Jeseň má čaro krídel namočených v mede. I keď je jeseň často prehliadaná pod dohľadom depresie, melanchólie večrných podlampových rozjímaní a nostalgiou po inšpiratávne-čarovnom lete, ja sa vznášam v tejto agónii. Netreba sa báť tmy, ktorá príde. Netreba sa báť holých stromov a bledých tvárí. Ono to všetko pominie. Príde nostalgia. Opäť. Opäť. Nostalgia za večným ponorením v čajových dúškoch, dumaním za knihou v tmavých odtieňoch, za vánkom červených líc, ba i vín, strapatých vlasov a vanúcich klasov. Za konverzáciami podobajúcimi sa modlitbám.
for a solitary, hesitating moment, the one persecuting each of us, i reconsidered the days gone gone with the wild, the prosperous silent trees echoing me head those drugs worth to spread among you, me, and them as well, having power of ancient pearls, i do not condemn those days, days of cloudy ideas, and sheer fear, i declare that condemning would mean that i condemn all of us
on your grave i send roses clever, folded pages of a book, with ancient gilded lines, writing itself seconds after your death ruined the days of your happiness. happiness of mine, it was defined by mysteries, wonders of the moment that came cruelly inconsiderately, on my grave i brought those those which I claim to be yours so blind you are? fingers surrounding all of where your mind seem to linger i, in vain, exert a call, to nourish once more, many aspects of you those physical mostly. not ashamed, not a drop, a grain, a refrain, of a flashy elegy only pervades.
ako vločka páperová vločka snehová sklamem ťa opať tým, že dosiahnuť ma nemožeš svojím dotykom ma zmatieš, spletieš, popletieš do očí mi vietor prinesieš možem ti odmietnuť keď nemám zbrane? túlať sa možme spolu, bez seba, vytvoríme kvet bez tŕňov svet bez trápenia poďme sa spolu milovať nesebecky v myšlienkach hriechy spytovať o láske nepochybovať dáš mi zvolenie?
vstúpila som do rozprávky pomaly, isto, s brázdami v očiach očiach kníh majúcich strany a tých strán ktorých sa stráním či sa bojím či sa tým káram svoje krídla zvláštne prepletám ako by som zabudla že lietať viem, ved to je odveta bohov bohucich na meno moje, znejuce trepanim kridel pristrihnutych hlavou nehlavou vrham sa strmhlav
toward the end of an lonesome street where salient cover multiply THEMSELVES supposed to seek to squint to meet the corners missed by a breath parabolically moisting a pretty lie IT ITSELF slowly, among its ragged edges morosely,withing the agreed period wisely, reciting a prudent ode defencefully, housing hedges SPREADS over in a wry MISTAKE
I wake up this morning with poetry with green book covering many faces faces undergone many phases of green-glass mottos and colonies of sad, long forlorn memories when life was a ballad only cruel, mournful, lonely it plagued the unplaguable
we wonder of its clarinets playing music without melodies discarded somewhere within the histories of us, lonely birds, loving the essential, careful steps toward immortality glowing its shades onto the clefts of opening for many decades
we lost the holy wilderness in the bouquet of the earnest it burns my skeleton just to think about it
You , oh classic, stay praying within the rhymes of my prayer grown the thorns of the grayer liturgy penetrating me without permission without joy constantly
The last two centuries have been certainly dedicated to the dynamics of woman´s role in the world, in the world of world of man. It seems that woman haa always has a peculiar, sometimes indefinable role. The behavior recognized predominantly as female at the beggining of 20th century (and reaching far beyond that)has transformed from the inability-to-express-any-opinion-stricken housewife, to a range of distinct acceptable behaviors in the end of the 20th century. We have a woman, emancipated, erudite walking on the street with I-do-not-care-how-should-I-look-like image on one hand, with image of a woman concerned with her beauty, fully convinced that the role of the woman in the world is to 1, either be admired by a man , or 2, to be relentlessly admired by man. The pedestal of the most significant concepts in woman´s world have changed in a tremenodous way. The endeavor to have a certain role, more distinct, more independent from the male perceptions. However, this always has been/is/will be an interaction of the two self-influencing counterparts, female and male, both reacting to a reaction of the other one. I adhere to the idea of a woman to be still judged by the appearance, and beauty concept. I list "procedures" that SHOULD be executed by woman, the activities expected from her (in comparison with a list of male ones) Woman : Shaving (different parts of body), hair dying, or regular haircuts, make-up, manicure and pedicure (nail painting), wearing jewelleries, highheels (ough),... Man: shaving - (and it´s voluntary). Of course, the female activities are voluntary, or voluntarily decided upon, however, still expected into cetrain extend. I defy some of them, disdain with the greatest disdain of world disdain collection. Hereby, by reviewing the concept of a woman I propose to "rethink" how emancipate women are, and how much their emancipation is ingrained (as anything else) in the societal pressure,in the way society imposes a very stringent dimension of respectable sets of not just behaviors, but more underneath- the range of accapted appearance. I admire women that are inside they own world, their independence, their unconnectedness to the pressure. And I am trying to swim in that independence as much as possible, so once I will learn it completely, without safety vest and manly help, and instructions.
once you were here. Dancing as you were a ballerina, like a child, when so carelessly dances into the rhythm of unknown keynotes, like a piece of flesh, hot and thick, pulsing on and off. I watched you, but you did not know. And I did. A fatal mistake happened to you, will you ever dance again? I watch you falling, slowly, without any resistance , or resentment of being a part of human existence, and of penetrating my mind, the cells of humanly created something, and thereby creating an idea of you.
Your little hand. Branches. One by one, escaping from the center, as to be alarmed by a sudden surprise that, escaping never really. like sugar never really escapes the salt, the sun the moon, the gravity the earth, and you, you, your center.
You are falling, and I do like you. I wanna have you in my possession, maybe forever, if possible. Do I deserve you? and will I appreciate you forever? And will yoy be here in my sleepless nights? will you hold my hand while I cry? Do not wipe my tears, please.
And now, you turn what you want me to be.
Oh, wait, I had lost you! I am lovely, so lonely now.
make me the burden, the universal one, to realize, to witness that we carry the sword. give it to me, and I, with one stab, i will do it, to make myself be free, yes,"the" free like you are without me, no. Wait. I really have to find myself. and one day i will be born again.