Archive for January, 2017

The mirror lies,

I know it does,

camera lens too,

it’s “objective”:

your hope dies.




Your words hurt.

Perhaps you don’t realize,

but probably, I conclude, you do.

Perhaps you don’t realize *quite* how much your words hurt,

but, then again, knowing you, you likely hope for even more.

Constantly wanting to even the score,

no, surpass!

Like you said, yesterday:






That man over there:

the one with the gun,

the captain of industry,

the politician,

the terrorist,

the outcast,

pretty much every man…

Underneath it all:

the façade, the bravado, the indifference,

he’s still the same little boy who likes to wear stripy underpants.




“You wrote this shit?” he asked, standing over me, pages in hand.

I remained silent.

He repeated himself.

“Yes, I wrote that shit,” I replied, detached.

“Some of it, weirdly, I like. Most of it, though, is confusing, incoherent, shit. Shit which I don’t understand.”

I turned my head and sighed: “It’s a jigsaw, you have to put the pieces together. Think of it as interactive reading.”

“Think? I don’t want to think! And I sure as hell don’t wanna interact with a twisted little bitch like you!” he bellowed, laughing, demeaning, walking away.





Yes, that’s the word.


it takes some time…




When futurity turns into maturity,

when tomorrow becomes yesterday,

you wake up in a cell,

and you feel you have nothing left to hope for.

They lock the door,

they staple your feet to the floor,

and force you to watch the same race,

turgid time, after turgid time,

your least favorite Biathlete ever,

winning, yet again.

30cm TV screen, all too large,

you took a wrong turn

after the Hermitage.





I was amazed.

In my dream

the village elder told me that there had once been a time, long ago,

when life, society and human interaction had been about something other than a power-trip and asserting one’s own interests,


when the day-to-day struggle wasn’t futile,

when we valued what was without and within.

Back when we were “backwards”.

Imagine my chagrin.




Is the past ever


completely past?





we were young and hopeful,

with ideas of freedom

and possibilities,

in reality,

we were naïve and stupid.

We went to the show,

the music and vibe was powerful,

we liked AC/DC

before we understood the words,

later, we realized,

idiocy we heard.

Someone waved an Australian flag,

made in the USSR.

Lies, broken promises,

bitter-sweet lost dreams.


stasis as the best option.

Hope sleeps.





tiredness hits

like a brick.

After a certain point of time,

depending on the day,

I lose my capacity for self-reflection,


I want to forget,

indeed, escape!