ADDENDUM TO THE KARAMAZOVS
Shyamalan did the Karamazovs on Comedy Central
That Ivan destroys it all
The whole house in a statement
So he can pinpoint a mother in the crowd
Blinded by his passions
And his “translucent amber of dreams”
Music made manifest
We were in Nicaragua. With Mladinsko Theater. Wept from joy and horror
Old temples where they exploited us. Baby lions all tied up. Before when white dogs whirled around. At night. Across the river. Who were butchered and eaten by dolphins. And a strange black tentacle came out toward me
Our leaders turned on us. We staged the Karamazovs. And they tortured us and locked us up, so we couldn’t even form sentences anymore.
Their own soldiers they tortured in their own filth.
At the end a shaman leads me behind the temple:
– Are your people guilty?
– Some of them, yes … I kneel. Light incense for the Nazis
We forged a resistance, when suddenly amid my speech, where I said everything I didn’t mean to: Matajc interrupts the mission that we’re finishing up now, or slowly moving to MOTHERLY LOVE …
– Someone protests that she’s a fool. That it should end here …
– You’ll see, Dostoyevsky is great!
And I saw how enmity begets enemies amongst us all. How horror sows its seed. And saw in the eyes of brothers how they began to hate me. How they suddenly wanted to kill me. How fear made them cover only their own asses. How I blew up with tears when I returned. Embraced all my dearest friends. Happiness pumped out of me. Enflamed me.
The Armageddon of insane love, begotten by boundless violence, tore at my guts. That I gave it away. From sheer necessity. And embraced Ivan. It forced me to hug them. Some of them in time. Some of them too late
“What can we now expect from our soldiers, who are meant to protect us?! Cuffs? A knife in the back? Great. Our dreams have become our only legitimate form of resistance!”
And when we returned, Željko and I watched baby lions tied to a pole
how they squealed and suffered, and hatched up plans to free them.
Felt how the rage grew inside me.
How it’s transmitted from generation to generation …
I sat there in the middle of the jungle and had no idea how to save them.
Our generals betrayed us. Enslaved their own people.
Out of pure sadistic mockery. How to attack something like that?
“You run around with your fire-sticks and think you’ll maintain order?”
Then I had to divide the world evenly
While the world refuses to be divided evenly
Nothing special really.
I watched this spider
Hang in the middle of his web
In the morning when the masks come off
Nina Š. had become a stripper
And a very talented one at that, in some stifling dump
After meeting her in some apartment she kissed me
While airplanes on TV flew fast and
Bombed six-eyed Asian statues
And I recorded it. Totally out of it
Weird. Even Oliver Stone. Who directed it all. Had no idea Hung on the phone. Hung on the phone all day long …
– He was a polyp!
– Yeah, one of his eyes was green the other blue
We stalked, we hunted: Smerdyakov
It rained. We knew he was close
I had whole houses graffitied. Words melted
As we hunted for him. Ink dropped
And the feeling was we wanted to stop the rain
The horror. Of falling. And that it’d wipe away. Everything
We find him in one of the barracks. He jumped down From the head of some attic and grinned insanely. Alyosha took him away: I knew I had to kill him
Otherwise this would’ve never stopped
Intensely I felt this: He’s evil!
Then in my hands. I think how ironic
I whack him with a hammer, he faints like the fat turtle that he is.
With the sharp end I butcher what’s left of his little brain
I open the door: Smerdyakov is dead! I did him in! Everybody interrupts the show and embraces me
The image of an unerasable crime is etched into my memory
It’s there every time I close my eyes
Every time I hide my face
Suddenly lost. In rage. In the jungle. Hunted by pigs and tigers and monkeys Rain falls. Sounds are. I call for help. Because I lost myself. And became a pig
“To write truth directly. That’s the fucking hardest!”
And the world was falling apart. Ran out through the fence
Ran from cannibals
In the end reached the place where I started
Behind the fence that separates: criminals from men
But outside of it
The taste of trees
Came to a yogi. Had noises in my head. Behind the house behind the temple
He held my head and cleaned my brain with a real beautiful melody
And I was clean
“I’LL NEVER BE A GENERAL”
I love your stomach and all the juices in it
All that runs through you
I love the water you are and all that runs in you
Can’t this be enough for a small renaissance at least?
I like nights because they make me imagine
We’re alone on Earth
Although we’re just numbers amid millions
According to the rank
And the mood of some superior
In an anthill
And no one has any idea
From "Internal Affairs"; Translated by Jasmin B. Frelih, THP & Jeffrey Young