he uses  close-ups to fordisticly fuck,

He warns proust about the rustic crucifiction

And espaces  the room  like  transformers on the moon

He sits into the depressing holy trinity of sofa

and while he Does

indians hunt for the earthworms of clitoris for him

and carelessly whisper: 

Ju ju, peugeot,

language needs to be broken, says žižek too but

he fucks

straightforwardly, he makes love like a liker,

He licks

the tickling sound of capitalisam of riddles,

that drill the wellfare straightness

and says

Take me, my asian pianism,

with your diamat fingertips

with miki rourke strawberries

Žižek makes love with  a curved cock of pisa

Tacherian skirt he squrts out

with maradonian anaisninjas

Žižek slides in his neglige like scarface, like novecento

heartbreaking streetwise guy who tells us jokes,

Hegels Helga from Jugend spreads her reaggae pose

In the dormitory 


Malarmeria mumbles

žižek fucks


like brazil,

like a butterfly,

llike a hidden dragon,

gone with the windy, disneylike

hidden buiesnesses of modernism

he comes down

into the grass of wind, into the fascism of vitrage,

he fucks with rolled parolas

he licks the pants swollen by his lion loins

žižek  stops the priestlike  poet’s  quietism

singing to him

diamonds are in the microphones,

the odor is already in the body, dear

žižek makes love by stonesoft whiteness of notes

ipod swallows all the samsungs of gesamtkunstwerk,

and žižek fucks the holes in the stereo, boring rings of iluminations

i is an egg, egg is something else,

he steals dan koman makondian jokes

to settle

the kettle of whistling into the while still young of ...

pierced  brosnan he killes with his leninistic whrist-roll

batistuta among prostitutes is shining žižek out

žižek is baptizing anaisninned assasins,

he blinks with froidian bosnian carpets

and sober song he bores

bosnia is now in all the snobs,

barefoot spain is dead so fuck the tits of picasso like

it is always my tit, mama,

while he fucks

while he whales

the commonplace selfhelp pleasures paste

into the stalinism of sheets.

Žižek never  tries his own sperm. 

He doesnt have to  be sure about selfish color of the pearl

Žižek is casual jovial jerval while he rises up and down to the

land of readymade dryness, into the heartbeating heart

Of europe merkel, of t- com, of teslas saltos into purple kitsches,

not giving a fuck about

The state or about kusturica

He falls like a ballet, he rises like a tablet in the glass

Wildly he plants

the marble balls into the ground

Between his finger and his toungue the squirting christians rest,

Snug as a reaganesque dermatology,  top gun gayness shy

Like a cleaning lady who is leaning over the icon while saying

I believe there is something above

Something is stealing something is lying something

tickles žižek while he fucks

with the woolball of his belly

žižek lies žižek steals žižek

lets himself go go into the fur of mazokh like a bug

and go goes on like that all the way

onto the mother’s crotch

Translated by the author