Id and superego stay in the background

You know when you feel hungry… if you suppress it for long enough, the feeling will “disappear” from the surface (of your conscious self), as you’ll learn to adapt to it and ignore it. But the hunger won’t actually cease. Your body will take all it can from your muscles and a bit less from your fat to make up for what it’s missing. It will eat itself, right?

But what’s with the loneliness a person feels? I’d guess it’s about the same. You keep being alone, sheltered from people and rejection, so in a while, you stop noticing the feeling of loneliness and sadness. It doesn’t mean they don’t exist, on the contrary… They become the basis of your “self”, but as a subjective “being”/an egocentric person you stop paying attention to your subconscious mind.

With time the loneliness becomes such a well-hidden mystery, that you completely forget about it. You forget about the most important parts of yourself and the union of “you’s” as a whole. Thus, so do others. All they can see/hear from you is a wall of laughter. The kindness you choose to show to them, but the sadness and cruelty towards yourself remain hidden, as there is just one person that feels your rage, yet suffers silently.

“In the end, it’s better to forget about it. To suppress it like hunger. “, you think to yourself. The perfect life becomes visible, as you eat away your insides. Leaving them like an empty plate, a tabula rasa that is far from innocent in your mind. But cruelty is to be forgiven, feelings to be conquered in a direct manner – as we all have our demons. WE ALL FACE THEM IN OUR OWN WAY… We defeat them. If we want to.

Whilst sometimes we fall apart, all that is around us evokes our guilty conscience, pleads for it to take an active part in out lives, but we ignore it. Then our emotions do start working against us, forcing us to set the goals way too high. Leaving us longing for perfection. Leaving us thinking we’re bad people when in fact we’re far from it. We are just people. Even when we feel like shells and nothingness.

But it is…

All right. C’est la vie mon’amie.

Shame

Shame!

Look at your body.

Shame!

Look at your skin.

Shame!

Look at your achievements.

Shame!

Look deep within.

Shame.

It was brought upon us!

Shame.

All in one that we don’t need!

Shame.

I don’t want to be this!

Shame,

Impressed itself on your mind.

It’s a shame,

The relatability of something so vague.

But shame

 is on us…

Shame,

It makes us all bleed.

Shame…

All shame is blind.

Shame…

It’s a shame, you’re ashamed.

Illussia~lussuria

I’d never want to be a celebrity.

People insult them, curse them.

They either hate their style

or love it way too much.

They hate them for their spirits

or love the way they touch.

They are “rarely soulful”,

they are solely art.

Objects to admire.

Objects to destruct.

Celebs are not the artists,

they are public trash-

sold and assembled;

the reader talks about.

They’re no longer people,

as people should be loved.

They can be admired

before they fall apart.

So selfish it hurts

 

I….

I’ve been listening for a while now,

Know you’ve been yelling….

Framing all the words,

friend,

in pig latin speaking.

You kept it bottled up…

Humanity-

In front of your mirror!

Timeless…

So long- It belongs to you.

Whisper(!): „Make it clearer!“

Time’s a particle of you.

But you bleed

And this blood makes you see…

A miracle of birth-

Black ,

Closed in round eyes.

They see me through,

Or through me…(?)

Without turning the head.

You’re eyes have been stuck

to the sides—

You’re a painter.

An arist of moderna

Holding a stale soup with letters,

You’d like people to choke on—

To experience the solitude,

A roulette of anger,

That is floating in your head,

That shoots people around you—

But you could have it worse

Because selfishness hurts.

Pijanica

Ljudi nakon dvije  litre alkohola postaju poput geometrijskih oblika s pikasovih  slika. Njihove kretnje su poput difuzije elemenata. Znoj s lica od skakanja isparava i lijepi se za šarene boje svijetala. Odsjek- na odsjaju šljašti kao odraz- Odsjaj je duge na crnim tkaninama, a čudni su samo oni ljudi kojima se boja ne mijenja jer su i sami šareni poput papiga.

Ček… zar im se stvarno boja ne mijenja? Možda je i to privid poput geometrijskih oblika?

Cijela ta situacija u klubu me je uzljuljala. Bila sam u masi, ovakva, anksiozna i pripita. Njihala sam se s njihovim osmijesima. Mislim da sam se ja mrštila.

„You’re lost little girl
You’re lost little girl
You’re lost
Tell me who
Are you?“

Da. Izgubljena sam.  Bila. Gitarist je taj osijećaj u mojim očima izdvojio i u momentu izradio sliku od svojih rifova.

Zašto se ne mogu nasmijati? Samo jedan osmijeh, moram mu uzvratiti, on me izaziva.Tj. ne on… on je samo ekstaza stvorena glazbom.

Čudo je kad ti se glazba obraća. Postepeno te omotava velom pare. Ta voda izgara. Osijećaš se poput klauna koji je na meti izrugivanja… a vrisak se samo prožme i odjekne izvlačeći se iz zidova. I moj ego je postao stupom koji luči visoke ferkvencije. Protresle su cijelo moje tijelo  poput epilepsije, a zatim su nestale.

Zatim su dvije ruke zarile svoju materiju u moju kosu povlačeći ju prema dolje.

Magla se povukla. Otvoreni prozor ju je izvukao iz prostorije popu crne rupe i otkrio masu ljudioko mene. Dočekala su me dva smeđa oka i zubi poput neobrušenih dijamanata. Zaokrenula su se u pirueti i vratila se oponašajući irski ples. Silueta je izgledala kao da se ludo zabavlja,a istovremeno djelovala usklađeno i sinkronizirano s ostatkom ljudi.

„Imaš najlipši osmih kojega san ikad vidia!“- proderala se silueta s očima  prateći moj graciozni naklon. Smeđi uvojci su se zaljuljali igrajući skrivača s njezinim licem. Bilo je ozareno.

Zar sam se zaista nasmijala?

Zbunjen pogled sam preusmjerila prema staklenom stropu. Trenutno moj mozak nije percipirao staklo kao ono što je, imala sam osijećaj da se iznad moje glave nazazi dno neke mirne rijeke iako je sve oko mene tako neprirodno. Valjda zato i nisam svjesna valastite kretnje.

„Zaista? Čudo.. a ja nisam niti primjerila da se smijem“, protresla sam glavom, a hihot je sada već odzvanjao u mojim mislila: „Primjetila!! Primjetila“.

Oboje smo se smijali i smijali i smijali i smijali. Bio je to jedan od onih rijetkih neslužbenih trenutaka koji se doživi samo s potpunim strancem. I on je odjednom kimnuo glavom razdragano i otišao pred pozornicu.

Moje lice se proijenilo: „Opet se mrštim“. Opet sam bila izolirana u svoijm mislima.

„People are strange when you’re a stranger
Faces look ugly when you’re alone
Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted
Streets are uneven when you’re down“

Pjesme se izmjenjuju sve brže.Od karikature ljudi pretvaraju se u prave ljude i obratno.

I bend se izmjenjuje. Novi ljudi dolaze, novi odlaze i harmonika usna mijenja strukturu već dobro uvježbajne svirke, ali zbog nje sve postaje još i bolje. Bend se ponosi strancem, publika luduje, a vlasnik lokala još i ponajviše. Stupa do pozornice poput Hitlerovskog Charlie Chaplina i gura ga nazad prema masi ljudi.

Strani harmonikaš se ljulja naprijed nazad. Sprema se za skok, a silueta (čija me materija ruku koji trenutak prije dotakla) mu pruža ruke, jasno puteći ga u prijateljski zagrljaj.

„Tren između nas uopće nije bio ponosan“ , tiho je progovaralo moje razočaranje.

Harmonika skoči, njegovi dredovi se razbježe od siline skoka i u dvije sekunde sruši prijatelja.Obojica završe treskom na podu. Cigareta, nečija,odleti jedno deset cm dalje od njih, udarac glave se začuo unatoč glasnoj glazbi, a njih dvoje ostali su u miru ležati s osmijesima kao da su krenuli na spavanac nakon bogatog objeda s kraljevskom obitelji.

Srećom nisu naletili na, tako brojno, staklo koje se nalazi posvuda po podu. U tim kafićima nitko nikada ne počisti do kraja staklo razbijenih čaša. Publika je bila i dalje u delirijumu, što od šoka, što od sreće i divljenja. Bilo je neke sirove snage u ovom potezu. Neke čudesne snage protivljenja. Bojkotiranja pravila fizičkog zdravlja i ljudskih zakona.

„Bit će da su na nekim jačim drogama“, povikala je prijateljica. Njezin prijatelj je kimnuo glavom, oboje su imali šokirani osmijeh na licima. Nitko više nije bio siguran što bi trebao osijećati.

No onda su se neobični prijatelji ustali s poda i nastavili plesat, tako pun energije i razbacani poput stakla u prostoriji, no i dalje prateći precizan ritam.

Moje se divljenje pretvorilo u masu ništavila.

Užarena vodena para me je opet iznova zaokružila.

A nobody

Before anyone reads this „poem“ (if anyone reads it at all), I’d like to mention the reason why I wrote this. It is because I’ve read something that in a way belittled women, and it made me feel really unappreciated. It made me remember all the times my words weren’t heard and weren’t taken seriously. I’ve remembered how much I’ve cared about my looks and how people perceived me. Something just snapped in my head and yet again I’ve found myself wanting to give up trying (whatever I am trying at the moment). But I do really want to be a no-one, in a way that I want people to see my qualities and not my gender. I want my looks to become see through and I want to accomplish something in my life. I really want to find motivation in myself and focus on the things I can do, even when people „diss“ me because of my gender. Most of all, I do not want to be a damsel in distress nor depend on anyone but myself. That’s how I plan to be happy.

A nobody.

I’d rather be a no-one than a woman,

In a forest defined by norms and sticks.

Black and white lines that beg to be bought

Bargain and plead, reduced to a bar code.

Faceless, amorphous,

But still a pure echo and a voice to be heard:

I am a nobody, so hear my roar.

I belong to nobody, no-one at all.

Only nobody can have me

And I will hold that person dear.

Qualities, sincerity

Values won’t disappear.

I’ve waited so long

To discover who I am.

Here comes the truth:

I am nobody… and that is all that I am.

I know what I believe in.

I do not believe in god, but not because I do not believe in what is good and fair. Not because I’ve chosen the „easier way“, the one that doesn’t hold remorse within… but because I believe that every person has a responsibility towards this planet and towards the people in our surroundings. I do not care if some greater force comes to correct my mistakes. I do not care if someone will forgive me for my misdoings or correct them for me instead of him… because I live my own life and think before I act. I will not hurt another person simply because  I can.

This is why I think that the most important thing to life is our responsibility. The time does not go back and each move we make leaves marks on other people. Sometimes even casualties. And I do not think that the sins should be forgiven. A sin leaves a trace just as big as something good that it had done. We should not seek salvation from ourselves nor play cowards that shoot then bow before the judge. There should be no force that can erase what is done, because one should always think before he has to act and there is no god that gives back the life that’s taken. Even if god does exists, there is no god to change the faith and that would pet our heads after the aftermath.

We have one life and we can lose it in an instant. Just a second could become that which counts. Whoever dares to take that one chance out of someone elses hands, just to get a good laugh, is by all means the worst evil that can exist. The biggest error in the system and the virus that should be isolated, so as not to destroy all the good cells. Of course, he should not become the victim himself.

But I could never understand how some people are just able to forgive that kind of person. How can someone touch him later and tell him it’s ok? In what way did he deserve all the attention and love that is given to him, just by having such a psychotic look in his eyes. When did he deserve those things more than those that are now gone? Because of him/her… Is their tragedy so insignificant? Is it necessary for their lives to get reduced to something so small as a sentence in the news? Why do we need to forgive the people who keep laughing in the face of their victims? We know it’s not important what someone does and how good he/she hides his/hers tears and pain behind a mask, the smirk will remain there forever. They have won no matter what one does afterwards. They have turned off the light in someone elses eyes, their lightbulb burned out because of them and all that is left behind is a group of people. A group that stands in the darkness praying for forgiveness. Praying to him.

So I don’t believe in god, because to me god is not and could never be a consolation. Because god is no excuse. Because he should never be the reason why we do good deeds nor the bad ones. I believe in humanity. I believe that some people made god resemble them and distance themselves from their responsibilities. They have made „god“ wear their cross and demonstrate salvation before the others. That is why  I believe in emotions, even when they’re missing. Even though I know that they are the most realistic illusion we could possibly have. I know they are closer to us now than he is. Because even if he does exists, I will not depend on him, but I will be eternaly grateful to him.

Ne vjerujem u njega.

Ne vjerujem u boga, ali ne zato što ne vjerujem u dobro. Ne zato što biram „lakši put“, onaj u kojem nema kajanja… već zato što vjerujem da svaka osoba ima odgovornost na ovome planetu i prema svojim bližnjima. Ne zanima me hoće li neka viša sila ispraviti moje pogrješke. Ne zanima me hoće li mi ih netko oprostiti ili ih pak ispraviti, jer živim na „ti“ sama sa sobom i promatram se u ogledalu prije osuđivanja. Zato smatram da je najbitnije od svega u ovome životu preuzeti odgovornost. Vrijeme ne ide unazad i svaki naš potez samim time postaje bitan. Ne smatram da bi se grijesi trebali oprostiti. Svaka pogrješka je vrijedna kao i svaka pozitivna stvar koju učinimo. Stoga ne vjerujem u boga, niti vječni život koji donosi spas nama od samih sebe. Ne postoji sila izvan nas koja može spasiti našu dušu i na kojoj je da oprosti svo zlo koje smo napravili sebi ili, što je još i gore, drugima. Postoji jedan život koji nam je na usluzi, jedan život koji možemo izgubiti svakoga trenutka. Tko god oduzme šansu za život drugome, u mojim očima je najveće zlo koje postoji. Najgora greška u sustavu i virus kojeg treba izolirati od zdravih stanica, a ne netko kome se treba oprostiti. Naravno, ne treba ga se niti lišiti, samo se zaštititi od njega.

Ali ljudi ga dotaknu nakon zlodjela i govore da je sve u redu. Govore da će mu oprostiti. Čime je to zaslužio? Čime je zaslužio da na svoj bijesan pogled dobije odgovor ljubav i da mu se briše slina sa ustiju? Čime je zaslužio pažnju bilo koje forme?

Ono što se zaista pitam je: Što je s ljudima koji su nestali sa lica zemlje zbog toga? Zbog nje ili njega? Što je sa svima koji su mogli ostvariti nešto u ovome životu kojega smo dobili na poklon od majke prirode? Zar je njihova tragedija toliko nebitna da možemo jednostavno oprostiti onima i izbrisati trag suza ispred manijaka? Ne hrane se oni boli, već zlodjelima. Zašto onda oprostiti onima… Onima koji su se udostojili ući u privatnost drugoga i razoriti cijelu unutrašnjost. Zašto su oni, kojima je sama destrukcija uronjena u srži, vrijedni našeg oprosta ili sažaljenja. Zašto im moramo oprostiti što su ugasili jedno svijetlo, jedno najčešće popraćeno drugim? Učinili su to da svjetiljka pregori i njezina toplina je zauvijek nestala u nepovrat. Zašto na kraju dobri ljudi ostaju u sjeni i šapuću molitve u ime oprosta i njegovo ime?

Ja ne vjerujem u boga, zato što bog nije utjeha.  Jer bog nije izlika. Jer bog nije razlog zašto činimo dobro ili loše. Vjerujem u ljude i uskraćivanje i davanje prilika. Vjerujem da je mnogima i sam bog čovjek. On im je u mislimam jer su ga pretvorili u jednu novu varijantu sebe. Razapeli su ga u vlastitim mislima i prisilili da nosi njihov križ pred drugima. Mnogi se ograđuju od odgovornosti.

Stoga vjerujem u naše emocije, čak i onda kada mi upravo one nedostaju. Čak i ako su one najrealističnija iluzija koju imamo. I dalje su bliže od njega.

Što znači jedan naslov? What does a title mean?

1

ruke su moja violina.
my hands are my violin.

usklađeno ih mičem.
their movements are harmonised.

svaki trzaj ima svoj uzorak.
each twitch has its own imprint.

svaki trzaj ostavlja melakonični prizvuk.
each twitch leaves a melancholic undertone.

tragovi su posvuda…
traces are everywhere…

u usiljenim osmjesima.
within forced smiles.

pokušavam ostvariti njihovu realnost.
i’m trying to actualise their reality.

u toplim su riječima i utjehama?
are they to be found in kind words and consolations?

čak i mozak počinje raditi mehanički.
even the brain is starting to work mechanically.

čak i umjetnost ima svoju funkciju .
even art has its purpose.

tehnika je postala mojom utjehom.
technic became my consolation.

ruke su moja violina,
hands are my violin,

a instrumenti se njeguju.
and instruments should be nurtured.

i sav sjaj ostaje na vještini, vanjštini.
all the shine remains on the surface

da se prolaznici dive izložbama.
so that passers-by can look

da vide prošlost na tebi.
that exibition can become your personal history

kako si plesao do tada i tad pred njima.
the way you danced till then and there

svi znaju sve o tebi.
everyone knows all about you.

prave se…
and pretends…

kao da te znaju bolje od vlastite majke.
as if they know you better than your mother.

ti lutaš među osmijesima.
and you’re wandering around those smiles.

ne znaš koja faca je iskrena.
not knowing whose face the honest one is.

Have you ever had a vivid dream?

The last night I was a man in my dream. I knew my eyes were brown, hair was long and black. I woke up in my dream and the first thing I’ve noticed is that the bus is full of people. I’ve told myself that they were asleep, but I had a feeling somehow that it wasn’t like that at all. One of them, a girl with blond curly hair, “woke up”. She addressed me soon after her waking: “You’re finally awake!”. The smile on her face was wide, but plastic, false. Then she continued to explain how the people are held under control by an elite and no one knows which one for certain. When they, the people,  are needed, they stop being paralysed (comatose), but on rare occasions they snap out of this state by themselves. The elite tries to terminate them then. In the dream it frightened me so much that I stormed out of the vehicle. I’ve seen that the streets around me were collapsed. Everything was dusty, filled with garbage and that there were people lying on the street. Like some dolls in a child’s room. Then I heard a noise. Someone was circling the streets in a jeep. Somehow I knew that these were the hunters working for that elite the woman was talking about, so hid myself behind some wall that resembled the Berlin wall. At that moment I’ve realised that I shouldn’t have woken up just yet, went back to the bus and found that woman lying comatose on the floor. I felt so helpless and started panicking. I’ve kept thinking about them coming to terminate me and then I simply woke up.

What’s the meaning of this dream? Well, I have no idea. But it motivated me to do this I am doing at the moment. I’m interested about how the story could possibly end. About interpretations to this dream. Maybe I’ll get some feedback, or maybe this is a shout into the emptiness. I’ll see soon enough.