost preti
i sve skriveno je othranilo san
i sve sto je buktalo je podiglo stit
dolazi plam.. koji nagriza rec, bez beznadja
ne postoji nada, nesalomiva kao volja, a ako postoji
ljubi beznadje svoje i neka! umnozavaj muku dragima sebi
da i njihova sreca oko tebe raste, da zapevaju najezeni
od gadjenja: Oprosti joj, nije znala sta radi, a vi
Nesalomivi! uvek spremni!ne zaboravite na vreme o kojem
niste znali apsolutno nista
u zao cas
govorim iz vremena, godina, bezazlenih
blagih dana i grlim zatvorenika / pesnika
koji se rukovao s crninom i placuci usao
u vatru, cija strast na tepihu oblizuje
bilo nabore planina
bilo slobode bezimene
dok ubija, ona stari i konacno umire
Zarobljenik rece /
posumnjacu u tvoju pamet, pesnikinjo
jer sve sto videh videh i videh
prodah poljubih usnama od krvi
nauci me da smrt nije privremena nego se umire zauvek
i naucilo me da znam

kako se gori

Ukoliko optužena ponovo zgreši ….

Ukoliko optužena ponovo zgreši te joj se ukine i ovaj FB nalog, oslobođena je obaveze da otvara još jedan novi jer se Proces zavrsava, a optužena će biti obešena zbog sumnje da želi da organizovano, konspirativno, obori Fejsbuk vlast.

Kažu da je buntovna optužena i nakon ugašenog naloga, uz poklič “mai ki zhavorsa!”, sama isekla vlastiti fejsbuk nalog mističnim sečivom iskovanim od licenciranog, kako tvrdi, kovača, da je napujdala komarce na građane prestonice Lusaka u Zambiji ne bi li zavladala malarija i kolera, a o filterima za vodu kojim se zaraza sprečava ne vredi trošiti ni reči…  Pominje, mrmlja o nekakvom Abdulahu od koga “okrenuh glavu, to inherentno zlo, ja zlim delima, već prozirnoj odeći sklona sam”, na kraju zavitlavši mač kroz propali prozor u Malom mokrom lugu.
Oko nje su se skupili fotoreporteri..

“Više nemate NITI JEDAN?”

“Ja sam u skladu sa Zakonikom oslobođena daljnje agonije..  zašto ovaj kratki život zameniti večnom patnjom?!”

“Ispričajte nam sve kako je bilo”

“Hoću, ukoliko se Proces nastavi ka svome kraju, jer slobodna sam konačno od Procesa, društvenog konstrukta s arhajskim prizvukom. Zauzvrat tražim samo izmenu par kamij – kafka amandmana i  “Bešenje pre roka – zakonik”

Oni ponoviše molbu, optužena ispolira sečivo jezikom, pope se na stolicu, obavi sve pripreme s konopcem i poprečnom gredom, uzdahnu i reče: “Samo da se ne načekam.. baš kao Jozef K.”


(ja govoriti o sebi u trećem licu”, prim. cit)

Sklona ka lepim umetnostima, naročito fotografiji, optužena je, baš kao i njene starije sestre Somer, Mišel i Džen, pokazivala svoj sportski brus već u ranoj fazi otvorenog naloga, koji je potrajao 6 dana, jedan dan manje nego što potraja stvaranje sveta, koji pre stvaranja, baš kao i optužene nalog beše bez obličja i pust. Optužena se branila rečima: “Znam da  napaljena dahtanja preko mejla, uvrede nabeđenih mužjaka, seksualno perverzne poruke, primala sam  poruke koje su, blagorečeno, bile škakljive prirode. Bili su navalentni i podrazumevalo se da “izađem u susret”. Naravno, odbila  sam i to je bilo to.” –

Na to, ona leže da se odmori, a kad se probudi, zateče sebe vezanu za kuku pored kamina u svojoj kući. Monitor je bio upaljen, a na njemu beše iscrtan, u stilu a la Džejson Polok, šareni ekran s porukom koja je kružila po ekranu, potpisana s Abdulah, a glasila je ovako: “Abdulahova kuka – za žene koje se žale, ogovarajum govore ili samo previše pričaju. Ukoliko nastaviš da se opireš, sledeća je Abdulahova napredna uzda, biće zakačena za tvoju glavu, a izbočeni komad metala prekriven šiljcima biće uguran u tvoja usta. Svaki put kada budeš pomerala jezik, šiljci će ga razbiti.”

Neko vreme je optužena sedela kraj kamina, vezana za kuku dok se ne doseti i zajauka: “Naučila sam svoju lekciju, gospodaru! Vodi me kroz serbadžar i planine kurdske s maskom na licu da povećam svoje poniženje.”

Tad se na ekranu pojavi lisica, optužena shvati da Fejsbuk vode Kurdi i uplaši se silno.

A Abdudah se razneži i ukaza joj se na monitoru go u okovima i zagrme glas iz kućišta:

“Jallah, zadrži dah, ženo i na izričitu želju moju padni u nesvest kao da si publika Velikog Čarobnjaka, a dajem ti za pravo da me zoveš i magični ljubavniče.”

Tad ovaj majstor egzibicionista umetnosti i magije, kao i čitava fejsbuk kurd administracija učini da kuka nestane. I još joj reče da priđe prozoru s koga je pucao vidik na Avalu, podigne ruke u pravcu neba i da se zakune da će lajkovati spolovilo svakog mužjaka koje joj stigne u inboks, a ako već mora da se slika u brushlateru na trčanje mu pridoda hidžab.

“Svežino moga oka, lepotu svoju kao paganka da si ne pokazuj. Ti si Alahovo dete”

Al’ ne lezi vraže, nastavi ona da se slika, dok su za njom pljuštale poruke i nalepnice veštačkog cveća, u kojima je bujala romaneskna moć.

Kakvo je to samo stiker cveće bilo! Zeleno kao nada i trava što sja veselim sjajem smaragda, baš kao Turgenjevljeve “Prolećne vode”.

I ljubopitsvo i učešće beše veliko, a poruke pljuštaše, kao i bračne ponude iz Zambije, zemlje krokodila, a optužena se branila rečima: “Ti, zavodnik, ti rob, ti nemoralan, ti otimač.” – na službenom jeziku Fejsbuka arapsko – irskom.

Nakon tako zverskog odnosa prema nevinom, moralno superiornom polu koji predstavljaju muški korisnici fejsbuka, optužena dobi sledeću opomenu za:

Odbacivanje muškaraca kroz istoriju na osnovu njihove duhovnosti, intelekta, humanosti i drugog vida učešća u građenju civilizacije. Fejsbuk nije poligon za iživljavanje!

Petoga dana, nakon što reče: “Crk’o da bogda” i optuži izvesnog Abu Bubu Hasana za  falsifikaciju transkripta i inih policijskih i sudskih izveštaja nakon što joj je poslao skeniranu novčanicu kroz zambijsku aplikaciju Lotovi svedoci u iznosu od toliko i toliko zambijskih lota i to lažnu, u zamenu da mu lajkuje stiker, odlučiše Kurdi, koji behu išto što i Zambijci, i Zambijci, što behu išto što i Gambijci, da se požale Abdulahu ne bi li kaznio veliku grešnicu, da je istuče bičevima debljim no kravlji repovi, a onda banuje, kad to nisu mogli oni.

I učini Abdulah, no tek šesti dan, kad skinu ionako labavo pričvršćen hidžab i zapali ga nasred sobe, a njome stade da pali i društvenu mrežu, dok je vrištala: “Živela Evropa! Živeo fitnes!” tog šestog, sudbonosnog dana oko podneva uz strahovit prasak, i stade Gambija, Zambija i svi Kurdi s njima u usta optužene što behu velika kao krater vulkana,  rasprsnuše se od nagomilanog pritiska. Eksplozija je izbacila visok stub lave zatrpan kišom kamenja, a mnogi korisnici se pogušiše od otrovnih plinova.. zaledi se Abdulah za čitavu večnost, a stisnu tajno dugme za tren…

U vestima u šest bi javljeno, juče, da je Zambiju, Gambiju neka žena u brusu za trčanje, zubima oštrim kao mač pomerila iz temelja, da se kurdske planine tresu kao trošna kuća, dok je optužena mahala nekakvim mističnim sečivom od čelika koji se slomio kad je njim htela napokon da pročačka zube.

I krojači svetske sudbine  behu taj dan prestrašeni od kamenja koje je padalo s neba, izuzev Hiulari Klinton koja je odlučila ida izađe van s jastucima na glavi.

Bez obzira na uloženu pronicljivost, opreznost i energiju, optužena ne samo da nije uspela u svom poduhvatu da opstane na kreativnoj FB mreži (obaveza od koje je oslobođena KDSVM gornjim citatom iz Kafkijanskog Levitikusa, optužena je obešena i tek sad, na kraju Procesa, obešena kao velika ratnica i šamanka,  obešena o drvo sveta “Yggdrassil!”  i dok se koprca i uvija, očajnički se hvata za uže koje joj se sve jače useca u vrat, a konopac joj je prvo stegao vratnu venu, zatim dublje karotidne arterije, zaustavio joj dotok krvi u mozak i isključio ga. Dakle, ne postavlja se pitanje raspleta ovog sukoba); optužena je, na kraju puta  gde ju je čekala nemilosrdna kazna, podnela molbu u dva primerka za: Izvršenje Presude i Mogućnost drugačijeg rešenja, nakon što je Fejsbuk Intelligence odbio molbu optužene da umesto vešanja obavlja društvenokorisni ili humanitarni rad u kojem će je večnost preteći.


The star-shaped polygon

Let’s see behind the disease, dementia, raptures

The star-shaped polygon

Is the manifestation of our sensibility

Of images of all the teachers and relatives

Who stole the follies of our will

at the end of our search for insight, trust, and compassion

Let’s strengthen our bewildering defences

Let’s rule Dantesque inferno

Let’s preserve our mysterious secrets

To be gentle but persistently questioning yourself

Towards the futurity


Its fluid.. time of chaos and madness?

Apart from misinterpreting, did I just say that out loud?

Not just the emergence theory of odds and ends

As one devil of a long time crouches in the shadow

Made by the cybernetic for the sake of lust a fornicator

Quite different from pornos no class pimp

What does he know about pain, haha

While taking apart our new vertebrae

Azazel rolls back his eyes, the better to see us with,

Fiddling with our scorched spine

He survives, he processes, he adapts, he metabolizes.

The light – brown spirit is the last little turd

In infinite brilliance

While his inner worm of

Lust is devouring and tearing him up

He will eventually become

Plain, gelatinous turkey

Just one last forlorn wish

To  float eternally,  out – of – body – experience

In a never-ending chain, very much out of the way.


No meat, no tears, no rotten teeth,

No frog’ s breath,

No decaying holes,

No sweat secretion,

No wrecked drops of self, ever!

Just cold cold floating turkey lingering

in Time and Space



“The Pigs Have Flown, now what?”, Leila Samarrai, 2014

Never trust a poet who can’t use his swears properly.

In poetry, never argue with your ex-lovers.

The poem is a universal message of the exquisite selection of the separation of the vanity.

The true poet is capable to put the whole universe in his poem or sometimes even in just one single verse.

The best literature and the purpose of art is the survival of the human race.

Art is a game. Poetry is a game. At the end of the day, either
you know how to play or not…

A tip for a writer during the creation of a masterpiece:
Turn off your brain and write.

In poetry, always open your heart. There is no poetry without bloodshed.

The consequences of global climate change: After the rain the sun will not shine again.