Archive for the ‘Vienna Calling’ Category

“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

 

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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

 

Some say that you only

actually value the moment

once it becomes a memory.

… Perhaps.

And maybe one day

I will look back on my current/past pain

and cry some more …

Internally,

always.

Naturally.

Yours,

sincerely…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat