This took a while. This has something that the rest of the series does not have and this equals with You’re Always Awake When I’m Dead – sympathy, warmth, at least flashes of it. And it’s almost as long as the flaghip Chasing The Doll. Perhaps it actually is the true flagship?
A dear friend and a Slavonic person who’s spend all her life so far in non-Slavonic countries told me that A never shows any feelings for B, especially in Bunny and Jumps Into The Raging Fire, while supressed feelings in Chasing The Doll are leading A to being as psychotic as B. Since there probably wouldn’t be actual development in the series if A wasn’t feeling something for B, unable to define what it is; and if B simply killed A or got A to get out of sight.
So, on the course of their adventures around the word of Wrong Star, A and B end up at the very same place where the events of _______? occurred – unlike that one, which might as well be A’s dream and therefore is a monolog, in this one, A and B are perfectly aware of each other.
This could be the arch-opposite of Chasing The Doll, as A is, for some odd reasons, being Pepe Le Pew. In reality, there’s nothing sexual here. The clumsy sitcom sexualised moments stand for something different. But this adds a comedic value to misscommunication, as different things are considered unacceptable by different people.
Anyway, just read it. It’s almost as long as Chasing The Doll, but it’s also exciting.
Ova ima dugačak, poetičan naslov sa uskličnikom na kraju!
Na vrhu smo brda, među cvećem,
velika plava reka se uliva u drugu,
onda, ruku pod ruku odlaze u crnilo.
Ležeći na kauču koji sam dovukla sa sobom,
gledam niz brdo, i nešto piskaram.
Ti delješ propeler od komada drveta,
žvaćeš uvelu travku koju si ubrao tu pored
i zadubio si nos u neke tehničke crteže.
Znam, opet ćeš leteti.
Kao i uvek, ti ideš unaokolo,
a ja ostajem ovde na zemlji.
A ja bih da me naučiš da letim,
ali ti to odbijaš.
Misliš da sam od onih koji nikad ne bi poleteli,
jer bih to radila na svoj način,
a nikako na tvoj način.
Ne mogu da ukucam ekser kako treba,
ne možeš da povučeš liniju kako treba.
Ne mogu da izbrusim komad metala,
ne možeš da pronađeš gde sam stala.
Kako da te sprečim da se daviš,
u svetu koji je gori i gorči od mesta gde se nalazimo?
Kako da te sprečim da sanjaš
o stvarima smrtonosnijim od te slamke koju šrpkaš?
Kako da te sprečim da se daviš?
Kako da te sprečim da sanjaš?
Pripeklo je sunce.
Dok vadim i otvaram stari kišobran,
ti sedaš i ispijaš kapi rose sa cvetova,
spreman si da zagrizeš i prvu orašicu.
i kroz smeh kažeš da sam previše logična
i da ne znam kako treba da se sanja.
Šta je tebi, to cveće ubija!
Pre nego što si zagrizao jedan, prilazim ti i ljubim te.
Ako ne znam kako da sanjam, zašto sad plačem?
Ako ne sanjam, kako sam te onda dovukla ovamo?
Ako ne sanjam, zašto pokušavam da ti ukradem ove kapi
I zašto je to najlepši trenutak ikad?
No, taj trenutak je veoma kratak.
Skačeš kao oparen, krećeš da me udariš,
izmakla sam se, a ti uvređeno brišeš usta,
suva su, a ti bi tako pljunuo na preostalo cveće.
“Žgadijo jedna, kako se usuđuješ?
Lepo si to smislila. Više tvoj teren nego moj
i sad misliš da možeš da radiš šta god želiš,
e neće moći tako, ti si samo derište.”
Povlačim se na svoju stranu kauča i plačem,
nisam htela da piješ vodu s tog cveća, poljubila sam te, pa šta?
Da sam samo zvocala, ti bi do sad i jeo te orašice.
“Zašto si me nazvao žgadijom?”, pitam.
“A ko si sad pa ti?” mrmljaš i češeš se po glavi.
Propeler je ubrzo bio gotov i spustili smo se s brda,
krenuli smo putem pored reke, sve do prve luke.
Zaustavili smo se kad sam se uhvatila za neki trouglasti znak.
Izašao si napolje i krenuo pravo ka brodovima.
Neko vreme sam piskarala u onu svoju svesku,
a onda sam te videla kako bacaš kamenje i grumenje u vodu.
Pobogu, brodovi spavaju i biće veoma besni kad se probude!
Potopili bi te kao beznačajnu naplavinu.
Jedan šleper se malo promeškoljio i uzdahnuo,
a ti si se dočepao povelike kamenice.
Skočila sam sa kauča i uletela ti u zagrljaj,
držala sam te čvrsto, dok nisi ispustio kamenicu.
Šleper je nastavio da hrče, lagano se njišući.
No, i ovaj trenutak je veoma kratak.
Opsovao si i gurnuo me u gomilu otpada,
ogledaš se u vodi kako bi zagladio kosu,
odustao si od kamenice i lupaš nogom o pod.
“Budalo jedna, šta ti pada napamet?
Lepo si to smislila. Zaustavila si kauč
i sad misliš da si se pretplatila na sve i svašta,
e na mene nisi, rđava despotska dušo!”
Povlačim se ispod prvog drveta i jecam,
nisam htela da te šleper zdrobi, zagrlila sam te, pa šta?
Da sam samo sedela tu, ti bi bio na dnu reke.
“Zašto misliš da sam budala?” pitam.
“Kao da čujem nekoga, a sam sam…” odmahuješ glavom i čudiš se.
Izdeljao si i par krila i preleteli smo onisku šumu,
a potom se uputili ka jugu, ateriravši u neku baštu.
Prišla nam je starica, vodeći sa sobom jednookog psa
i nasmešila se, jer sam joj otpozdravila.
Ti si stajao sa strane, nisi pokušao ni da mahneš,
a onda je ona promrmljala kako si mnogo naočit
i otišla do drveta da ti donese jednu jabuku.
Ubrala je najveću, rekla da uhvatiš, ti si slegao ramenima,
jabuka je letela ka tebi, ti nisi ništa razumeo.
Ludice, udariće te u glavu…nemušti čoveče.
Pomerila sam se i legla sam preko tebe,
taman toliko da jabuka preleti kauč i raspadne se u travi,
starica se izvinila i namignula mi je.
Naravno, i ovaj trenutak je neverovatno kratak.
Udario si me kolenom u stomak i ustao sa kauča.
Skinuo si košulju da otreseš prašinu koje nije bilo.
“Bezobrazno đubre, šta ti pada napamet?
Lepo si to smislila. Dogovorila si se sa starom
i misliš da je neka voćka s drveta pravo sredstvo,
ako je tako, ti si za mene uvek samo crna pošast!”
Povlačim se da plačem starici na ramenu,
nisam htela da te jabuka nokautira, legla sam na tebe, pa šta?
Da nisam, video bi i više od dve zvezde.
“Kako me možeš posle svega nazvati đubretom?” pitam.
“Baba, sa vama nije niko, zar ne?” pitaš, a baba ne razume taj jezik.
Nastavljamo dalje, sad i sa drugim parom krila,
već je pala noć i napredujemo polako,
nebo je prepuno zvezda koje neumitno liče na orašice,
drveće je okićeno rojevima plavkastih svitaca.
Odjednom, jedan par sviraca je žute boje i prevelik,
kakve s to bube, pomislih, a onda na mene skoči telo jednog vuka,
udarajući me repom i grebući me oštrim kandžama.
Na tebe je skočila samo glava, zavijajući i balaveći.
Pokušavao si da je ugušiš, nije vredelo.
Razmišljala sam, dohvatila kutiju s alatom
i sklopila celog vuka, dok si ti bledeo od straha.
Sastavivši kraj s krajem, ućutao je, dunuo u tebe i otišao.
Zaspao si, neobično miran, pokriven bledom mesečinom,
a ja sam cvokotala i tiho te klela, da te ne probudim.
Možda je trebalo da te pustim da popiješ onu rosu i pojedeš orašicu.
Možda je trebalo da pustim da te onaj šleper udavi.
Možda je trebalo da završiš sa čvorugom od one velike jabuke.
Možda je trebalo da pustim vučju glavu da te pobedi.
U tom trenutku si se okrenuo u snu i promrmljao: “Uuuh…voćka s
drveta…”
Ja sam se pitala odakle to, kad nisam ništa izgovorila,
već sam samo premotavala film za samu sebe,
ne znam ni kako sam zaspala od onih silnih svitaca.
Probudila sam se, nije te bilo. Ovo je bio običan kauč.
Spavala sam nasred puta, u blizini nekog drveta.
S namerom da se okrenem i još malo dremnem, okrenula sam se,
a onda sam videla nešto na naslonu za ruke.
Jabuka! Ups, voćka s drveta…?!
Ne! JABUKA, JABUKA, JABUKA, JABUKA!
Jabuka slepljena poput nekakvog mozaika,
sa još uvek zelenom peteljkom, koje se ne sećam od ranije.
Možda je trebalo da je bacim?
Možda je trebalo da pustim vodu za njom?
Možda je trebalo da gledam kako gori?
Pojela sam je.
Zalogaj mi je ostao u grlu.
Koliko god vode da popijem, on je i dalje tu.
Ne mogu da evociram ukus onog nespretnog poljupca,
ne mogu da osetim toplinu onog iznenadnog zagrljaja,
ne mogu da osetim jezu kao prilikom onog približavanja,
ali komadić jabuke u grlu osećam neprestano.
Jabuka, jabuka, jabuka.
__________________________________________________
This One Has A Long, Poetic Title With An Exclamation Mark At Its End!
We are on a top of a hill, in flowers,
Big river of blue is heading into another
Then they’re, hand in hand, heading to black,
Lying on a couch I brought with me,
I’m looking down the hill, scribbling something.
You’re carving a propeller from a piece of wood,
Nibbling on a wilthed straw of grass you picked nearby
And you’re lost in some blueprints.
I know, you’re going to fly again.
Just as it always is, you’re going around and around,
And I’m staying here, my feet on the ground.
And I want you to teach me to fly,
But you say no,
You think I’m the kind that could never fly,
Because I would do it my way
And I wouldn’t do it your way.
I can’t stick a nail the right way,
You can’t draw a line the right way,
I can’t polish a piece of metal,
You can’t find the passage I was reading.
How do I keep you from drowning
In a world worse and more bitter than where we are now?
How do I keep you from dreaming
On things more lethal than the straw you’re chrewing on now?
How do I keep you from drowning?
How do I keep you from dreaming?
Midday sun shines.
As I’m folding out an old umbrella,
You’re drinking rain drops from flowers,
About to nibble an achene as well.
Through laughter, you tell me that I am too logical
And that I don’t know how to dream.
What is wrong with you, those flowers kill!
As you’re about to eat one, I come closer and kiss you.
If I don’t know how to dream, then why am I crying?
If I don’t dream, then how come I brought you here?
If I don’t dream, then why am I trying to steal the drops away?
However, that moment appears to be of short life.
You’re snapping out of it, ready to hit me,
I move to the side and you’re wiping your mouth, offended,
They’re dry, yet you’d spit on the remaining flowers so much.
“You spawn, how dare you?
That was a nice idea, as this is more your territory than mine,
And now you’re thinking you’re allowed to do what you want,
That’s not what will happen, you’re just a brat.”
Witdrawing to my side of the couch, I cry,
I didn’t want you to eat and drink that, I kissed you, so what?
Had I just nagged, you’d still be eating the achenes.
“Why did you call me spawn?”, I ask.
“And who might you be…?”, you mumble and scratch your head.
The propeller was soon ready and we slid down the hill,
We took a road along the river, all the way to the nearest port.
We stopped by when I grabbed some triangular sign.
You went out and walked straight to the boats.
For a while I kept on scribbling in my notebook
And then I saw you throwing rocks and dirt into water.
For god’s sake, the boats are sleeping and they’ll be angry if they
wake up!
They’d sink you like a meaningless floater.
One tugboat squirmed a bit and sighed,
And you got your hands on a rather large rock.
I jumped off the couch straight into your embrace,
I held you close until you dropped that rock.
The tugboat continued to snore, gently swinging to left and right.
However, that moment too appears to be of short life.
You swore at me and pushed me on a pile of waste,
Now you’re looking at your reflection in the water, fixing your hair,
You gave up on that rock and you’re stomping tyour feet.
“You fool, what on Earth comes to your mind?
That was a nice plan, you stopped that couch
And now you think you have a subscription on about everything,
Well, you aren’t subscribed to me, you rotten despot!”
Withdrawing under the nearest tree, I’m weeping,
I didn’t want that tugboat to squish you, I hugged you, so what?
Had I just sat down there, you would’ve been on the river bottom.
“Why do you think I’m a fool?”, I ask.
“I thought I heard someone and I’m alone here…” you shake your head
in disbelief.
You carved a pair of wings and we flew over really low trees,
Then we headed south and landed in someone’s garden.
An old lady approached us, accompanied by an one-eyed dog
And she smiled, because I said hello back to her.
You were standing on the side, not even trying to wave
Then she muttered that you’re quite a good-looking one,
And went to the tree to bring you an apple.
She picked the biggest one, told you to catch, you shrugged,
The apple was flying towards you, you didn’t understand a thing.
Silly, it’ll hit you in the head…you mute!
I moved a bit and lied on top of you,
Just enough for the apple to fly over the couch and fall apart in the
grass,
The old lady excused herself and winked at me.
Naturally, this moment is of short life, too.
You kicked me in stomach with your knee and got up.
You took off your shirt to dust the inexistent dust.
“You nasty piece of scum, what is wrong with you?
That was a nice plan. You had an agrement with old lady
And you think some fruit from the tree is the right tool,
If so, you’ll always be nothing but a black curse to me!”
Withdrawing to cry on the old woman’s shoulder,
I didn’t want that apple to knock you out, I lied on top of you, so
what?
Hadn’t I done so, you would’ve seen more than a pair of stars.
“How can you call me piece of scum after all?”, I ask.
“Granny, there’s nobody with you, right?”, you ask and she doesn’t
speak that language.
We’re moving on, now with the second pair of wings,
The night has fallen now and we’re advancing slowly.
The sky is full of stars that inevitably remind me of achenes,
The trees shimmer with schools of blueish fireflies.
Suddenly, a pair of fireflies is yellow and too large,
What kind of bugs are those, I wonder, and then a body of a wolf jumps
on me,
Hitting me with its tail and scratching me with sharp claws.
A head of a wolf jumped on you, howling and drooling,
You tried to suffocate it, but there was no use.
I thought a little, then I grabbed your toolbox
And put the wolf together, while you were paler than pale.
Having made the ends meat, the wolf went quiet, blowed at you and
left.
You fell asleep, unusually calm, covered by pale moonlight,
And I was shivering, silently cursing you, not to wake you up.
Perhaps I should have let you drink that dew and eat the achene.
Perhaps I should have let that tugboat drown you.
Perhaps I should have let you sport a bump from that huge apple.
Perhaps I should have let that head of a wolf get the best of you.
At that point, you tossed and turned and mumbled: “Uuuh…fruit from
the tree…”
I wondered how come, I have not said anything out loud,
I was only rewinding the film for myself,
I don’t even know how I fell asleep amongst all those fireflies.
I woke up. You were gone. This was just a plain couch.
I was in the middle of the road, near some tree.
I turned around to nap a little more,
And then I spotted something on the arm rest.
An apple! Whoops, a fruit from the tree?!
No! AN APPLE, AN APPLE, AN APPLE, AN APPLE!
An apple glued back together like a mosaic,
With its stem I didn’t remember from before still green.
Perhaps I should have tossed it?
Perhaps I should have flushed it somewhere?
Perhaps I should have lit it up and watch it burn?
I ate it.
A bite got stuck in my throat.
Regardless of the water I drink, it’s still there.
I cannot evocate the taste of that clumsy kiss,
I cannot feel the warmth of that sudden embrace,
I cannot feel the shivers of that coming too close,
But I’m constantly feeling an apple bite in my throat.
An apple, an apple, an apple.
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.
