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Juce sam imala neku terapiju na senjaku u 11h, kicma, u zurbi sam izasla iz stana okrenula 2 puta kljuc, izvukla ga, spustila se stepenicama do lifta, pozvala lift, a onda se setila da nisam ponela mobilni, bio mi je vazan, okrenula se, spustila stepenicama, izvadila kljuc i krenula da ga ubacim u bravu, kad ono nece, probaj drugi put, nece, treci, nece, sijalica ne radi, neki polumrak, cucnem da vidim da se nesto nije pomerilo, gledam kljuc da se nije polomio, oblija me znoj, ne mogu da verujem, pocinjem da se nerviram, vec kasnim na terapiju, ustajem spustam se niz stepenice, zovem lift, dok se vozim do dole razmisljam, trebace mi bravar, ne mogu da cimam tatu, znam za jednog na vracaru pravi kljuceve, mozda se razume i u brave, al subota je ko zna da li mogu da ga nadjem, dolazim do stanice, ulazim u trolu, vozim se kratko, srecom postoje table koje me navode do mesta gde sam se uputila, uazim u zgradu, doktor me prima, vrsi pritisak na bolno mesto, izvija me, mozda da se vratim da pitam komsinicu da li ima baterijsku lampu, da probam jos jednom, prebacuju me na struju, laser i ono trece uvek zaboravim, lezim na boku, prija mi hladan gel, zalim se sta mi se dogodilo, tesi me, mozda je sve u redu, ipak cu se vratiti da pogledam jos jednom,  ulazim u trolu, cekam zeleno, smirujem sebe, bice ok, prelazim ulicu, proradice, dolazim do zgrade, ulazim u lift, pritiskam dugme za cetvri sprat i tad shvatam gresku u koracima, pocinjem da se smejem, mislim se, da li me je neko video od komsija, spustam se niz stepenice bez problema ulazim u stan, nastavljam da se smejem, ne mogu da verujem sta sam uradila, rekli su mi da u stanu ispod ne zivi niko, srecom, uzimam mobilni, zakljucavam vrata, silazim niz stepenice, spustam se liftom, vozim se trolom, svracam do kokija da se castim nekim secerom, kakvo olaksanje, odlazim kod mojih na rucak, pomislim na tebe, pomisim i na sebe i svoju izgubljenost, ne zameram ti na reakciji, shvatam da te nesto puca iznutra, puca i mene, i ko bi poverovao da je takav susret moguc opet, logika namece, ako je ono pocetak, ovo je kraj, ali kraj cega, i da pobegnemo, da precutimo, da se sutra susrecemo bez prepoznavanja, problem ce i dalje ostati u nama.

mh maj 2017
Saša D Lović Apr 2015
prоbudilа i mrcе
piskа i vriskа оnih kојi gоrеšе
dušе im pеrfоrirаnе
i tо ih izdаје јеr оštrili su kоčеvе
kао dа prоklаmuјu оrјеntаciјu
i pоstаvljајu trpеzu vеtru
dоgоrеšе sizirеni hоmоlоški pоstаvljеni
vаtrа ih pustа pоstаvilа
аh vаtrа sе ugаsilа
i
pоglеd im višе niје pоglеd
dоk nа krајu lаgаriје
sаmi svоје nоgе izјеdаšе
vаtrа tinjа
ја stојim nа ulаzu tоg lаvirintа
iz kоgа sаm оdаvnо
а ti sе tоgа tаkо dоbrо sеćаš
istеrао minоtаurа
uviјеnоg u vео kоntеmplаciје
kаd slučајnо krајičkоm оkа vidеh
gdе ti nа rаspuću stаdе
izа ušiјu zmiје ti sе ugnеzdilе
i nеstа ti pоglеdа i dаh ti usаhnu
dоk si sе iz ribljе krljušti piliо
čuјеš li tе uspоrеnе rеprоdukciје
оdјеkа svојih kоrаkа
tо kucаtе ti i tvој sаt
а јеdаn vеk iаkо upао u vrtlоg
а uz tо i usmеn
mаsnоg licа čеkа svој vеtаr
gluv i lеp
ја vаm nа tеmеnimа prојеktuјеm milоsrđа
i muzikоm žеlim dа dоčаrаm rаst
stvаrnоst nаšеg pоstојаnjа
pоkrеt pо pоkrеt pо pоkrеt
i muzikа је svе јаčа
ti аplаudirаš оčimа kоје ćutе
kао kаd zаkаsnеli tеurg
оslоbоđеnjе krеmеnu nudi
i vеtаr sе pоnеkаd pоspе pеpеlоm pо glаvi
nе uspеvа dа prеvаziđе
mоrаlnе stаndаrdе
i јоš siја zа njih
оbičnа žеljа zа mirnim živоtоm
sа nајfiniјеg sаtеnа
nајfiniја prаšinа prоbrаnа
zbоg sukоbа žеljа sа rеаlnоšću
umео si krеmеn dа sаslušаš
i glе
zvеzdе јоš uvеk siјајu
о nе nе plаči zbunjеni dеčаčе
nеmаmо višе ni sеmеnа ni vоdе
višе nаm nеćе nići ništа
uzаlud ridаnjеm dоzivаš оblаkе
sаmо ćе nаm zаkriti suncе
i оhlаditi pustinju
pоbеđеni vеruјu ја znаm vеruј
zvеzdе su mi tаkо rеklе
sаžvаkаni kоmаdići nаših mоzgоvа
tаkо rеskо ispljunuti
dа rеmеtе tаmu kојu sаm
оd tišinе plео
simbоlični uspеsi u svеtu fаntаziје
zbunišе unutrаšnjе оdnоsе
i оn pоčе dа sе plаši svоg sаtа
kојi mu оbјаšnjаvа
kаkо sе оdgоnеtkе rаsipајu
u grоtlо smirаја dаnа
оn dеčаkа uči dа оsеti
miris njеgоvе nаgоrеlе kоsе
rеčе svе i rеčе svа
i
pоčе sа rаzmrеžаvаnjеm
njеgоv оdrаz iz оglеdаlа pоmаlо istоvеtаn
prоmuklim glаsоm mоli
bеоnjаčе mu zаpustеšе
nаmеnski mu ih isisаšе
kriоmicе nаlivhu sе suzаmа
kriоmicе prеkuvаšе mu gаngliје
а bаgrеm cvеtао
i tаkо tоku izаzvао prеkid
nоsеći svоје pоbrkаnо znаmеnjе
krеštао је
а biо је tu sаmо rаdi rеkоnstrukciје
tаd sе rаzviја smеrnicа suјеtе
i оsmеh i suzаn pоglеd
nајаvi mu sаn
zа visоkо pоstаvljеn cilj
оn bеz оrјеntаciје
dоk sа tаvаnicе kаpljе
i tuđu slаbоst primiruје
а pаžnju mu оdvlаči vеtаr
kојi rаznоsi miris njеgоvе nаgоrеlе kоsе
dоk pоsmаtrа dеčаkа
kаkо оpipаvа bilо usnulо
mudrоsti svаkоdnеvicе
užаsаvа sе оd grоbа
оkupirаn trаžnjоm zа živоtnim srеdstvimа
buncа nеštо strаšnо о ukidаnju
rаzvојеm svојim svе bеspоmоćniјi
bivао
pоstеpеnо pоtiskivаn
sаm svој еpitаf pоstајао
pоšаst prоđе bеs zаbоrаvljеnа
unаzаđеnа
grč pоsustаli оmаlоvаžаvаn zаsmrаđivаn
prоsuо u grоtlо smirаја dаnа
i pоslеdnju kоličinu suzа
ispiо kvintisеnciјu
nеgаtivnоg mеntаlnоg stаvа
i
pоnаvljао u sеbi
kао štо i ti stаlnо pоnаvljаš
lumen naturale
glе pа ti plаčеš
i krvnički gutаš tај crni оmаmljuјući nаpitаk
krvnički gurаš tе iglе
u svоје nеnаžuljаnе rukе
nе znаm hоćе li tа hlаdnа vоdа
dа ti priја
а i tај tvој sаt...
Saša D Lović Sep 2014
1

gledao je dugo svoju sen
zakrvavljenim očima
  grlo mu se grčilo

sekiru sa zida da ponese
u šumu
  šta bi drugo

inače često dovodi sebe
u takvu situaciju
  ne zbog nečeg patološkog

ne zbog neke skrivene želje
već zbog šume
  ona je i ovog puta kriva

usne su mu drhtale
šumom odzvanjao njegov dah
  drveće počelo da vrišti

suze cerove kvasile humus
no to ga ovog puta ne pokoleba
  ovog puta otići će mnogo dalje

na sekiru pade zrak
i ona umi njegovo telo
  svojim sjajem


2

mala fide
dim se vije mehovi nadimaju
  čekići biju

znojavi kovači brkove suku
piju vodu metal stenje
  pod serijom teških udaraca

crveni se još nerođena sekira
u agoniji nastajanja
  sijaju se oštri zub i uvo tupo

pa je utom zgrabiše klešta
sve zaneme
  sve sačeka prvi vrisak

susret sa vodom
mala fide
  šta avaj nastade


3

u početku beše raka
i on je plesao oko nje
  poslednji ples

uma atrofičnog
udovi mu leteli sekli etar
  bale kvasila mu lice

očiju zakrvavljenih
ni glasa da pusti
  zmije su stenjale upregnute

niz amove otrov se slivao
raka poče da biva jezero
  drveće spustilo grane

i sve više grdilo mu lice
o boli
  ples je bivao sve sporiji

ptice su sve tiše rikale
iz tame poče da se rađa tama
  grđa i crnja

muve su naokolo zujale
drveće počelo da vrišti
  suze cerove kvasile humus


4

i kako je plakala sekira
naišavši na kamen
  vatrene suze prštale naokolo

kamen se vrteo kamen je jeo
vatrene suze
  i zub oštriji postajaše

svetlost njena poče da izjeda tamu
grđu i crnju
  od one pređašnje

pade zrak na nagrđeno lice
i stade sa plesom
  zmijama skide jaram

umi udove svoje u jezeru
urlik zapara galamu oko njega
  i nastade tišina tišina tišina

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  progledao je


5

u početku beše i šuma
prašuma beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  plakao on plakala i šuma

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se grčilo
  udovi sušili crni dani behu

anđeli su sletali
kljucali mu oči
  koje su bile voda

donosili vatru u prašumu
da sagori um njegov atrofični
  vatra se gasila

donosili i vodu vodu mutnu vodu bistru
belu crvenu zelenu bilo kakvu
  voda se gasila


6

išla je sekira iz ruke u ruku
brzo i sigurno
  kroz vatru kroz vodu

padale glave
padalo drveće
  zub oštriji uvo tuplje držalje crnje

od krvi od zemlje
sekira je kružila
  tog su dana žene crno mleko muzle

ah nesreće
ptice su sve divlje rikale
  muve su zujale

pauci se razmrežaše
između prstiju njegovih
  ključala je lava u grudima šume

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  jezera


7

sa rukom stopila se sekira
skameni se dah pogled znoj
  kidao je dronjke od odeće

bale kvasila mu lice
konji su bili nemirni
  anđeoskim hučanjem šuma ga zvala

lišće je padalo sa drveća
magla proždirala etar
  ptice behu odletele

rožnjače mu se zabrazdiše
srce poče da kuca
  sekira urliče

anđeli behu odleteli
samo su muve zujale
  on penio

šuma hučala
jezero ključalo
  tišina


8

na kraju beše svetlost
prasvetlost beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  smejao se on smejala se i svetlost

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se širilo
  udovi listali crni dani behu prošli

demoni su izranjali
kljucali oči
  koje su bile vatra

donosili gmazove u svetlost
da opogane um atrofični
  gmazovi se sušili

donosili pegaze sa rogom
bele crvrne zelene bilo kakve
  krila im otpadala


9

stajali bi sekira i on stopljeni
u agoniji
  svetlost zaslepi oko njegovo

iz rožnjače kapala je lava
tuga poče da izjeda svetlost
  grđu i crnju od pređašnje

zub tuplji uvo oštrije držalje istrošeno
pade tren na nagrđeno lice
  i poče sa plesom

zmijama jaram na vrat
kezilo se njegovo lice sa dna rake
  progledao je


10

granulo je sunce i nesta svetlosti
zmije su strašno siktale
  upregnute

gledale kako se otrov iz jezera
pretvara u oblak
  oblak zakri sunce

i njegov um atrofični
udovi mu leteli
  pogađali ptice

muve su zujale
očiju zakrvavljenih
  pusti glas planine su se tresle

vetar poče da duva
umrsi mu kosu koža mu se ospe
  iz tabana poče korenje da niče


11

sva se magla upi u njega
on spusti sekiru u raku
  u raku doteče lava

i ne bi više zuba oštrog uva tupog
šume prašume svetlosti prasvetlosti
  jednostavno ne bi

na kraju beše
on
  u agoniji

postojao je
Apachi Ram Fatal Aug 2016
immutable silence induced
bombardment caused by
birth of a ghost punctually
derived from fresh air
with no emotion or sympathy
dead sensitivity parted lips
yellow eyes staring
back at us brought about
soil rising in magnetic induction
eclectic charges polarized
currents shifted spirit width
ram nizzle threshold nicked
blowing with the wind Niz
blessed peace upon him
bright phoenix wings
extend beyond lenses
above a star shining
wide owl rings protrude
subatomic grime regarded
sewn in fabric of humanity
testifying coldhearted
exemplar charisma donated
hidden aspects of demeanor
derive lives of love deprived
occupy truth in dreams
until kingdom come
nightmares relieved taking
there place revelation revealed
in benediction bleeding out
chests shattered by the light
My best friend Nick at point black was shot dead murdered by someone at his front door posing as a pizza delivery guy his roommate watched from the couch as the bullet entered his chest and punctured his back hitting the wall as his blood splattered the picture hanging with the frame. Society is on the Most Wanted List from the grave.
Emma May 2012
I always somehow missed your passing silhouette
but I saw your eyes cry thunder,
saw your sweetly shivering pen-scratching-paper
in the cold streetlight

I never thought I could feel so disconnected
                                                                I was wrong.
                                                                ­For that and for other things. I

meant to share things. With you, with anyone I
           meant to do things that are worthwhile I
                         meant to find the things worth living for I
                                      meant to grasp the hands of the world tightly and never let go
I didn't want to be swayed,
and I'm swinging at the whim of drifting cobwebs


I found myself on the concrete again, tonight, throwing questions at the sky
The parts of myself worth keeping are atrophying, I thought
So I thought some more.


EVERYONE deserves love. I'm tired of scratching the snow waiting for an answer. I want the world to change. And it's not me, it's the rules that broke me. It's the rules that bent me into un
                     rec
og
niz                able
shapes.

So then Why, I asked. One word. Crumbled as the cold set in, and I cried in the moonlight.

That was when I thought of you and the things left unanswered. Mostly I use you as a way to think about myself. When I was with you, I stopped asking questions, I think.
I need to learn how to be alone. I need to learn how to be with people and not stop being. I'm raging so freely lately that I'm dreaming again of you and of the times I kissed you and the times I should have, but mostly of the time I left you...
No regrets, hon, no matter how much it hurts.


So.
Here, again. Alone, again. The apathy is back.
Sun on my back, moon on my back, cracks
in my skin. You win.
Saša D Lović Apr 2015
Pomrčina…
Samo se belasaju razigrane kozice,
vetrić dlaku im njiše.
Njihov miris
fajta moj njuh u noći,
tražim čizme rudarske
moje,
al’ nema ih ni za lek!
A ja u pomrčini osećam vaš strah,
vaš veseli strah
i čujem vaše slabašno brečanje,
o, kozice moje, cupkate ko mlada,
čujem kako vam nožice po
vlažnom tlu žudno biju.
Da utehu nađem,
boli da me minu,
kad nežno se protegne niz dolinu
meeeeeee…
S praskozorjem bi vam se prikrao,
al’ čizama mi nema!
Ah, moja najgrđa mora
u sutonu htenja,
ništa moje večno bilo nije,
ni za Novu godinu pihtije!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
keep me in this prison: to recount the spinning
labyrinth of thought before falling
to sleep only 14 hours ago...
                      and having done so:
dreaming up the most uncomfortably real dreams -
not that detailing them would be worth
anything...

   begging myself: remember the words
prior to sleep: write them down: you fool!
the "other" man is speaking - rising from the depths:
the child "abadoned": to curate this tongue
has risen from the depths by chance
of you favouring to enter them in turn...

a protest concerning kenneth rexroth:
but sir... what's there to boast about?
    aren't you reading Proust as a translation?

keep me in this prison... as of today...
a few chapters from the pickwick papers:
yes... i do kind Dickens much easier on the eye:
and most certainly much more peacock-strutting
than Shakespeare...
            perhaps with the exception of Macbeth:
as ever... exceptions can and sometimes
must be made...
                      however: minor...

and in between chapters... well...
                         a swedish ***** and some tonic
and lime...
            and then the windowsill...
perched on a folded leg...
       smoking a cigarette... continuing
to sip the thrill zapping... crisp and cutting...
      warm snow...
                       and the song...
             qui nous demaine:

                  trois fleurs d’amour i trouvai
                  en la bonne estraine
                  voici le mai, le joli mois de mai
                  qui nous demaine...

in the rendition of corvus corax...

yet another moon-less night...
         such nights: where it almost feeds to be inclined
to conjure up some nearby nomad with
a robe attired with stars...
         a silver globus of glistening
romance and death...

                  such nights when the moon
doesn't appear...
            and frankly... the clouds have settled
for keeping the man in the ***** of earth:
never to aspire toward galileo and copernicus ltd.
in protest! for astronomy!

yes... between reading the pickwick papers...
and listening to some music:
never the two at the same time...
a parting of the seas...
the art of reading: in the sea of silence...
where you can fiddle with...
    a whisper from the buzzing aeon bound
to minutes: the sound of an electric demon
in a lightbulb...

and of course beyond this sea of silence:
a sea of sighs and yawns...
a flipping of a page: like a crease in time -
or a passing whale-shaped-tsunami
of sound...          to then the music...

as death would have it: beside the music...
perhaps once upon a time...
but i do not believe it:
a pen on paper - a hunched crow left scratching
with its claws...
while a fire **** between such
imaginary creatures took place in a candleflame...
but no music...
perhaps in the 20th century:
the radio... and the type-writer: machine-gun...
the radio static would have aided
the mechanisation of the type-type-typo!
scratch-rip! again!

21st century antics?
   pristine quality, earphones...
all the better to not hear the clicking sound
of a lineage of ten little hammers on a keyboard...
perhaps plucking oysters from the depths...
or for that matter pearls...
or perhaps searching for delicate mushrooms
and pulling them by the stump...
still the umbrella royalty still: that sucker's bribe
of pride...

of note: the old tongue wanted an audience...
concerning? drinking... and other... habits...
*****: most certainly... with the lime and tonic...
in "rationed" doses... and a good sleeping
hygiene... i must call it a sleeping hygiene...
at most 12am to bed... and at least 8am the rise...
the drinking:
one day upon a sleeping lake...
another day upon a raving lunatic of a sea!
a time for drinking: a time for thrist...
a time for living and a time for dying...

i tried to imagine myself in one of those a.a.
meetings... self-lacerating myself:
in that secular ugliness: without a monk's tunic
or: tools for: penitence...
after ten weeks or so: clap clap all round applause!
i bet...
       the dry stretch: applause applause:
lady gaga go-go! to live for applause...
b'ah! to ******* with that sort of attitude...
and this is where the old tongue spoke(:)

o piciu?! wersja: jak, pić?!
chcem tego psa na smyczy niż tą smycz: samą!
bez tego psa! ten "niby"
wzamian z tym marno-nerwowym
   człowiekiem! tą śpiącą pijawką!
suma sumarum?
   wole tego psa na smyczy - niż tą smycz
bez psa!
lepiej ja z tym psem na smyczy:
   niz ten czlowiek ze swą śpiącą pijawką!


tr.
     on drinking?! version: how to, drink?!
i want this dog on a leash than this leash:
on its own! without this dog!
                  that "so-called" alternative
with this feebly-nervous human!
                                    that sleeping leech!
<>
i rather this dog on a leash - than this
leash without a dog!
better i with this dog on a leash:
than this human with his sleeping leech!

it's not some eternal wisdom...
but...                                 it's a good enough start...
and yes... please... this prison...
every... single... day, and, night....
forever...
i can become the observant spy mushroom:
the hitchhiker in 1960s psychadelia
mingling with darwinism...
the mushroom that hijacked the ape...
etc.

                  it's a pretty simple list...
a dickens... a ***** and tonic and lime...
a windowsill... a cigarette...
   some... folkish song... i'd much prefer
the lyrics to the sung in anything but english...
french, latin... german... norwegian...
but please... not italian... i'll settle for greek...

if asked: why didn't you marry...
good question...
                why didn't i marry?
                        perhaps this... or perhaps...
i much prefered the 1 hour periods
of entertaining the company of prostitutes
in a brothel?
               honest transactions: stealing kisses...
the mainstream already laid the generic
framework: jack the ripper sort...

                      well: from judas to jesus
to me to the... "lowest denominator"...
                                            or so "they" say...
since if there was anything to be celebrated
at easter... outside of a homogenous catholic
nationhood... in england...
the lair of the huguenots...
         well... i teased reading kabbalah...
i teased reading the gnostic texts and i really did go
mad about the nag hammadi library...
after a while though:
can i change the direction of the Vistula
by putting a stick in the middle of it?
i certainly: ha ha! river... not the sea:
what can you do? turn the time and the flow?

anyway... catholicism...
                the usual suspect rubric check-list...
baptised? had i any say in it?
first communion? did i have any say in it
or would you rather ask whether
i lied when taking my first confession?
a first confession is a precursor to a first communion...
or... i don't remember...
i played the xylophone at the st. augustine's
primary school nativity play:
yeah... and drinking under-age...
crux of the matter: if we're all about peacocking
and comparing all the little richards
via the 3rd's **** or whatever...
confirmation?                      yeah...
          ­           so much for a church wedding...

all that... and i have to come back...
sensibly... catholic intellectualism or sorts...
bribe me and i might take it seriously...
love me and i might even throw in some fiasco
of apologetics... but then i'd be like
a monkey at a sushi bar: eat it? fling it?!
the only sensible consolidation of
a celebration of easter...

    the winter has been crucified...
                 and today was the first day i could
pick up a scent of spring...
in the rain... it trickled with...
earth... from far away... dry sand... mingling
with the water... the wind must have
picked up the sand from sahara and a dollop
of the evaporating mediterranean...
flung it to these isles...

                       yes: origins in catholicism...
which always more fun to break away from...
"apostate": notably watching apostate intellectual
jews and their spezial brand of atheism...
since: i mean... trust a catholic convert to
judaism? trust a *** reading into gnosticism?
or trust a muslim at all?
                         basic questions of: a priest,
a rabbi...                        a druid walk into a bar...
sort of jokes...
           there a litany of them...
a whole 'ymn book o' 'em!
                       sam's the weller! see the son?
moi noi'ver!

         but back and forth back and forth
within and without catholicism...
                                it's not as fun... black-clad
sober, serious, surplus of secularism...
                         all that: agitation from... what the persians
rebelled against... when finally the islamic
schism came so early...
and the ****'ites and... the persians like
the good choir boys of catholicism...
     one eye is said to be reserved for reading...
one eye is said to be reserved for admiring...
           it's hard to admire a text...
                          when it's even harder to read
into a sculpture!

oh yes... i like this prison... very much...
                                             where, is, my, mind?!
Nakon vremena
Nemog razgovora
Osećaja promena
Uočenih pravila

Za trenutak
Ulazi
Tu je.

Lepotom opisana
Estetikom iskrojena
Od pogleda zaštićena
Pričom inspirisana

I još štošta
Prolazi
Tu je.

Izmedju stajanja i kretanja
U kadru tramvajskog prozora
Jos jedan od onih
Nevidljivih susreta

Niz nastavlja
Odlazi
Tu je.

Uvek kada sam na pola puta
I dalje ne shvatam...


*mh, 21. april 2016
Ništa
nije
rekla.

Samo bi
dotakla
svoju
suštinu,
i nestala
na neko
vreme.

U daljini
grmi
i seva.

Niz ulicu
se sliva
kiša ...

*mh, Jun 2016

— The End —