Archive for the ‘Tунеядец’ Category

Bold move,

he decided to tell the truth.


history prefers

beautiful lies.





Superheroes, cops, agents, and the like,


enter commercials, adverts…

selling banalities, souls, and the perverse.

Blaringly loud,

music jingles and clanging voices,

capitalist, consumerist overload…


The TV seemed to be stuck,

it was dementing,

I tried to change the channel,

I tried to switch it off,

I tried to turn it down,

it wouldn’t budge.

It was torture.

“Welcome to the future!”

boomed an ominous tone…

If this was that,

the 21st Century,

then I was glad to be inside,

outside society,

to live and die,

hopefully in peace and alone.




I march to the beat of a different drum,

when allowed.

My own

internal vibe,


at times aloud.

Beat, beat,

like a heartbeat…

Fundamental to existence.



They call me names,

they lock me away.

I threaten the system.

Enforce decay.




This was a different ploy:

Tonight they fed me well,

nay, they overfed me.

The food was plentiful and good,

fine dining,

like a celebration,

impossible to refuse,

herbs and spices,

laced and infused.

All of a sudden the point of no return:

Too much,

stuffed with stuffing,

stultified and stupefied,

I fear I babbled incriminating words,

cloudy memory,



Later I will shit like a machine gun,

my captor will sneer:

Filthy whore!




They use and abuse the tool

(Screw creator’s plan!),

they pervert purpose and potential

(Desecrated woman!) …

They badmouth and besmirch

when the tool cuts,

they cry as they get hurt.


oh my,

how they lie,

how they connive,

and disregard the fact

of a screwdriver.










pissing competitions…

The things you think of as life.

I’m tired of being your pawn,

your cannon fodder,

your expendable, nameless tool.

I’m tired of the life you have planned for me,

your manipulated fool.




The wise woman is she

who realizes the impossibility

of understanding other people,


Reasons, without reason.

Treason against sense.




And that was that,

trial and judgement complete.

They decided

I wasn’t making a valid contribution to society,

so they censured me

(apparently I was too bad to be merely censored).

They locked me away,

for the masses’ safety.


the celebrated

the appreciated,

like the baker

who makes the cake

that kills your grandmother,

and the woodworker

whose makeshift efforts creak and crumble,




Poxy insidious,






The cell door banged,

a foreboding metallic clang.

And they brought in a sweet-looking, church-going, grandmotherly woman.

She smiled.

Then she stared.

At last she spat at my feet

and called me a slut,

a waste-of-space,

good-for-nothing cunt.

“This shit you write”, she said,

“It benefits no one,

it is not edifying,

no one likes it,

and no one reads it anyway.”

Define edifying, I said to myself,

or out loud, I don’t know which,

as I felt a sharp, hollow, excruciating blow to my head,

then my viscera,

I fell down.




I wrote poetry.

They denounced me,

put me to “good use”,

sent me to prison.