Remembering Wien.
The saddest-happiest I’ve ever been.
…
Haunted by memories,
infinite bad dreams,
I walk by the river…
Cold winds
suppress my scream.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Remembering Wien.
The saddest-happiest I’ve ever been.
…
Haunted by memories,
infinite bad dreams,
I walk by the river…
Cold winds
suppress my scream.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
“Merd-iterranean!” I repeated, fawning.
“Oh, Mozart, you’re so witty!”
I shivered as he slid his hand up my leg, indecently probing my nether regions, groping, squeezing.
I simpered, obsequious.
… How could I say no to the genius?
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
I found a vacant cubicle.
Wiped the seat, et al,
with toilet paper appropriately.
Sat.
And shat.
And contemplated.
The old farts’ raison d’être still lingering.
Kids.
I had none
and it was unlikely that I ever would.
(Why…?
It’s not that I would be a bad parent, far from it:
I’d be a great mother.
I blame men, family, society…
My loss,
their loss…)
…
Toilet flush.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Exhausted,
I found an empty seat and sat down…
To sleep,
perchance to dream.
Alas, no,
too much noise and commotion.
I groaned audibly and fidgeted.
The man next to me took my discomfort
as an invitation to introduce himself
and talk.
And talk.
And talk…
About himself,
his children,
his grandchildren.
The whole sordid lot.
Apparently never to shut up,
ever.
He didn’t seem to require any reply
or encouragement from me,
he just kept talking,
droning on interminably.
Sigh.
*Shit!*
Yes, shit!
I needed to shit.
I said exactly so
and excused myself bluntly.
He gaped after me,
silenced at last.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
That yesterday,
however,
is a story for another day…
Sometime in the future past,
when the time is right.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
In Budapest, I was lucky,
my sadness was overcome by tiredness
and I slipped into a form of nothingness.
For a while,
bliss.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
The clocks are all wrong
and no one understands your song.
Does it really matter,
when we all have to sleep?
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
I tried to listen to Falco
but the battery ran out
and external distractions
surmounted
my will to replace,
fading
time and place…
so tired,
so tired,
so tired,
need rest…
Uhhhhh…
Before Vienna
was Budapest…
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Sure, Falco songs are often as banal as the next
half-forgotten Austrian
pop musician,
but there’s something more…
Like,
memories surrounding the home-made cassette
Uncle Kolya brought
from Magdeburg.
And the fact that Falco died before I realized I
too was dead.
Effectively…
… Perversely,
vague happiness,
and proxy signs of life.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
In the chaos and pain…
External sensory bombardment…
I put my earphones back in and tried to listen to Falco.
Really.
Truly.
I tried to get into the appropriate mood.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…