Dec 21, 2014

Today I live

Actualy, I am very funny guy. My family harbours that kind of grumpy humour for ages. And I make jokes all the time.But I can't show it here, because what I show here is my fear.It is venting.
Yesterday I earned enough to cover the expences, food and coffee.It is rare,but it happened. Every day that I don't go in the minus makes me releived and hopefull.
I don't want to think what will happen in 2015. Those kinds of thinkings prevent me for sleeping for hours.What I learned during the war is to eat and sleep when you can. Exhausted man will lose the battle.

Dec 17, 2014

Estates of the realm

  What we have is the ultimate feudalism. All rules of good old feudalism are here, wrapped in juicy and sweet package, so that it’s easy to swallow. Basic human rights are pushed to the side, while love for gold becomes the new religion.
In good old feudalism the rule number one was to keep citizens uneducated and make them think they’re stupid. Nobody prevents you now to go to the university these days, if you can pay for it, knowing that even when you finish it – it doesn’t mean you’ll get a proper job.
So you just drag on through the high school, being bombarded by “icons” like Kardashians or Justin Bieber. When you idolize something insignificant, even your biggest achievement can be only that – insignificant.
Or you can go to war and lose your sanity or limbs for the benefit of Mister Kite.
There are all sorts of freedom. There is a freedom to be elected. In US I saw some mighty fine and benevelont people running to become a president. They are treated like some endangered species:
they exist, yet nobody counts on them.
There is a freedom of speech. Whatever you say will be drowned in 99,999999999 % of nonsense that other people say.
We are zobies, trained to blame ourselves or make some childish conspiracy theories. We are trained to look for more miserable jobs, more loans ; instead of fighting for our rights.
And even when people rebel, it is easy to surpress it, because they don’t have a clue what they’re fighting for.
“I feel bad – here’s a pill – you will feel better – get a loan – buy some chips – go pay bills “
Good old slavemasters needed to provide shelter and food for their slaves. New masters don’t have to.

They just need you to pay the bills. And find a way.
My dear medicre people, your mouth is my grave.

Dec 4, 2014

Silent Whisper

Before long  field of tall grass, with wild moon overhead. A heart that tramples through the moonlight, while thousands of crickets make you smile. You do not know what is on the end of the field in the forest and  when gentle and warm rain will stop. Just dreaming  about lips that will kiss you and eyes that will love you.
You are hungry for the world  and the world is hungry for you. Uncertainty is sweet like blood.
I'll never be young again.

Dec 2, 2014


I refuse to be jooly good boy. There is pretty thick line between being benevolent and being an idiot. I prefer to be mean and sarcastic. That actualy prevents people from doing pathetic things. Just look at the bloody facebook ! So many times I wanted to comment "oh boy, you must be very retarded ", but I already lost many "facebook friends" by commenting.

Nov 27, 2014

Let me tell you the truth

In this greedy world, where everyone is good deep inside, but too lazy or too stupid to do anything really good, all depends on luck.
Yes, most of us are thought to be honest and diligent, to be good student and to be diligent at work. We're thought to be social and patient and that results will come over time. But it's just 10% of reality. 90% is the dark matter that we rarely talk about. It's the luck.
I don't know what kind of the game God is playing, or does it have some higher meaning. All that I know is that the luck rules our lives. You can't influence it ; you can only be superstitious idiot.
So you think this is all some quasi-philosophical ranting and it has nothing to do with your life ? Thinking , because you have nice job and well-hearted friends and family, that you made it all by your inteligence or work is foolish. It can all go into abys within few weeks.
Just look back at how did you gat your job. Well ? What if you didn't ?
Now look at the sites where people share their thoughts and tricks about living in a car. One day you have it all, you are calm and clever , but the other day your job closes down. That you search for a new job, but can't find one. That all your friends and family let you down, because nobody likes to live your failure.
Than you decide that you don't want to beg anyone and keep trying. And your luck fails again.
The banks will not have symphaty and you will end up on a street. And homeless people are mostly doomed.If you can't find a job when you're at your best, how will you find one when you're hungry, depressed and didn't have a shower for days ?
I am not preaching fear, neither I try to find excuses for my failure. I'm done and I just want to write down all I can before I lose all my dignity. That will happen very soon.I don't know will I die or just continue with some pathetic dog-like exsistance, but I'd like to know what is this luck made of ?
When I was playing the cards, I simply felt those burst of luck coming, I was patient for them and I knew how to win. But I also always felt that there is some container with my luck and that it fills up and gets empty over time.
The arrow that shows ammount of luck that I have left hit 0 last year and stopped moving. Do I really have to go in this way ? I just have to admit one thing : dear God, your sense of irony is ultimate.

Nov 18, 2014

Big white fear


The train rumbles in the distance. Fast like a bullet he swallows kilometers  and is getting closer.
  Over the black rails which pass through deserted forests and abandoned villages train comes.
Faster and faster, as if dozens of tons of hot iron will explode.
Everywhere he went, time stopped . Only people  who rarely speak about it remain.
Train screams of rage. His power breaks mountains and burns rivers.
I wander in the tunnel in the dark.
I hear it louder and louder.

I do not know where to go.

Nov 14, 2014

Evil Country


So I smoke in the country where compassion disappears, as the moisture from the thin paper, through which smoke goes through.
In the country where all the good and bad burns away without the flame, quickly swallowed.
And where the best people are shaken off like the ashes.
The country where the streets are dirty and nasty, like an ashtray after a sleepless night.
Hopes are rising, swirling like a bluish smoke, which, through an open window
jumps out and disappears.

A cemeteries are like  cigarette butts, thrown at the tram station and kicked  in a corner.

Nov 12, 2014

Apollo 41


All  of your wishes, feelings and hopes, are contained in a box ,that muddy water  is carrying right into the claws of hungry rats.
It is futile to hit walls with fists, scratch with teary nails for some air.
Broken arms  do not pick strawberries.

We are all too selfish, so am I. We live in an era of selfishness. That's why we build churches where we wash hands and pretend to be praying for a long time.


XI 2014

My hands are falling down
like a reed in the stagnant water.
My head stumbles
likes a bike that crosses the railroad tracks.
I'm all root that
chains himself in the floor.
Only heart screams inside me
Shaking the bars of its cage;
How far is it to the big apple?
How far is it to the bread and taxes?

Large lunatic, a metal rod
Cracks me,  with a howl of protruding audience
In the middle of the road,
The truck comes around the bend
Children, it’s called

A panic attack.

Nov 11, 2014

Oath of the pioneer

Today when I become a pioneer of democracy
I give my hungry-of-all  word,
Yes I will diligently learn and work
To buy any diploma
Through connections or affiliations,
I will not teach like an idiot for years
To be forever stuck on the bureau of employment.
That I will be faithful and honest companion
To anyone who has more money than me
Or until they can do me a favour,
Yes I will love our young country
Until I get a visa
To go anywhere else -
And, when I come back again
Visiting relatives
That I will say that nowhere is such people like here
That nowhere the air and the sun is beautiful like here.
I promise I'll be fighting for the ideas of President
That makes everyone slaves of foreign banks
Except himself and his children.
That I will appreciate and love all people
Who want freedom and peace

Unless they’re coloured or queers

Instead of farewell


I never dreamed
How pathetic it is
At the end of the road.
That all that's left
Behind this false honor
In fact it is not enough
To pay for my funeral.

Just to be no more -
My time disappears like a leaf in the fire;
No one has the power to give me a hand,
Do not judge me
Forget fool.

I've been through the trenches and  the powder roses,
I passed betrayals, my blood and funerals;
My guardian angel raised the anchor,
So fast passed
This little deception ...

It’s hard for me and I’m very sorry

But it was too much.

Nov 7, 2014


9.6.1992.ut AP 329

My name is the darks -
frosty hands to us-
mean almost nothing.
Our hearts are in need of-
words that precede touches-
to make us feel like a little kitten =
black lumps under fire of howitzers.

My name is the dark -
and she is there on fire,
and her fingers are burning,
her whole body glows while she’s undressing =

-and for every word applies:

"throw away and cry"

legend of the ashes

23.11.1992. ap 552

I’m still lying down, the ceiling does not move,
inside me  moans grained and chained -
it’s warm , it’s soft and hunger is diminished,
-if there are no memories it would be comfortable.

I snooze on an empty dream, noon drews near,
clock is still clattering, grinds in empty;
empty are lies, empty are all people
that used to be my so called friends.

I cover my ears but sleep does not come,
voices of silence are ringing from inside;
in my head "today" does not come easy -
because I am yesterday- perhaps tomorrow.

still lying down, the ceiling does not move,
and huskies of pain a bit on the past;
-copper horse, VW and my Muzzly
all of mine, all of mine

Is stamped into my brain



thursday morning, December tenth,
magic  of lies encourages mindset;
tap drops ~with the  same rhythm  they go down -
each of them groan and scream, as they fall

here I am lying down, the ceiling does not move,
six thousand volts no longer flies;
silver horses are not even close to me -
the waterly  drill bores and bores

in the ocean
are all deserts,
sandy streams gurgling dry;
heavy mallet smacks your head,
drop after drop falls
                        -everything else is just a sea

thursday morning, birds can’t be heard,
crude dreams are full of blurred water;
Volkswagens are traveling  in my head-
drop after drop falls

                           -misgivings are flowing in

Nov 6, 2014

Perpetual showdown

Sept 2014
   The doors you’re opening up now are not only the passage from one room to another; they are passing from one to the other you - they are your going through yourself.
The time that is missing is not the time spent in going through the door, in fact, everything else is lost time, and that moment of passage is your shining moment.

And these people walking down the street, apparently do not know where or why they go. Streets are filled with people who are going somewhere to do something for someone .  Armies of people are walking like that to kill the time from death to death. And if so many people aimlessly wander, then somewhere a lot of the people are missing . Somewhere, where they are most needed, people are missing..

Untitled XXIII


Disgusting patients spit in green tissues.
Rotten IMV vans sleep.
Nervous doctors.
The old linoleum squares.
Dirty red and olive green booklets.
Dumb-same conversations.
A mother holding my hand.

Yeah, makes me sick,
Mother and scratched radiators,
My father with logic
Of frogs from the sewers.

And all this abominable thing.

bang, bang

24.10.92.sab AP0456

with fire in mind,
with a hole in the wall,,
with the power of breath-at the grave of my dust.
with a blast in the ears,
with heart inside ribs -
with the desire to stay alive through the rest of the day
I look at the branches and all around,,
with the hope that the day will come for willow weding guest -

Never Back Down +

Nov 5, 2014

Gray is also a color


We are all alone .
Beneath all these labels and likes,
behind the new phones and parked cars ,
-There are lost people

And if you ever tried to help ;
Did something to change the things ,
broke your hands and was a fool ,
-You can’t complain to yourself

The morning is clear, and the south wind
cleans my eyes, awakens my soul.
I drink coffee and pretend to be smart ;
I am calm-

It's good to be alive today.

If I die

18.04.92.lun AP 0205

If I die, when I die,
Let the aspen leaves flash,
Let the rain  not wash -
     the face of the one who killed me.

Do not let these dogs , Gentle one -
home, my eyes and dream with them.

I’m like a stranger in a strange land
losing  my own pictures,
grimly waiting for the breakfast in hell -
Cordoba falls without blood and shouting.

Tomorrow they will kill you
Tell me

did you say goodbye +

Agony of restrained one

          16,03,92 mon AP 0173

Located in the  nearby dump,
I sit slumped in the container;
I read in the newspapers about prison time for sadness, -
-Tonight I will have myself for dinner.

Planet summarizes my inheritance,
There is a photo in the newspapers- watching silent docks: -
Crumpled boats, I can’t help but  see

Nerve of mutilated invasion  of the obedient,
I’m tossing with a swing to hell  of despised,
Without moving my finger I kill the universe,

-in the garbage bin, away from the happy ones +

Nov 4, 2014



Hordes of dirty clouds travel through someone’s  sky
While chimneys pour the malice,
They raise the white pillars;
And down there on crumpled down street
Beggars pull your sleeves,
Old men rummaging through the trash
The children feed  pigeons.

And then when the sun crawls out
From den of the thawed night
Warming withered leaves,
Invasion of passers by starts to move
To receive their news for  the facebook.
And the rain goes somewhere else

And dogs drink from muddy puddles.


It's hard to teach an old dog  about new tricks,
Save monolith on water, from sinking;
And it's easy to talk when you believe in something,
And it's easy to believe in your own deception.

It is hard to manage when everything is getting around,
To walk the edge of a frozen creek;
And it's easy to look through other people's eyes
If there is some man in you.

It's easy to spend other people's misfortune,
Download what was left from the pile;
It’s difficult  for sky to gather  all the clouds
On days when the sun is not enough.


just sleep


and all the things you have to do to wake up,
and all the things you have to do to get to work,
and all the things you must do in order to work to eat,
and all the things you have to do to pay the bills,
and all that you have done not to make someone sad,
and all the things you must do in order to have something to wear,
and all that you have done not to make someone  angry;
and all that you have done to make it hurt less,
and all that you have done not to be called a freak,
and all the things you have to do to look better in the eyes of others,
and all that you have done that would  not show weakness,
and all that you have done not to become insane,
and all the things you have to do just to keep yourself warm,

and then they ask you why don’t you quit smoking ...

Just a few less dreams

01/22/2014. SA

All night they were spitting at tame,
Mashed their toes with rubber hammers.
To think they are happier than you,
Maybe smarter,
Not afraid,

Then they woke them up with cold water,
In the dank basement, chained.
To think that they are not alone,
That there’s no pain on their faces,
That they are not lost,


Nov 3, 2014


Drinking each other blood with the straws
Into large and very painful interwined cramp
Cold and curdled blood fills many corridors,
On the bench of the choked city
Smoking on the bench
I found me.

it’s a day for someone and night to someone,
Someone is going to happiness, someone to a tomb;
Someone is watching his children singing,

And wolves rip apart someone’s womb.

stump of the brain

stump of the brain
now and late
uncertainty alive, certainly pierced
with the sun without sun,
taken from myself
- when I'm not for people, then I guess I'm a monster.
when I fall sleep without shame
while walking, while  talking,
when my glass bells ring
what am I watching
when trains pass by?
- and just  crows follow me while I wander.
and what you really think of me
when rage, fire and hatred take over?
this is not someone that I need to be

I'm not worth more than my rags?



dead teeth biting dead flesh
dead moon heating dead soul;
rotten god overarched me
with blunt spokes now  he beats me
fuck the sun because it comes out,
all I have is just an illusion;
I spit on my dead parents,
my blood turns to shit
rotten soil jumps in my mouth
and from mouth - nothing comes out;
I’m all pagan, an idiot and a hog,
everyone can walk  over me with ease
let them step on,  let him kill me,
leave me crucified, I'm not going to run away;
I spent my whole life running away,

- I’m just seeking death, beloved rotten god

Buying time

                                                                   December 2013

winter is coming,
with cold smoke and dirty drains,
through the voices of people,  like birds pecking
and the cruel  boredom of death

buying time,
lowering the cushion between the horns
and reason why my beautiful son
lives in the house of the dead gods

how to believe
when I think about  throwing  myself under approaching car,
how to approach them when everyone is silent

and how to make you laugh my beautiful son

when I catch my thoughts

I only wish that it is not cold
in the wet ground, underneath all that grass,
that it is not narrow under those couple of boards;
and that in the dark, beside her head
she knows that my heart is beating for her
that she’s not afraid when she opens her eyes,
that she doesn’t  grieve because of my stupid tears,
that her smile of angel passes my face
wish she’s  in the sun, and the sun warms her;
because as long as I live she is  never alone,
-wish that she knows well

I will come to her

Faceless Void


In this sea of ​​my own selfishness
Disarmed of all that in what I believe;
I can’t speak loudly anylonger
About what is missing

In this dark glare of  nonsense
Stranded on one completely rotten beam;
I just watch the sun that raises boiling

And  keep quiet for all mine that is dead



it befalls sometimes,
like an angel I flutter through the sky
I open the door even before knocking -
cover my teeth before  the kick -
                                  .... just a little less often

in the country where they live on the hills,
and always carry, steal and spill around;
so tell them my dear ato
let them shut me down
                            if they have to

and where are you going, my dear ato,
head from one to another wall;
wish that I have some of your skull
and a little less

                   shame before you



People are a little better animals
Love is fabrication for those who do not know much;
Family are people who do not let you rest,
Friends are the ones who betray you at the end.

Cold is what constantly follows me,
The past is a pain that I do not want to remember;
Goodness is what I was born with
To prevent me to  defended from the evil.

Cigars are all that keeps me together.
Coffee is all about  I’m  looking forward;
And who could really know
That a guy like this, will starve and fail?

I do not want to go on the street because there is nothing
but continual parade of lies and vanity;
I just want to disappear into the fog,

my own part of peace and quiet.


                             05.03.06.sun ap

I could be better
or more soggy,
greater or milder
and perhaps even lower,
but not you-and what hurts you-
we're easy to forget

relentlessly pounding
like a train in the distance
-there I put too little coal;
because my hands do not keep anything.
I didn’t just deceive myself
-because you're not me.

when I know that you look in the mirror
and see me, hungry and ragged,
abandoned on the way between home and work;

probably that’s why it failed,
just some bits are left pure, -

you had enough of the gray face.

doors that should not be opened

16:01:06. Mon ap

there are doors
              that never
                          should not be opened,
because behind  is the mouthfull,
which cannot be swallowed,
it is much better to be silent

there are doors
               In every house
                            in almost every man,
which should not be touched
because behind there is no return

there are doors
which is the best to take to the grave
and let it disappear
                 together with bones

and it is not easy for anyone,
because there are doors
which you bypass daily

but if you open them
and return in one piece

      you were never a man

Thatched feast


The bone on bone
And nail through the flesh
On one ear rain
On the second heat
We break until somebody recognize us

Thatched feast

Never enough  of death
Oil  is under the soles
Dust is universe in itself
Mud is in the eyes
One arm is broken, the other nervous

Thatched feast

Only two bridges to Katowice
There, no one knows me

And mornings again

sons of the light


   let it be dark,
that fog and rain
    let never stop

let them raise pillars
    which  none can pass
let the beasts of cold
    forever fail

 let light to detect
    everyone's face;
so that I don’t fold tail
like a fatherless dog

    let it be dark,
that fog and rain
    never stop

let  the poles grow
    and drown the land
let thirsty to drink
    and raise his voice

let everyone have
    joyful awakening;
so that I don’t fold my tail

like a fatherless dog

When I wasn’t there

Admit , are you're dreaming  of the mighty horsemen,
Slaves who kiss their chains;
Do you know that I am a knife
that butchers me,
and rides on the neck
 on each of your illusions;

And if you sometimes I look sad to you ,
I’m only coming back
where one shouldn’t go.

Sorry, but I cannot give freedom to anyone.

-Electrical eyelashes-

trumpeters at the funeral
certainty in the cloud number 4
rhinos on the beach tiled with stars
heads  I yesterday rolled under the spoon
tadpoles in a brandy cauldron
electrical lashes under armpit
bronze hours in Japan - volcano
whom is this holiday for -flood?
grazing beside many centuries old tanks
and then they ate us
romantic reptile along the lines of destiny
operation in the four pears
undoing the muzzle
we do not talk
a lot

on a sidewalk goes, half undressed
Titoar - the king of reptiles
we cannot help, but worship him
because the lakes are full of our vertebrae
and our spines are lost holiday
 to us
for someone who is walking and someone who is talking
tales about olive tail
while ears distribute gifts
to someone who eats

then they dress us
in someone who sleeps

and they sleep in us -  in a coat

waiting / atesa

November 1997

there are always some bus that does not come,       (you before a mirror ,mount on your lipstick)
In every crowd
                  There’s a man that stands
                            blankly staring at me.     (just now you hop on the train).
                                            (There is no dust on your lips. )
                    I know that the discomfort is too strong to hold
                                                                           Night to remain night
                                                                           and my house  remain sunrise
                    There on her breast
                                                         There is some warm pepper
                    How to take the night

                                     With her and  without her

Acrobatic delirium

5 crematoriums of  soul
day is a box in which I am placed               ( Angels have left me long ago )

grubby city crushes on the thershold
 thirsty and tired  city                                (And I'm in the pockets of dead fish )
                                                                                        ( I stink of tar and dust )
I’m in this .                                    (walls of my room die)
Awakening ,that is when
With a block of granite you sink into the water,
a day is when you are slaughtered-
and released to die in a groan

For days I do not hear anything  except locomotives
below the ears I carry walls
-sluggish as clogged chimney .
And boring dogs
Roam without approaching me            ( Awakening that is when )
                                                                                        (  Without a crumb of strength you stand in the dark,)
                                                                                          ( and day is when silver nails )
                                                                                         ( crowdedly rush towards your throat. )
This is us
three fingers of cotton in the universal filth
The rain turns into snowflakes
And, like before
We slush through the same rails
undetained .
That’s how end comes
-persistently we sink in the mud
Because the mud is all that binds us +

November 1997

Nov 1, 2014


(change from dark gray to yellow)
V1996 0808

Caped with melancholy-modestly gloomy-I’m sitting, leaning on a hat.The watch runs late.Birds on branches drink bourbon.There is only one movement-.That’s me, below the icons, going into the abyss.
No wine in the basket.Tonight mosquitoes don’t bite.It’s time  to say goodbye to fire in the ash-we travel beneath the earth- with distance of passengers.
That’s me sitting alone- modestly gloomy -on a mountain of strenght.Screams of collapsed day fall beside me -
How many light bulbs tonight are extinguished in the universe?

I'm coming down to the Lisbon streets, streets embraced with light.Hot wind strikes the face.People climb up to see.I laugh with them.-Tonight we're all waiting for dandelion.Poor hope is resilient like bulrush-lights are changing-
I remember the Colossus of Rhodes and the coastal area; Dame that used to bring sliced watermelons and containers with icy strawberries.Only now I can paint the sun.
New Morning will smell on honey.I will leave two oranges in front of your doors -then together,we will break the arms

-of the world that is around us and soil that is within us.



four without injury,
I tremble.-
There comes an hour in which I do not know
below which stone there is snake
nor whome is the stone for.
than I dug in,
I do not know whether I sleep or hate:
I just know it hurts
and sinks

and fear.

pocket thinking

(cannot format it properly.Real format can be seen in "džepna razmišljanja" on Jutro njihove pobjede page)
27.02.1996 KSB 0787

uncelebrated hands                                                                                       INDIVIDUAL
-pocket thinking                                                                                           who stepped on passenger
-walker without ballerina                                                                              counting from 5-7
                                                                                                                   golden engravings on the wheels
weight of water                                                                                            soul coalesced with the Atlantic
-we are powerful fish
before the freshwater eclipse

I change my clothes in the abyss
Taking this this day for a walk =
he happily wagging its tail

this morning I gave my name to a dog



We are shepherding  our heads
I’m clopping my days, tied to water:
Our bright moments are in dust-
we became evyl.

all miseries are females,
concert for the apostles and the grave;
sex with shampoo
on rabbit paws,
and whisper from the bottom:
we became evyl.

toothpaste for breakfast-
I’m clopping  through hallways of dead soil

while sordid train shakes in the stomack.

Oct 31, 2014


nevertheless, it is important to travel more,
see all the suffering, pain and power,
touch the happiness, at least for a brief time, on the corner
of deserted city that has yet to come

 to swallow kilometers as bitter wine
bring down the stairs of time with heels,
to make stones  blunt with your sluggish steps,
laugh  like crazy

                     -to scream at  a dawn +



on dried out station of alcohol
under a soggy tree tops;
we disappear as the rare ones -

unrest come
faces as doorsteps;
it is a window that I do not see-
crows in the hearth

we stand wet from rain
my friend, your dog, and I-
and insane overthoughts
-through our dark tears

                we reached the bottom +

thorny fairytales

8.09.1995.D1 out (+0617)

broken branches  wheeze on the edge of the forest,
and the moon is punctured;
in the wrong courtroom
judge was beaten -
others were executioners.

the sun is on the table - I cut it into slices,
silent in the darkness - I and my heart just
bent at our roots.


how many times have I  on abandoned table
pulled an empty box  of HB s?
how many times I passed through the park -
under the mask of face waited for the end of summer.
-waiting for the night as a lost dog
new master:
without a will in myself -

without all that is lost

Šurik meje

30.05.1995 dom.Godinja 0692

there used to be sunday .-
              today it is rosy breakdown -
day as a residue, night  as the womb -
hour in which unsuccessfully I wait for my home
burnt village, a forest full of ghosts.

on the hill rocks and hundreds of pine trees,
across the river bushes and pulled down fence -
and a yellow flower in a tiny grass
raven that’s flying -
relaxed -

across the abyss

the season of hard sailing

08.07.1995.sab, KSB 0703

lead me to a place of glory that I never imagined,
get me out of the ship that have never sailed;
do you know that I'm awake
I'm turbid
take my portion,
give me a cake of strength, not to feast this one night too.

I am like a stream that never I sailed on,
as the navel of cloud which I never liked,
I'm here sitting,screaming
wreck in the middle of the island,
there are crazy days
-prohibited  shipping.

throw the cake strength to flog myself with my soul,
get me out of mud-
yellow frost where I am buried;
I go out in the night as a blood-hungry ghosts,

the night is rocking on me, like a coat of dead baker

sand raft

24/08/1995. D1 0716

I sail in the bay of pigs.-
torches illuminate their tin muzzles.-
blunt as collision, the moon has fallen,
gull has today become the fear

we come with faces sprayed with mud;
we do not talk.
with an effort we build new tents,
waiting for the mob to reach us -
high guards to shut us down.
it is fear of the sea, a bonfire on the hill,
Those are good people, beaten to the bone -
small world on one line
                         of your dear chin.

and until dawn, with whip and all the strength
they beat tired and sick;
and in their hungry hands
they nail in wedges,

-and burn their faces

Oct 30, 2014

Firing squad

Life is something that happens to the other people,while you are waiting for the final orders given to the firing squad.
The rain falls down your face and it's a blessing - because it hides your tears.
Probably they will set you free,but it's just another way to die.You are alive here,but you're dead on every place where you aren't now.

Oct 29, 2014

freckled end

26.08.1995. out KSB 0717

window is wet,
and below it in greensward
spider weaves a web;
and we ~ soldiers
in shipwreck -
leant our full guns  on a wall.

hunters enter the full belly of a forest.-
green morning is petrified.-
hard boots  are banging on hidden ponds,
tops of double-barreled guns tread on thorns
.and red fox does not give a sound
but her heart could beat out;
the smell of blue rose – she will not feel.

comes a moment when I know -
how good I am,
                 how all I am;
than I don’t close myself in abandoned wagon -

                 and I do not hit my feet off on someone else's doorstep

scum’s plug, wax home

22.04.1995 sab, KSB 0691

full strength in lies:
                to fall,
                to teem
               to hide /
like a wheel that is spinning mindless:
             placing under
             balancing /
It's a telescope that does not see the sun:
             drop in the ocean,
             glass under water,
             glass furnace /
but I can clearly see the sky in a hurry-
there it is in my eyes;
all that matters to me I'll be able to sift =
the rest is dust,
            now and hour

            and trace

writings in a nobook

V1995 0697

in my red days
I  overthrew so much to the wind,
I asked a lot of
for a lot I gave myself,
silent and shameless on my new hands -
with the moon under a hat
I stand on my hands;
all night I turn to  the Lord =
it is hard, that’s my fear-

that is a woman who picks dropped acorns,
brook that hails to the heights -
truth, freedom and another lie.-

-in the morning of their truth
may the good Lord be with you


21.12.95.Ksb 0744 2:20

people wondered why crow squeals-
why  does not sing like other birds do-
and that black, tattered coat-
why does she wear down the street

a crow said to them in human language:
-coat is sewed  by my mother nature-
It is a tweet  for anyone who wants to listen
so  nightingale's song is not suitable for me +

snake eyes

27.1.95.ven Ksb 0684, first hour

      view  of the whore, under water porch
so shall it be in the last hour;
penultimate music stands in the hallway,
it is cold
tonight to be
alone like a dog.

we’re getting old-hey! thousands
 of my steps,
a thousand  of screams days do not hear:
under water porch
          in her kingdom, -
in  view  of the whore
with fairylike eyes +

the atomic weight

     22/04/95. sab, Ksb 0696

// 23h //

thousands of miles of minced days -
sand which I eat
and belligerent eyes;
it's when I travel
                          as swallowed, -
soil that I eat -
and air upon I float.

faking  walls with open wounds,
and heart that I carry on my shoulders;
this is when I go down
                          to take from the floor -
one dream I might add,
buzzing on my knees

well, then  I get up
                           and pour in my pockets,
moments  of blue
                           imaginary waiting;
-I turn on the faucet to see flowing from it -
thousands of miles of minced days +

desert raft


07/16/1994. sab KK6 0629

There where mountains are sown up
and where warm truth sprouts out,
there where  dawns are coming from -
is a country that knows;
in this country, at the end of the field, -
lives a man learned and old,
- his whole joy is in a chaparral.-
he roars, waves foam over him
and raging, he hugs the clover,
-that man is the only one still alive -
all others died inside of him.
on his sky he does  not have meteorites
he does not look for the science in the mud;
his desire  is to kiss the snow -
drink the wheat’s inflorescence.-
every morning goes to the whirpool,
but he never jumps in him -
he does not know about tears with the sun in copper

cupbearer of death

cupbearer of death

it’s autumn mother and basil is drying,
farmers  are leaving them to die in a haystack;
in my boots there is too sad wind,
that’s the north wind bringing hope submerged.
her sails are torn, mother, but she
however sails
through a stream and flute /
in heavy boots
where thousands of bagpipes
sing silence
in order to hear her.
ears of my dear,
ears of my close,
ears of my regulars,
ears of my dead.

it’s horrible how sadness passes,
fast train through a station fence /

cold night is pelting
and leaves are hitting;
in heavy boots,

in my view


18.7.1994.lun camp6 0631

I eat breakfast in the Land of Oz,
around me are just squares
 of black and white marble,
and strong ,silent fog,

with her fingers she touched the darkness:
under fur coats handle of revolver peeps-
and a long, long barrel
                   wiped out the moonlight.

night  is without stars.-
in front of me drizzles stopped truck,
-with turned on engine and open eyes;
I raise my hand to protect myself from the flash,
wind bends thin hazel trees.
headlights turn off

                 - drops struck me on my cheek


5.11.1994.sD1 0661

there is too much desire implanted in me
so, at every crossroads I turn
-instead proceeding straight.

sunflower in my eyes is too big
to forget the world overnight;
only my bent letter remains, -
I gave away everything else.

cat on the stairs,
gray horse on the wall,
and all the other animals -
would not let me have
                         a moment of rest,

                        - for at least a little nap


0641 26.08.1994.Ksb

here where the sky is approaching the highest treetops,
and where the blue milk dripping from all the trees -
I hang out with carpet
and with meadow under the window

hawk jumps on the floor and pecks leftovers
                                                  of today's breakfast;
I lie in bed and throw back an anchor
and every time at least I break the glass-

Let's say- the cloud sometimes known to go astray, -
descend to earth,
sinks and waits-

while kissing your feet

white dawnings

white dawnings
5.6.1994.Ksb 0618

white dawnings,
-sudden as winter fogs
                          quiet and wistful:
whom shall I carry a flashlight of universe -
blood is the strongest
/ Her eyes are dreamy;
it is time to curse all,
                                       to stretch
                                       and sleep on.


she is so young,
with white skin of merging:
a little too heavy for every day -
a little lighter than dying;
from the cloud into my arms
                                     nothing drops anymore:
/ do not tell me blind about the glitter of leaf

do not tell me dead - about the smells of the sea

nameless birth

nameless birth

yes, it seems as though this boat
undeniable sinks,
but it is only
                    another steep wave-
that swept over the deck,
It was a cold winter coat
fallen on the rocks;
No, this ship I won’t-
plank by plank-
gently disassemble,
this night even when it sinks,
may again

               last longer +

the tale of the queen and the hangman

the tale of the queen and the hangman

never not love maids,
because the queen transcends them all with beauty;
and do not ever sleep with the queen, -
as always hangman through the door protrudes

it's like going through the mob, -
 smiling guillotine awaits;
people shout, you bend down, -
and there is nothing- nothing more

and then the servant takes the basket,
and  cast your head in whirlpools;
rural greyhounds will lick the blood -
and somehow they will find
                              some fun with your body.

never kiss maids,
ofyour head will soon start to hurt; -
dream of queen and rarely visit her -

just remember the fragrance of the elder +



have you heard sobbing north
as the wind descends to the flat lake
and wild geese kneel in the grass,
 to hide their necks in the troubled stubble;

did you see how from the marble
you carve out your broken shape
for the glory of Antarctica
                            Aleksander blue?

wings are not banging
in this liturgy,there is no priest,
only a couple of unrelated thoughts together,
like divisible gates  of stationary parade
words sink  under boots  of sluggish troops
whose footsteps I cannot hear; -
do you know why ¨ blue Aleksander?

I know, I know everything.
I know everything, but it’s good for nothing,
no wisdom in wrinkles;
problematicly  good, mad and lonely
in frenzy,deluge

I open the jaws of a lion
and in them I jump bare-bones,
as if I was armed with pain,
no pain! quiet grief;
I'm here to raise my hand,
to hail a star who wanders with the moon.

wrapped in thick fur,
finished off with disease in this midnight of nowhere;
hours are builing up in this crystal room,
in me there is bat  of sadness of east and north

I know all.I will go again
no, I will not whine.-I will sweetly laugh 
and the tower that defended a thousand spears
will fall before my feet;
but God, whether it's in me
anything good left.
my living eyes-my good madness,
and what to do with you ,tower of white cherries
when I put my pack on shoulders again.

here are taigas, darkness, -lights of my way
here are signs of departure,return and the place
that is nowhere

I'm falling, I'm dragging and I sink,
hitting the bells of the  sunken ship ,
reflecting the struggle that has already passed;
whether it's win, it is not important,
those are ,baby, dots you can’t find on maps,
here is joy and sorrow intertwined
in a clear ringing of distant stars,
 of the forces of water that turn me
-blue Alexander.

no longer a hero, I only put my armour on-
when I fight with windmills,
I also remember and talking nonsense;
I'm young, I'm crazy, I love
With soul,with glow and hands;
in me there is still a heart,
crucified Christ

                      thanks at least for this +

Friends, streets and glasses

Friends, streets and glasses
11.04.1993.ned / 12.02.1990

Friends, streets and glasses
Everything becomes dirty when night falls;
 I desperately wish that I somebody needs me,
But nowadays nobody bleeds for help.

I'm just a toadstool  of brain
The rest is choking animal: -
The machine, which is spinning hollow -
The important thing is just a mirror inside of the soul.

BLOOD ON WALLPAPERS as an echo of the future.
I enjoy praises /
God, I'm an egotist,
God, I'm a masochist, -

      I'm sleepy.

4 centuries older than us

4 centuries older than us

4 centuries older than us
two houndred years
under the mountain snobiye glack (lagk)
by the shore of a warm sea
lives a tribe Vaovas
4 centuries older than us
girls who are weaving toadflax around their weists

and young Tevulek went into the world