Boris K and Lara Croft

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Boris K. wanted to meet Lara Croft following the series’ cinematic adaption in order to capture her by the braids. Boris K. couldn’t really see Lara Croft as a female performer in the 3D platform action adventure Tomb Raider: Legend.

“She is a living lady,” Boris K. thought, dreaming: “This is the woman for me – unstoppable and constantly eager for new adventures.” Perhaps the only company I’ve ever desired… But where exactly should I meet her? He inquired, swallowing the last drops of vodka. Boris couldn’t find her despite his inexplicable superpowers.

Lara had spent some time in Peru looking for a strange relic from Kualopek’s tomb, and it was believed that she had returned from a hunting expedition in the Himalayas, where she had slain a four-meter-high yeti

“It’s simple, Boris K.,” said the local Zarathustra. “She may be found in every cemetery. She is waiting for the families of the dead to leave before picking up everything from the deceased’s table. Boris K cried with delight. Lara Croft knows the precise area of every cemetery in Belgrade, the fasting schedule… everything he ever desired as a prerequisite for his perfect life companion as he once published his marriage terms as an ad in Love Romance..

Boris K. has just begun his long-awaited job as a gravedigger when he sees a muscular female silhouette on the Phenomenal Plot of the Former Dictator of the Phenomenon of the Republic jumping on the graves of the Dead in a cat jump, light in reflection and soft in landing, holding Lancelot’s shield.

A woman with ponytails takes a coiled papyrus scroll from her bra, close to her heart. Boris K. would later discover that he holds one of the few copies of the most complete edition of the enigmatic Egyptian Book of the Dead, which has fascinated humanity for ages.

Boris K. emerges from the shadows: “I need a candle to read in the dark, miss.”

“Stay away, gravedigger; I’d better dig alone. “The scroll is visible.” “However, the candle provides illumination. “What exactly are you searching for, miss?”

“Chapter 181 sarcophagus – a mummy that assures the soul’s return to the body”

Boris K. drank from the flask. Lara looked at her with interest… and then at the enigmatic tiny man. He appeared to be known to her from somewhere…

“Boris K is my name. I work as a gravedigger. I bury the deceased in the earth like potatoes – Boris K. is perplexed by his own bad joke and shivers in terror.

“Funeral planning is a frigid job.” All those celestial funerals… But the superhero becomes accustomed to it “Lara fixed her gaze on the shovel.

As a toddler, she had gardening lessons from her scary horticulturist at the Hatfield House, who was believed to live forever and was oddly reminiscent of Boris K.

She yearned for the climbing net and the six steel, hot-dip galvanized twisted wires laced with polyamide rope as she ascended the climbers in the park that surrounding the home and older structures of the Old Court, previously possessed by Henry VIII. She also knew everything there was to know about digging, drilling, and overturning the ground.

She recalled her old children’s rake, which she had used in the autumn days, and that afternoon, when collecting fallen leaves, when she went to dig up her mother, she realized that her mother’s grave was empty, with all the remains. That’s how it all began…

They started digging together.

They dug with tenacity in the locations described by Boris K., and the earth was hard, unfriendly, and frozen, which was strange because it was May, and outside the environment was thick, humid, and scarcely tolerable heat, the true Gothic of the American South.

Boris K. began by wiping the perspiration off his brow. “Please allow me. This is not a job for a lady, Lara Croft said to Boris K.

Boris K. proposed that she be laid to rest in his graveyard on the outskirts of the central cemetery, which he was assigned to during the night shifts. “The house’s name is the Balkans.” It’s out of date, but it’s being updated soon. “Until then, I’ll keep doing exhumations,” Boris K. vowed.

Lara didn’t move…

Boris K. went to change, to collect extra equipment, a bag of riches, and everything they needed, and Lara took advantage of Boris’s absence, taking Boris’s paper with the location of the Central Cemetery and discovering that her copy was incorrect. She then grabs a hoe and gets to work.

“It’s him. It’s a creepy gardener. – While bringing the bodies out, Lara said angrily: “He most likely murdered my birth mother.” “At the very least, he knows where she is.”

Lara comes to the conclusion that Boris is one of those phenomena that should not be neglected. Or, at the very least, observe from a safe distance. It appeared familiar to her since she identified him as a bomber using surveillance camera video and eyewitness cell phones after a series of explosions on Basque Country beaches, but she is now certain she was mistaken. Boris’ trachea had no scars, despite the fact that the bomber had been shot in the throat.

She came to the conclusion that it was all Marvel’s fault. Boris was talking 19 to the dozen while digging. – “This is how he introduces himself and other characters into a slew of separate storylines before combining them into one extremely fulfilling event. He constructed his own linked universe in which he is a superhero with extraordinary abilities. Be rational, Lara. There is no such thing as a scary timeless gardener. This small man is a menace… Ah, there he is, Lara, calm… “

Boris K. reappeared, invigorated and happy, and offered that he continue digging himself. “We will dig the world’s deepest cemetery and put all our treasures there.”

“I have no option but to accept, however you will not be compensated for your labor,” Lara replied aloud, thinking to herself, “The belief in magical thinking is a clear schizotypal affliction. However, immortality is still a potential… Didn’t I discover the black holes on my own? “worms that bring eternity and wipe away people’s lives, including mine, when I went into them and came out with superhuman skills.” Perhaps my mother, Amelia, is locked in a parallel realm with an endless number of different destinies. Exactly like a gardener. Alternately, Boris K. – Boris, you will not escape me! I still need some answers! I must understand!”

Boris K. drilled tomb holes all night, and as Lara grabbed what she needed from each grave, Boris would place a rock in the hole. The grave robbing appeared to be rather straightforward.

“People allow themselves to be mummified in the expectation that they may be revived one day,” Lara explained.

“They may like company, but everyone is just as heartbroken as if they were dead.” Boris responded. “Aren’t you interested in those war veterans’ medals?” he said. “Plot 12B”

“Every bit counts,” the heroine remarked, “but my priority is a two-millennium-old woman.” Lara kept her gaze fixed on Boris’ flask. He then grabbed a hidden scroll from his quiver. Her secret trump cards were generally hidden in a button pocket of her military M65 trousers, but the secret scroll was longer than the Irish Morpet…

“What do you want for her?”

“Is it for vodka?”

“This is for the flask.” It’s a significant artifact.”

“The most ordinary stainless steel flask, I acquired it fairly inexpensively from the ancient Akkadians at the flea market,” Boris K. shrugged.

“That is where you are mistaken, Boris K.” It’s an ancient Phoenician ivory flask. The first millennium before Christ. I sipped the Qabr Hiram of Tire, the Phoenician king whose tomb I had just left, from this flask. I discovered a mummy in the sarcophagus, however it was missing the renowned flask with flower pattern.”

“Enough. Here you have it!” Boris slapped her on the back. He disliked being hampered in his efforts. “I agree provided you let me dig with you,” Lara Croft expressed gratitude. Lara pauses for a second before pulling the flask…

Lara then resolves to tell him her secret, crossing her fingers behind her back. What pleases him now will upset him later – she will rationally – so I will catch him in the act and know his identity, just as I found the secret of Phenomenization that I defy myself with… But does he as well… Lara, focus… Take precautions. The universe relies on you.

Then, with a beautiful grin, she said:

“I play games about you and your travels on a regular basis, Boris. I hold you in high regard. Wherever I go, any mummy that speaks or an artifact that demonstrates its strange power is a sign of Whom We Are Waiting for, Dead or Alive, with a biblical-like admiration for Boris K. the superhero, a seemingly drunkard and house painter, with a flask in his hand and a graph faber pencil that defies the phenomenon whose origins I am still researching… ” And we granted Boris the ability to see the origin and end of the world, as well as create and destroy it. Controlling lightning, thunder, droughts and earthquakes, storms and showers, curing illnesses… And the goddess of dawn will guard him from the dark turmoil… that goddess is me, Lara Croft”

Boris K. looked at Lara Croft, noticing that the drink had taken her under its wing.

Then he stated that he too plays games with her, that he views her as Teja, a woman of brilliance and gems, and that the Phenorepics think he’s insane because of it.

“Boris K., they’re digitophobic.” Of course, I am a living woman, but let it stay among us., superheroes”

Lara also stated that she was hungry. Boris K. joins Lara Croft at the funeral table, extolling the Scandinavian tomb.

“All we have to do is go to the Gamla Uppsala field together and dig.” There’s an even finer woman there than the one we’ve just discovered, dressed in Viking burial robes embroidered with Arabic letters.”

Boris K. spoke late into the night as they shared a flask and ate a fatty roast. Boris’ vodka was cursed in such a way that the flask could never be tested to the bottom.

When they were finished, the dead were two picks short of a load, starving in the underworld, and tomb raiders, in silence, aside from the occasional quarrel over who would eat the most Bavarian snacks from Regensburg, near the Danube, where the world’s oldest pretzels were discovered, with mouths full of charred earth from heavy digging, embark on a new campaign to desecrate the buffet on plot 12 / a.

The speech about Boris K. “Serbian Chaplin” continues…


I have to stress that this is the second part of the promotion, there is more, but I think this part is the most representative for my book because I spoke a lot about Boris K. and other topics, too.

“The Adventures of Boris K” is a humorous and satirical story, among other things. In the midst of all the hardship he goes through, he has not forgotten to joke and play. He is a grown man but also a child. Still, it would be unfair to leave Boris K. only and exclusively in ” jaws ” of satire. The Phenomenon Republic may be an ideal state, but it must have its own Sewer opposition. These above are no better than the ones below, but, equally sadly, the lower alternative is also no better than the flappy opposition. Looks like Boris K. will see the writings’ on the wall whether he is at the top or he is down and it is not just him. The Republic is a totally totalitarian system where the opposition does not represent any kind of spiritual reprieve.

On the contrary. Boris K. does not suffer from belonging to literal ideologies. He simply wants to survive. That’s why BK chose communism because it doesn’t like injustice. Communism is in practice full of injustice, but  Boris K. does not enslave to ideologies. He is a man who would like to survive, and with whom some gods play with and place him in the most atypical situations. He is, in general, a revolutionary. Alone against everyone, from story to story, lonely but not classic, not like Clint Eastwood in spaghetti westerns. The first association with Boris K. is Joseph K. There are similarities between them, not only in the first letter of the surname! First of all, Boris K., like Kafka’s Joseph K., is actually in the midst of a “process.” The case of Joseph K. is a kind of quasi-judicial process, in the case of Boris K. about the process of so-called “phenomenization,” which is actually another name for all of us (in the countries where it was implemented) well known “transition”. The transition process is similar to the one in which Joseph K. found himself.- both of them are “adorned” by similar lawlessness and disrespect for the legal procedure, basically the defendants’ non-existent guilt, but also by the similar outcome of the process: at the end of the transition process (“phenomenization”) we see Boris K. broken, robbed, without beaten bell, bent over and reduced, to such an extent that he managed to fit a bottle of vodka in his landlady’s drawer, Froulline Suzi. But that’s the basic difference between Joseph and Boris K. – the Boris K. saga begins where the saga of Joseph K. ends, therefore, at the end of the process. Namely, in the first story in this collection of stories about Boris K.’s trials, tribulation”, the story of “Vodka”, we find him defeated by debt bondage enslaved in a bottle of vodka, condemned by the Transition Court, the so-called the “invisible hands” of the market, which grinds and crashes into bottles of alcoholic hopelessness all those who cannot adjust a cruel capitalist game called “The Dictatorship of Money” in which people and their happiness are completely irrelevant because only money matters.

(That is exactly how it is portrayed in the story “Boris K. In The Gambling Den”, in a plastic way, which explicitly states:

“Here in this casino, we do things a bit differently. You are not in control of the money, but rather the money controls you. Your bets are not your own. In fact, the currency bets on you. Follow me? Follow me…” Ovde ne igraju ljudi u pare, već pare u ljude.” (srp.)

On the other hand, “The Adventures of Boris K” can also be read in the pop art key. Boris K. is the art hero of an animated cartoon for intelligent, adult people. Not being the winner of situations like the other Dylan Dog-type superheroes but a victim of transition. The connection between him and Dylan is that both are facing impossible tasks. The world in which Boris resides is no less horror than the world of ghosts and demons that Dylan Dog clashes with. With this being an emphasis on totalitarianism. To the horror of the bureaucracy. It is most similar to Asterix. In the episode when Asterix and Obelisk overcome all difficulties and duels, but when they are sent to a Roman municipality for documents, they go crazy because they realize that they have to go through 100 counters to complete the paperwork.

So they go on foot to the sixth floor, so it turns out that they have to go downstairs again because of one seal and then again on the sixth floor. It is similar to Calimero. Given how often the victim is, he is also somewhat Mr.Bean in terms of indiscretion. In any case, the reader can choose in which key they will read “The Adventures of Boris K.” because variety is the main determinant of the book. For fans of epic fantasy, on the menu are the adventures of Boris K. in the fight with witch Hurricane and Grandma Valentina (stories: “Boris K. and the Witch Hurricane”, “Boris K. and the Mirror”), for fans of pop art there are adventures similar to the story “Boris K. and Chuck Norris,” “Boris K. and Smooth Criminal.” In any case, the reader will follow Boris K. “Serbian Chaplin”,  SF traveler through space and time, in a Kafkaian atmosphere, with a healthy, childlike, throaty laugh, forgotten in childhood while reading our first favorite books, although it is essentially a very gloomy topic, on that I reckon I was able to open  doors of laughter to readers, because today is the hardest thing to make people laugh to tears.

Leila Samarrai, author of The Adventures Of Boris K

Your bets are not your own. In fact, the currency bets on you.


…. Namely, in the first story in this collection of stories about Boris K.’s  trials, tribulations”, the story of “Vodka”, we find him defeated by debt bondage enslaved in a bottle of vodka, condemned by the Transition Court, the so-called the “invisible hands” of the market, which grinds and crashes into bottles of alcoholic hopelessness all those who cannot adjust a cruel capitalist game called “The Dictatorship of Money” in which people and their happiness are completely irrelevant because only money matters.

(That is exactly how it is portrayed in the story “Boris K. In The Gambling Den”, in a plastic way, which explicitly states:

“Here in this casino, we do things a bit differently. You are not in control of the money, but rather the money controls you. Your bets are not your own. In fact, the currency bets on you. Follow me? Follow me…” Ovde ne igraju ljudi u pare, već pare u ljude.”  (srp.)

Leila Samarrai

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Boris K. In The Gambling Den”, The Adventures Of Boris K.  an excerpt from the story

When Boris K. enters the Casino “Alexander” to try out his luck, he immediately notices there are no tables, no croupier, no chips, no slots, and no poker room. As he pauses, a seemingly invisible but powerful hand slams the door behind him with a BANG!

“Do you want to wager on red…or black?”, echoes a rough voice throughout the empty room. Since he was a Marxist by decree, Boris K.’s choice was red as expected.

Suddenly, the lights turn on and the room comes alive with gambling of every kind everywhere. The main lobby is full of blackjack tables and there are rows of slot machines. The croupier named Stendal grabs a flabbergasted Boris K. by his collar and leads him to the gaming table with an ominous whispering voice that carries within it a subtle hint of the apocalypse:

“Here, in this casino, we do things a bit differently. You are not in control of the money, but rather the money controls you. Your bets are not your own. In fact, the currency bets on you.  Follow me? Follow me…”

Quickly, the players from the noble banking houses are gathered together, so the betting process can begin. Mr.Dollar, a Canadian by origin, as well as his fellow American brother, a returnee from the Moon whom everyone fondly calls ‘Apollo,’ move toward each other, along with the ‘Euro-who-jumps’ and the inevitable ‘Serbian Dinar-to-drop,’ with the Avgan currency lagging behind auspiciously.

Seeing Boris K, the banknotes look to each other and then immediately reach toward him conspiratorially.

CATCH THAT MAN! They shout in unison.

They reach out their hands, grab Boris K., and spin him into the roulette wheel. He lies there prone and in shock.

“Lay a bet on Boris K…. put that little man on red, and make sure he doesn’t escape!” spoke a poker-faced George Washington, in a confident and authoritative voice. Being the hard cash, he was recognized as the calmest, coolest, and most collected of all the currencies.

“What are you saying, George? Move Boris K. back into the black! He is a Communist, for God’s sake, the state will always make sure he’s flush.”

“Let’s be reasonable, gentlemen”, replies Mr Dollar, carefully watching Boris K. as he spins within the roulette so fast, his head looks like it might pop off his body.

“Just wait until the Russians lay their hands on your bet!” With that comment, the eyes of the rounded Dinaric coin fill with tears that flow softly and quietly down her cheeks.

“Those Russians are originally Serbs from the Caucasus,” whispers the Serbian currency as she gazes wistfully into the distance, dreaming of Atlantis.

Boris K. was getting annoyed. To come out alive and a winner, he knew he needed to take this matter into his own hands. No more letting the chips fall where they may! He had to figure out a way to grab that roulette bead that was skillfully hopping around the rim of the roulette wheel, just out of his grasp.

A new player then arrives in the gambling hall with a confident sort of swagger acquired through years of marching through Moscow, as evidenced by her enviably muscled calves. The lovely, but deadly, Russian Ruble gets ready to sit down when she is stopped, mid-squat, by a singing Italian currency with a mythical lyre in her hand.

“Give me my seat back!, you pseudo-Christian globalist!” shouts the Ruble aggressively.

“No dice my dear. THIS chair is mine!”, roars the Italian Lira, indignantly.

Euro, who considers himself the most valuable currency in attendance, chooses not to help out Ruble because he can’t stand her acting live a diva all the time. Flushed and offended, Ruble imbibes a glass (or two) of vodka and then slaps Abraham across the face for watching innocently from the sidelines:

FUCK YOU, Abraham! She shrieks mid-slap.

At that, the strategizing Serbian Dinar jumps up with the help of the Hungarian Reserves to defuse the argument. Dinar then toots distractingly before initiating a four corners offence for Boris K. First, she takes the tranquillizers from the Albanian, AFN currency, who is distracted as she is turned toward Mecca, then Dinar wraps it inside of a paper airplane, and makes a ‘hail Mary’ pass toward Boris K, who catches it with one hand while finally grabbing the roulette ball in the other. He tranquilizes that damn ball and the game is over. With this victory, the banknotes take off running, so frenzied, many develop spontaneous wrinkles.

Taking advantage of the panicked mob mentality that no croupier, even Stendal the Swede, could calm with offerings of Francs and Ferraris, Boris K. escapes. He runs out of the gambling den and into the expansive parking lot where he sees a private jet with an open door. He runs, followed by a long line of currency and scurries onto the plane, just as the doors close. He sits down, looking at the roulette ball sleeping dreamily in his hands. He silently swears to never gamble again. “I will never lay another bet! No roulette wheel, not even Russian Roulette! “, Boris exclaims. That’s when he looks up, distracted by voices behind him. At this moment he realizes he’s boarded a plane owned by Al-Qaeda. Not only has he just been saved by a gassy Dinar, but now he’s surrounded by terrorists!…..

 

an excerpt from the story…

Boris K. i konačno rešenje za Viktora Frankla


Godina 1946. U  krčmi “Paviljon za samoubistva”, udaljenoj svega nekoliko koraka od centralnog groblja u Vieni, Boris K. I Viktor Frankl razgovaraju… Boris K. se žali na noćne more. Autor knjige “Kako da sačuvam živce”, napisao je gomilu knjiga koje su (reklo bi se) mogle biti od pomoći Borisu K. Boris K. koji je procitao sve  Franklove knjige.

Doktor ga sluša sa pola uveta. Cinicni osmejak mu obigrava oko usne. Boris K. nosi prepoznatljiv mu autfit – “mornar Popaj” majicu na pruge. Frankl nosi logoraško odelo. “Tako se lakše rve sa bolom..”, došaptavaju se gosti krčme od kojih je većina delila Franklovu sudbinu. (kao i autfit, i po koja krčmarica i konobar)

– Prolazim kroz teške čase.. – otvoreno će Boris K. – Morao sam da te vidim, doktore.
Psihijatar se počeša po glavi,  izgubljenog pogleda, razbarušene kose, zureći u prazan papir.

– Ne znam kako ti ja mogu pomoći, Borise K. – Frankl sleže ramenima, a Boris K. se zaplaka, na šta ga doktor s mržnjom pogleda, okrvavljenog oka..  Tad se pribra i nastavi, dok je Boris zadovoljno protrljao ruke – Obojica tumaramo po tami, Borise K.  s tim da je moja malo.. mračnija..  –  uskliknu i podiže mali prst uvis – Nad Evropom bde i bdiće, ujedinjene,  strava, kob i sen. Da svi bdimo sudbinom čovečjom, a ne samo sile svetle zvezde zlokobne, već sile noći bez kraja,  ti – uhvati Borisa K. za majicu na pruge i snažnim zahvatom je pokida na komade, kidajući pruge jednu za drugom i otkrivši Borisov mišićavi torzo –

“Ah! – postide se Boris K. pred krčmaricom koja zasikta ka njemu – Lakše to, doktore! Nemam rezervnu.. A i dama.. “

Doktorove zenice su se rumenele kao okrvavljena zora. Odmahnu rukom:

“Pridruži nam se, o Borise K. Živela revolucija i tamna brigada! Cannons to the left, cannons to the right, baš kao u pesmi”, Frankl obliznu palac, okrete stranicu i nastavi da pomno čita prazan papir, okrećući oči od Borisa u stranu….

Boris K. se strese pod utiskom sablasnog proročanstva.

Tad reši da istera stvari na čistac. Kako da dođe do rešenja vlastitog problema? Samo napred i hrabro, Borise, to je samo doktor..  Pitaj ga!:

– Recite, zašto ste dosad niste ubili, Viktore?

“Ko kaže da nisam?”, lakonski će Frankl i nastavi uz jedno “Dovraga!”, da zuri u papir. “Nemam ideja, a Tully me čeka!”

Tad priznade Borisu K da mu njegovo prusustvo ide na živce, ali da to ne shvati lično, jer “Nešto me draži kod tebe, Borise K. a ne umem da objasnim zašto.. Možda je do mirisa.. “

Boris K. shvati da se doktoru miris njegovih nogu nije dopadao.
“Isto je i sa gostima krčme – paviljona. Nerviraju me ti.. uspeli suicidi. Srećna kopilad”, mrmljao je psihijatar nepovezano u bradu.

Tad Boris shvati da Preživeli tumaraju krčmom odsutnog pogleda i okrvavljenih očnjaka. Obuze ga jeza.

I doktor Frankl se, najedared, ustremi ka njemu, izgladnelog pogleda, ispruživši ruke… Ostali mu se pridružiše dok je Boris K. hrlio ka ulazu ophrvan užasom i pobeže koliko ga noge nose.

Bilo je to sastajalište Preživelih. Ko je od njih živ, a ko mrtav, bilo je pitanje od manjeg značaja, mislio je nekoliko časa kasnije Boris K. zapalivši cigaretu Laki Strajka, sam samcijat, kraj kontejnera, delimično pribran i utešen svetlošću obližnje ulične bandere.

Boris K. stoga odluči da se vrati Franklu po savet deset milenijuma kasnije, kad se i psihijatar malo pribere.

Ako ga večnost u kojoj je boravio ne pretekne u plemenitom naumu.

Should Boris K. learn English?


Boris K. would like to learn English to be understood by 0.01% per cent of the Chinese people who speak English (which is not a small number) Although, adds Boris K, the Chinese do not even know Chinese, let alone English. So there his inclination goes in the trash! Boris K. would like to learn English so that he could say “Long Live Grandma!” to Queen Elizabeth though, her “younger brother” cannot celebrate his third term! …! Boris K. would love to learn English so that he could greet Obama, but Obama does not speak English, he speaks American. And that’s why Boris K. decided to say hello to Obama in the Swahili language, which is the dialect in Central Africa, where Obama was born. “Habari za jioni Rais, kama wanawake na Watoto!” Obama was thrilled! Boris K. realizes only Obama understands him. Still, Boris K. will not vote for Obama because that would be his third term which is impossible. Boris K. would vote for Putin as Putin could remain Russia’s life-long president and spread his influence even further but Putin wouldn’t need Boris’s vote in that case either … Boris K. also, will not vote for “The Pussy Lips”, since Serbia already has enough fools who will vote for him. Boris K., in the end, would love to say ‘Hello!’ to the Red Indians but they are dead and gone, due to The Buffalo Bill. Boris K. would like to learn English so he could say something to Buffalo Bill, but The Buffalo Bill Bill is dead and gone. Thus, Boris K. realises that there is no need to learn the English language, at all.

CATS, theatre play, CHARACTERS acca Dramatis personae, Scene 1


CHARACTERS acca Dramatis personae

Living Beings:

ŽELJKO: The Butcher. He is about 40-year-old

JANA: high school girl.  Željko’s daughter, 17-year-old

SRĐAN: a driver, contractor, delayed student, his mental age is still that of a 17-year-old, but he is now 30-years-old

DRAGUTIN:  Jana’s history teacher, about 50-year-old

IKONIJA: A computer expert and a clever astrologer. She keeps her ages a secret.

Sphere Spiriticus Beings:

SAINT PETER: a head of the Eden Administration, Combatant versus Evil Forces. Under his leadership, Eden has boomed economically.

EMANUEL: a hell of the ferryman of Hades who carries souls of the newly deceased across the rivers Styx. a latent kleptomaniac

THE HOLY PARAMORE: A saint, Protector of expectant mothers as well as a feminist

LILITH, a fallen angelina

ALMIGHTY, also known as El, Creator of Heaven, Earth and Hell, blessed be he

LUCIFER, the infamous ruler of Hell.

 

CATS – Ghosts or ancestral spirits (Disguised actors)

SAINT JOAN OF ARC,  also known as The Runaway Of Paradise

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, famous French military leader of blessed memory. A firestarter. He sets fire to the Hell, regularly, as a memorial to The Battle of Borodino

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: famous English poet, playwright and actor, of blessed memory, in mourning for his son, Hamet, who passed away too soon.

MARY TUDOR usually appears to drunkards as Bloody Mary

VOICES:

Voice Of Almighty

Voice of Lucifer acca Bad Man With a Forktail

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SCENE 1

RIVER STYX

(The stage is illuminated by the spooky light. An apparition like the Commendatore of Mozart’s Don Giovanni is placing coins in the mouth of a dead,  simultaneously taking cash from spectres, surrounded by phantasms and grotesques)  

Grotesque: Am I at the centre of the underworld?

the Commendatore: You don’t have to look no further. This here is a swamp, which sometimes is also called the River Styx.

Grotesque: I was told to take a boat that crosses the Styx rivers.  Ask the psychopomp to guide you across the rivers Styx, Acheron…

the Commendatore: (interrupting Grotesque mid-sentence) You have to pay me to take you! Or you could get stuck on the shore.

Grotesque: Fair enough. Take your coin.

the Commendatore: Your money’ s no good here.  We don’t take nor obols, nor checks. Euros only.

Grotesque: You took my intention the wrong way.  I want you to take me back to the place I was before. Could you tell me how much this would cost?

the Commendatore: Too much to receive a payment in a currency you don’t hold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cats, theatre play, scene 5


Cats, theatre play, scene 5, Leila Samarrai, translated into English, Mazikeen Leila Smith

Read it fully, deeply, and completely on the link below.

http://eckermann.org.rs/article/macke/

SCENE 5

(The Holy Paramore and Saint Peter are sitting together, cheek to cheek, staring at each other lovingly, outside the gates of Heaven.)

THE GATES OF HEAVEN

SAINT PETER: Sweetie, I would tear down the sky for you if you ask me!

THE HOLY PARAMORE: That’s not possible, my angel. We are already in the heavens.

SAINT PETER (he is kissing her forehead) You are choosing words wisely, my ethereal love.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Well, then, my honey, my sweetie pie, my darl… always honourable, acquitted from all sins and free of defilement (sigh) I’d give you all my bury bones.

SAINT PETER: And I’d give you all my hagiographys! But don’t my lamb chop, don’t bother… my heart leaps to see you again, almost stopped with happiness! My tongue got tangled, like tree branches, that’ s all so wonderfully romantic! – weaving a knotted web. Keep your relics for yourself. You’ll need them when you least expect it. Say, as far as your parents, were they enjoying considerable wealth? When they were alive?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Maybe they would’ve been, but they died out millions of years ago, beloved.

SAINT PETER: (shaking his head) Such a write off. I don’t need anything besides you, thou that art highly favoured. Along with other virtues which are not worthy of you or of that expensive dress you are wearing.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: It warms my heart knowing you are having second thoughts when it comes to receiving gifts, my inamorato, for it suggests the sentiments which are disgusting to both of us. Bad, black acts governing both heaven and hell. And all violations and transgressions, can’t even approach two greatest sins, my flame.

SAINT PETER: And what since might those be, my true love?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: These two: a materialism and an adultery.

SAINT PETER: Blessed be.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: You’ve been spending too much time with Satan’s ferryman, my one and only. He is a bad influence on you, my Pippin. Should I be concerned?

SAINT PETER: But, my crackajack, my peach, my sugar, you always told me: Peter, you’re gentle like Lorca’s rosebud. But only sweet imp, a devilish masculine type is fit to be my real husband. I am having trouble enjoying the company of that mad, bad sinner, my holy par – amore, my significant other. But, that’ s the only way that I can learn high/level pranks and stuff. I’ m doing all of this for you, paramour. Whatever I do… maintaining my vow of chastity, I ask him, now and then, to teach me how to dodge, to cheat, to turn tricks, to…

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Trick, what trick? Any unusual sin? Sure! This must be.. ah! Tell me! (her eyes shine)

SAINT PETER: Blessed the cheek…! Recently… (scratches behind his ear) He, Emanuel, our hellish ferryman, disguised as John The Baptist, he swung a censer as he danced a Limbo dance, calling for souls in Limbo, making them swim in groups.. in Styx, yelling: Bathe and prepare to meet the Chief, citing verses 42-43… a moment Paradise filled up with sinners, choking angels with devilish smoke, while he was still singing: “The bath is full” while I.. oh my dearie, my knockout, my holy par amour.. I’ve had my hands pretty busy putting them all back in and to straighten out Emanuel’s mess. Suddenly, a stubborn Limbecile, since he was obliged to come home to the antechamber of hell, took his own life. He liked Paradise so much that he actually thought he was innocent. Of course, this was just a hell – loop…

THE HOLY PARAMORE: (squeezing her ethereal little legs just a little harder, her cheeks reddened)
O, sacrilège!
O, blasphème!
Isn’ t that what happened? Terrible thing.

SAINT PETER: There’ s more! Emanuel ordered Pizza capricciosa for the Gluttonous of the Third Circle of Hell… a special-order kind of thing: one for Cerberus – The chilli peppers give it a real kick.

THE HOLY PARAMORE:
Quite the scandal. Say no more! Not a second thought! Strike it from your mind, my darl, such a leechcraft, no more! Keep your high-quality pectoral cross washed clean of all the black marks, for he shall forever glow as a sign of perpetual light!
As for your Eden Key, Peter, bring it to my ethereal bed, Romeo!

SAINT PETER: (Peter, his lovely eyes intent on his Key, breathlessly..)
The apple of my eye! I got a report on the Sanitation department of Eden… It is written: The key won’t get rusty, Peter if you keep him someplace dry.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Not before he serves his purpose. Oh, Peter! Hug me, hug me, hold me, Peter! Almighty, wrap him up in dark bedsheets. Let there be dark! Let him go forth, out of the dark, come out, a beautiful gloomy face of my true love! A, he’s asleep!… (she’s up, stepped into the Garden, butt- nagged for gods sakes)

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Oh, you, a madcap little devil of mine! Cheater! Hustler! Handsome sleaze – bag! O, I loved the way how you banged me in the clouds and there I lay pretended I were dead!

EMANUEL: (peeking over Tree of the knowledge of good and evil)
Does he not suspect something?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: He is no more boring than book reports. Let’s get together at midnight, honeypie, someone might see us.

EMANUEL: You wanna go for a ride in our gondola, my bimbo!
.
THE HOLY PARAMORE:… Surfing dark waters, us being together.. my beefcake!

EMANUEL: There’ s a shortcut near purgatory river, bitch!

THE HOLY PARAMORE: I’m getting juiced up over the nude beaches, stud!

EMANUEL: Come to my arms, you, she-devil!
(They are kissing)

Nema lajkova, nema komentara!


Since I am speaking in Serbian, I will try to explain my intention to non – Serbian speakers – my intention was not to show you my gorgeous lioness hair.. but to make fun of, precisely FB comments and likes –  in fact of everything that seems to be real, but it’s like totally fake.

Subtitles will follow, God’s will 🙂