18.06.2007., ponedjeljak
Dreamless
Dark clouds started gathering, floating on the southbound wind. He sat on the beach, his bare feet buried into the fine sand. Kate looked at him for a moment and smiled. He tried to smile back. She looked almost happy, knee-deep in the cold water, wearing her funny orange shorts. Things, thoughts seemed somewhat muffled by the desolation and the absence of interaction with the rest of the world. The silence almost stifled the screams of death. James felt disturbingly emotionless.
Sometimes, only momentarily, he would forget about the year which was behind them, but still embedded into every pore of their lives. At those forgetful moments he could see hope, he could feel the future; at those moments he was able to dream.
She sat next to him; sand clung to her wet legs. The clouds shrouded the sun and obliterated the horizon.
- There’s no point, Kate voiced
He looked at he face; sunken cheeks, pale lips and tired, mirthless eyes.
- The sun is gone. I can’t find anything in the absence of light.
He put his arm around her and kissed her lightly; everything they did was done lightly.
- Don’t worry. The sun is up there. It will show up eventually.
He did not mention that the clouds will be back as well. They always came back. There was no escape. They brought the cold, the dark and the pain of the dead days with them.
The rain started dripping from the bruised sky. Kate got up no her feet.
- You go in honey. I’m going to stay here for a while.
They did not talk. Words were redundant and unnatural to them. Sometimes there was an implication of a conversation between the words which were actually uttered; however, the conversation itself never took place.
Raindrops felt like needles on his skin. How was it possible to monopolize grief? They both did it. They cherished the pain, kept it locked up. He cried. He hadn’t cried until that very moment when he thought it was sensible to break into bitter tears.
There was too much emptiness in both of them. They died that night, and those human remnants were not capable of love. The only thing they could resort to was consumption, an attempt to feel whole.
The old days were buried deep under the sorrow of the present. Days of blissful solitude; even when they had been among hundreds of glittering masks, even when the world had not been left behind – solitude. Their own little universe had existed far away from the throes of earthly reality. Had those days ever took place? Days spent between four walls while music and crooning danced through the same window on which they sat for hours, holding each other in amusement, watching people as they flowed through the city streets. Days spent between the sheets; getting to know each other in a different way; no need to steal moments to love each other with vigour and unrestrained curiosity. No more clumsy attempts at love. They had been free to be alone. Now they were bound in solitude.
They used to smile together, now they smiled at each other. Silence had never been belligerent before, it had never felt disruptive. They were supposed to overcome in solitude, but the solitude overcame both of them individually.
For the first time all seemed indefinite, ceaseless; all that remained was the past, tattooed, black history carved into their lives.
Even the warmth of Kate’s body felt cold, her skin was abrasive against his. Her suppressed moans pierced through his skull as painful screams.
Nothing was mellow. There was no gentle descent into the void of days to come.
"And death shall have no dominion"
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15.06.2007., petak
The Illusionist
It's nice. I know why you do it. A lot of us do it. It's easier ti cultivate a minor problem. It's easier to obsess about something that has no substantial impact on your life. The trivialities are what we use to mask the deteriorating fabric of our lives. There are so many loose strings, and you have only two hands.
You are just as creative as I am and you don't even see what it is that you are creating – an illusion of a problem which actually has a solution.
We are illusionists; with a slight of hand we deceive nobody but ourselves. It's not that you don't have the guts to solve the problem, you don't have the guts to see what lies in the aftermath; I am still not ready to see what is behind the solved problem.
What happens when an illusionist gets of the stage? What becomes of the conjurer? Where does the magic go?
I'm sure it's just another illusion, a way to create a diversion and direct attention towards something meaningless, but spectacular, in order to keep the true illusion hidden.
The illusionist’s secret remains safe caged within the distraction.
It's ok, however. We are here to kill time. Why not make a good show in the process? It's not like we have anything better to do.
Or am I wrong again?
Excuse me for a moment, I have a diversion to create.
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10.06.2007., nedjelja
A Death
I died, and nobody seems to have noticed. Nobody seems to have notice the dislocation of my identity. Who has seen, who has recognized the new, vampire-like me? Only when you are dead you become capable of understanding the true depth of human estrangement an guile. Only a corpse bride can recognize her own unintentional lies, her farce, her sweet, decaying existence. If you had really known me while I was alive, you would have smelled the rotting flesh of what was once moi.
Imagine how you would feel if you died and nobody noticed. You would be a walking corpse, your putrid stench would ate its way through only one pair of nostrils. What's the point of living if nobody notices that you have died? It's really hard to walk around all dead and smelly and nobody realizes that your organs are like mash potato and your brain is somewhat liquidized. Nobody wants that crap. It really sucks when you say hello to someone and blood is oozing from your ears and that certain someone doesn't seem to heed the blood.
If you try the quick solution, post mortem, you will be very disappointed. There's no use doing things which are out of character, because nobody knew your character when you were alive. Yes. Dying without anybody noticing is real merde. You have to do something in RL. Nothing works, not post mortem. You have to do something before your skin is covered with myriad, fleshy wounds. Hurry up! Chop-chop.
Go out there and let someone meet you. Let someone know who the fuck you are. Meet the hell out of someone. Allow someone to sink inside your being and capture its disturbing essence. Just let the fuck go. Let go. It will be easier for you, later, if you die. Someone will notice then. If you let go, your death will be acknowledged.
Don't W.A.S.T.E. time. Let go. Someone will be at the bottom of the abyss to catch-22 you. I promiss.
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07.06.2007., četvrtak
This One Made Me Cry
Nick Cave: Where Do We Go Now But Nowhere
I remember a girl so very well
The carnival drums all mad in the air
Grim reapers and skeletons and a missionary bell
O where do we go now but nowhere
In a colonial hotel we fucked up the sun
And then we fucked it down again
Well the sun comes up and the sun goes down
Going round and round to nowhere
The kitten that padded and purred on my lap
Now swipes at my face with the paw of a bear
I turn the other cheek and you lay into that
O where do we go now but nowhere
O wake up, my love, my lover wake up
O wake up, my love, my lover wake up
Across clinical benches with nothing to talk
Breathing tea and biscuits and the Serenity Prayer
While the bones of our child crumble like chalk
O where do we go now but nowhere
I remember a girl so bold and so bright
Loose-limbed and laughing and brazen and bare
Sits gnawing her knuckles in the chemical light
O where do we go now but nowhere
You come for me now with a cake that you've made
Ravaged avenger with a clip in your hair
Full of glass and bleach and my old razorblades
O where do we go now but nowhere
O wake up, my love, my lover wake up
O wake up, my love, my lover wake up
If they'd give me my clothes back then I could go home
From this fresh, this clean, antiseptic air
Behind the locked gates an old donkey moans
O where do we go now but nowhere
Around the duck pond we grimly mope
Gloomily and mournfully we go rounds again
And one more doomed time and without much hope
Going round and around to nowhere
From the balcony we watched the carnival band
The crack of the drum a little child did scare
I can still feel his tiny fingers pressed in my hand
O where do we go now but nowhere
If I could relive one day of my life
If I could relive just a single one
You on the balcony, my future wife
O who could have known, but no one
O wake up, my love, my lover make up
O wake up, my love, my lover make up
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05.06.2007., utorak
Come Rain or Come Shine
Prezirem kišobrane. Znam da su funkcionalni i da super izgledaju kada macani poput Gene Kellya mašu s njima po ulici, ali ja ih svejedno prezirem. Ipak, danas sam prihvatila Lukrinu ponudu da mi posudi kišobran, jer sam nosila naočale, a ako nešto prezirem više od kišobrana onda su to one sitne, iritantne kapljice na naočalama koje od svijeta stvaraju neke čudne, sablasne oblike. Kišobrani su dobri u neke literarno-nostalgične svrhe, ok su za naziv uberzle korporacije i dobro funkcioniraju u sklopu raznoraznih fotografija, ali u osnovi, sami po sebi, oni su zlo.
I zato sam ja sad sjela za komp potpuno mokra. Usprkos činjenici da sam bez naočala slijepa kao šišmiš (a nemam ultrazvučne sposobnosti orijentiranja, a ni ljudske, što se toga tiče), zatvorila sam kišobran i skinula naočale po najljućem pljusku (kojeg je upravo zamijenio bjesomučni pjev iritantno optimističnih ptičica). I baš sam fino pokisla. Onak prvostupanjsko pokisnuće na razini crkvenog miša (zašto se kaže pokisao kao crkveni miš, i što je to točno crkveni miš, nemam pojma). Istina, ljudi su me malo čudno pogledavali dok sam ja sa veselo gackala po lokvicama u svojim martama, držeći kišobran i naočale u ruci, slušajući nekakav opskurni metal, ali meni je to baš fino osvježilo dan.
Sad se idem presvući da ne uhvatim neku hunjavicu (Zvonimir Balog: Ja, Magarac - obavezno štivo :).
Eh, znam da je glup i besmislen post, ali baš me usrećilo ovo pokisnuće. Idem sad papat puding od vanilije i učit nešto.
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04.06.2007., ponedjeljak
Provincijalka
Rekli su mi da je došla iz provincije,
strpavši u kofer snove i ambicije.
Drug je studirao sa njom,
pa smo se najzad sreli ona i ja.
Shvatih, Bože, ovo je sazvežđe za nju provincija.
Srce stade kao dete da se otima,
tražili smo se po prethodnim životima.
Ostavih iza sebe sve,
zablude, promašaje koji tište,
prosto, lako, k'o neko beznačajno pristanište.
O, da mi je da se još jednom zaljubim,
opet bih uzeo kostim večnog dečaka.
I opet bih smislio kako da prodangubim
dok ona ne sleti niz hodnik studenjaka.
Gorda naspram podsmeha i spletki poslednjih.
Usamljeni galeb iznad mora osrednjih.
Reči bi sve pokvarile,
samo se ćutke pokraj mene stisla.
Sami, svoji, izbeglice iz besmisla.
O, da mi je da se još jednom zaljubim.
Opet bih gledao niz kej kao niz prugu.
I opet bih znao da se u oblak zadubim
i čekao bih samo nju, nijednu drugu.
Napiši mi pesmu, mazila se. Nisam znao da li ću umeti.
Reči jesu moje igračke, cakle mi se u glavi kao oni šareni
staklići kaleidoskopa i svaki put mi je druga slika u očima kad
zažmurim.
Ali, postoje u nama neke neprevodive dubine, postoje u nama neke
stvari neprevodive u reči, ne znam...
Napiši mi pesmu, molila je, i nisam znao da li ću umeti. Voleo
sam je tako lako, a tako sam teško to znao da pokažem.
A onda, odjednom, raspored mladeža na njenim leđima, kao
tajna mapa, pokazao mi je u koje zvezde treba da se zagledam..
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02.06.2007., subota
Great Expectations
Češće nego rjeđe mi se dogodi da očekujem i da se tome neizmjerno veselim. Zabrijem si gadno kako će biti uberdobro i kako ću biti sva hepi and shit kad dođe do toga. Onda se moja očekivanja znaju gadno razočarati.
Češće nego rjeđe mi se dogodi da smatram da nešto neće bit bogznašto. Budem uvjerena da će bit skroz lame i beskorisno i glupo i retardirano i naporno. A onda ispadne iznenađujuće zadovoljavajuće i ja budem sretna zbog toga danimaaaaaaaaa, godinamaaaaaaaaaaa, satimaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....
I sad, što je bolje? Biti toitalni skeptik i uvijek sumnjat u potencijalnu kvalitetu onoga što te očekuje ili je možda bolje biti klasa optimist i nadati se najboljem?
Iskreno, meni je i samo iščekivanje nečeg, nespavanje zbog uzbuđenja, smiješak koji ništa ne može izbrisati s mog lica, sasvim dovoljan, čak i kad krajnje zadovoljenje iščekivanja izostane.
Recimo, baš sam maloprije svratila do Bisa i kupila sam sebi i Bebaču onaj masni milka sladoled. Razmišljala sam o njemu tjednima, otkako sam vidjela reklamu. Slinila sam za njim i za danom kad ću napokon odvojiti dvanaest kuna za njega, za danom kad ću ga otvoriti i vidjeti ga onako divnog pred sobom i kad ću zagristi u tu fensi šmensi čokoladu. Kad ono najobičniji sladoled od čokolade s nimalo uzbudljivog sadržaja, osim možda onih komada lješnjaka, a čokoladu ionako ne volim pretjerano. Više bih uživala u svom kornetiću od vanilije. Znam što me čeka kad ga otvorim, znam da ću, kao i svaki put kad ga uzmem, uživati u njemu. Iako je taj užitak predvidljiv i poznajem ga, katkad me iznenadi koliko je fin.
Ajme kako li ga serem.
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