„one two three“ go to boulangerie
„four five six“ may be write letter to missis x
„seven eight nine“ my call you deny
„ten eleven twelve“ …i slowly despise rhymes with sheer vengeance..
out of coquetry and out of bravado, i desist our memory, i will turn to enter
in a new day, without prescribed lies and tainted tricks, without whens without whys, without "be blue" commands and daily ****** „luv-syndrome-disease“
& what in particular corrupts the works and days:
without nasty repressive syndrome as consequence of how ugly artistic comradeship can be.
Yah. just depart towards unknown, under guiding of trembling crescent,
to whatever oddness i will might to face..
O it wont be worse i still guess...
something wrong with me?
so strangely i rejoice out of any certain cause.. ?
tis is may be shy anticipation of the delight which the read of some few subterranean poems can sometimes make ?
is there „land in sight“?
is here some flower to breath in?
even if it merely about basking in darkness,
not alone, but with sojourner..
my nonsense, your nods, isnt it slightly utopia?
O b s c u r i t y i s o u r r e w a r d. seem be the single remnants to chant..
vomiting and scolding abundance is what only will remain to realize?
isnt it kind of tryst which satisfy the starving one at best..?
O to large demand!.., but still
towards all of futility my worn heart still embrace
the solemnity of unknown..
wish to inhale the solemnity of unknown..
to enshroud myself with solemnity of unknown..
to chock on solemnity of unknown..
..as long as poetry is yet not dead
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
until dead end
i starred on one ad
in the subway
it speaks: „love is not a an accident“
it was partners-mediation project
printed on the huge red coloured desk
what is else is love if
not an accident?
either it cause lasting elation
or it inflict luv-syndrome-disease
love is her majesty accident!
how ever PR guys are always right
they rent spots on streets, subways and internet
not for fun!
much honester is just an ad of call girl
she at least doesnt make any brain wash,
but just sales her ***
I know it, since once I was one.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
what a value to writing earnst
what a value to stay insane
what a value awaking the pains
what a value attack with offence
what a value to stay stiff cold
what a value to play bold
the kaleidoscope of every state of feel
any of which is void to display
no to go in depth of deny
lets not to scary so amiable guy
under all that chain of trials
is the same end:
in the best case you will be eager consummated
but never will face you any aid on revenge
since even in underground samurai are dead
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
trudging from lombard
pawned ring
to pay back long debt
Esta es mi vida.
wonderful friend sent a letter:
dont send me poems
I dont love poetry
Caminando por la calles.
On the streets Lanterns
blinding eyes
while I need darkness
Yo tener enemigos en todos el mundo
letter from court
to pay penalty 1200 euro
for spraying graffities in Friedrichshain
Esta mi vida es afuera un campos de batalla.
i am hungry
I pick from some wheelchair near entrance of supermarket
one banan
towards me run and attacks me a huge drunkard
beat out from my hands banan
slaps in brow
and I fall on snowed pavement
feel no pains
he stays over me and yell: Sie klaute banane, Nutte!!
I low whisper: yourself schweine backe..
jump from spot and imaginary bite the **** of his imaginary gun
El mundo es maravilloso
I possess no more a laptop
i spilled wine on it
being taken aback of one scene of pure **********
of one lovely guest in my flat
how now to write manifesting defending verses?
Politico de mierda que gobierna el pais.
Internet shop
whole night over
beneath of buzzing of casino machines
I sit and write the letter to imaginary dad
to imaginary lovely mom
to sweet sister or brother
well, I have nobody of them
though would I be orphan
I guess my existence were not so dismal
Yo tengo el mi fierro por disparar.
I writing email to american situationist
his nickname is rasputin
I saying him, that I am situationist
and I am recently became persona non-grata
and I better die than
land in loony-bin
need your aid.
he answers with a link about a war in Irak
my solar plexus clenchs tight
Puta yo no necesita usted!
Esta mi maniera,
Caminando por la calles,
Listo para morir,
Esta mi vida es terminada.
*****
Friedrichshain- urban district in Berlin
Sie klaute banane, Nutte!- she stole a banan, Whore!(german)
schweine backe- pig's **** (german)
(thank you Alessandro P. for lesson in spanish)
Esta es mi vida. This is my life.
Caminando por la calles. Walk on the streets
Yo tener enemigos en todos el mundo.I have enemies allover the world
Esta mi vida es afuera un campos de batalla.This is my life outside for the battlefield
El mundo es maravilloso The world is beautiful
Politico de mierda que gobierna el pais. Politic in this land is merde
Yo tengo el mi fierro por disparar. I have my iron for shooting
Puta yo no necesita usted. Bitch, I dont need you
Esta mi maniera,
Caminando por la calles,
Listo para morir,
Esta mi vida es terminada:
this is my attitude
walking through the streets
to search for death
my life is finished
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
he would may love me would I be only cynic, uttering sarcastic words in between of next and next speedball
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
the idylie of two beloved
who are not discriminated
neither by each other
not by others
because of their gender
isnt it utopy?
Ask by some gay paars,
whether they ever forget
how they anounnced about their love
to their orthodox parents...
what a hidden pain..
which always will remain
ask by the woman in suburb
how many ********
devastated her heart
before she met this handsome practical guy
who she may not really love
but cherish just the appereance of love
in form of elementar peace at home
without daily scandal
How oft we play satisfied when
in reality cats in the soul scratch
sometime there is no sight
how to difference lovely clotherness
from the chain of compomise
which people care
with clothed eyes.
happy love relation is rare
but luckely they are, they do exist.
but what about this phenomen like friendship?
Almost everybody would say
she/he have good friends
the paradox consist only in a fact
that modern life in the west
never put this
kinship on exam
since people are financelly independent
other else too, when they clients of the dole
and live from welfare
they are secured
there is no situation happens
that friend must to sell their car, or
put a ring from a finger
to salvate their friend from some calamity..
those friendship mostly base on
pleasant time spent together
out of any mutual bonds...
but friendship to its limit
is yet more dangerous
than a love to its limit.
Therefore such claim hardly exist
„friends“ mostly knows very well
where the limit of their mutual aid
this awareness is tragic,
especially utopic is true friendship
between male and female
to certain point it works
but when someone of both
step on thin ice
for example of unanswered love
to somebody else
here patience of friend ends
who want support dream of
friend
who is desperated lover
when reality shows here is dead end
but true friend would help by any „utopical“ situation
she/he will find any remedy and make magic thing happen.
And friendship between artists
isnt it where should be especial tight bond?
„I love you when you show“
it is what observation say of such very bonds..
today artists think they were gods themself
they curate the life of mortal in their work
and give no **** when their good deed
will not being mirrored in the art
the time of unique like Simone Weil expired
and when such altrusit with a keen sense for human justice
somewhere still live
they will die young like she did
or will be driven insane.
And we will never know about their dream
their fight, their resistance
because they were not writer or philosopher
like Simone Weil ocasionally was.
you will say this piece is written by
sheer frustrated one.
You exactly didnt guess.
Yes of cause I am frustrated one
but i find satisfaction balance
not to dream about true friendship
because such adjectiv is too relative
anyway what is true friendship to my graspe
Is possible meet only in myths
but though to thousandth time dare in:
imagine friendship
imagine mutual creation
imagine peace
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
translation from russian by rolanda
E.К
I write you from ex-colonia
grounded twenty centuries ago
by romans-sounds like a symphony
for hyperborean ear, hundred time
increased distance till addressee.
Looks like Agrippa knew what she did
the sister, worth by her madness of her brother.
Further cinematograph-nude body
bent and etc..accordingly screenplay
maid lapping in marble bathtube
horns leads triumphal aria
with a long sound. On the backstage
usual complaining on the fate,
tangent glance to the east,
muscle of cease walk
the female wolf her concrete ******
snapping, moving back to the building of arsenale
lost fatten twins.
I recollect what you didnt finish to say me
closing second door on the bolt,
on same spot there is a snow, cover up Prachechnij bridge
panorama of river, filled up by ice,
something with tear through two thousand miles
or old age with saged belly.
In our age, verticals are
soaring unreachable, slipping to result
of life, just right to dress on sandals
but hardly happens to slip into toga.
Invariable law of falling drops
down, no matter- fontain, rain, ******
Harbour of postscript...rats storm the ship.
Funeral office offers moire
from spring collection for upholstery of
coffins, grief on the faces of personals,
just in time served coffee with cream
soften disaster of final account.
I write you, for what? - after victory
of foreign football team
from the closeness of prosperous summer,
connected Alps and Andes
by wave of psychose from tv,
inflicted by joy of superiority
above..(not clear what of), and their poses
of victors is sign of ugliness
from point of view of observer-
old neurasthenic and misantrope.
Contemplating fly of pterodactyl
by eye of stamped cyclop,
gilded **** on short spike of chirch
scream by voice of Luter:
"Be blessed folks cars!",
and morning flow down by sunrise on wood
by Dmitrij Poparev
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
there was a lonely poet
who bled his sonets to the imaginary Muse
he had never met
and gave it read to the outcast
he met hanging on the streets and some bars..
once he met there a goddess-like looking femme
wholy destitute, he imediatly felt in love
love to the marvelous **********
it was love from first glance
yes, she was a harlot
who is usually short on time
he somehow managed
to afford her time
in motel
with blind windows
he came
and said her he want just
drink with her wine
on what, she wanted to throw him away
but he trembled by every nerv
and she said ok,
I will meet you after work
we will drink tea
she denied the hand reaching her money
and in two hours they met again
the man shined radiant
like he catched blue bird
she was tired she asked him
what do you want?
He tell, I want paint you in words
Not for you give me a kiss
Nor for you answer on my instant love
I love you just because I dont know you yet...
she laughed...
well, ok..
you wish to know me
out to touch me?
say, why are you so afraid?
He tald, Oh, no, I afraid nothing,
since i have nothing to loose..
but in this life I feel the immerse grief..
my mother will never love me
in the way I need
said he, and tear shed on his cheek..
the mistress looked full of intimidation on him..
she seems never sow the man tears..
and he cried suddenly so bitter that she
fehlt eerie,
this big child touched the long forgotten string of her
heart and she also began to cry..
so they cried together quite long time
poet took her hand
and they tenderly interwined the fingers..
she said, I didnt cried for eternity,
I thought all my feelings are dead.
My mother never loved me too
but because of this i never cried or fehlt any regret...
you are so vulnerable, my stranger..
you awaking me feel something beside
my only fact, that I am luxurious toy for the spity men
let me show you my very ****
you will perhaps recognise that I cant be your girl...
I didnt deserve this tender tears
I am Alaska, I am numb, cold, yet I am ok with that.
No, please, dont speak bad of yourself,
I will write for you funny poems
about wolfs, sheeps, dogs and cats..
your heart will slowly melt and mend,
you will again feel and may be one day
you will let you be my lovely concubine...
I joke, he added..
but howeverwhy.. god works on mysterious ways..
since that day poet find his true muse
and she, with her wanton delight, find a waiter for her sleeping heart
this is of cause just a fairytale, but somewhere near or far away
somewhere may be it happened in real life.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
red is color of those who are gypsy-heart
it's how rainbow starts
orange is string of saturated nerve
yellow : color for spectacular or fearfull fellow
green : equanimity is a queen
azure :realm of elusive dreams
blue: the sadness and melancholy is within
purple is where red and blue melt:
elation of spiritual realm and
the most psychodelic sense, its how the rainbow ends
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
the official art-scene..
what a huge dismal **** will you find there.
here is no comparison when you
suddenly would have a rare luck
to discover on narrow roads
some indie creator or some segregated lost poet
who's picks and words
like little glowing stars
same amazing as fully undiscovered
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC