An open call to ones, an open despise to others

as an author of the maxima: human hypocrisy should be respected because virtue is not worth the effort, I’m not surprised nor should I react differently than throaty laughter, but all those who, for some reason, secretly and not publicly address me with ah: ah, you’re so talented, I have never heard of these things to exist at all .. I have learned so much from you or — your brain is a precious instrument … etc (I can corroborate all this with letters ..) or those who persistently follow my blog when I turn to them for concrete help, they remain silent .. I do not count the famous archive -1-checkup early in the morning –  from Serbia, I know one hen that gets up earlier than a rooster ..I know who it is, it is a female mental patient under control…
I am waiting for the doomsday when the psychiatrist will allow her to call me… or whoever she chose to be her tutor nowadays. –  to welcome her.
I will not be able to continue my work that would be much better and I would write more and you would enjoy my work much more if you would only give me a little help, if not materially, then in the form of technical assistance (translations, someone
to help me with marketing and procedure)
Looks like you would love to do it, but living in the dreaded fear of what I could become if I had the crumb of luck to make money the way you made it …
I cannot prevent you from spying on my blog, reading, anyone with their intentions, I tell you openly, I despise you and if it depends on me, I would ban you on reading my works. and maybe I will.
this does not apply to people who do not know me. admittedly, neither do those who claim to know me, know me at all.
but unfortunately, I got to know them by their deeds.
unfortunately, talent and money rarely go together, and today, more than ever, money determines who will publish books and who does not.


the true identity of the woman in the poem “Struggling for Survival”

for all those who cannot see the beauty behind the depths of archetypes, I, gladly, analyze (in-depth) the archetypes in the poem “Struggle for Survival”. I often revieve comments that my poems are too “deep”, whatever that means.
I find it a pleasure to analyze my poems this way.
for those for whom it’s not too huge, grasp it, enjoy it, fellows!

in 40 minutes I explore the true identity of the woman in the poem Who is she? Who is not… – through the book of Revelation, comparisons of Buddhist female deities, lists of victims of rape in antiquity, and much more.

Feel free to leave the comment.




There will be time for me to tell you

There will be time for me to tell you

Will the words spin tomorrow as well

And will the essence be the thread


Stooped candelabrums stalk me

Between yearning and fear

Between passion and constancy

Always present while you sleep restlessly

There where the beginnings end


Solitude too has been captured, moulded and limited

And her contents gnawed off in the tempest

Where the beginning and the end meet

Each full moon

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

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…

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


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.

The inscriptions of a stoic

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


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

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 …

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



you are perverse to Didro’s
or rather Livia,
(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

Noble vases
they break more easily
moon sucks lightning and out of real soap bubble
brandy for emperors
because they bring you gifts
if you awoke one day and find yourself
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

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.