-

I never realised I have so much self control when you drive me into the tunnel I can actually bend my arms and fold my head Like I am looking backwards through my shirt Through the tunnel it all looks sharp The ribcage lights Like a harp drawn tightly. a gas tube with a nose that aparently bares my name. We are in a curb twisting like the cobras we are never bending the head- keeping it nice and flat, but - with a question mark -? we are in a curb again, or - has the previous one ever ended? whatever it is, I can feel my own ribcage

We are in a curb We are losing it

-

There’s a man on the top floor That has very little hair on his head And his face is covered with blisters So red, and he sizzles when you poke him I never knew why When he sits down on his quilt In the middle of his livingroom He Bends over in an ancient ritual movement And touches the floor with his palms. That’s when I can hear him, above me On the floor above. His bare hands are dangling through his shirt All covered with sweat and hair And I think he smells of rotten corpses although I never smelled that. When he looks out the window above me I can see him with his old cracked mouth I dont even have to look up.

He takes out his trash quite often. Thats when he looks at me with anger Like it’s my fault he has to go down. Lately he’s been going down quite alot I can never hear his footsteps, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know he’s there His look is stinging. I’ve also been hearing singing from upstairs lately It seems appropriate that when he’s up there, he sings And when he passes my front door he looks at me with that look of hate he has.

-

I move within my boundries a sea across that streches deep I thought of television, VCRs screens and papers bulletin boards trying to find a matching twin a face that moves faceless a shape that’s black, diagonally bleached on the street If I could strech my claws, I’d know you. If you could strum your wing. but instead, I’ll send you a postcard I’ll send you a valentine from your own hometown and when I meet you It will never be the same again every drop of moment brings me closer To a face - I’ll send my card myself

*this is Miroslav's word and for him

-

---Brake
I was so good today I broke under pressure again Comically relieved, I was- Another place, another man Hysterically trembling conversation Now I know just who to thank

So thank you for teaching me about myself Your little white rooms the way you want me to be So gloriously standing To scalpel-shape everybody, into dry tagged Vehicles of society Everybody is happy Everybody is society

Thank you for telling me about myself I know I should learn but your laugh will twine around you and choke you and wear you out. To surrender is worse than rotting in your chains If I only could I’d make you eat the ones you’ve made Better rise and smash them in you Crushed like an insignificant byte message With my silence Watch my silence-

Heavy plasma thick, My silence will crush you

Thank you for teaching me about myself, for giving me a chance at self-acceptance I’ve never been so free--

--------------------------> You know how to teach us In a row, dug shallow Killer vegetables You will not hear my final scream an Ultrasonic purple-plant whistle

-insignificant-

When it shatters pipes and drums .I hear yours already.

-30-3-2000

-

In a life that is a yawn from when I wake up heavy never at a place just like a wire-tug glider A rise A knob and a release my lungs will swallow up my throat I am called manic but there’s nuthing manic about me a dream outside my room I just need a little sleep please, just a little sleep. A morning that is dry lungs and abdomen full of coughs CanCer bugs making a colony walking around in the hood with lighted windows stabbing from up, all over Like a dry apple I do not bleed, I am not sad.

I am okay now I just need a little sleep please, just a little sleep 30.3.2000

-

If you only let me have a go, you are so little when you stand on top of the slide, glorious But you wouldn’t let me have a shot, Wouldn’t even let me give you a hand.

Of all the people around Some of them you know, some you only made up a few were talking to me, when I was on my own I let them penetrate Courage, when it comes to you, is not a dirty word.

The slide goes down, splitting in three Out of the plastic monsters mouth In a park that is forgotten It is spotted like a cow’s skin. I don’t know why you’re not moving, You never needed a hand and nobody’s looking anymore. They will all be going away soon.

The wind has stopped And I am at the bottom, waiting wondering what I’m going to do when the cow gets hungry -But you’re not moving

-

y entirb rof

A little girl of twenty, With her high platforms and colors that are more mobile than her Teaches me of the man I should be Like her and everybody. Her kindergarden love story- preaching of revolution.

would like me to be, a free majority. She teaches me how to be ideal, to join the parade I never got a card from. Where the king is a bastard. Everything is closed, tight packed into plastic colourful and sportive.

A little kindergarden girl of twenty with eyes sticking to her in symbiosis. Impossible to imagine her like that. She leads a parade never noticing me forever indulgent in the third world chocolate love her kindergarden shoes, her care dripping down to reveal a green machine. --
1.4.2000

-

----Brake II-nd version I broke under pressure And I let my true self out and now I wish you’d just die because I didn’t like what I had inside When I go down the street I want people to point at me saying It is him That is so I’ll know I let everything out And that I didn’t like what I had inside - 1.4.2000

-

(when) I washed my hair today, My head was bent I was panting in the heat I was almost ashamed When I opened my eyes after the sting I couldn’t believe that the water was still white

---1.4.2000

-

A japanese urban spaceship everything you have, you let it down. Just a hand in my palm to pull me the marathon A kick in the back to keep my legs moving In an eighties manga panel You are independent floating above the yellow harvest I drag Sparkling intelligent gentle Together it piles up and Comically lifted let’s dig up another metal bone I am first at that do you like me? When I let you talk on Resting my head I am so afraid for a minute

Let me be in your manga I borrowed to let you step up Please let me be in your manga Where it’s ideal and glorious.

I jumped in your lifevest will you take me in? Where heroes and princesses Which I can’t even type Pure victory in little colours I want to delve I want to see I want to forget I want *you*

---------space------------

You were just how I imagined you In a small office room Flying around. The lines in a lined paper.

I wish I could give you a closer look into the little cells each and every twin insect That comes to see you You will see that I am not a lined paper You can’t write foreign words without trembling, I am a blank sheet I Jitter around Happy -free-

(takes the paper,

folds it into an airplane,

throws

it out the window,

down the street)

4.7.2000

-

In a shell of glass In a chest of steel we forgot to close our eyes and heal A sacrifice of stone Up the flag pole The fastest way to shoot through a hole The internet The auctions of dead A hairy furface that brushes our heads Individual people Turning the knob Talking in a radiolanguage slob -of a force, in a tunnel, deepblue We are told a shell deepblue a foghorn- Talk of liberty Flashing our chest Will have plenty of time when we shoot through the hole
0000000000000000000000000000000000

Underneath the atlantic ocean a Shell cubistically spirals Twists a golden twine turns around falls down and dies alone

-

Intro:

---- Not so pretty and not sixteen But knowing something about this world. And if he’s serious And if only he’d want to I would give so much for a kind word. -Rita

-----------
Talking to my friend I realise I am no longer pure I am not me My antigenes fighting inwards I am always on the guard A red alarm Will bellow and tear a hole in a sheet of skin Like a drum.

In a rattling tambourine game I realise I have no idea clueless Running the marathon with my friend metal sliding further deep and there is such comedy in running holding me tight in circles.

I am held I am always back to revenge I am weak now I am funny I am pure

-

A puppet takes it’s strings puts them down on the furry couch takes both of her hands and says: I am free = A puppet skinned of insight Takes the scissors with it’s hands that can suddenly form goes wild In a dance Into unfamiliar shapes with wide wild shadows seen on the wall Her unfamiliar chest of wood, button eyes, marked/hauled into circles of fright , Hears the knock on a liquid floor,

The ticking in her chest_ _ The cracking of her chest_ _ _

goes to her maker and says: I am free