Archive for the ‘Kolbasa’ Category

So, this is what freedom tastes like?

Democracy?

The freedom to choose (albeit with little chance of getting what you actually want)…

In the midst of a Moonless night,

a half-frozen Bockwurst,

you bite and chew,

fatty and vaguely smoked tasting,

mass-produced, soul-less

… West German wannabe Kolbasa.

Alas,

this is not what I signed up for.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

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Outside, I approached the car.

Inside, he watched carefully.

Slowly, he wound the window down.

I could hear Nautilus Pompilius playing,

one track transitioned into another,

a homemade cassette.

I smiled inwardly.

I knew we would have something to talk about.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

You drool as you sleep,

salty residue left on your pillow.

Epic life memories, mainly forgotten.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Free speech on one side of the border means practically the opposite of the other.

Free? Yes, if it’s acceptable to the powers that be.

*Free?*

Not really.

They declare:

Choose which side you’re on.

Renounce as applicable,

past despicable.

I despair.

Indeed.

Society loves complicated simplification…

Reinventing the wheel,

toxic, caustic peel.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

The child’s face showed she didn’t approve.

It wasn’t sweet, true,

but I liked it.

Perhaps my taste was moderated,

I reasoned,

by an adult’s appreciation of cost, convenience and health.

Indeed, adult considerations.

As I reflected upon such realities

the juice tasted better

and better,

beyond banalities.

Such is life.

Get used to it, kid!

 

©ddr7hd

 

“Okay class,” the teacher said one day, “I’ve got really nice Christmas presents for half of you – the rest of you, well, you can have envy.”

Life lessons.

The teacher likes apples, not candy.

All rise.

Let us forsake the gift of envy.

 

Okay, I refuse to censor myself,

here and now, yesterday,

neither do I recant.

It is true,

I do hate her,

for what she became,

for what she went along with,

for what she stole,

for what she left behind.

Yet, I do realize she was a victim too.

The people surrounding,

self-righteous, twisted motherfuckers

that they were, are and remain,

quintessence of evil,

brethren of shame.

*They* are the true villains,

and may they and *theirs* rot in perpetuity.

And then there’s me.

So utterly betrayed,

it lingers every day.

Beyond borders,

time and space.

Pain.

Pure pain.

 

 

Perhaps I’ve said too much.

Perhaps I haven’t said enough.

Perhaps I’m paraphrasing REM.

Perhaps too many people have looked through the window and seen me naked.

Perhaps I squeezed too much out of the tube,

moisturizer all over the floor.

C’est la vie!

As Mamma used to say:

Well, it ain’t going back into the peehole now.

So, suck it up.

The unsmiling wench brought me my Weißbier.

I tried to be friendly.

Like, fuck off and die.

I drank some bier and ate kolbasa,

remembering a time of nightmares,

my life,

here, now and yesterday,

every day,

pain,

betrayal,

and more pain.

What hope?

To my grandmother, I’d like to say:

Hope you’re in hell (on Earth),

perfidious cunt,

you and your diseased minions,

and

suck it up, motherfucker,

fire and brimstone,

woe is you.

Happy cunting Anniversary.