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

 

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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

 

In a fog,

nightmarish claustrophobic crush,

people seep

and deplete,

the marrow from my bones.

I want to collapse

but, know if I do,

I will be trampled to death.

… The excited travelers

know no depths.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

On my way back to Vienna, I had to stop in London,

precisely, the mega-city known as LHR.

After catching a bus and a train,

tired, so tired,

I was finally in the right terminal,

to wait.

Terminally, it seemed.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

You try,

O how you try,

to do the right thing.

But at the end of the day…

You sit in a pile of ashes

and are reminded of the futility.

Pressure and distension,

people suck you dry.

Bones crumble.

Morals decay.

Life goes on?

Life goes wrong.

(Every fucking day…

life… fades away)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

People like me are used to worshipping privately,

for publicly there is always judgement and compromise.

Even in liberty,

*we* are never truly free.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

The end credits roll,

but there is no way you,

or anyone,

can read them.

Hard work and endeavor,

cast and crew disregarded.

All seems futile,

in movies and real life…

Art blurs into obscurity,

words and love fade away…

Disintegrating

eternity.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Lest we forget,

every regret,

life goes on,

somehow,

dead inside.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat