Jaganjci će postati oblaci / Lambs Shall Become Clouds

! This post was written long ago. What you're reading is not necessarily how I feel about things in 2016. This blog was started by an 18-year-old in 2001. Please, keep that in mind before you freak out.

The unmodified verses 3 and 4 of this were originally a p..m of their own that never really developed, as it had no story and it wasn't making a statement for months, until the rest just wrote itself this morning. Originally, B was meant to be compared to some sort of a black lamb (bad seed?) and with the p..m taking its final form, he's killing the lamb and a bunch of other animals along the way.

I also needed one where A is telling B what to do. Since he won't listen to her at any point, he got a horrible task of killing off a bunch of innocent animals.

Unlike the rest of Wrong Star, this one probably relies on too many eschatology-related symbols, so once again, a reminder - I don't think the world will end out of blue, I don't believe in any human-like higher power or anything that's not, for example, a strong electromagnetic field. At the same time, based on a single second that occurred in our lifetimes, I think we're all dead.

Jaganjci će postati oblaci

Lep letnji dan na poljima snegokolačića,
kao da je ovde prošla ona kakosezove kometa,
nećemo biti gotovi do njenog sledećeg dolaska.
Ovde gde bosiljak ne može da niče,
crno zlatno runo je na nebu umesto oblaka.
Nigde ni žive duše, sem nas, radimo,
no jedan mi čovek zabušava.
Stranac. Špijun. Politički zatvorenik.

Propustio si onaj puteljak.
Idi, počisti ga, stranče. Počisti ga!
Hajde...hop-hop-hop-hop-hop-hop-hop...

Ponekad se osećam kao da ćemo čistiti ceo svemir,
ali da nećemo ukloniti ni strepnju ni nemir.
Čini mi se da nećemo ustvari očistiti ništa.
OPET ONAJ TAMO ZABUŠAVA.

Rekla sam ti da radiš!
Eno jagnjeta na polju.
Crno jagnje božje zoba crnu travu.
Crno srce u nekoj crnoj bajci,
crna žrtva nekoj crnoj majci.
Hoćeš da budeš producent vaznesenja?
Žao mi je, ja sam režirala apokalipsu,
dok si u mojoj četi, radiš na moj način.

Sad ćeš to jagnje ubiti -
malo belo jagnje
u runu crne ovce,
na kvadrat.
Hoćemo li i na kub?
Nema dalje od toga.

Primakao se sa puškom,
jagnje ga je pogledalo,
glupo, mirno, kao i svako drugo,
i opalio je.

Od tog časa, terala sam ga da ubija čitava stada.
Gađala sam ga ogromnim plodovima voća, kao da je kmet.
Žrtvovali smo mnogo jaganjaca.
Do sad bi ovo već postao raj.
Neke priče stvarno nemaju kraj.

Onda nam pade napamet,
a ko će ubiti nas?
Jok, mi smo već rezervisali termin,
samim tim što smo sad ovde.
Jaganjci će postati oblaci,
zečevi će postati kokice,
a mi ćemo samo na nekakav spisak,
izem ti neinteligentni dizajn. Izem ti.

___________________________________________

Lambs Shall Become Clouds

Nice summer day in the fields of snowcookies,
As if that whatsitsname comet passed by,
We still won't be done here by its next arrival.
Here where the basil cannot grow,
Black golden fleece replaced clouds in the sky.
There's nobody around but us, working,
But one of my men is shirking.
A foreigner. A spy. A political prisoner.

You missed that road!
Go, clean it up, stranger, clean it up!
C'mon...hop-hop-hop-hop-hop-hop-hop...

Sometimes I feel like we'll be cleaning entire universe,
But that we won't remove the fear and restlessness.
I feel that we actually won't clean up anything,
THERE HE IS, SHIRKING AGAIN.

I told you to work!
Here's a lamb in the field.
Black lamb of god nibbling on black grass.
Black heart in a black fairy-tale.
Black victim to some black mother.
Want to be the producer of ascension?
I'm sorry, but I directed apocalypse.
While you're in my group, you work my way.

Now you're going to kill that lamb-
A little white lamb,
In a black sheep's fleece,
Squared.
Want it cubed, too?
There's no further than that.

He came closer with his rifle,
The lamb looked at him,
Dumb, peaceful, like any other.
And he fired.

From then on, I made him kill entire herds.
I'd toss giant fruits at him, as if he were a servant.
We sacrificed a lot of lambs.
By now, this would've been heaven.
Some stories really don't have an ending.

Then I had a thought:
And who's going to kill us?
Nah, we already had our terms booked
Solely by being here and now.
Lambs shall become clouds,
Rabbits shall become popcorn,
We'll only get to be on a list.
Stupid unintelligent design. Stupid.

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