Boris K, There’s no place like home.

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Boris K encountered a man who was crying uncontrollably.

Being a loser, he expresses his frustration that he cannot realize his only passion for life. This is to visit exotic and attractive places, metropolises, and so on.

Then, Boris felt sorry for him and said he had a lot of trouble visiting these places because he had learned that not every city is as beautiful as it appears. His life was barely spared.

Boris felt pity for the penurious gentleman and made the decision he needed to comfort him. Boris K shrugged and said: “I wandered for eons, lost in my memory, through the cities and worlds that have vanished through time. You have not missed anything. Moreover, your loss is highly likely a blessing in disguise. Your misfortune too was for your own good. Let me apprise you of something kind Gentleman, I too befell during the course of my journey.” Boris K shook the mighty fright from his shoulders recalling the thoughts of his words.

“How so?” Said the gentleman. As surprised as he was, he stared dubiously at Boris K.

According to a legend I witnessed myself:

In the 18th century, there was a German noble woman who owned a castle in Prague and became an undead vampire. Sucking blood from tourists and seducing people while posing as Rosabella Smetana.

On the other hand, if you travel to Paris, you will also meet a creepy grandpa who is over 300 years old. His basement is filled with guillotine blades. It is located in the 3rd arrondissement and is known as Robespierre.

As opposed to this, if you were to visit Australia- which was lucky for you- you would have undoubtedly encountered Banjip. The Aboriginal spirit Banjis p lives beneath Sydney Opera House, making passersby laugh until they die.

If you had only traveled to Peking, what would have happened to you! Yo Po, the circus master, might not seem like a true master at all. Then he will ask you to enter a container, through which he will saw.”

Boris K paused for a moment to catch his breath and in a few moments said quietly:

“Yet, in reality, Yo Po will be cutting you in half with a saw.”

For this reason, it is advisable not to leave Serbia, which is a country full of vampires and werewolves.

Therefore, do not worry about your misery. The issue is of no significant concern to me.” Boris K said, opening both arms as the gentleman fell to the ground.

Alas, while the gentleman heard all this, he suffered an unfortunate heart attack, and out of dread died right on the spot.

Happy Odunde!* The Firecracker Man, Cheers to a New Year!



Boris K. has been so stressed lately. Luckily, it is New Year’s Eve, so he has easy access to smoke bombs. The neighbours can hear the hiss, thud, crash!, Whizzz, and heeeee of firecrackers Boris K. sets up and ignites one by one in the house, from the sofa. He has decided that rather than wash dishes, he will simply blow them up. So he launches rockets into the air with a loud bang that break dishes, shatter glasses, collapse walls and turn forks into shrapnel-sharp and tinny enough to pierce the roof and violate the sound barrier. While smoke and the entire colour spectrum spill onto Boris K., an event that could only happen in Neverland, Boris returns to the memory of his first marble. As the neighbours wake in horror from sweet dreams to find themselves fearfully screaming at the vision of an apocalyptic earthquake, Boris K smiles and sinks into a blissful dream.


*Happy New Year’s Eve, Odunde (means “Happy New Year” in the Yoruba Nigerian language) and other holidays! For last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice. – T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

“The Ghost Part”, sequel “The Adventure of Boris K.” Boris K, paranormal expert



The Adventures of Boris K. “The Ghost Part”, sequel “The Adventure of Boris K.”
Boris K, paranormal expert

Boris K. encounters a man who is crying inconsolably. He complains that, because of the pandemic, he is not able to accomplish the only passion he had in his life, and that is to visit exotic and attractive locations, metropolises and what not. Boris K. took pity on him and told him that he had had great trouble visiting these places because during his travels he had discovered that not every city was as beautiful as it seemed. He narrowly escaped with his life.

  1. Scotland. The 9th Legion disappeared behind Hadrian’s Wall. They were killed by the Picts in present-day Scotland, huge, red-haired warriors who painted themselves blue. It is said that the ghosts of the Picts attack tourists from the dark Scottish forests and that he is not safe from them even in Edinburgh.
  2. Prague – it is said that in the 18th century, a German noblewoman who had a castle there became a vampire and that she was restless and sucked blood from tourists which she seduced by presenting herself as Ruzenka Smetana.
  3. Paris – a creepy grandpa who is over 300 years old has a guillotine in his basement in the 3rd arrondissement and responds to the name Robespierre.
  4. Australia – Banjip, a creature from Aboriginal mythology, is a real, huge, hairy spirit that lives under the Sydney Opera House and tickles passers-by while they are laughing fit to kill.
  5. Beijing – circus master Jo Po is not a master at all. He asks an ordinary passer-by to enter the box and then saw them in half. The difficult bit is putting them back together…
  6. Mauritius – the dodo bird is still alive, huge, bloodthirsty and cannibal
  7. Parnassus – philosophers harass you – they appear and talk about whether Pythagoras is better or Heraclitus’ principle is better. Boring to death …
    Dangerous too.
    That is the reason why we should not leave Serbia, the land of vampires and werewolves

Boris K and Ad, edited by Simon Hutchinson(Synau)


A 73-year-old neighbor invited Boris K. over for coffee, for the millionth time in a row, and told him the following:

“You know, honey, now that my old bones are aching I’ve been thinking about whom to leave the apartment to after I die. I baptized several children, but they all did very well abroad and they were all financially secure. My first son threw himself under a train, my brother’s son died as a teenager and, my husband is also dead. I have no family and you have been my only companion in the two months that you’ve been here, so I have decided to leave you an apartment, but only under one condition.”

Boris K. choked on his coffee, shifted in his chair, and decided to continue listening to the old woman. Grandma lit her cigar and continued:

“Boris K, I trust only matriarchy. The foundations of home depend upon women, so I would like to meet your future wife. It’s time for you to get married, Boris. You are 49 years old. But, only under one other condition!”

Boris K. listened intently.

“It must be a nice girl who must promise me that she will regularly visit and honor my grave and the graves of my closest ones.”

After talking to the old woman, Boris K. published an ad in “My Love Romance”, searching for a life partner.

The ad read:

“I am looking for a life partner, a Believer who loves the cemetery. We will split our apartment into equal parts. Come to the interview… ” then the ad stated the exact day, time and place of the meeting.

After the candidates gathered, Boris K. asked them the following questions in the form of a quiz:

  1. List the exact location of all the cemeteries in Belgrade.
  2. Know the exact dates when the memorial services are held.
  3. List all of God’s commandments and fasting schedules.

The competition is still open.

A word or two on Boris K, The Adventures of Boris K


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The Adventures of Boris K.

Boris K. – The First Loser of Phenomenization

Some countries were ruled by the Inquisition. Others were subject to questionable privatizations. Boris K’s country was exposed to inexplicable phenomenizations. For Boris K, a man with no permanent occupation, phenomenization was so unexpected that he had no choice but to come to terms with it.

He got into different time periods without the use of a time machine. He found himself performing strangest of jobs without ever applying for them. He kept adapting to the situation, akin to a player advancing to the next level in an unpredictable computer game.

“What have I ever done to deserve the things happening to me?” Boris K. wondered. “I am no different than any other semi-skilled worker who got carried away by the idea of equality in our Republic. I enthusiastically neglected to further my education for the sake of blind faith in “better times” when the voice of the small, the ordinary, and the nameless would be heard as well.”

Boris K. was prepared to endure greatest of sacrifices in order to achieve this goal. As one of the deserving participants at the end of the great Revolution he was offered great benefits – which he promptly refused with utter disgust. It was against just such privileges that he had fought in the first place, he claimed, hence benefiting from them would be contrary to his beliefs. So he settled for an assembler’s job on a car factory production line, where he happily worked 12 hours a day fitting mirrors on the passenger doors.

One day he was laid off. Introduction of new technologies and reductions in work force, or at least that was what he was told; he was well aware the real cause lay in that ultimate evil slowly but surely corroding the fabric of humanity – the profit. Disposed of like an exhausted battery, empty hearted and with eyes full of tears, he moved from his humble but furnished apartment to the so-called “Lepers’ Valley”. The place was nicknamed for its inhabitants: hardly true lepers, but merely desperate souls befallen by a fate similar to Boris’ own. It was dubious in which of the two skins they would have thought themselves better off. The ancient buildings huddling together in irregular patterns, the abodes of unhappy families, were not made of concrete reinforced with Pittsburgh steel; they were built with eco-bricks with insulating layers of pure asbestos, which almost certainly guaranteed the tenants a case of lung cancer. As if there was not enough trouble in their lives.

It was in such a building that Boris K. found his new apartment. It was not the vacancy ad that attracted him, but rather the unusual appearance of the landlady – who was in a habit of swatting at the heads protruding from the adjacent manholes using the highest-circulating newspapers of the City.

“Like swatting flies,” thought Boris K, eyes fastened on a greasy rosary. Frau Suzy (as the landlady was called) and Boris K. exchanged just one glance and immediately recognized each other. Brushing his graying hair back, Boris K inquired about the price. The Frau leveled one measuring, scornful look at him, flicking the ash from her cigarette holder straight onto his hole-pocked shoe. Boris K glanced at her defiantly. Frau’s response came in a raspy, ancient voice.

“Ha!”

It was a mantra that meant one thing and one thing only and was uttered by the old woman only on the rarest of occasions. Boris K. liked mature blondes with an attitude, so he decided he would start his mission in that very unfortunate place.

Mission? What mission?

You will find out soon enough.

* Phenomenization, phenomenosition, from fenomenon (gr. φαινόμενо, occurence), something observable but utterly mysterious and untraceble, and better kept that way.

PHENOMENIZATION

from

Res Publicus Phenomesationem The people of the Republic have fathomed the secret of the phenomenization by the agency of a mysterious clairvoyant gammer: since the Parliament was hit by a lightning at the moment when there were 111 storks on the roof, 222 members in the building and 333 rants under the foundation – the famous phenomenization occured. The thoughts of storks, rats and Members of Parliament commingled in the air and fell to the ground. Thus certain individuals realized they preferred living in the sewer, others keep trying to fly and carry babies, while the rest just keep babbling about politics. Anything is possible in the land of phenomenization.

 

“The Adventures of Boris K.” is now live and available for purchase in the Kindle Store


Kindle ebook of dystopian adventures of Boris K. “The Adventures of Boris K.” by Leila Samarrai is now live and available for purchase in the Kindle Store

 

DYSTOPIAN ADVENTURES
This collection of thematically and temporally interconnected stories (which would make some readers hastily declare it a novel), represents a piece which, due to many of its features, stands out from the contemporary Serbian literary production. Boris K. is, just as Josef K., a man stuck in a trial (Victor Pelevin would call it a transition from nothing to nothing), as well as a postmodern coquetting with stereotypes, twisting them, with metatextuality. Situated, not by accident, in Phenomenonpublic, a pseudo-country and a pseudo-democracy, Boris K. is a man whose life, identity, life circumstances, the world around him, all change faster than the statuses on social networks. Boris K. is “a 21st century boy – everybody’s toy”, but, as the English would say, “nobody’s fool as well”. Speaking of dystopias, we must mention Winston Smith from Orwell’s “1984”. Paranoia and societal pressure exist, Oceania where Smith lives is nothing else but a microcosm in the same manner that Phenomenonpublic is. But, unlike Smith, Boris K. has places to go. Nobody is stopping him. His freedom of choice is, at first glance, absolute. But every so often a self-appointed tribune of the plebs a la Megaimportanceshire can appear who will ruin his good fortune. Let’s not forget: there is a strong satirical lining within these stories, predominantly taking aim against liberal capitalism, kleptarchy, corporations, xenophobia, and prejudices of all kinds. And, of course, what the Phenomenonpublicans love most is to wail for their deceased to whom they attribute traits which, during their lifetime, they had not seen. The living are friable – the dead are indestructible. Sound familiar? It should.

Boris K. in Poland, Ernst Teodor Hoffman


Boris K. in Poland, Ernst Teodor Hoffman

Boris K. found some helpful suggestions but is still not satisfied.

“They expect no less from me than the Lairn dragons and the Minotaurs, well, that’s just unavoidable, isn’t it? ,” As he said: here is Boris in Poland, in Bamberg, Higher Franciscan, where he meets Hoffman in the theatre. His face was full of anger mixed with madness.

Hoffman muttered, frowning.

“Everything is spectre of spectres, saith the preacher; all is spectre. Life is a dungeon. Ah, Kopelius, alchemist, here you are,” he said, upon sighting Boris K.
Then Boris told him what the Russians said and Hoffman thought: “Phenomenon. It’s a scary phenomenon! Let’s say you deserved death, a hundred times over, a dark look in your eye. Touch and go between the lines. Smile as creepy resurrected with, you creepy little perv! hehe! This will lead readers into a state of ecstasy.” He pulled him from the ranks as he shook his whole body in excitement… This will ignite the atmosphere to such an extent that they will not pay attention to the story itself, but they will look at each other suspiciously of themselves just as I whisper Hoffman stood up and looked at something evil and devilish, right? as his face flushed with horror
“Back to the dead, Boris K. Back to the dead! – he grabbed his head like he were in terrible pain. – Go crawling back to your dead wife and your loser son, Ernst Teodor! Run! Run for your life! – as he said that he ran with all his might and rumour had it that Ernst Teodor leapt past the edge of Poland’s borders. Boris K. sighed. “I have no choice but to go to ancient Persia.”

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BORIS K. Na Polónia


b03f1ca4334b9c3b29e183ae1842d6e6Boris K. Encontrou algumas sugestões úteis, mas ainda não está satisfeito.

“Eles não esperam menos de mim do que os dragões Lairn e os Minotauros, e eles não podem evitá-los”, e eles disseram, aqui está Boris na Polónia, em Bamberg, Franciscano Superior, onde encontra Hoffman no teatro. O seu rosto estava cheio de raiva misturada com loucura.

Hoffman murmurou, franzindo a testa.

“Tudo é assustador sobre assustador. A vida é uma masmorra. Ah, Kopelius, alquimista, aqui está você”, disse ele, observando Boris K.

Então Boris contou-lhe o que os russos disseram e Hoffman pensou:

“Fenómeno. É um fenómeno assustador! Digamos que você merecia a morte e contou uma história sombria … Isso levará os leitores a um estado de êxtase.” Puxou-o das fileiras enquanto sacodia todo o corpo emocionado. Sorria assustador. Isso inflamará a atmosfera a tal ponto que eles não prestarão atenção à história em si, mas eles olharão para si com desconfiança em si mesmos, assim como eu sussurro … – Hoffman levantou-se e olhou para algo mau e diabólico, certo? enquanto seu rosto ficou vermelho de horror – De volta aos mortos, Boris K. Ele volta morto! Pegue a cabeça de Ernst Teodor e escape tão depressa quanto suas pernas consigam.

Boris K. suspirou. “Não tenho escolha a não ser ir para a antiga Pérsia.”

Boris K. in Russia 3, Turgenev


.. Chekhov shook his head and kept writing while muttering, ” Devil take you! , can’t you see that I’m finishing my thesis? If I don’t give it up on time, I won’t earn my PhD degree!    Turn around and go back where you come from!  ! The Black Monk himself sent you to interfere with my career! I have to comb and put on my good old Valenki! ” The Russian was throwing a tantrum like a toddler.  , trying to get rid of the intrusive time traveller. ” If anyone knows how to dishonour the stories,  prancing about them while grinding their own ink…  it’s Sholokhov and Turgenev.  Now leave me alone.  “, Chekhov said,  making the sign of the cross, with his flame-throwing fountain pen, if the local lore and beliefs are to be trusted.

Boris K. met Turgenev, a Russian poet of landscapes, sitting on a bench in St. Petersburg, mourning Gogol’s death.

“Why are you crying?” Asked Boris K.

” “I’m forbidden half of art! My obituary of Nikolai was a masterpiece!  … But alas, I don’t wipe my tears, they are like a storm after which one gets calmer,” said the pretty revolutionary thought and groaned even louder.

Boris K. sat with him. They cried for two days, each with their own tears, after which Turgenev adopted a chivalrous attitude and turned contemptuously on Boris K. “You must be Nepočin! No Rest, from Field of No Rest Spirits!” What do you want from me?

“You mean the paparazzi?” Boris K. mused after what he told him about the lot.

“I’ve never written such a story, nor had an accident. Vaistina, you’re really in trouble. But there’s also a cure for that!” Turgenev blinked and patted on his shoulder. “You look like Gogi.”

(which was Gogol’s affectionate nickname)

“Get to the point, Ivan Sergeyevich!” Mourned Boris K., realizing that the Russian would not help him. (Maybe  I should put my bet on   New England? Or Poland? Straight towards E. T. Hofman’s? Boris K pondered…

“Boris K., From experience, I assert that the herb burns as the motive of history and the source of all inspiration. Turgenev said. – The story begins “in medias res”, but honestly … It’s so sincere that you almost end up in prison or at the stake. Go: “A man – a being who cannot love!  That way, the women will, women.. hmmm… both male and female….”

(Boris K. gasped in pain) …

…  –  will grab your hair. and tear your heart out as ripping phones out of the walls..   (your overcoat is still fixed, but I see a clown’s mask goes crazy running down your furrowed face. ) – Boris K. stood amazed by Turgenev’s knowledge.

Ivan,  his name’s  Turgenev, the name was passed down from his father and his father before him, continued:

“Draw their attention to the dark fall and the silent cry of love that smells like the cool breeze blowing through,  on a cold night’s shade. That will calm them down. Name all the herbs you can think of to make a love potion.”

Just quoting the herbs gives one and a half pages. While quoting herbs and singing to the celebrant, listeners will yawn and fall asleep. When they wake up, you will tell another story that has nothing to do with life and with living, and in the new story the woodpeckers sing and sing … – Ivan Sergeyevich was silent – That’s all I can think.