Iva is me

This is probably not going to be in the book, as it’s a worthless outtake, a random note, but since I feel like publishing everything, here it goes.
…je mašina!
Bio je mašina,
radio je tako teško da se morao razbiti. I opet.
Bila je mašina,
mislila je tako teško da je ventilator morao pregoreti.
______________________________________
…Was Machine!
He was machine,
He worked so hard that he had to break. And again.
She was machine,
She thought so hard that she had to blow a fan.

This is what happens when one of the things that inspired me to come up with the concept of Wrong Star is suddenly super-popular again, just because of…another similar event currently going on. I feel like hipster kitty. Seriously, I was into all of this before March 2011 and I can prove that. I swear by my hooded sweatshirt and the hipster glasses I’ll add in Photoshop.
Just like in Kraj duge / The End Of The Rainbow, this piece of poetry will make you think about something that has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with what it really is about.

Last night I had an interesting dream. There was Senna, there was Prost and there was a really, really odd Grand Prix going on. No viewers, just a couple of odd, odd stewards. I thought that I should make it into a piece of poetry, quick.
Looking at the calendar of F1 grand prixs of the past, it actually turned out to be fitting. How?
Well, Once upon a time, Ayrton Senna was practicing for the San Marino Grand Prix in Imola, which he later won. Little did he know that he would die at the same place, years later.

Having studied the subject that inspired the non-made up part of Wrong Star, I have spent countless hours watching documentary films, reading books, and visiting various websites, some of which were known to be hoax, some of which were true. I came to a conclusion that we’re all IT (and I’m not talking about my initials here). So, here’s a bit of Wrong Star that doesn’t feature A and B and their adventure…a bit of universal Wrong Star, the way it reflects on everyday life.
Svi smo TO
Ostavila sam čajnik u paklu,
sram da me bude, sram da me bude!
Voda je proključala

Wait a minute, isn’t this the never-going-to-be-published one? Yes, it is.
Something in my mind changed recently. At this point in life, I feel like a quite normal person with quite normal, realistic and doable ideas and goals. I have not seen that coming, but even if it doesn’t take the path I would prefer it to take, I’m pretty sure there’s no going back to the numb state I was in for almost a decade. Not this time. Therefore, it’s safe to publish Bunny, which was one of the first p..ms in the Wrong Star series, written on the 16th

While I’m finishing the obligatory New year 2011 post and trying to complete the rest of the series, a new idea pops up and places itself somewhere around the beginning of the series. This takes place on a winter night and B is probably not even complaining about this Rammstein-esque scenario, as he’s been dragged from a totally different climate, to the cold cyclon of Nowhereland, known for rough winters.
Gde ćeš spavati noćas?
Gde ćeš spavati noćas?
Nebo izgleda kao štras,
zaleđene grančice su tako krute,
zadremaću ispod svojih pošećerenih bagremova,
jedino mesto gde ne plaćam cenu svojih snova,
I još jednom, moje misli će