Tuesday, March 22, 2011

the hole that penetrates the view
of my eternity on a sunny day
walking down the hill just seems
seems to be hill-arious
and the hole marks my sadness
as it grows from the leaves
on the trees of the hill
dnes mi je do ticha
celý deň ponorená
pokúšam sa dotknúť
jeseň zima zmena
ktorá píše básne
zo dňa na deň ucelená
kráča po tme, po svetle
doháňa ma. zmena.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Rummaging in my old, dusty dreams
finding you
you were one of them

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Wednesday midNIGHT blues

my midnight blues looks like this
do not leave me alone

discarded in the dusty corner

in the no-go zone

you' re my heart owner

you sit on its throne

Sunday, March 6, 2011

by Joel Lipman

nedelne neurovedne blues....

neurony nocnych svetiel v telach nasich priani
ich aktivitou sledujeme tuzbu medzi nami

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Mimi has been sad lately

Mimi has been sad lately and wonders if there is any life on Mars. Like David Bowie, she ponders, plays with the ideas, forms them like pieces of mud in a child' s hand and embraces them. It is almost inevitable to imagine this as a possibility, as an island of escape when she feels alone in this world. It makes her calm, as she pours naked drops of tea into the lonely mug.

If there was a life somewhere else, if in the universe there are others who walk and breathe alone, along their lonely track, would they understand? This brings her into a scene where she actually let this possibility unleashed and runs after it. But it is too late. Too late to save the flying rope of mystery and her own curiosity.

She enters a meadow, fog accompanying, dim light sets the atmosphere, she marches slowly. She is so tense and curious, that any sound interrupts her own focus, she breathes faster and hears her own heartbeat without being able to distinguish if those sounds are from within or not.  She runs, she knows that there is no other possibility, this is her island, this is her wandering boat, she is the wolf, the hungry wolf on a vast meadow. She runs fast, feels the air penetrating her skin, her hair playing with the increasing velocity. As her breath is not enough, as her bone marrows start to disagree with all this insecure game, she sees the fog spreading out, away from her, leaving her behind, in all its glory and sadness. 

She has to more breath. She cannot breathe. She cannot recognize herself anymore. If this is a reality or just a mere dream. Does it even matter? Runs through her mind.

Reality=Dream. She decides to makes this dreaming. To start thinking, running away from herself.  Putting her hands on her knees, fatigued, she looks up. Only if she would be able to do this more often, she thinks. She leaves the idea of alienship, her mind leaves everything, clean as first spring daises enfreshed with morning dew, it stays.

Friday, March 4, 2011

the birds accompany me, they give my wings...(i am really flying)

I am getting ready to welcome night in my own, colorful, silver-woven dreams. My head in dancing in the clouds made of songs by Fever Ray and Ane Brun tonight. I listen, I heard the indispensable echo approaching my ears. I think. of today.

Days are getting longer than usual, like stretching the chewing gum when I was younger (read:I still do it), making it go all the way away from me and watch it go back, to its senseless state. I love when days go longer, when they walk more than they would like to, when they are full of energy (read: so I do not have to use my energy in the merciless, undyed winter).

I try hard in this life. It might not seem due to my careless visage, due to my hair that look like a leftover from funky party, due to the colors that I breathe. I wish I could breathe out the same color, and the air would be royal blue for a little while and I could run and create rainbows. My strongly dyed scarf is hugging my neck and I feel how rainbows can exist inside (so easy to imagine). I feel like dreaming.

Dreams are the only creations we are not aware of creating in that moment. They green our reality, plant a seed of ephemeral knowledge and flee. Do you capture the moment when it leaves? Like idea, seedless,momentary, rootless, yet full of colors and energy that abandons your mind when I try to recreate it.

I am slowly back in my dreams, I am playing the main role, I am the character. Of a sleepless princess that never dreams (my life is a dream!).

The safest dream I ever had occurred when I was seven. I do not remember the content of the dream, but the marmalade-like feeling of waking up sticks to me like a great lovemaking. I lean back on my armchair, receivingly, touch and massage my neck. I feel my hair falling slowly, sinking into the cold night air.

I' ll tell the story soon.