I broke the theme. Not sure how that happened, but for a couple of days, the site will look boring. Then again, a break was nice because I started receiving some unwanted attention from some unwanted people.
I have to state one thing all over again. I am concerned that recently people have been thinking that I am into occult, religion, various esoteric beliefs and what not. While I respect people who are into these things, I feel obliged to tell you that I am not. I’m just playing around. and my only belief is not having a belief, as that’s what works for me. When I explore these symbols, I am playing with them. I do not believe a single word of it and I honestly doubt I ever will. Seven in particular is a carefully-worded mockery.
That said…in this one, you have an one-digit century and a Christian fanatic who might be Byzanthine, but he might as well be Franc. He’s coming to what he heard was the core of a huge group of barbarian peoples, to teach them to have solely one god. In these swampy lands intersected by two rivers and evergreen forests, he bumps into a strange fisherwoman.
The rest is predicting history. And it is revealed that these two people are the very ancestors of Wrong Star protagonists – the leading A and the Byronic hero B. That said, heck…I have a new prologue. Will changing prologues and epilogues ever end?
Kotao
Lovila sam ribu u močvari, na mesečini.
Niko ne voli žene koje to čine,
no ja volim svoju samoću.
Nebo je bilo prošiveno zvezdama,
a nad obalom se sagnuo stranac,
zapitah se šta traži ovde, noću.
Nije me primetio, zaokupljen podvodnim sobom,
nasmešila sam se kad se odraz dveju zvezda
konaćno podudario sa njegovim očima.
Svetlo se odbijalo o njegovu srebrnu ogrlicu,
i ja naivno priđoh i zagrabim vode,
u želji da saćuvam te oči u svojim šakama.
Odraz se raspršio kao roj razigranih svitaca.
One je podigao glavu i pogledao me.
Tako smo se upoznali ti i ja,
pre mnogo, mnogo vekova.
Dobro veče, stranče.
Hočeš li ribe? Kakva je to ogrlica?
Oj, varvarko.
Hoću ribe, iz čistog kotla.
Ovo?
Ovo je znak jedinog pravog boga.
Šta mu je to varvarka?
Otkud samo jedan bog?
Gde da nađem čisti kotao?
Slegla sam ramenima i povela te iz tršćaka do polja,
na ognjištu su bila tri kotla koja su se krčkala,
i četvrti, koji sam htela da očistim za tebe.
Podigao si taj svoj znak sa četiri kraka,
onda si počeo nešto da zapisuješ.
Pisanje! Slušala sam mnogo o tome.
Nauči me da pišem.
Došao sam da te učim o bogu i prosvetlim.
Pisanje nije za prljave ljude.
Nauči me da pišem!
Moram te osloboditi nazadnosti,
moram te pročistiti.
NAUČI ME DA PIŠEM!
PRVO BOG!
Počelo je da grmi, no nije bilo ni kapi kiše.
Riba je bila spremna za kotao.
Ženo, očisti taj kotao.
Da jedemo, pa da čuješ o bogu,
a kad svane da prosvetlim i druge varvare!
Dosta s bogom, pomozi mi oko ovog kotla, čoveče!
Pretežak je, ne mogu ni da ga skinem,
a ti samo o bogu, pa o bogu.
Đavolja ženo, treba te spaliti!
Tad je sevnula munja, nebo je bilo zaslepljujuće belo.
Dojahao je starac u kočijama,
izgledao je kao iscrtani oblak.
“Perun!” povikah sa strahopoštovanjem.
“Šta je to Perun? Neke vaše varvarske gluposti?”
Ispričala sam ti o Perunu,
dok je nebeski starac pojio svoje konje sa tri vruća kotla.
“Glupa ženo, to je sveti Ilija, sluga jedinog pravog boga.
Poređenje sa tim tvojim Perunom ga vređa. Varvarko!”
Tako naočit i učen, a tako rđav.
Dosta, stranče. DOSTA!
Nema boga, nema Ilije, nema ni Peruna!
Pomozi mi da skinem četvrti kotao,
ješćemo i učićeš me da pišem.
Tad je starac, u izmaglici povukao uzde,
konji zanjištaše i uzleteše, dižući prašinu,
kojom su sami sebe zaslepili.
Jedan od njih se ritnu i udari me kopitom u glavu,
sručila sam se u onaj četvrti kotao pun splačina,
u kotao koji nisi hteo da podigneš i isprazniš,
i on se odmah zatim preturio,
splačine su potekle poljanom,
gušivši svaku biljku na putu do vode.
Kosti.
Komadi kože.
Prljavi, stari čorbuljak.
Izvukla sam se u poslednjem trenutku,
jer je odmah zatim grom udario u drvo,
koje se srušilo preko preturenog kotla,
i raspolutilo ga.
Pogledala sam te, brišući splačine sa lica,
gledao si mladog čoveka naslikanog u tvojoj knjizi,
koliko uobražen moraš da budeš da gledaš sopstvenu sliku
u trenucima poput ovih?
Gledajući malo tebe, malo njega, ne shvatajući ništa,
nisam shvatila da si stavio onu ogrlicu oko mog vrata.
Čemu to?
Sa ogrlicom i dalje ne vidim slova u toj knjizi.
No, i tako rđav, bio si tako lep i topao.
Ti sad moj…?
Budalasta varvarko, ja sam iznad tebe.
Stigao sam iz prave države u ovu smrdljivu močvaru.
mogu da imam gospe kakve god poželim,
a ne prljave ribarke koje prevrću kotlove.
Mi ćemo uvek biti iznad vas, kotloprevrtača.
Zle žene treba spaliti, budi srećna što nisi u mojoj zemlji.
Hajde sad u svoj brlog na spavanje, ujutru hoću da vidim pleme.
Mislila…ti sad moj PRIJATELJ.
Zaplakah, ali lice mi je i dalje bilo mokro od splačina.
Šta li ćeš sad reći, da ronim prljave suze?
Izvadila sam ribe iz gomile krhotina, nisu bile za jelo,
jedna drugu su, u samrtnom ropcu, progutale do pola.
Spavao si pored oborenog drveta, sa onom knjigom umesto uzglavlja.
Ja sam posmatrala kako se one dve zvezde iz tvojih očiju
vraćaju na nebo.
Sutra si nam pričao o mrtvim krilatim ljudima,
ženi koja je rodila bez dahtanja i gurkanja,
u toj bolnoj priči bilo je smrti i vatre,
a svi su ti se klanjali, iz strahopoštovanja.
Spomenuo si kraj sveta, trube u nekim mutnim vodama,
jedan starac pored mene ispustio je piće, uplašen.
Na nebu je u tom trenutku bila samo jedna zvezda.
Dodala sam ti komad ribe koju sam upecala samo za tebe,
rekao si da je moja ruka prljava i odgurnuo me.
Tako smo se upoznali ti i ja,
pre mnogo, mnogo vekova.
_______________________________________________
The Cauldron
I was fishing in the marches under moonlight.
Nobody loves the women fishing here,
But I love my solitude.
The sky was embroidered with stars,
And a stranger was leaning over the bank,
I wondered what he was doing here, by night.
He did not notice me, preoccupied with his underwater self,
I smiled when a reflection of two stars
Finally matched his eyes.
The light was reflecting on his silver necklace,
And I foolishly came around and took some water,
Wishing to keep those eyes in my hands.
The reflection vanished like a swarm of playful fireflies.
He raised his head and looked with me.
This is how you and I have met,
Many, many centuries ago.
Good evening, stranger.
Do you want fish? What is that necklace for?
Oi, barbarian.
I want fish from a clean cauldron.
This?
This is the sign of the only real God.
What is a “barbarian”?
Since when is there only one god?
Where do I find a clean cauldron?
I shrugged and took you out of the canes to the field,
on the firepit there were three cauldrons brewing,
And the fourth that I wanted to clean for you.
You raised that sign of yours with four sides,
Then you started writing something.
Writing! I heard a lot about it.
Teach me to write!
I came here to teach you about God and enlighten you.
Writing is not for dirty people.
Teach me to write!
I have to liberate you from backwardness,
I have to purify you.
TEACH ME TO WRITE!
GOD FIRST!
Thunders started singing, but there was no single drop of rain.
The fish was ready for the cauldron.
Woman, clean that cauldron.
So, we will eat, then you’ll hear about God,
And when it dawns, I’ll enlighten other barbarians, too.
Enough with God, help me with this cauldron!
It’s too heavy, I can’t even take it off,
And you just go on about god.
Devil woman, you need to be burnt down!
That’s when thunder stroke, the sky was blindingly white.
An old man in a carriage came by,
He looked like a cloud someone’s been drawing on.
“Perun!”, I yelled in awe.
“What is Perun? Some barbaric nonsense of yours?”
I told you about Perun,
While the old man from the skies was feeding his horses
from the three hot cauldrons.
Stupid woman, that’s saint Elijah, servant of the only real god!
So handsome and scholar, yet so rotten.
Enough, stranger, ENOUGH!
There’s no god, no Elijah, not even Perun!
Help me take the fourth cauldron off,
We shall eat and you’ll teach me to write.
Then the old man in mist pulled the reins,
They neighed and took off, raising dust,
They managed to blind themselves by it.
One of them hit me on the head with its hoof,
I fell into that fourth cauldron full of swill,
The cauldron you didn’t want to take off and empty it,
And it immediately tumbled over,
Swill started flowing through the field,
Suffocating every single plant on its way to water.
Bones.
Pieces of skin.
Dirty, old stew.
I pulled out in the last moment,
As a thunder hit a tree,
Which fell over the tumbled cauldron,
And broke it to pieces.
I looked at you, wiping swill off my face,
You were looking at young man painted in that book of yours,
How vain do you have to be to look at a painting of yourself
In moments like this?
Looking at you, looking at him and not realising anything,
I didn’t realise that you put that necklace around my neck.
What is that for?
With the necklace I still can’t read the letters in that book.
But even that rotten, you were so handsome and warm.
You now my…?
Foolish barbarian, I am above you.
I came from a real country to this reeking swamp.
I can have all the Helenes and Marias I would want.
Not dirty fisherwomen tumbling over the cauldrons.
We’ll always be above you, cauldrontumblers.
Evil women need to be burnt, be happy you’re not in my land!
Go to your lair to sleep now, I want to see the tribe in the morning.
I thought…you now my FRIEND.
I cried, but my face was still full of swill.
What will you say now, that I’m crying dirty tears?
I got fish out of the pile of sherds, they were not edible,
With their last breath, they swallowed each other halfway up their bodies.
You were sleeping next to the fallen tree, with that book underneath your head.
I was only observing those two stars from your eyes
Going back to the sky.
Tomorrow you told us about dead winged people,
A woman who give birth without nudges and sighs,
In that painful story, there was death and fire,
And everyone was in awe, on their knees for you.
You mentioned the end of the world, horns in some muddy waters,
One old man next to me dropped his drink, terrified.
There was only one star in the sky.
I gave you a piece of fish that I caught just for you,
You said that my hands are dirty and pushed me away.
This is how you and I have met,
Many, many centuries ago.
03.03.1983. Design junkie (FW, PS, AI, ID, PR, AE, FL, AC), fluent in XHTML and CSS, has basic/intermediate knowledge on PHP and mySQL. I speak Serbian/Croatian, English, Italian, some rusty Russian and ancient Latin, basic German. I write p..s, sometimes prose. I love trees, absurd and learning new things. I live in the centre of Beograd, Serbia with mom, dad and three amazing black locusts in front of our windows.