Start? Trats!

What can I say in the beginning moment of my being? Maybe starting is just simplest way to get out of nowhere? Maybe it's the best word for such difficult state of everything?
Do you mean the state all the things are in?
Or maybe no?
What do you mean by "no"? Is this the same word Adam said to Eva when they first met in paradise?
No! Adam said his "no" later. And only for a while.
So what did he said?
Oh! You don't know? Maybe "yes" or "let's start the race"?
Or "let's end the start"? Or what else? Which one of them was first? And which one was God?
Deos it really matter? And maybe it is enough to say something to myself in this very moment? Am I just crossing my birthday Rubicon? With no retreat? Just starting on and on, in every moment of my being? One can say it's not true? Being is more than just starting? How much more it is? Maybe it's little bit, like potion of poison so small one will not notice anything? How long will I have the nerves to ask those questions? Can't I just start myself? Still starting? Like refrigerator or any self-starting kind of machinery? Or maybe like the wind crying dead leaf over the top of the world? What I am doing here? What the moment is? Start? What start? Trats!

Beginning of the Start

Starting from the future desire, we can reach our past. But how we can know what future will bring to us? Once there was a boy. He felt, he is man, but he still was boy, and believe me, he knew about it. Even if he didn't accept his boy's nature. But you probably know, you don't have to believe me. Just ask yourself why you do or don't and you can feel it's all right. Boy was not very tall, but good build and fast thinking. No, if you think I am talking 'bout myself, you are too fast! I'm not. He was the kind of boy, all the men like to see in the mirror of their private memory. Maybe me too. If I am man, of course. But this is something you might not know until this story ends.
The boy was very gifted singer. He could sing all day and his beautiful voice gives a lot of pleasure for women and some strange men. He was not the sportsman type, but everyday he took lessons of horse driving and piano playing. Everything in his life was so genuine, he couldn't feel bad or bored. Even his teacher, who every day tried to ask him about sense of his teaching life was under great impression of his lifestyle. Gorgeous life has its style, we can be sure of that. And expectations are always greater than fulfilment. Boy was somebody whom he always tried to be. But never became one. Let's say this at this moment of beginning: he just never started.
Those were the days! We hired the teacher to made us feel as bad as it's possible! And then, one day he made us feel really ugly! And nothing special has happened! Some dance clubs just fall into dark.

Starting from the Beguine

So! Those time there lived some old humans remembering how to start the beguine. They've met in dance clubs and dancing. What is the best in the past time is nothing can happen again.
The boy who once was, will never be the boy who was once. Unpredictable? Falling apart? Out of control? This is just how it is! Some stupid questions were typed. Some peoples may feel confused, but what the hack! Narrow marigin of social agreement means people don't remember how close is from Pope to popsicle. This is why blogs are so stupid. This is why all comments someone has deleted. This someone will cancel every next entry - maybe even without reading. Who can he be? May this unvisible entity be the boy who once was? May anybody be sure he really once was? Is this real hack every question is as stupid as it can be? Why am I feel this way? Confused? Tired to tears? Maybe not yet, but it's close. Death is always close.

Starting is what starting is

What? What kind of pain has to be that question? What do you mean talking about things like that? Drowning to the core, sleeping with clishes in deep unconciousness, dying with no idea of life? Playing insider when you are really inside? Why we want to have the second look? Inside of what? Is out there anybody else?
Those were only some questions boy was asking himself when his life has stepping underneath the level of accurancy. But boy doesn't suppose he is loosing his childhood. And this is like loosing life. Or somebody. Or something. Loosing is loosing.

Sex. After-starting form of being me

Can this be true? Is this possible the start sometimes ends? The answer is NO! No and yes and sex. It never ends becouse every part of time is first for itself. And yes, becouse nothing remains in any of it's previous being. And sex? Maybe just because sex is always good! Remnants!
So. Author was writing novels in Polish. Polish tittle of this novel was Wszystko to prawie tyle co nic what means Everything is close to nothing or All equals anything or both. Any tittle would be better for such subject. But where is proper place for sex? Does this mean sex is great in any place? If we believe in conspiracy theory, we can take some lessons from this tittle alone! I'm issuing this away as public domain. Maybe next translation will be better? Something like www.anything¬hing=no_more_true.org, huh? This is non-sf novel but it's close to political fiction. As everything we are taking part in.
Politics is a kind of fiction too.

Oh Buoy, were art thou?

Day was cold. Colder than any day this season. It was one of those late autumn days, everything has this ugly and sad color of the stone. Soft wind circulating between walls had carried dead leafs, taking garbage and dust straight to haeven. And it was certain to everyone there was no haeven at all. And everything even those high, class glas windows, beautifully lighted by raindrops, were remaining about the slow dying year.
"That's nitty", said teacher to his pupil, as he only opened his mouth."Can you imagine you are the highest form of being? Yes, you! I know... This can be very difficult. But try! Imagination is the key to power!" His eyes were angry, but his voice was suspiciously calm. For someone who didn't know him, he could be even nice. As even rattlesnake can be for blind, deff, drunk and most stupid person you can imagine.
"Me?" asked boy opening his dark brown eyes wider and smiling with no certainity of his pupils condition.
"Yes you! Expecially you!" said teacher pointed at him with his hacked finger. He was sitting in Caesar's pose laughing and swinging his body and his chair, just like he was this night club jazz pianist he saw last night in a cheap movie. He didn't like piano players. They had so much discipline and were so much finger oriented, he was just feeling sick about them. He was sick for himself every time he thought about piano music.
Speechless boy was steering at him without any special expression in his sad eyes. Time was crawling under feets like drunk snail.
"Or maybe you are not? Is this what you'd like to say this awfull morning?"
"I am sorry Sir, but that's not fair."
"Who says so?" said techaer turning his body to class and raising his voice.
"It's me, Sir" said Ann, principal's older doughter.
"OK" siad teacher. "I can appreciate your sincerity." And then he back to his desk, where he was collecting pants stolen from gimnasium-cloack-room. It was girls pants, sometime even boys pants, we can say, he was keen of generosity of the nature. Pants were white or in light body colour, light green, and even light orange. All of them was used. And now is the best time to assume, this fact was known for everybody in this school. And almost everybody knew this knowledge was a kind of public domain. Except the teacher.
Pupil was still standing near teacher's table. Windows were closed but in every raindrop we can see flashing, late autumn sympathy of this hour.

Your French is excellent!

"Oh Boy! Oh Boy!"
Bishop was taping between walls of his cell. His face was sad and purple and he was sweating like he was inside the Russian bana. He'd just read the letter from major and still couldn't realise how this happened.
"Oh! Where art thou, when I was thirsty?"
"I was always by your side" said the letter laying on bishops desk.
"So what?!" said bishop with purple face and tears in his fishlike eyes.
"I was even against some other sides!" said the letter moving slowly with some lost wind.
"Did you, really?" yelled the owner of smallest cellphone and the proud owner of biggest cell in all monastery, stoping suddenly over tiny piece of paper. "So why you didn't tell me The Journal will publish all the list? And how they get it? How?" His potato-nose was almost red. With blue vains and black spider hairs it become to look like stollen from Santa Claus.
"I did" said letter with the major's voice. "I said about the cashless society control grid for example! And about upcoming depression! Don't you remember?" Major's voice sounds like he was angry."I can show you full recording of this chat - we were talking by cellphone as I can recall. You've had a chance to hear those archives too, don't you?"
"You mean the time when we're tracking this heretic communist from Argentina?" Bishop was not able to keep his voice on polite level. "It was your job! I did nothing that can be ashame for me!"
"Oh yes! You did!"
"No! I don't!"
"Oh yes! You did!" Major voice laughs as long and rude as bishops face turns from red to violet. "Don't you remember how you yelld? Catch him! Catch that motherfucker! Don't let him waste the fresh air of this beautiful planet! Those are your words! I can replay you a perfect recording!"
"Impossibile!" replies big fat bishops face. "Are you recording everything? You son of a motherfucking bitch! Are you recording me too? Me?!" His unbelieving was as big a a statue of liberty
"What do you think? Are we in Helsinki? Tell me? Are we? This is not the place to talk about sincerity! This is not the place to talk about citizen's rights!"
"How can you be so bad? Don't you even realize you ought to try to be better? Jizaz! This muderasholefucker don't %#-&$^&@*(.<^%@#!-" Words exploding from bishops face became a stream of dirt which was miraculous adequate to his social position.
"By the way... Your French is excellent!
Bishop shot his mouth up.
"Sincerelly yours..."

Mayor ideas

"Laying down screaming makes me better than Jack and Jill and Thelma and Louise and even Dwight in a dress. Laying down screaming in your beautiful company makes me fell I am good and wise. That's why I am laying down screaming beneath your nice head I have so close."
"Those pills I've used to make your head so close..."
"All those pills were pink and sweet" Mayor closed his brown eyes and took a deep breath.
"Laying down screaming is so much better to me that makes me better than I really am. Really."
"If I am only a kind of someone who is laying down screaming, than this is the highest sense of being me"
"And if I am only in a kind? Is there any better idea?"

I would like to go with you

When I see your eyes I am blind for the rest of the world. You are not just one of my friends, not just one of my relatives. You are exactly who you are. And this makes me so gently in my dreams, I am affraid I'm unable to realise in real life. That's why I am dreaming of you. And in my dreams you are always me in part and partly apart. Next step. Haeven on seventy seven. Elevator rush with deep breath and all those words drop down like little glass balls. Those balls, crystal drops of glass have colourfull lights inside. And any of them had broked reaching the floor of elevator. Maybe because there's carpetlike cover in this oldfashioned elevator. And your eyes become wiser and deeper than I can stand of. Did you seen that ball with green light inside? This is my heart begging for help. Not any help I mean. It's your help I'm begging. With your lips making me feel like hero of the day, and your hands! Oh, you hands I can touch gently and light as feather. I can dream about your fingers, about your silky nails. I can beg for scrach, but please, do nothing like this, do nothing to help me. I will sleep in deep end of your dream. I will sink in your warm furs. Next step is hell. On sixty six rings the bell. Josh said I am his friend. Josh is even older than me, but he is much younger in his soul. Oh yes, he has soul of the newborn baby. He is so clean I can't tell anything unfair. He is like devil who bring us to the chapel of good doings. What did you did with me? Why you enchanted me this way? How you did I lay as a stone in elevator vanishing in the eye of the cyclone, in the fire of the eternity? I would like to go with you. Blindly and unconditionally. Please. Just push the button and elevator will stop on your floor. And when the doors will open, all my words and thoughts and coincidental crystal balls with blue and red lights inside will roll off. And I will be here as a stone.

Private setting

"You have this privilege, you can always say NO, but this is not the point. Problem is you don't like to say this.
"My privileges? My rights! And they are like you've just said. But I'd not want to use my position."
"You think it's unfair?"
"Why unfair? I'd like it's your idea to make it fair."
"Is it just because I am wider known? You want to humiliate me? Maybe debase me? Why it's so clear after all we share?"
"We share? What do you think we did share? Some stupid words, some hours in bed? And debase? What a word! Maybe you think it's smart, but I have to disappoint you. There's no way to make me fell guilty. I am not Eva and you are not Adam. The real drama is we are not alone! And there's a plenty fruits, many devils and no Eden. Maybe there's a God too, but I didn't seen him yet."
"Heretic! I love you this way!"
"Shhh! Sleep still my deer! Dogs have lost your track."
"Did you heard the news? Fatal level of polution makes us unable for our pets. Soul has been discovered in Capossi's bodies. It's black and empty with little sparks of unknown energy inside. Great secretary of UN resigned of Great Stamp Knights Brotherhood membership."
"And what message expecially do you mean?"
"They're equal. One after another is fake. Improvisation my dear makes me something more than your deer."
"This kind of improvisation as you call it, makes you just stupid, unbelivable jerk! You should go for a long walk. Maybe drink few beers in pub two crossings down."
"You really think I shoud?"
"Yes deer. And when you'll be back, I will not be here anymore. Don't you think this is best solution for all in love?"

True love (never makes sense)

Big enlightenment! Just vision with perpetual comebacks! Your fingers wandering in my hair. Oh how can this be refreshing. My principal has pierced lips. Mr Mignon would you like some more vine? Red vine recalls colours of your hair. Your hair makes me feel you are lonsome. Lonsome people get rid of it. It is mysterious to lay here tasting your words. Words don't fly, they explode. Explodives are best way to make our world clear of silence. Silence is something we are making together when sun sets in private room. Private! Room for making love has very sensual interior. Interiors exteriorate in the way we did before. We are doing it the same way as always. Always are we - you and me. But one day everything has strange colour of red vine. And you are crying for my identity. Who am I? Am I not the oposite side of you? Why you are smiling with tears falling down on my chest? Sun gets red as your hair. And all catholic saints drink like alcoholics. Every bottle has sign of pentagram and bunch of devils at the bottom. And highest priest plays Body and Soul on tenor saxophone. And all TV stations say we are happy not to be crucified. I come out of the stage to pick up the phone. Nobody's on line, so I back just to see there's no stage. Few naked sisters are dancing and organ music is just one tone continuum. There is no time anymore. Time has died. Everything is eternal and I can't move. I never experienced such phenomenon! What can this mean? You are smiling like you trying to eat my face, but I am not a donut, so you spiting me out! And I am laying here in red wine like biting cherry. This is time of my glory. I am reconstruction of Atlantis, I am saved from the past which never has been done. When I am awakening you are gone. My body is old again, and I am not a boy or girl, but old man stinking with cigarettes and beer. Is this what love makes sense?

Unbeliever's Believes

"You do believe in humanity, in brotherhood of mankind, citizen's rights, amnesty international, true and sincerity."
"You do believe in many humanitarian movements, aid for peoples of third world, social work for saving live."
"You do believe in moon calendar and activity against children abuse and for women's liberation."
"You do believe in soda with whiskey, rum with coca cola and French vineyards."
"You do believe in winter season vacations."
"You do believe in good reasons to be here."
"You do believe in visions of our future fate in our dreams."
"You do believe we have to help our luck."
"You do believe that eating is wasting our souls."
"You do believe love is something more than chemical process."
"You do believe to live is to kill."
"You do believe you can live twice or even more."
"You do believe you can give me happiness."
"You do believe in profecies and cosmic mice."
"You do your believes as much as you can."
"You do what you believe you should do."
"You do like you have to believe."
"You want to do your believe reality."
"You are trying to live like you do what you believe is best."
"You make everything believable."
"You are what you is."
"You try to interrupt me."
"Are you real?"
"Tell me please, even if I will not believe you."
"I will try to."

Living on the corner of the world

Suddenly winds made a big hole in clouds and sun looked down from its hights, straight into silent and sad country. We were just one hundred miles from home, but we felt it like we were three centuries back in some kind of strange land full of dragons and bad sorcerrers. Our car was undeniably broken, maybe it was lack of gas, but we were not car engineers nor witches to know such things. Our cellphones couldn't reach the base station. And everything has made me feel just like I was this empty car wreck getting cold by the road.
We didn't look out for a place to spend the night. We didn't realise we had to! Behind the horison we've seen thin string of smoke, so we've thought, we should go there. It may be the shoping center. Or gas station with cofee bar where one can call to firm and wait for help.
We didn't know what to do, so we rush straight to smoke's probably source. Haevens have been eaten by crowns. Mist had flown to the ground which was soft, close to liquid and still asked for more. Far away we've heard voices of church bells.
"Where are we. Do you have any idea?" asked Mona who was my secretary and real friend.
"No" I said in more simple way than it was supposed.
So we walked by half liquid ground and our boots were as big as pumpkins.
When we reach the end of field we've stopped by greatest vision of lanscape we've ever seen. Forests, lakes, village and stone castle on the top of the mountain. It was just like cinematographic ilusion of middleages.
"Whoaw!" said Mona with lots of air expiring every letter over the hills. "It's like fairy tail!"
"And we are like Hansel und Gretchen and this is village of Babas Yagas"
"Look" she whispered without breath. "Dragon!"
Dragon has seven heads and seven legs. Green body was very sexy. He head no hair on the chest, and gold Rolex on the wrist.
"Hey, mister dragon, where did you park your cabrio?" But there was no cabrio. And dragon probably didn't heard my words because he didn't move. He was totally immobilised by dozens of steel strings.
"Poor dragon!" said Monalanta with compassion. "Do you think we can help him?"
"Of course we can! We can call peoples from Animal Rights!"
"But your phone is dead!"
"Let's try to knock to the first door in the village" I said unsurely.

Connection

That day no one could connect to his office number. Whole situation was crazy and he was not even sure what is going on. His phone was ringing all the time, but when he tried to pick it up it was no message or any reaction but synthetic tiny music of Scott Joplin's Entertainer.
"What is going on?" He was asking for two hundred seventy sixth time.
"To-do-do-dee-do-dee-do-dee" Answer was always the same.
"I know, I know" - he said to machine.
How much annoying sound this has to be, to make him feeling so obsolete? He dropped connection and tried to focus on his work. But since he has nothing to do, he could feel something like absolute freedom. But what is this for heaven's sake? He looked out through the closed window. Cool surface of glass on his forehead makes him remember his real position against outside. Was this reality? Maybe it's just another kind of media. Like morning table with cup of coffee. His hands trying to connect to the paper. Scent of printed words. Wasn't them more real than words he tries to articulate in empty room? That is why he looks outside and sees his car on crowded parking lot. No moving, no life. Only sun and the ocean of wasted energy. High noon.