techno

On how I don't even think

about not feeling a thing. On suicide.

Preventing my own. On gratitude.

On how life took my friend.

And me soon after. On the child

on two. Both born from this belly

under this page and this pencil.

That they don't need a mother. Not this me mother.

That there is nothing. That it all poured out

said fuck you. That's it. Find something

to lift you up. There was nothing. A single

straight line without colors. Scent. Taste.

And what to do with you line. Nothing. What. Stay

inside down here. Eat yourself. Outside

nothing matters. No sun. I don't need it anyway.

On this. Not on high heels. Not on skirts

tended bodies nice cars houses furniture

kitchens cups. Not on veganism not on lacto-ovo

paleo bullshit. No. On flip-flops. I want to wear them

with colorful nails to brighten your view. On my bike

speeding with vertigo on the one-hour swim

to sweat and pee in the pool on the stretching

of my body and on music. On life. On David.

On you. Your pain is foreign to me. I feel

my own. You are one of them. This horrible pain

forever. Pain is here not the right

word. Emptiness. No. A hole. Yes a hole

David. You threw the stone and a hole appeared

where your heart used to be. And then.

Then I saw two kids and one boy.

All this mine. My g(G)od what now?! I said.

Rise up woman. Even if I feel still

as a child. A child who is old since it was born

an old man or an old lady. But yet a child. And then I

went and took Ariel from the shelf. And now I read her in a different way.

People this is all so crazy. Man do you really know what

happens to your woman when she gives birth?

When she is in labor before she gives birth?

Hell, purgatory, paradise. There is no pain. Two arms two legs

stomach head breathe in. Cry out. Breathe in breathe out

wheezing. Blood umbilical cord. All filth. Aesthetic

filth coming from the inside. A new woman

is born to you. To herself. And her child. Who is yours.

This is only a photograph. As a conception for you

who still has to go through it and as an archive for you

who have already ex-pe-rien-ced it.

Life hurts. Life. Hurts. And one of the prettiest tricks

my brain can process is the fact that the body

and the mind remember only the beautiful things. Which are more rare

than pain and nastiness. Those can sleep. They do not disappear.

And yet they are mine. Even the secrets. They only sleep.

That is enough. Love. Is beautiful. Hope. Is beautiful.

Faith. Is beautiful. Faith not Faith. The moments that happen.

When the child gets his first tooth. When you wait more than he does

to poop himself. To wake up. Because you are already bored

because everything is quiet. So much about this photograph. The next one is

MUSIC. My techno which you do not forgive me

which my best girlfriend does not forgive me.

What is techno to me. To me techno is earth. Heart.

The prime principle. Pre-history. When everything was one

giant beating of the heart. And when techno beats my heart beats.

My love my rhythm. My skin my everything.

That is when I am me. Techno is my drug

on the bike in the sprint up the mountain when above the vine

sprayed with sulfur the sun rises and the birds awaken

while I am already completely here. Alive. And the tears nearly throw me off my bike.

Sprint. Techno. Love. The warm thoughts that you are safe

that you are waiting for me. That I am waiting for you. That you have me that I have

you that we have each other. Love each other. That we yell at each other

when we get too close together. That is love. What is faith.

Faith is techno. What is hope. Waiting on techno

in this shitty depression. That you can handle as much

life as this will mean at least as much as it once did.

People?! I was not there. But I still was. And I was not.

That is horrible. When you are not to yourself. When you lose yourself from you.

You stay in the cellar. In the cellar number two. Below the cellar number one. There

in the shelter. Which once you close it remains

impermeably closed. And they can open it only from the outside.

So I found a gasmask. And a shovel. David threw it my way

and said dig (!). And I dug. I cut into the concrete like into

the soil in the garden. A milimeter. And another. And my dear

techno is when you take your clothes off. When we take our clothes off. Techno is sex.

Techno is techne. I need this. Out of the cellar to the ground floor with a shovel.

And now I am here. And you three. And us four. Me with a nearly broken

leg. It is pain. Pain makes me nervous and annoying.

But alive. And so I nag and am alive and I can laugh

and cry and cry and laugh and you have to understand me.

And when you give birth you give birth to the whole world. That's how it feels. Magma lava

oil rosemary stars earthquake lavender torrent flood

landslide sage. Smell taste touch sound. Sight.

All in a couple of hours.

Evolution and revolution. My experience.

My techno.

Translated by Jasmin B. Frelih

tehno

O tem kako se sploh ne čudim
da nič ne čutim. O samomoru.
Ki prepreči mojega. O hvaležnosti.

O tem kako mi je življenje vzelo
prijatelja. In kmalu mene. O otroku
dveh. Obeh rojenih iz tega trebuha

pod tem listom in tem svinčnikom.
Da ne rabita mame. Ne take mene mame.
Da ni ničesar. Da je vse odteklo

reklo jebi se. Tako je. Najdi si nekaj
kar te dviguje. Pa ni bilo nič. Ena sama
ravna črta brez barv. Vonja. Okusa.

In kaj naj s tabo črta. Nič. Kaj. Ostani
not tule spodaj. Pojej se. Zunaj je itak
vse brezveze. Ni sonca. Itak ga ne rabim.

O tem. Ne o visokih petah. Ne o krilcih
negovanih telesih lepih avtih hišah pohištvu
kuhinjah skodelah. Ne o veganstvu ne o lakto-ovo

paleo bulšitu. Ne. O japankah. Ki bi jih rada obula
na pisane nohte da ti polepšam razgled. O kolesu
z vrtoglavo hitrostjo o eni uri plavanja

da se prešvicam polulam v bazen o raztezanju
mojega telesa in o muziki. O življenju. O Davidu.
O tebi. Tvoje bolečine so mi tuje. Svoje

čutim. Ti si ena od njih. Taka grozna bolečina
za zmeraj. Na tem mestu je bolečina neprimerna
beseda. Praznina. Ne. Luknja. Ja luknja

David. Vrgel si kamen in nastala je luknja
tam kjer je prej bilo tvoje srce. In po tem.
Po tem sem zagledala dva otroka in enega fanta.

Vse to moje. Moj b(B)og kaj naj zdaj?! sem rekla.
Vstani ženska. Čeprav se počutim še vedno
kot otrok. Otrok ki je star že odkar se je rodil

starček ali pa starka. Pa vendar otrok. In potem sem
šla in vzela s police Ariel. In zdaj jo berem drugače.
Kako je to noro ljudje. Moški ti res veš kaj

se zgodi tvoji ženski ko rodi? Ko rojeva preden rodi?
Pekel vice paradiž. Bolečine sploh ni. Vse je prej
in potem. In odrešilni jok. Dve roki dve nogi

trebuh glava zajem zraka. Zahlip. Vdih izdih
hropenje. Kri popkovina. Sama svinjarija. Estetska
svinjarija ki pride iz notranjosti. Nova ženska

se ti rodi. Sami sebi. In njen otrok. Ki je vajin.
To je samo fotografija. Za predstavo tebi
ki te to še čaka in za arhiv tebi ki si to iz-ku-sil.

Življenje boli. Življenje. Boli. In eden najlepših trikov
ki ga sprocesirajo moji možgani je da si telo
in um zapomnita samo lepe stvari. Ki so redkejše

od bolečine in nečednosti. Te naj spijo. Ne izginejo.
Vendarle so moje. Tudi skrivnosti. Samo spijo.
To zadostuje. Ljubezen. Je lepa. Upanje. Je lepo.

Vera. Je lepa. Vera ne Vera. Trenutki ki se zgodijo.
Ko otroku zraste prvi zob. Ko čakaš bolj kot on
da se pokaka. Da se zbudi. Ker ti je že dolgčas

ker je vse tiho. Toliko o tej fotografiji. Naslednja je
MUZIKA. Moj tehno ki mi ga ne odpustiš
ki mi ga ne odpusti niti najboljša prijateljica.

Kaj je meni tehno. Meni je tehno zemlja. Srce.
Prapočelo. Prazgodovina. Ko je bilo vse eno samo
veliko bitje srca. In ko bije tehno bije moje srce.

Moja ljubezen moj ritem. Moja koža moje vse.
Takrat sem jaz jaz. Tehno je moja droga
na kolesu v šusu na vrh gore ko nad trto

pošpricano z žveplom vzhaja sonce in se ptiči zbujajo
jaz pa že čisto tu. Živa. In me jok skoraj odnese s kolesa.
Šus. Tehno. Ljubezen. Topla misel da ste na varnem

da me čakate. Da jaz čakam vas. Da me imate da vas
imam da se imamo. Radi. Da vpijemo drug na drugega
ko smo preveč skupaj. To je ljubezen. Kaj je vera.

Vera je tehno. Kaj je upanje. To da med usrano
depresijo čakaš na tehno. Da boš zmogla še toliko
življenja da ti bo to pomenilo vsaj toliko kot ti je.

Ljudje?! Mene ni bilo. Pa sem vseeno bila. Pa me ni bilo.
To je grozno. Ko sebi nisi. Ko se si izgubiš.
Ostaneš v kleti. V kleti dve. Ki je pod kletjo ena. Tam

kjer je zaklonišče. Ki je ko ga enkrat zapreš
neprodušno zaprto. In ga lahko odprejo samo od zunaj.

Pa sem našla plinsko masko. In lopato. David mi jo je vrgel
in rekel koplji(!). In sem zakopala. Zasekala v beton kot
v zemljo na vrtu. Milimeter. In še en. In dragi moj

tehno je ko se slečeš. Ko se slečeva. Tehno je seks.
Tehno je techne. To rabim. Iz kleti v pritličje z lopato.
In zdaj sem tu. In vi trije. In mi štirje. Jaz s skoraj zlomljeno

nogo. Bolečina je. Bolečina me dela nervozno in tečno.
A živo. In zato tečnarim in sem živa in se lahko smejem
in jokam in jokam in smejem in me morate razumet.

In ko rojevaš rojevaš cel svet. Tako se čuti. Magma lava
nafta rožmarin zvezde potres sivka hudournik povodenj
zemeljski plaz žajbelj. Vonj okus dotik sluh. Vid.

Vse v nekaj urah.
Evolucija in revolucija. Moja izkušnja.
Moj tehno.