at 2 a.m, watching them release kites (hide in the phonebooth's earpiece)

by Marija Andrijašević


at 2 a.m, watching them release kites (hide in the phonebooth's earpiece)

i'm rushing through the city. my throat is tight.

the earphones in my ears are hurting me.
today is simply someone else's day.
her beautiful face, nails, boobs. whatdoiknow.
dream, dream, dream! forget about the dream! i'm forgetting, but it keeps whoring around with my head.
you are lifting my hands up high. hanging me up on meat hooks.
spreading my legs apart. undoing my zipper.
you're a bit clumsy, confused. your legs are slipping on the frozen blood of the slaughtered calves crammed around us.
you're about to fuck me, any moment now, i'm waiting, waiting, waiting...
i wish you weren't so clumsy and confused.

my stomach aches. the acid is singing lullabies to cereals.
stomach massacre caused by bile acid.
i'm talking nonsense. i don't even have a gallbladder. they cut it out when i was nineteen.
the put all of the kidney stones in this nice, white, little bottle
that i kept in the pocket of my old coat.
33 stomach asteroids trapped in plastic.
they must've gone nuts. claustrophobia.
so i threw them away. so that they don't get mentally ill.
at last! you can hear us moaning in that huge cold storage.
you're letting my voice be daring. normally it is completely undarable.
i'm biting your hair, eyebrows, forehead. i pray to god that you don't stop.
i pray to god that you don't skid and slam in a cow.
god damit, you're so good.

and now...
we're talking on some sort of a clearing. i don't know how we got there.
on the other side, my cousin, a jehovah's witness, is preaching some sort of a sermon.
that irritating, nasal voice of his, provoking debauchery.

debauchery? did someone say debauchery?
i stop at the traffic lights. i look at my cellphone. shut up and put up with the dark.
i'm standing, standing, standing. inside, nausea is happening.
i'm totally like iris henderson. you're apologizing for tearing my evening gown.
you're holding my hand. curling my hair around your tongue.
match made in heaven- sodom and gomorrah.

i'll cut my hair so that it doesn't happen again.
what can i say to you?
what can i talk about - my god doesn't like me laughing.

Translation by Doris Dresto

u dva ujutro, gledajući kako puštaju zmajeve (sakrij se u slušalicu telefonske govornice)

jurim kroz grad. steže me u grlu.

bole me slušalice u ušima.

danas je jednostavno tuđi dan.

njeno lijepo lice, nokti, sise. štajaznam.

san, san, san! zaboravi san! zaboravljam, al' kurva se po primozgu.

dižeš mi ruke visoko. vješaš me na mesarske kuke.

širiš mi noge. otkopčavaš šlic.

malo si smotan. noge ti klize po zaleđenoj krvi zaklane teladi zbijene

oko nas.

jebat ćeš me, svaki tren, čekam, čekam, čekam...

da bar nisi tako smotan.

boli me u želucu. kiselina priča uspavanke zobenim pahuljicama.

želučani masakr žučnom kiselinom.

pričam bez veze. ja uopće nemam žuč. izrezali su mi je u devetnaestoj.

spremili su sve kamence u jednu finu, bijelu bočicu

koju sam sačuvala u džepu staroga kaputa.

33 želučana asteroida zarobljena u plastici.

sigurno im je bilo da popizde. klaustrofobija.

pa sam ih bacila. da psihički ne obole.

napokon! čuje se kako stenjemo u ogromnoj hladnjači.

puštaš moj glas da se usudi. inače je sasvim neusudben.

grizem ti kosu, obrve, čelo. molim boga da ne prestaneš.

molim boga da se ne odskližeš i ne zabiješ u neku kravu.

jebo mater jesi dobar.

e sad...

razgovaramo na nekoj čistini. ne znam kako smo došli tu.

moj rođak, jehovin svjedok, s druge strane drži neku propovijed.

onaj njegov, iritantan, nazalan glas, provocira razvrat.

razvrat? je l' neko reko razvrat?

stojim na semaforu. gledam mobitel. šuti i trpi mrak.

stojim, stojim, stojim. iznutra se dešava mučnina.

skroz sam iris henderson. ispričavaš se jer si mi poderao toaletu.

držiš me za ruku. kovrčaš moju kosu oko svog jezika.

match made in heaven - sodoma i gomora.

odrezat ću kosu kako se ne bi ponovilo.

šta da ti kažem.

o čemu da ti pričam - moj bog ne voli da se ja smijem.