How we became contemporary
what will we do with the skies if the limit is up there, it is easiest
to abandon the evening, this thick weed between the bar and the fingers
grows like a parasite, it is almost impossible to find a thigh without stretch marks or
a waiter with a taste in music.
book covers are filters, the stuff inside them an excuse to collapse the skies.
people are a roll lit up quietly in the corner of the club, always
in fear of another. cynicism is the amount of saliva sufficient to join two
papers, most go overboard then people burn more slowly.
Bruno claims Zagreb is a washbowl into which water drips from someone's AC.
someone should have turned on that AC, replaced the sky with a remote control.
was that person you?
look; you cannot turn anything off, up there are limits, at least one
possibility of resistance like a hydroelectric plant on a big and noisy river. on the speed of that river depends the amount of warmth in our apartments, the volume of water in that washbowl, the duration of the evening, and there are hundreds of thousands of other things between the river, the sky, the evening,
and we can no longer speak of borders when a single text message drills a hole in
your chest. words are finally sharpened nail clippers. everything is contemporary,
everything is crystal fear.
Translated from Croatian by Antonia Jurić