Obklopená šepkajúcimi korunami stromov, na vlhkej tráve vdychujem ťažkú vôňu práchnivejúceho letného dreva. Zatvárajú sa mi oči, už prešlo dávno druhou hodinou, horím v nohách krvavých od malinčia. Vlhká pôda ťahá ma dozadu za vlasy, zapúšťam korene. Zomrela by som, tu, v objatí zaklínadiel, v túžbe zmeniť sa v ľudskú pravdu. Ktorou sme. Dôvod, prečo dýchame a kričíme v daždi pod odkvapom, v teple obývačky preplnenej električky.
Čím sme zakryli podstatu ľudských bytostí.
Človek je hlina. Biela háveď v hlave. Hovoriaca minulosť. Hluchá vdova so sexom v podchode. Dych berúci drevený kríž pri ceste stvorený z vypätia trpkých síl.
Ľudia nevidia tanec víl, lesk ich strieborných tiel v mesačnom svetle. Ľudia dávno nemajú oči. Oči majú len deti. A tie lietajú bez krídel, náhle k asfaltu.
Mesiac rozháňa hmlisté závoje snov, čochvíľa ho prekryjú úplne. Kvapká len tlmená žiara tieňu stromov a vrzgot provokujúci predstavivosť úzkosti. Víly ľahli k zemi, udýchané a spotené. Fauni na flauty ani nehrali. Tu zomierajú rozprávky. Les presakuje nočnými zvukmi. Cítim, neúnavne pozoruje dvíhanie mojej hrude. Zazlieva mi, že som sem prišla. Znečistená mestom, nesiem v sebe popol jeho budúcnosti. Hľadala som útechu, miesto kde vypustiť myšlienky. Hlúpa. Nesiem v sebe popol ľudí. Oni to cítia, no smejú sa radšej... ako hieny, zo strachu.
Zdvihol sa silný vietor, odvialo mi šaty niekam nad hlavu. Naučená, snažím sa zakryť pred zrakom Boha rukami. Zúfalo chcem kúsok látky. Tričko sa zmieta v korune stromu. Takého, čo sa uškŕňa hlboko rozpukanou kôrou, lebo vie, že nedosiahnem. Pustil do pôdy krv, lepkavé vlhko, čo prilákalo mravce. Milión mravcov na maličkom kúsku. V labyrinte betónu, s oplzlosťami na stenách. Tie, čo nenašli smrť, behajú po telíčkach zalepených a udusených bratov hore mojimi nohami. Špičkou jazyka cítim krv- od sústredenia a štípancov pod pazuchami. Chcem sa zakryť, vzdávam sa, človek túži po intimite. Len z neznámeho by najradšej stiahol kožu. Ako som zavadila konárom do tmy nad hlavou, niečo ťažko dopadlo a zašuchotalo v spadanom lístí.
Povetrím reval nervózny bzukot, aj tak som šťuchla do kôpky a sklonila sa bližšie. Vyškerená mrcina žmurkla prežratou larvou v očnej diere. Z čierneho brucha vypadla hmýriaca sa chamraď a mňa naplo. Spotená, potkla som sa dozadu medzi vzrušené mravce. Milión mravcov v čiernej rieke, milión klepietok lepkavých od miazgy, zakuslo sa do kože.
Malinkými nožičkami šepkajú do tmy, usilovne a systematicky, ako jeden človek, napredujú k miestu, čo nie je vôbec tak ďaleko, ako rozprávajú rozprávky, každý ho má v hlave, tečú k priepasti, k jednoduchému koncu sveta, aby hodili cez okraj chybu, odpad ľudských mláďat. Nutnosť káže zbaviť sa mozgových parazitov čo najrýchlejšie a nanajvýš efektívne a cestou späť k domácemu stromu vzhliadnime s otvorenou spoločnou mysľou k mravčej, sladkej smrti v mede.
V telefóne spieva víla z lesa... ha-la-li, ha-la-li
Originally created for Her, You-Know-Who. Kind of old and kind of long. A bit childish.
“That’s fifteen dollars and sixty-five cents.” An old woman thrusts the money on the counter. “Thank you, madam.” I say with a formulary smile. “There are your two dollars back and don’t forget to come again.” I’m trying to be polite, but this woman gets on my nerves. Really. Each time she comes, I’m about to burst. The old maid takes her money and regards me with her typical scornful stare. I smile slightly. When she turns away, I stick out the tongue at her. A feeling of a childish satisfaction floods my cheeks. I look around once more, there’s no one in the shop. Looks like Fortune gave me some spare time today. I grasped the pen, sat behind the counter, and stared to write.
My name is Luisa Grape; I’m 23-years-old salesgirl in an urban grocery store. I know that working at this tucked away place isn’t very profitable; however, I like it. Some advantages are the homely atmosphere and also knowing all the patrons. From time to time we’re having a nice chit-chat together. The building itself is relatively old, with many windows and as it has just one floor, there’s no lift. I hate lifts since that experience… Oh! And I’ve almost forgotten to mention that the place I work in is rather roomy and flooded with light. It’s very important for me. Very important.
Before my two-months long rehabilitation in a lunatic asylum (I don’t like this name. It sounds like I was insane.) I worked as a salesgirl in one great shopping center in the heart of
I got a job in one small perfumery. When I say small, I mean really small- with four plain walls and no window. It became my daily life that I just wasn’t able to breathe and the walls seemed to incline above me very dangerously. Also that day, on February 2, 2004, I felt very sick, my stomach doing all those awkward things, I wasn’t far from spewing. I rushed out from the shop, locked the door, and as many times before I sprang into the fire escape. Grasping for breath I ran upstairs. With an effort I opened the door and there I saw the sky and a great space all around. I calmed down and let the fresh air come into the lungs. Yes, I do admit I was claustrophobic as long as I remember, but it became much, much worse as I worked in this shopping center. I sat down on a bench and waited till my stomach returned into a normal working. After a while I felt wholly resurrected and willing to go downstairs again. As I stood up a great wind dashed through the roof. Not only has it stolen my sweater I had covered my shoulders with, but also I heard a malevolent slamming. I haven’t fixed the door of the fire escape. The problem was that it couldn’t have been opened from the outside. I tried the knob. Of course, it was locked. “Damn!” I cursed silently. I had to go down and open the store or I would have been fired. I looked around in despair. A woman on the opposite side called a lift. There were two choices: either I would sit there for hours and get frozen till my rescuer opens the door or I would get in the lift and experience a three-minute torture. I breathed once more and walked towards the lift.
“Good evening,” I said politely. The lady smiled, “Oh, good evening. Good evening. Are you also going downstairs?” “Yes, I mean, I can’t go any higher.” I looked at the woman. She was wearing a black coat going under her knees and also sunglasses though the sun wasn’t shining at all. All around us was pink and violet twilight. “Of course, of course. It was a silly question.” I did not reply. “Did you come for shopping?” she tried to broach a conversation again. “No, I work in here.” “Oh! It’s nice. It’s nice. You think also, aren’t you?” the miss said rather for herself. “Excuse me?” “Oh! Nothing, nothing. Our lift is here. We should go in, shouldn’t we?” “Yes?” I said with a slight amusement. There was something strange about that girl. I lifted my eyebrow a bit as I saw her shoulder bag with many badges of aliens and UFOs fixed to it. She was strange. I mean the way she looked and talked, not like an ordinary eighteen-years-old teenager. As we got in, I stood in the corner. The doors were closing slowly when a hand suddenly rushed in and stopped them.
It was a great surprise for me when I recognized the newcomer. “Thomas Thomson himself is in the same lift as I’m!” slashed through my mind. Ok, in those times I had a slight crush on that seriously-looking businessman in his forties. He donned an expensive suit and in his right hand he held a silver lighter. He looked smart and rich. And he really was.
The doors finally closed. Thomas Thomson pressed a button and we went down. As you might have concluded already, I don’t like closed areas very much. However, to have it complete, I have to add my phobia of great heights. Just imagine what happened when I glanced down, into the never-ending depth under the glass lift. I commenced to feel sick, but I hoped for an early release. For a minute there was a complete silence, only the engine of the lift eluded soft clang. “It’s getting a bit warm in here,” I whispered. The girl heard me, “Do you think? I like lifts. I like being very high like the birds in the sky.” She pointed at a crowd of crows flying above. “I don’t at all.” My reply was said almost without voice. The lift suddenly stopped. “Yes! It wasn’t as painful as I imagined,” I said to myself, but the happiness was immediately gone when the light on the roof faded out. I stayed frozen in the corner, unable to speak or move. A piercing chiming cut the darkness. That Mr. Thomson rang for help. “Oops!” said the girl into my ear. “What does that oops mean?” I asked with fear and glanced at Mr. Thomson. He was just standing still and playing with the lighter. The blinking flame made me a bit uncomfortable. Unintentionally I grasped my sleeve and started to crumple it nervously, “It’s getting warmer, isn’t it?” “Huh? I suppose, not. When the electricity’s gone, then the light’s gone, and also the heating system’s gone. Hmm. As we are closed in this silly glass box and it is pretty cold outside,” she paced to make her remark more dramatic, “it will be funny, I suppose. I mean, we’ll have to warm each other with our own bodies like in films, you know. You know.” I shot a glance at that schoolgirl next to me. “Is she really nuts?” I thought and as Mr. Thomson tilted his head imperceptibly I assumed he agreed with my opinion. After a short pause she continued, “I have seen lots of films with people imprisoned in a lift…” “And?” I cut into her monologue without the slightest interest. The worse thing was that my stomach realized I was closed in that damned box worth three square-meters and what’s more, that hang two hundred meters above the ground. “…and they were closed there for four days. Can you imagine being closed there for four days? I can because I saw the film. There were three people in the lift. Just like we are. The first thing they realized was that they wouldn’t have enough oxygen. So the two of them ate the third. And then…” “Be quiet, please.” Mr. Thomson put her off with his cold voice, “No one is interested in your tacky story.” If I had been her, I would have been quiet like a fly; however, she continued as if nothing special had happened, “Ok then. Let’s play something. Dear, are you all right?” she turned to me with a worried face as I fell to the floor with forehead completely wet with sweat. “No!” I shrieked and my lunch landed on the floor. “Dear, dear. You should have said you have stomach problems. I would have given you some charcoal. Why didn’t you tell me?” the miss stroked my cheek and turned away. She stood to the window and looked down at the darkened city. It was long after the sunset, also the twilight was gone, but she was still wearing her sunglasses. However, the sunglasses were the last thing that bothered me at that moment. I felt weak, my whole body trembled in fever. I propped myself up against the wall and closed the eyes. The missy started to murmur some burry words. I did not care. “Are you all right?” asked Mr. Thomson and handed me a small bottle. “Drink.” I sipped the liquid; it was martini. However, I regretted it very quickly. I spewed again.
“What about playing cards. Do you have cards?” the miss in the coat looked at us questioningly. “You were right; they don’t have cards. That’s a pity. And what about playing ‘guess what I think?’ No, no. They always know what I think. And what about telling some special stories from the childhood? That would be great,“ said the woman’s cheery voice. Mr. Thomson was annoyed, “What’s up with you, witch? Do you feel good?” “I’m
The silence prevailed for a while. I still sat propped up against the wall. The collar of my blouse seemed to diminish with each new intake of breath. It is interesting what can cause just a simple suggestion- a figment of mind in fever. I started to cough, “Oh my! I can’t bre…breathe! Open this damned prison! Open! Open!” I sprang to my legs and madly pressed all of the buttons. “Open! Open! We’re gonna die! Die! The roof’s gonna crush us like bugs. We don’t have enough oxygen! I can’t breathe,” I grasped for breath, “Can’t breathe! Can’t breathe. I’m too young for dying!” “Calm,” started Mr. Thomson, but I interrupted him immediately. “Death! I’m too young. Too young for dying! I don’t wanna die! Release me! She’s mad,” I pointed at Emily, who was still gazing outside. “She’s mad, nuts, gaga. Too young.” I fell on my knees and sank the face in my hands. I couldn’t keep from tears. A hand touched my hair gently. Mr. Thomson inclined above me, “Don’t worry, my sweet. We’re not gonna die. Somebody is going to save us, for sure. I swear on all I hold dear.” “For sure, for sure.” Miss Burton stepped out of the shadow, “For sure, they’re coming for me.” She giggled again, “Don’t you know who?” she paused for a second, “THEY!” she screamed and looked around with a fanatic face. “They, my brothers. Don’t you hear that whisper all around? They’re singing to me,” she touched her ear and started to croon a freaky melody. Suddenly she jerked herself, “They’re coming to rescue me. What?” she pretended to listen to something though there was complete silence. “Yes, yes. I understand. Just come nearer. You can’t get in? I’ll help you!” you wouldn’t believe, but she started to bang on the glass. Firstly with her hand, but then she took out a heavy torch from her shoulder bag and continued with all her lunatic power. “Are you cracked?” shouted Mr. Thomson. “No! You are, you fool! They’re going to rescue me!” we heard a sinister cracking. “Clear away from that wall! Do you wanna kill us?” shouted Mr. Thomson angrily. “Too young. Too young,” I whispered and curled up. “They’re behind that glass. Are you blind? Don’t you see? They’re calling for me.” Emily kept bumping the glass. The crack was getting bigger and bigger. I completely lost my head- I started to sing, “The roof is falling. Hmm, and we’re gonna die. Die so young.” “SHUT UP YOU ALL!” I closed my mouth. “This is better. Miss Emily, drop that torch!” Of course, she didn’t. “I’m so sorry,” said Mr. Thomson and hit her so she fainted. I anxiously looked at the motionless body. The sunglasses were broken into pieces. “Is she dead?” I asked with fear. “No. She’s just fallen asleep. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine physically, but her mind is seriously ill, I’m afraid.”
I snug my knees closer to my chest. It was really cold out there. “Would you mind if I lit a cigarette? I’m nervous. We have enough oxygen, don’t worry.” Said Mr. Thomson with a trembling voice. I shrugged. There was a steam around my mouth as I breathed. My senses became slow. Oh! I was so numb, so weak.
After another never-ending hour we heard noises from the shaft. “Maybe she was right,” I said slowly, “maybe the aliens are really coming. They’re coming for her. But,” I closed my eyes, “but what will they do with us? What if the end of the world is coming very soon?” My body was overcome with exhaustion, my brain gave up and my lips didn’t want to move, “Oh, so cold. It’s so cold.” Mr. Thomson came and hugged me around shoulders, “Don’t worry my sweet. We’re not gonna die. Somebody is going to save us, for sure. I swear on all I hold dear.”
The noises from the outside were getting closer and closer. There was also a light- shivering light, but still it was a light. Something bumped on the top of the lift. I can still remember the strength with which my heart was beating, “The roof. The roof’s falling.” “No, no my dear,” said Mr. Thomson and looked out from the window to find out what was going on. “Yesss,” hissed the known voice. Miss Burton suddenly sprang to her feet and elevated the hands to the sky, “Welcome my alien brothers! I knew you would come.” Suddenly the hood in the middle of the roof was removed. There was a dazzling flare.
I winked against the light. “Hey you, guys. I’m afraid you were expecting somebody else, but I wonder, it would be much more comfortable to sit in a warm room than in this lift,” said the man’s voice.
..
Noc čierna, noc v Roxanninej srsti, noc mestom, noc bez hviezd, noc zatiahnutá, noc udýchaná v mokrej tráve, noc ľudsky tichá, noc presýtená modrou vôňou.
Noc preteká Čerešňou.
V hrudi zvoní srdce pre ňu. Čisto. Rozlieva diaľky. Noc kvapká z vlasov. Tráva spí vlhká, hlina chladí v horúčke. Korene vyrástli zo srdca, obchádzajú kamienky cestičkou v prachu. Mliečne, tenučké, jemne panenské, hlboko do matky. Čerešňa dýcha, nedýcha, dýcha. Anjel zložil krídla zaspáva a padá hlboko do nej. Trošku sa striasa. Miluje ticho. Anjelské, medzi ľuďmi, v noci, pretekajúce spletenými prstami. Chce. Večnosť sekundy. Anjela v jej hlave.
Noc rastie do semienka. Skrýva ho v rukách pre deti. Šepká doň rozprávky.
Zakliate princezné. Milovali kryštálové hviezdičky nad posteľou. Nikdy nepozreli na nebo.
Striebro v kvapkách medzi mihalnicami, srdcom v Zemi.
Snenie bez konca. Nedýcha, dýcha, nedýcha.
