Ne mogu me naterati da zavijam / Can’t Make Me Howl

! This post was written long ago. What you're reading is not necessarily how I feel about things in 2017. This blog was started by an 18-year-old in 2001. Please, keep that in mind before you freak out.

Every now and then, I'm weeping that one of my closest friends became so absorbed in both web 1.0 culture and pop culture that she forgot about me completely (as I assume I was occupying the last remainings of free space that I no longer occupy). I'm wondering why a person ten years younger than me admits with no shame that they don't want to talk about everyday things with me. I'm terrified how more people on a web page I run simply forget I'm a person with feelings and think I have only one interest. The sentence Russell Crowe used at the Cannes festival might not be what he really thinks, but it's pretty frightening for those who really think media has taken over the world. Oh, and by the way, I don't know anything about Mr. Crowe, other than that he said that and that he's an actor who played in a bunch of films.

This granny who appears in the following p..m probably exists in real life, as two people. Her body would belong to a real nice old baba, her mind would be the one of some people that I was reaching out to, thinking we could be real friends for life, faithful to each other and here for each other, without fear of paranoias, what who said about whom, what will make someone a better person in certain communities' eyes. It would almost perfectly match the personality of someone who saved me from wolves to toss me to them. But since there are a couple more people who'd fit into the granny's body, I can't say this is solely about one person.

So, this happens at the usual stage, but granny and wolves aren't really granny and wolves. Welcome to the sleepless nights of someone who was always desperately trying to be true in a microcosm where nobody is true and, even when they perhaps are true, they're forgetting the point.

I owe this p..m's name to my Brazilian friend Flávia, who showed me a photo of one of her dogs with a paw straight up, as if they were solemnly swearing at the court or giving someone a high five.

Ne mogu me naterati da zavijam

Oni me jure, kao i obično,
zavijajući prašnjavim putevima,
gde se ne može ispraviti kriva Drina.

Oni me jure, a ja bežim,
i pitam se zašto krećem levo kad sam skrenula desno,
i zašto krećem desno kad sam skrenula levo.

Nigde nema nikoga,
odavno su nestali.
Nigde nema nikoga,
svi su postali vukovi.

Stižem do neke kolibe i lupam vratima,
ulećem kod neke bezube starice.

"Bako, juri me vuk. JURI ME VUK!"

"A šta je tu tako čudno?
Ovaj svet vrvi od vukova
i oni se više nikoga ne plaše.

Ček, a da ti nisi ona,
što se ovuda šunja svake noći
i koja je navukla gnev svih vukova,
jer ni posle sedam dugih godina
nije postala vuk."

"Bako, da. I nije mi ništa.
Ne osećam da nešto gmiže po meni.
Nisam videla ništa neverovatno.
I nije počelo da mi raste krzno."

Baka tad sede u stolicu pored vatre
i skide cipele da bih videla njene kandže.
"Vidiš? Od ovoga se ne može pobeći.
Posle nekog vremena, i ti ćeš biti vuk.
Znaš kako možeš to da izbegneš?
Idi napolje! Beži i ne vraćaj se.
Što god ideš dalje od ovog mesta,
sve su manje šanse da postaneš vuk."

"Bako, vi ne razumete.
Ja ne mogu da postanem vuk.
Ja jednostavno nisak vuk,
ja ne želim da budem vuk,
ja nikad neću biti vuk,
pa makar bila ovde ceo život."

Baka se cereka, povremeno zavija,
ne može da zamisli život bez vukova,
ne može da zamisli snove bez punog meseca,
ne seća se više tog drugog sveta.

A ja? Ja sam pronašla još jednu
jazbinu koju treba izbegavati
i dodajem je na svoju mapu.
__________________________________

Can't Make Me Howl

They're chasing me, like they always do,
Holwling along these dusty roads,
Where it's impossible to reverse it all.

They're chasing me, I'm running away,
Wondering why I turned left when I steered right,
Wondering why I turned right when I steered left.

There's no one around,
They'd gone long ago.
There's no one around,
Everybody is a wolf.

I'm arriving to a log cabin and knocking,
Running into some toothless old lady's home.

"Granny, I'm being chased by a wolf.
I'M BEING CHASED BY A WOLF!"

"And what is so strange about it?
This world is landful of wolves
And they're no longer afraid.

Oh, do you happen to be the one
Who's creeping around every night
And who's got all the wolves mad with her,
Because she has not turned into one
After seven long wolves."

"Granny, yes, but I'm feeling well.
I don't feel anything crawl over me,
I have not seen anything incredible,
I have not started growing fur."

The granny then sits in her chair by fire,
Taking off shoes, so I could see her claws.

"See? You cannot escape this.
After some time, you'll be a wolf, too.
You know how you can avoid this?
Go out! Go away and don't come back.
The further you are from this place,
The less chance you'll be a wolf."

"Granny, you don't understand.
I cannot become a wolf.
I am simply not a wolf.
I don't want to be a wolf.
I will never be a wolf,
Even if I stay here all my life.

The granny's cracking up, occasionally howling,
She cannot imagine a life without wolves,
She cannot imagine dreams without a full moon,
She does not remember the other world anymore.

And I? I have found another lair to avoid,
And I'm adding it to my map.

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