Gee, look at the calendar and look at the clock. This is the right time for the half-assed prologue of the whole series. It's full of toddler-like observations and it touches the other stories only once. I assume this is how I would've been writing had I had a broader vocabulary at a certain age. Then again, I was talking too much at that age, unlike most of the small children I know.
In the meantime, my mom whose first association of this day would be "how she had all the right connections" and "how your father could have died" read some of the p..ms from this series and said that she sees no artistic value in this one, that this one is so-and-so and that this one is really good. She supports my efforts, but she also wonders what do I intend to do with these. I'll get back to her on that, I guess.
For those who don't know what a Lazarus Saturday is, it's an Orthodox Christian holiday one day before Palm Sunday. It's a holiday of children, where they walk around the church wearing a bell on a strap around their necks and carrying a willow branch, and it is dedicated to Lazarus, as it's supposedly the day he rose after his four days of death (four again, huh?). I remember my first Vrbica. Granny went to the church and open market and brought bells. Mom received a phone call from her scientist friends in the meantime and when granny came back, the fruits and vegetables were washed to the point when it looked as if mom were insane, and the bells were thrown away before they even reached me. For the rest of the day I was observing my mom cleaning the whole apartment, washing the clothes she had just hung two more times and telling me that we won't be going to the park until after Easter. I loved the park and she tried to cheer me up by playing me Najlepša pesma na svetu vinyl LP and Bajaga i instruktori's Sa druge strane jastuka cassette.
Back then I was a blonde, blue-green-eyed toddler who couldn't pronounce some words (notably "svetlo" which means light) properly. I was obsessed with the Snorks and I wanted to marry AllStar Seaworthy because he was handsome, heroic and a scientist and have my own pet Occy. Later on, I also had a crush on Brainy Smurf, because he was smart and he wore glasses. I think everyone was pretty sure I'd be yet another science-oriented person in the family.
Today I'm a dark brown-haired, hazel-eyed cynic who never learnt to pronounce R and L properly and I did not become a scientist. I didn't became an artist, either. I am a designer, which is halfway between those two, honestly. And everything that didn't make sense back then makes sense now. In combo with the year 1999, it's kind of a...lethal cocktail.
RIP everyone who lost the battle with pixie dust in the meantime. I apologise for using what killed you as a bottomless pit full of inspiration. Nietzsche would've known how to explain that, but sadly, I am not good with philosophy and I am not him. I'm just a person with hormonal disbalance, a way with words and visual art.
And for everyone who smells Tito in this one: yes, you're right, it's him; and yes, I really wasn't aware of who he was when I saw his photographs in each single room at the kindergarten. My parents were never in the party, my grandmother was a monarchist. The combo of religious bits from her mouth and Yugoslavian communism bits from the nannies' mouths were creating a huge, huge confusion in my head.
Puns in this one? Unnecessary punctuation? Criticism of both organised religion and certain government systems? Oh yes. It's a
fusion fission of everything, really.
And, for the end, something to think about: place the day this p..m is obviously about in 2010 and you'd get mass hysteria and people dying because they wanted to upload stuff to Twitter.
zvončići i grančice,
ne donosite ih kući,
bacite ih, bacite ih.
Nije radost sve što sija.
biće ih i sledeće godine,
biće lepe i velike,
nije ljubav sve što klija.
Udesili nas za Vrbicu.
na šarena, šarena jaja,
moraju da prođu kroz vodu,
a ja bih radije išla u parkić,
no nema parkića nedelju dana.
pada nam kišica,
i zato ne mogu u parkić,
a baka nije kao Beti Bup
da mi napravi parkić u kuhinji.
doneli su pištalice,
izgledaju kao voki-toki
i imaju žuto sveklo,
povremeno malo svekle.
jaja, jaja, jaja
Sirene zavijaju dok ih jedemo,
pre šest godina je umro onaj čika,
što visi u svakoj sobi u vrtiću,
jedino ne visi u klozetu...toaletu,
mama kaže da klozet nije lepa reč,
mama kaže da ćemo sutra moći napolje,
mama kaže da nas baš briga za čiku
i da mi danas slavimo nekog Isusa,
koji je bio mnogo mlađi kad je umro
i nisu mu odsekli nogu, samo bušili šake.
Ja ne znam šta to znači "umreti".
Da li si nekad "umro"?
Little bells, little bells,
Little bells and willow branches,
Don't bring them home this time,
Throw them away, throw them away.
Not all that glitters is good.
Please, no strawberries,
There'll be strawberries next year, too
They'll be nice and huge,
Not all that sprouts is love,
On colourful eggs,
They need to be wet,
And I'd rather go to the park
But no park for a week
And I can't go to the park
And granny is no Betty Boop
To make me a park in the kitchen,
They brought some squeakers,
They look like walkie-talkies,
And they have yellow light,
Sometimes they pulse a bit,
eggs, eggs, eggs
Sirens howl as we eat the eggs,
Because six years ago, some old man died,
There's a picture of him in all kindergarten rooms
He's only not hung in the loo...toilet
Mom says that loo isn't a nice word,
Mom says we can go outside tomorrow,
Mom says we don't care about that man
Because today we celebrate some Jesus,
Who was much younger when he died
And they didn't cut off one of his legs,
They only put nails in his hands,
And I don't know what "died" means.
Have you ever "died"?