Bijeli Vuk
četvrtak, 24.07.2014.
Tice
Glej, ovdi su tice pojile
Na ni grani se jabuke
Da vidiš kak su strulile
A ja već snage u ruka nimam
Na, ovu bumo potprli
Unu grančicu, već po podu hodi
Teško ji je pod jabukami spati
Se i meni se vidi da sam kak i una
Preveć godin na pleć nosim
Više neg kaj bi rabilo
A da sam morem još potprti ku grančicu
Sa svojimi prsti, već bi rad živil
Dej, još jen kolac, bumo za vu dili
Nek mirno spi, pod suncem i zvizdami
Valje bumo se vrnali
Valje bumo se vrnali
Valje bumo se vrnali
Ispod stakla
Sa crnom noći, ispod zvijezda
Zapjevala je pjesmu svog srca
Sa glasom, boje tamnog meda
Na tajna vrata, glasom zakuca
Na stepenicama, ispred ulaza
U drugi svijet, ostala je pjevati
Brate moj, nestalo je zla i jaza
Sestro moja, nećeš više patiti
Te crne noći čuo sam toplinu
I ostalo je tišina njene pjesme
Isprala je sa usana gorčinu
Ispod stakla, svjetlost se lomi
Ispod crne noći, srca pucaju
Ispod glasa, tišina se razlomi
ponedjeljak, 14.07.2014.
Bati
U mrkoj noći. Začu se krik
Crne vrane, na zimzelen boru
Zagreba mi dušu ko srna zimi
Tamnu hrastovu koru
Svojim očima tamnim zjenicama zirka
Dok vatre plamen u meni pirka
Što više vrana grakće
U meni se crn plam bakće
Prodoran je njen glas, reže moje duše meso
Ko sat što kuca, ko planjka što pod čavlom puca
Njen sivi kljun zjapi, u njem crna jama
Trula crna, učmala tama
Tad budi se nemir, nestrpljenje i nervoza
Tijelo mi titra, treperi ko zvijezda
Što ugasiti se mora
I znam past će
I pred očima proć, kao prpošno proljeće
Što vene s jesenju, a stoji s ljetom
Polegnuto, počiva zimom
Na tren, na djelić
Ko komet, u svemiru modrom
I začu se klepet crnih krila
Zadnji krik i vihor bora
Zrak zatreperi i duša moja
Jer zaplakala su crna jedra
Goreći, plamčući, dahćući
Ko mornarska čela čedna
Željna ognja i zemlje
Da na krevetu sne dremlje
Kucnu čas, i crna zvona
Stegnule ruke konopce zvonika
Zazvonili su bati
I zaplakala mati
Zastali i onijemile sestre i brati
Ostalo je samo u meni
Jeka krila, tamne oči
Blijeda lica
The Priest
Now, just the other day I was telling you a story about Red Davy. And I feel, I reckon I should tell you more about him. As I told you he was not an ordinary man. Nor he was a plain killer, Nor merciless murderer. Shooting and spouting around bullets like drunk spitting every step of the way. This story that I’m going to tell you is a very odd one, your mind will conflict itself like an old lady shagging a young man in the backyard. And it won’t be over until the fat lady sings.
In 1875 just two years before Red Davy left this world for the desert, a strange thing happened. Red Davy and the boys were hitting hard on whiskey down in Texas. And Red Davy could not keep himself from hearing about this old priest up north in Petersville. His eyes streamed down to a black fellow who yelled and shouted about that man of cloth.
- Now boys did you hear about that priest? Do you know what he did to those girls?
Red Davy got up. Drank a few more shots and then his spurs hit the ground. Sometimes those spurs sounded like cold chains dragging on the wooden floor. Like a lone wolf howling in the wind. As he walked you could feel the chills through your back like knives striking every nerve of you’re being. There was nothing but silence in the salon.
You there!
Say that again so I can hear you properly?
Black fellow almost shitted himself when he heard Red Davy. His eyes pushed back into his skull, his eyebrows went grey, lips dried as river dries in the summer, his cheeks lost color. You could almost say that he went from black to plain white. Like a rag was washed by the river. He stuttered like old Mickey in the corner. The poor fellow could not speak two words and would stutter himself to hell.
- Did you not hear me boy?
- Are you deaf or dumb?
When boy got to senses, he told Red Davy the story. And story went like this. Up north in Petersville lived a priest by the name of Big George. A grand fellow, fat like he was born from a hog. He said that this Big George touched some little girls, as a payment of taxes to the church. Big George considered that as a fair compensation. Red Davy stared a long time into the man’s eyes after he told him that rumor. Like an eagle stares on his prey with it’s claws sharpened like spears.
- Now you listen to me now boy. If you are lying to me I will make sure that I eat your tongue raw while you watch me. Then I’ll rip out one of your eyes and put it in your mouth until you choke in your own lie. Do you know why I will do that?
- No sir.
- Because I don’t like liars son.
Just when sun showed it’s face Red Davy and his disciples rode up north. They travelled two nights and two days relentlessly. No food, no water. Like bullets whizzing by. As if they were one with the wind.
On the third day they came on their destination. Shot straight up to town’s salon.
- Who in here can tell me where Big George’s church is?
- What is you’re business here?
Red Davy looked up to the man. He seemed quite big, strong hands, unshaven, with thick head like boars. For some time they exchanged looks. Testing each other like wild animals. When ten seconds past Red Davy pulled his gun and made three holes in his chest.
- I’m not going to ask twice gentlemen.
A girl panicked. You could see the sweat strolling down her chest, and you could hear the air in her breasts.
- Go two miles south then turn right and follow the road.
After that they just left, and the only thing you could hear was the door clanking. Clanking like church bells.
Church was built near forest. Beyond the forest you could see marshes stretching a few miles.
Red Davy stepped into the church. And before entering he looked at the Holy water. He took the water in both of his hands and washed his face and hands. The water turned brown.
- Is there a Father here!?
- Why yes son, I am here.
Davy wanted to confess his sins to Big George. As soon as Big George saw Red Davy coming out of the shadow, he felt like some dark force entered the realm of God. It was like a rock was stuck in his throat. His bones turned into air, and his eyes would blink as if he had a stroke. That fat around his neck almost pilled down around his even fatter knees. Finally Big George went up to the confession booth.
- What are you’re sins my son?
- Big George.
After this, silence lasted almost ten minutes. Big George was shaking like a branch under piles of snow. Wishing for the sun to melt it off and save him from breaking. Sweat sewed down his fat neck. His ears started moving like he was ready to fly away into God’s kingdom. His fat fingers intertwined and sweat ran through them as summer river does through canyons.
- Please, call me Father.
- Big George.
- What?
- Big George.
Are you playing with me, I have money.
- No.
- Then what do you want.
- Have you heard about Moses?
- Why yes I have son.
- And you must know what God said unto him on Mount Sinai.
When Big George heard that, he swiftly tried to escape the confession booth. Red Davy slowly walked out pulled out his Remington and shot Big George in the right foot. The floor was swept with blood. And rivers of Red Davy flowed again.
- And George! George! I asked you a God damn question! What did he say! What!? You son of a bitch!
- I don’t know! I don’t know! Please don’t kill!
- You and I know that is not an option here.
- Please! please ! I beg of you!
- And God Said unto him! With his might and glory! You cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live!
After he whispered to Big George’s remember the red river he took a knife out of his right ankle. Knife for hunting and sliced his throats as if he was a hog. And as a damn hog Big George died. Squealing and kicking. The night came, and Red Davy and his disciples were gone into the storm.
ponedjeljak, 07.07.2014.
Karneval
Strašno, strašno je vidjeti nas
Gledati nas u zjenicu oka
Jezivo, jezivo je vidjeti rubove naših usana
Nosnice koja se vječito šire
Vidjeti obraze, koji se grče
Užasnut sam našim licima
Mi ih nosimo kao maske
Maske visokih ljudi, širokih ramena
Maske sa širokim usnama, crnim dupljama
Gustim obrvama, mat obrazima
Mi nosimo jezive maske, koje se miču
Poput bijelog dana
Mojim tijelom prolaze trnci, dok stojimo
Tupo na pločnicima
Maskama u prazno
Maskama što trepću
Maskama što dišu
Maskama što govore
Vjerno, vjerno ih nosimo
Uvjereni u zbilju
Uvjereni u naša lica
Ja želim skinuti
Svoje lice
Umor udova
Ljudi su vječno neumoljivi
Neprestano pletu iste mreže
Poput pauka
Sivih niti
Vječito ponavljaju
Zagovaraju umor
Ja ne živim u prošlosti
Ja pokušavam odletjeti
Iz sivih niti
Sive niti
Sive niti
Umaraju udove
nedjelja, 06.07.2014.
Once upon a time, in the Wild West lived a man by the name of Red Davy. Let me tell you, that man was one the toughest sons of bitches I have ever seen. To hell with it. He was the toughest son of bitch I ever saw. And I saw a lot of them. His skin was dark because he walked through the desert on his bare feet, his hair was long and proud as a country’s flag underneath the wind, his teeth crooked because he could eat steel, beard so thick you couldn’t cut it off with an axe. My God if there ever was a God Red Davy would be Death itself. I mean he was a reaper walking with a gun, ready to shoot everything that crawls.
His eyes were so God damn red, sometimes I thought they were a burning sun.
There are many legends about him. Some folks say that he shot sheriff and five of his lackeys in a salon just for fun in 1867. They say blood ran through the doors as Moses himself stood upon the Red sea. Others say he killed six Texas rangers down in Louisiana in 1871, marking their foreheads with a red cross with their blood. People always said he liked to carve up the dead body’s, make a damn mess out of them. I assure you, that’s not a lie I witnessed that kind of twisted things myself. How? Because I rode with him until his final moments. Even in death, I can’t forget his words.
One story goes like this, and I would say this one is the proper truth about origin of his name.
Red Davy was born way down the south. His mother, God rest her soul died during the birth. A bad sign if you ask me, coming in this world by sin. But such was his fate, to touch and destroy. His father always resented him that. But what can a low life drunk like him say anyways. There wasn’t a day in a week that Red Davy wouldn’t get a nice beating. Not just once, but two, three times a day. Maybe that was a cause why he was so strong and vicious. Born from sin and molded by it until the day he found his peace.
When Davy was seventeen he already rode with a local gang. They pillaged locals, terrorizing them to death, taking all they could take. One time Davy killed and old lady just because she wouldn’t look at his eyes. He looked at her with mad red eyes. His eyes were flames. And I could swear that sometimes instead breathing air he breeded fire.
- Look at me you old filthy whore!
- Look at me, look at me!
- Don’t you hear me, are you deaf?
- You want this?
- Look me in the eye!
The old lady was shaking, crying, withered like a leaf on the breeze. Her face was melting under the sun, and tears they looked like spiders streaming down her old wrinkled cheeks. He yelled almost ten minutes and finally he decided to put a bullet in her chest.
- Davy are you mad!
- Mad I am, come on, let’s ride out of here!
A few years later when he was almost twenty years old, somewhere in 1873 his gang and him robbed a train that was due north transporting about two hundred thousand dollars. Red Davy was the first man on the train shooting and screaming. He mounted one of the passengers. A younger girl. He took her by her neck, set his pistol on her forehead.
- You look like my mother.
- Did you know I killed her when I was just a child?
- Do you, do you?
After moments he threw her off the train. Just like that. No remorse. As if his heart was blacker then hell itself. The rest of them laughed. His hands were red like sunset. As the red sea itself spilled on his fingers and nails.
Red Davy did many atrocities, there is not enough fingers on my hands and feet to count them. But still, why Red Davy. Why?
Because every time he would’ve killed someone he said.
- Have you heard of Moses? Did you know that he divided the Red Sea for his people. The God almighty gave him powers to do so. He made him God for a second. Do you think I’m a God? Who is God?
As he would say these words people cried, their tears would drop in the pools of blood underneath them. Resonating. Slowly. And Red Davy, he carefully looked at every tear that fell. Thinking. I am dividing. This blood is river, and the tears they are Gods words. They cry for my sin.
- Remember the Red river.
Those are the last words you hear from him. It is the last sound you shall ever hear in you’re life.
That is why they call him, Red Davy.
He died in the desert. In 1877 I saw him riding in the sunset, no guns. He left without looking back. And I swear to God, and in my mother’s name that Red Davy was no ordinary man. If anything God send him as his reaper. To pluck away souls on his command. Samael himself. Angel of death.
