Lyrics

FUNDAMENTAL INTERACTIONS

SETTLEMENT (GOD AND CASHIER)

by Marko Pogačar

the world is a bookkeeper with a comb

in his shirt pocket, a gold band, a link

that’s missing, a link

cut into the flesh of the finger, into a hog’s axis—

bookkeeper, that world, with all his lice,

with his nettle shampoo helpless, oh fully

needless.

love, a somber cashier.

and then a trip, winter vacation on the Tisa, skating

across a frozen lake, in crazy eights,

in the symbol for infinity, in a dream,

in a dream about hogs it ends with a final fall.

the cashier eats croissants, cheese and cherries, alone:

the cashier under the sky. between her teeth stick

crumbs. in ears rings the clink of ice skates.

and in the matchbox, foul and empty, coffer for the dead,

god: god is an ATM.

PROPERTY

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

I’ve got wrinkles around my eyes,

smiling ones and one near my lips, the crying one.

I’m carrying a baby, paler than honey,

fresh laundry smells,

the husband pulls out curls from his chest,

arrives with a black spark in his eyes,

and on a leash leads a gentle cat and a white skiff.

This is my property, what I acquired.

I also have a dead baby in my stomach,

in the hospital dump, half of dead father in the grave,

under the vase, his legs in the hospital dump,

and dirty laundry and socks with holes,

like everyone else from our beach I have,

those I never got over, those I did,

the sick ones and the fucked ones…

A family blown out by a grenade,

and finished off by a bureaucratic knife.

I even had this fool for whom I suffered a few years,

if he were a disease, I would’ve died,

this way nothing.

I’ve also got thunderous sisters with many husbands and children,

they get straight A’s on their report cards

and we give them money.

My mother finds me, and says:

Sunshine, you put me together with the Earth.

I’ve got books, a desk, a chair.

I don’t need more than two cubic meters for what I am

and what I will be in death,

and I’ve got more than that.

I grew up, that’s what my property tells me:

When we were little, tears used to be hot,

now they cool us off.

When we were little laughter made our stomachs hurt,

now we laugh so it won’t hurt.

Everything that is happening already happened.

 

INVISIBLE GALLOWS

by Jasna Šamić

Sometimes Paris is like

An invisible gallows

Hidden behind a veil

Of stormy senses

And fragile laughter.

My soul

Is cursed to them?

Sometimes – a prison

With wide-open doors

Leading to solitude and winds with tongues

Whistling like dogs,

And rains blowing like the wind

While a fierce word

Composes an ode to bitterness.

The specters of my dead

Drift through ghostly seas

Before my closed eyes,

Like sailing ships,

Dark and stinking,

Loaded with exhausted hopes,

Evoking my old cities

And my former lives.

What is more painful than the memory of happiness?

The image of celebration mixes

With the figure of a child

With a slit throat,

A dismembered woman,

A man who, like cattle, ruminates

His own excrement.

The Planet,

A ship of monsters,

Chants laments,

Screeching like a bird of prey.

My cities are in mourning.

Sometimes Paris is a prison,

Sometimes a celebration

That breaks the chains of the body

And it exults.

Then again, a dream

Where bells wail

Like a horde of cats drowned

In the boiling Stix

TYPE IT AWAY

by Jelena Kuljić

nešto se danas prikrada

nešto se budi u solarnom pleksusu

nije sunce više je stara crna rupa

šunja se i već znam da će osvojiti dando juče je bilo tišine

danas preuzima buka

sa uživanjem preuzima buka

i neizgovorena muka će danas biti zvezda

dobro jutro ti jutro

koje danas budiš staru bitku

skupljaš mi pesak u očima i gnev u duši

ti jutro koje me osipaš hormonima

ili lošim snovima

dozvoli mi da se probudim

pre nego što se pobunim protiv starih licemera

majka bi to zvala merkurom ili nekim neptunom

ja to ne bih ni zvala kad je već tu

poziv mu ne treba, razlog mu ne treba

otvoreno nemoćno pozdravljam nepozvanog gosta

spremna da mu prepustim ovaj dan

armija nerava se mobilizije

i prsti tipkaju, tako zvučno tipkaju

udaraju ritam za bes,

pozivaju duhove na ples

pre nego što ih opet zakopaju

u nestalnu oblast sećanja

dedino prezime – type it away

porodično nasledje – type it away

očeve greške – type them away

majčine suze – type them away

svi labilni muškarci

sa materijalnim u šaci

žene saučesnice

babe gastarbajterke sa svojim sinovima

kojima su sve dale

pošto su popili sve što su im dale

ti sveti sinovi bespomoćni džinovi

zauvek će živeti od majčine penzije

ako ih pre ne dokrajči samosažaljenje

slomljene kosti gramzive rodbine leže po desktopu

kao poslednja ratnica

pokrivena krvavim slovima i emotikonima

stojim pravo

stojim pravo

MONOLOGUE FOR A SECOND DATE

by Selma Asotić

Mostly I stare at the ceiling and think about

how much I don’t want to die. I have a head.

In my head is a circle farm. A woman waves

on a burning roof. There’s also falling

from sixth-floor balconies, windshields,

suicide bombers, stairs, my eyeballs

smeared on the windshield, sharks, shawls and pins,

doorknobs for the shawl to catch, knots, snowdrops.

I have a head. In my head is a stomach full

of butterflies. The butterflies are often sharks

and they want out. I let them out.

They trip on the threshold and smash their teeth

against the stairs. I have a head. Inside

is a living room. A suicide bomber’s watchingsyndicated comedy. My head plays

only reruns, cleaner adds, wet floors,

skulls cracked open. Nothing after that. All dark, all

air chastising its emptiness into the thought of you.

So I squeeze my eyeballs shut

and think of you. I think of you

in as many ways as the rains falls.

MONOLOGUE FOR A FIRST DATE

by Selma Asotić

Like a matchstick I contain infinite

promise, my head ablaze, a dent

in the night. Skilled in cloud-conduct, lazing

over cities strewn

with gutted years. The industrious

hate the look of me, emergencies tug

at my sleeve, and I

preoccupied with time

stretching in a jar of honey.

Some revolutions flirted then dropped me

a seen. Overly sensitive, lover

of incurable endings, I never forget mouths

that precioused my name. Unafraid,

except at night. If upon waking I see light

singed to white noise, I turn to my grief and ask

how long. I watch her take off her shoes.

Offspring of indreaming, deformed

reverist, for no special occasion

I treat my body to an entry wound

in which to collapse. Cursed with a heart

pumping dactyls. My business is breathing

to devour myself.

LOVING THE LEADER

by Dragana Mladenović

loving the leader is the same as

living peacefully drinking juice

watching TV in the evening

chewing sunflower seeds then

ironing a shirt for the work

running the tap washing your feet

putting on the pyjama

loving the leader is the same as

airing the kitchen

placing a rag over the washed dishes

watching TV

dozing off in an armchair

getting up

washing your feet lying in bed

falling soundly asleep

loving the leader is the same as

taking care of your car

opening the hood

wiping down the engine (with an engine cloth)

wiping down the rims (with a rim cloth)

wiping down the windows (with a glass cloth)then walking into your apartment

sitting in the dining room

leafing through ads

watching the telly

loving the leader is the same as

washing your whites

pouring detergent where appropriate

and the softener too at ninety degrees

sipping coffee with the neighbour from the seventh floor

chatting about usual things

what she’s cooking and such

when she’s gone lying down a bit

turning on the TV

loving the leader is the same as

going off to a spa

hoping for an unexpected encounter

bathing in medicinal mud

then coming back

raising the window blinds

watching TV

loving the leader is the same as

filing your nails with a smile

saying good morning

mr. director politely asking something

like how do you do

drinking coffee from a mug

drawing smoke from a slim cigarette

waiting for the fifteenth for your salary

being upright

loving simply

loving the leader

yesterday we went to pay homage

it was early

we didn’t have anything

we hadn’t bought a box of chocolates

we brought only peaches from our garden

NEIGHBORHOOD

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

This is my poor and corrupt country,

this is my dirty street with ugly houses,

this is the half-world I grew up with,

my return to the house that’s hot in summers and cold in winters,

my dim-witted provincial coastal town and an escape.

This is my lousy pedigree,

the lineage of lewd and small predators,

the persecuted ones,

the killed and the suicidal ones,

family bullies,

diabetics and experts with elementary school diplomas.

That’s my house and my neighborhood,

and this is their me.

SOCIALISM

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

we were happy, Mom, sister, me,

in the house, and on vacation.

and our father, he was a mountain of a man,with a moustache and a cigarette, a pullover,

a Remarque, a canister of gas,

the blue car and the radio playing.

it’s golden, that pedestal among junk,

just imagine April in industrial suburbs.

that’s why I never shout at the dark,

I sing from the dark

I pour light and gold into the deaf bowls on the hanging credenzas

from the period of late socialism.

I rescue coffee, flour, salt, breadcrumbs, sugar.

SOME

by Jelena Kuljić

some will be guilty and silent

some will be desperate

or brave and too proud

some insecure about themselves and the world

some will never try

some will be finished before they even start

some will blame the others

the others will blame themselves

while the rest will stay indifferent

blame

shame

game of the fame

some will be looking and will never find

some will loose their way and never be kind

the others will take the other direction

in the fraction of their own mind

if they are elastic, plastic

green, reasoned, obscure

or just lucky

some will be insatiable

bold, gold, loved

some will use it to play god

resisting, preaching, insisting

on being relentless in their menace

some will be afraid and decide to believe

no matter to whom

as long as their act is mighty

giving up the responsibility for the world

themselves, the neighbours and guests

proving the only thing we’ve learned from the past

⁃ that we never learn

some will hurry to get on the right side

before the tide of feelings wash them away

afraid of not being loved

afraid of not being good

not being able to survive

not enough alive for this life

afraid of not being strong

and always being wrong

In this times when joke is the truth

And truth is a joke

I’M A LADY I’VE GOT SKIN

by Dragana Mladenović

I’m a lady I’ve got skin

female skin ages faster

male wrinkles are less of a worry than female

ones under female skin fats and toxins build up

under male skin nothing builds up

every woman has cellulite

said women in the hair saloon

especially on the beach

I´m a lady my skin is tight

my hair is long

if you flat-iron it too much

said the women in the saloon

your hair gets damaged

it is female hair that is flat-ironed male hair is not

women love flat-ironed hair on their heads

because men like it

I too have flat-ironed hair

but I have no nails cause I have plastic tips

in the saloon I heard

that women had plastic and men had natural nails

because women had ugly nails and men didn’t

didn’t

didn’t

didn’t

the women didn’t actually say that

I made that up

I’m a lady I have fillers in my lips

women like having bigger lips

men don’t have fillers

that’s why

women sometimes feel lumps in their lips

and their lips feel firm

but then they soften

the saloon women love having their lips bitten

when they sleep with men

I don´t sleep with men

I don´t sleep

I´m a lady not a dreamer

I´d never allow myself to have hair on my legs

and my arms and my armpits and thighs

the saloon women say hairy women are dirty

nowadays some men get depilated

although being hairy suits men

hairy women are slovenly

they wear granny pants and trousers

and that’s why they never have sex with a man

I’ve had sex with men many times

because I’m not hairy

THE LAKE

by Marko Pogačar

1.

I am the lake, I set out

in the morning from the slow cocoon of the sun—

sink into myself as if into a silent room or despair.

plants nest in my chest

like wading birds nest in shrubs,the eternal choir of grass blades.

I am the lake, a dark spot

a parliament of a billion sweet tears.

I dream mostly at night and when I drift

calmly like an island or night sky—

I dream of crisis and democratic changes,

wake up purging out of convictions, thick

lilies pour out my throat, lilies sticky

like lacquer.

I’m a good citizen.

on weekends I drive for miles

through spears of upright flowers,

and leave no trace behind. nowhere does one

part of me beckon another. no one ever

talks about that. what land takes from me, I give it,

what’s withdrawn cannot be lost. everything beautiful

stays beautiful. never mind the sea.

2.

The path around my eye is a shackle,

an umlaut of grass and stone that dirt

uses to enclose and restrain me. I can’t step over

or exit myself without changing,

cannot spill out. therefore I sing into the leaves.

climb on the tips of my toes, offer my neck to heights

until it sharpens into a toxic syringe, and from it

shoots a tongue, a birdless flock.

all of me is my voice. I lift myself up. leaves

leave their marks. I enter those breathing ears the way I enter a woman,

or an animal. and there’s nothing else to be written—

those who sing themselves are sentenced with ears,

space that attracts and alienates; like doors, or wars.

the history of the world is the history of ears. if you knock

a street comes out with all its clamor and the night floods you,

cloaks you in nothing.

I was, clearly, a lord. so many rivers on their feet,

so much habit, harmless and dangerous, like love.

everything I brought now crouches inside someone else.

drifts asleep inside them while I talk to them. nonetheless

I am the lake. with the first rain, I slide back into my mute self—

the autumn carries winds from silent waters and soon

every ear floats on my surface, and sinks, rots at the bottom. no other

lake is the lake.

WE’LL NEVER KNOW

by Jelena Kuljić

we’ve lived our lives untroubled and easy

black mamba and beer in the early evening

cruising through our biggest little town

flat as a thought of that drunken old guy

from the corner

I was sure, I’m everything I’ll ever possess

waiting for the night

my moments were piercing through my lungs

filling my alveoli with taste of sense

leaving nothing but future me

under the tree of the evening rise

what the morning brings I’ve denied

and you were watching the hitch arise

and the skies would flow

all the hours would grow

turning into seconds of true living

that is light years far away from uswe’ ll never know who stole that star

that we believed was shining for us

two springs and you came back

jumped on that horse again

riding with the furry through the days

waiting for the time to take away your pain

to take away the memories of that game of losers

where everybody is a pawn ready to be drawn

in the endless Remi with themselves.

KUU!

ARTIFICIAL SHEEP (ACTmusic 2021)

CRIMES THAT BRING ME JOY (by jelena kuljić)

it’s easier to believe fiction than real life …

my kitchen, my chair, my smoke, my spare

time, all my windows I’ve prepared

am I free or wasting myself ? –

I don’t want to ask today.

I don’t wanna think of the end of this world

huddled on the sofa with sunday shows

fill up my mind with pictures from the other side

this is my favorite hide

I wanna be where the force is with me

being like water – that is the key

in deadpool I swim, vendetta still wins

dragon is lost on mullholand drive

it’s shining through me god-fatherly

and keeps me away through the day

from cloudy windows of reality

I wanna see the crime

but not in real life

be kind rewind, and on and on

skip this part, go back

again, press pause

I cry and die then smile cause I

live made up desire tv and I

where is the middle – this is the riddle

we’ve lost the measure

and all the pleasure

the only treasure now lies in the other window

I cry and die then smile cause I

live made up desire tv and I

SHEPHERD  (by jelena kuljić)

blessed is one who in the times of urgency

and haze

shepherds the weak through the valley of science

that saves us from bias

lost is he who in the name of liberty

and big numbers

shepherds the weak through the valley of blindness

the valley of the mindless

out of work, out of sorts, armed with nothing but digital flows

lonely brain in pain, in vain is forging the key for all entries

a simple code for a complex mode

life in denial in mistrust and fear, the truth becomes conspiracy here

evil powers, dark global elites, growing forces get their treats

the satanic panic – sometimes organic,

QAnon, pizzagate, illuminati turned into fate

a strain of madness arises out of thin air, easy answer has a firm flair

it feeds the scheme of an algorithm dream, behind the curtain there’s always

a gleam.

neither explained nor contained, the fantasy is free to go on a spree

to welcome the chosen, apostle of deception,

the one that is frozen in his misconception of the world.

global network of the blockheads

spreads around it’s utter nonsense

facebook, twitter nerds are all around us

check the facts, check the facts!

pollution of fear and blame bears the endless calamity

what the fuck?!

there’s always be somebody who is ready to be cheated

please don’t crack!

brave is one who in the face of ignorance

and deceit

shepherds the weak through the valley of science

the valley of science

reason, where are you ?

saneness, where are you ?

E-MAJOR PEACE  (by jelena kuljić)

there will be times when I’ll be ready to fight,

and times when I will hope for my own defeat at the end

there will be

days for decisions and nights for awakenings,

and hours filled with the longest minutes of doubts

but now I just wanna live in some harmony,

some beautiful e – major extended to eternity

we try to keep in mind

to understand that we don’t understand our different worlds.

it’s hard, still happens

to fall into the same old trap.

we sigh…

trying to share our points of view

but very soon we realize it’s not gonna be a break through

but we try, and we sigh…

love, shouts, and a bit of tears

„the last time“ –promising again and again

we do learn but way too slow

how not to care

how not to care

please let’s go back

to that e-major brake

MISS STRESS (by jelena kuljić)

“her development, her freedom, her independence, must come from and through herself.” – Emma Goldman

accept the facts – it’s not in your hands

she is coming and she is coming fast

you can’t deny – she’s not a lie

she’s hurricane strong, I’ll come along

“wake up!”, she says – “shame, we still have to fight for this thing”

touch me don’t touch me love me or leave me

respect me and take me but only if I say so

you’ll lose for sure if you don’t play by my rules

cos i know that I can choose, oh, I know that I can use

everything nature gave me to celebrate  my self.

I never enjoy your walls

the limits you put around me

you can not hold me, can not control me

it’s best for you to support me

you know, in my world I keep my voice,

you don’t rip the words out of my mouth

I have a choice to show you my teeth, my tits, my ties

whenever I choose I wanna burn

cause in my world you don’t steal my song

I ‘ll sing my life in my own key

I have a choice to show you my hate, my love, my pain

whenever I choose I wanna burn

my own life I will conceive

decide weather to stay or to leave

since I had ages to practice patience and silence,

and knowing I can with stamina stronger than a man can ever have

for I was saving my talents, power and brain for this all along

if I wanna be shrill  it’s my free will

former second class citizen

in this yard full of cocks

I’m the fastest and loudest hummingbird

you just have to pay me what I deserve

I am the revolution that I was waiting for

OFFICER KD 6-3.7   (by jelena kuljić)

I think I am fading away. am I ?

salvation is crumbling as soon as you touch it

what am I exactly? who can tell me?

what kind of feeling is this? maybe disappointment?

I am the killing machine

a machine, a killing machine

yet there are doubts

silvery clouds running through my bones

running through my cells

system of cells

within my shell

I shall be acting

not thinking

computing, delivering,

not wanting – that’s human, too human

interlink-interlink…

repeat your base line, repeat your base line

repeat your base line, repeat your base

I am not a program

I don’t know if I can feel it

no matter which role you choose

you will certainly lose

cause you are a virus

and I am a cure

no cells to infect for you any more

you’ll be destroyed to your very core

no underground

for you to hide

no matter how very hard you try

this scene is not wide

enough for you

find, lock, destroy – that’s my due

interlink within cells

interlink within cells

is there pain in this task?

you call it pain

for me it’s just a glitch

just like a stitch

I’m feeling from most of the time

its bleeding my being

my software is breaking

my software is failing

It is my prime dive into this mind of mine

should I rejoice

for not being human

since I can’t call myself evil

and there’s nothing like upheaval

for me in this life or next

my mainframe depends on you

my mainframe depends on you

how to know if it’s fear too human

if it’s self-doubt a glitch

questions in dialogue with myself

love anger happiness hate sadness

I don’t know if I feel it

please modify me

ERASERHEAD IN THE CITY  (by kalle kalima)

carrot legs, eraserhead
he´s got purple around his eyes
don´t ask he doesn’t know his name

he attended the 80th birthday party of mr fizzeck and had a few drinks in october 2019
now there is a gap of 30 years – well, where was he all that time?
this is what he remembers from his old life:
some one saying “make america great again”, owning an bmw suv
worrying about waves, and his wife saying:
don´t worry about making waves, that is what the moon does all the time and every one loves it,
don´t worry about making waves

disguised, fat on the bones
he´s got yellow on his lips
don´t ask he doesn’t know the day,

there was an explosion and silence
monk playing “evidence”
there was a black dog following him day and night
some one saying a man can run and hide for years but not from himself.

he remembered also eating meat every day and flying

over the ocean more than 30 times
a man can run and hide for years but not from himself

wondering what and who

he used to be in 2019
spending the last 30 years in coma dreams

wondering what and whom

he used to see in 2019

is he daydreaming or is the rabbit real

wondering what and who

he used to be in 2019
spending the last 30 years in coma dreams

he has holes within his mind
he´s got nothing that he wants to find
he´s just an eraserhead

weary eyes donkey legs
it´s all about to end

don’t ask he doesn’t know when
open smile, monkey dive

he´s got the moves all right
don’t ask he couldn’t say why

HOURGLASS  (by kale kalima)

we were watching how firestorms get out of hand

we were watching how smoke and flames eat the land

bodies burned to coal, still holding hands

burned down corpses embracing life

how sweet it is to die together

how sad it is to die alone

even castles can be burned down

and cities will disappear after a meltdown

the double-headed snake rules the land

there is no recall you’re memories are erased

no sound nor song after sun has burned us down

how sweet it is to die together

how sad it is to die alone

time flows and runs out of the land

time flies and runs out of my hands

hourglass – sand will pass through you

hourglass – sand will pass through you

BOOK OF NIHIL  (by kale kalima)

If it’s your final song whose tune would you sing ?

scream your final scream, sing your jungle song

in the jungle there are many beasts that want to eat you

they are hungry, they are fast

you should be careful, you should be faster than them

one never sleeps well in the jungle

in the jungle there are many beasts that want to eat you

they are hungry, they are fast

every crack every sound could be your worst enemy

no one has friends, we are always alone, on our own

we are always afraid of every crack of every sound

„you’re not to think you are anything special.

you’re not to think you are as good as we are.

you’re not to think you are smarter than we are.

you’re not to imagine yourself better than we are.

you’re not to think you know more than we do.

you’re not to think you are more important than we are.

you’re not to think you are good at anything.

you’re not to laugh at us.

you’re not to think anyone cares about you.

you’re not to think you can teach us anything“

(Law of Jante, Axel Sandemose)

if it’s your final song whose tune would you sing ?

scream your final screams,

sing your jungle blues

sing your jungle song, king of the lions

sing your…

LAMPEDUSA LULLABY (ACT Music, 2018)

 

IMPOSSIBLE (by kalle kalima)

eastern, western nothing new under the sun

but a fruit eating tree

or not?

northern, southern you can go round ’n’ around the world

why can’t you find a law

that is just as long as humans rules here

eastern, western, we are all just one

everyone staring at the sun

or not?

northern, southern you can go round ’n’ around the world

why can’t you find a church

which is holy as long as humans pray there.

’cos it is impossible, we are impossible.

i am you are he and she is we are you are they are it is  I am you are he and she

is we are you are they are I am you are he is she is we are you are they are I am

and we are all impossible

 

LAMPEDUSA LULLABY (by essi kalima)

take me off the shore, there’s no easy ending for this tale.

swim right by my side and keep your eyes open wide.

time was running out and the wind shouting loud for me.

do you see the ocean queen diving deep down, down?

count the heads on the ocean queen,

she’s my one and only sometimes troubled and lonely,

i’m on ocean queen,

she’s my one and only as we struggle through cold ocean streams.

paid the fee, a thousand dollars, for an endless journey through the night

over black-eyed sea in a boat called the ocean queen.

it was filled with human cargo, all alone, worthless to see,

lost before you even dare to think about the rest.

count the heads on the ocean queen,

she’s my one and only, sometimes troubled and lonely.

i’m on ocean queen,

she’s my one and only

as we struggle through cold ocean streams.

Movements on the surface reflect the shallow light

Movements on the surface reflect the shallow life

SCREAM (by jelena kuljić)

it’s hard to believe that such medieval freaks still could exist

but you asshole you are the proof that we’re truly doomed.

Do you hear me? I hate you, hater.

Try to read, try to learn something new.

Do you hear me, do you?

just go away. please go back to your hole and keep your spite to your self

get your bloody ass out of here or I’ll call the girls!

this was the first thought when I felt you

then I realized that we need to help you

did you become such a hater out of your personal frustration?

do you feel that your social identity is taken away from you,

stolen away from you?

are you getting totally confused by non traditional sex roles?

our culture has come this far you were once alone but here we are.

are you just afraid of losing your masculinity?

don’t worry, we’ll do you right until you see your moral hypocrisy .

and that’s why you should come over. we’ll show you a good time, baby

we’ll show you how sweet it can be: lips, tongues and limbs feel so free

same gender, two or three.

oh, you poor thing, it’s not gonna happen

arm yourself now, cause this is the war!

ON THE MOUNTAIN (by kalle kalima)

down in the valley where everything is green

I heard you singing and someone had seen you

down in the valley where everything is green

and I heard you sing.

on the mountain I’m always alone

just crickets and goats hear my moan

one day I’ll climb down into the valley

where everything is green, everything is green.

up on the mountain where everything is gray

I heard you singing and someone had seen you

down in the valley everything is green

and I heard you sing.

I go down in the valley, and down in the valley

down in the valley, please come up to the mountain,

come up to the mountain, and down in the valley

and down in the valley and you go up to the mountain.

today I climb down…

today I climb down into the valley

where everything is green, everything is green,

everything is green not gray

but green and juicy fruits

are shimmering in sunlight

it’s not grey nor black nor brown

CROSSING BORDER IN A MILK TRUCK (by jelena kuljić)

miles of thoughts are passing away

a fear that he is driving astray

but still he feels he’s breaking the day

leaving the only ground that he knows

that old land that has kept him enclosed

haunting the chance to be what he is.

unfamiliar signs show him the way

the air is stagnant but he’s breathing in

he’s rejecting his gray narrow skin

the Sun is loosing its bliss between the shadows.

displaced person.

he was never so alone. yet this is the only place he would like to be.

lost in the country where everything is made for you to find the way home.

the way to what?! the hope is fading out, and in and out.

miles of nothingness, air and gasoline, air and surfeit of struggle.

wanna go out, wanna go out.

the milk truck is rolling, taking him further away from his old waste.

this is the only place for him to be – on the other shore of Baltic sea.

wishes, dreams and fears are melting with the flying pictures of the frozen sunflower fields.

and his past is becoming a slideshow from someone else’s life.

why should anybody struggle to live what he is?

why should anybody suffer to be what he is?

are you sure that you can make it? you’re too weak for that, admit it.

why would you think you are ready? you are anxious and unsteady.

pockets empty, eyelids heavy, this whole action might be nasty…

think again before it’s too late, it’s not enough now just to have fate.

he can’t see the end of the road

the truck is rolling and so are the Stones

once again “time is on my side”…

miles of thoughts are passing away,

a fear that he is driving astray

but still he knows he’s breaking the day…

ABOUT DEATH (by kalle kalima)

When you die they put you in a wooden black box

you are peaceful now there are no worries, the brain has stopped

prayers will be read by a priest at one o clock

at two coffee and cake at widows house all are sad

today we cry for dead lovers

but tomorrow life goes on for others

when lovers die their hearts come apart

a good man can live a long time with a half of a heart

before he dies him self

now I have been searching for a hearth of gold

that keeps me from growing old

where is my soul after death some are asking

a child told me how it goes it was some how comforting

your soul rises to a flower growing at the grave

the sun gives it warmth, an oak tree gives it comfort and shade

life keeps on racing

escape deaths embracing

no worries the brain has stopped

MY EYES ARE BLIND (by jelena kuljić)

I walk inside of you beneath the blue

transparent, open and clear, unfamiliar sphere

your core’s close enough to wake me up

to fill endless space of this ardent place

your sway is above my old doubts and lows

above all my fears, fleeted dreams, come on and walk with me.

with every step we make we notice it’s all fake

instead of pure happiness comes just emptiness

the sky is sinking down we’re about to drown

recall is what remains I’m loosing my sweet chains

and I look back for the last time before the blinds are sealed

the only thought I have right now is: take your debris away from here!

like so many times I’am lingering here with so much passion for tears

deleting the traces of delight from my mind

my eyes are starting to enjoy being blind

we loved each other in those days, o my beautiful one,
how I hate you right now!
ah ! away with you, my heart! we shall be smashed !

it’s nothing : I am here ; I am still here.

and my eyes are blind, and my eyes are blind

I just wanna dream, I don’t wanna change

I compose myself, I am cooling off

I am hanging loose, I recline, repose

and simmering down, and my eyes are blind

I’ve better things to do : talking to the walls

I don’t wanna learn, I don’t wanna change

I am cooling off but my eyes are blind

the lights are fading, delight disolves into shading

no, it’s nothing I’m here, I’m still here

THANK YOU ICELAND (by jelena kuljić & alan fishbone)

thank you iceland

thank you for the sugarcubes and sigur ros

thank you iceland

for no standing army, thank you so much, iceland

bless you iceland

for Gunnarsson and Tobbi Björnson, thank you, blondies

the polar daylight, the solar playlight

blue eyes like the open sky.

thank you iceland

for the gorgeous Kvennalista, for the Pirates

thank you iceland

for Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir, we are on your side

we thank the dome of vulcan ash

that hides you from the dirty splash

the clones, the drones, the restless slide,

invesments of the martian tide

hanging around we hope for someone

to fix that snag, get rid of the drag

floating around in the plastic sound

we’re just killing time getting high in a matrix of lies

iceland we’re bound the sulfur

distill us to spirit things under the stars

now it’s for sure

we live in a simulated universe that’s gonna burst

let’s drink with the elves first.

the future looked nice in the past

but young desires never last

the glitch is hitched and we’re inside

investment of the martian tide

WE WATCH THEM FALL (by kalle kalima)

ministers and preachers as popes and cardinals

we watch them fall

teachers of morals who have sinned themselves

we watch them fall

children at their camps are dying like flies

we watch them fall

helpers take aid to be punished later

we watch them fall

some unjust, and some are just

we watch them fall

it is simple gravity

we watch them fall into the silent hall

we turn on the gas as we are told to do by them

tyrants and kings as fathers of nations

we watch them fall

they are the food of the next revolution

we watch them fall

children at the camp are dying like flies

Wwe watch them fall

helpers take the aid and will be punished later

we watch them fall

some unjust, and some are just

we watch them fall

it is simple gravity

we watch them fall into the silent hall

we turn on the gas as we are told to do by them

SEX GEGEN ESSEN (shoebill music, 2013)

 

SEX GEGEN ESSEN (by jelena kuljić)

ich vermute schon, dass du mich doch ein bisschen magst,

meinst du nicht, dass du meine mahlzeit jetzt geniessen kannst?

Ich scwöre dir ich werde hier sehr vergnügt

alles dafür tun

für ein bisschen zuneigung deiner seits.

da wir ewigkeit sowieso für die einsamkeit haben können

lass uns ein paar stunden für immer zusammen bleiben, oh

in dieser nacht könnten wir die gemütlichkeit

der partnerschaft erleben,

dachte ich.

wussten sie bei etwa tausend spezies gibt’s nur weibchen

sie vermehren sich ohne mänchen.

sex gegen essen

sex gegen essen

in der liebe geht es vermutlich um ein tauschgeschäft

in den zeiten bevor das individuum die welt versäumt hat,

wo die einfachkeit der bedürfnisse regiert hat

hättest du mir niemals “nein” sagen können, oh, oh,

du, miststück der modernen welt.

AGAINST WINTER (by charles simic)

the truth is dark under your eyelids.

what are you going to do about it?

the birds are silent; there’s no one to ask.

all day long you’ll squint at the gray sky.

(when the wind blows you’ll shiver like straw.)

a meek little lamb you grew your wool

till they came after you with huge shears.

flies hovered over open mouth,

then they, too, flew off like the leaves,

the bare branches reached after them in vain.

winter coming. like the last heroic soldier

of a defeated army, you’ll stay at your post,

head bared to the first snow flake.

till a neighbor comes to yell at you,

you’re crazier than the weather, Charlie

LOUSY DAY (by jelena kuljić)

the stars are falling behind his back

spirit is crawling melting into air

his bevy just flew away

ungrateful place

he sees everything he is

and all the things he would like to be

with his head full of cloudy thoughts

clamor wins the space

he’s choosing not heaving a choice

and stays behind the doors

no, he can’t hear us, can you hear me ?

that’s all he thinks he knows

and the only thing he can live today, this lousy day

what a lousy day

what a filthy play

DREAMFOOD (by kalle kalima)

they came in the morning light when I wasn´t prepared

when I touched them, they disappeared but now they know where we sleep

they got a crazy look in their seven eyes

but they do you know harm if they get in your dream

don´t be scared, it doesn´t hurt too much they just want our dreams

they collect them in a small red box and watch them in the dark

if you touch them they vanish in the air

in scarborough fair you might find them

it´s your dreams that they want to share

in scarborough fair they´ll be waiting

coffee and cigarettes take me through the night

i keep on walking round the circle to keep them out of sight

people don´t listen to me although I try to tell

now I stay awake, I cannot wait to wish them farewell

TRACES (by winnie brücker)

as traces made of sand

that lose their

weight

in distance

as whisper in my hand

that like a

feather trembles down

to the ground

kept in some

old

fairytale

pale

as lips that lost their sense

of meaningful

resistance

what if my sun descends

if you could

see me how I’m lost

in some old

fairytale

how I fall

down

how

the rest of my defense

is crumbling

in silence

QUEEN OF BANKS AND STONES (by b. kavanah)

the bicycles go by in twos and threes

there´s a dance in brennan´s barn tonight,

and there´s the half-talk code of mysteries

and the wink-and-elbow language of delight.

half-past eight and there is not a spot

upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown

that might turn out a man or woman, not

a football tapping the secrecies of stone

i have what every poets hates in spite

of all the solemn talk of contemplation.

oh, alexander selkirk knew the plight

of being king and government and nation.

a road, a mile of kingdom, i am queen

of banks and stones and every blooming thing

 

DOBRO JUTRO (by jelena kuljić)

svesna da je poslednja ove noći ostala

konačno i najlepša sebe samu prigrlila

stope same vode jutru podsećajući

da sav prostor ostaje još neko vreme tu

samo njena postelja noćas malo hladnija

nešto novo smisliće što joj želju pokreće

doručak je spremila novi dan već osmislila

plan je prost i realan, svaki sekund jako bitan

gvakamole, sezam pasta, sveže povrće

tim početkom novog dana mnogo učiniće

sreća ju je pratila konačno je shvatila

jedina i najlepša i ovog dana je ostala

TALKING TO LITTLE BIRDIES (by charles simic)

not a peep out of you now

after the bedlam early this morning.

are you begging pardon of me

hidden up there among the leaves,

or are your brains momentarily overtaxed?

you savvy a few things I don’t:

the overlooked sunflower seed worth a holler;

the traffic of cats in the yard;

strangers leaving the widow’s house,

tieless and wearing crooked grins.

or have you got wind of the world’s news?

some new horror I haven’t heard about yet?

which one of you was so bold as to warn me,

our sweet setup is in danger?

kids are playing soldiers down the road,

pointing their rifles and playing dead.

little birdies, are you sneaking wary looks

in the thick foliage as you hear me say this?

by jelena kuljić

this fence that I put around you

worked for all this years

now the good thoughts are with somebody else

and the colors of our days fading away

no matter how I try I can’t believe in us

let me go and save your time

just give your world to someone new

there’s nothing I can do

there’s nothing you can say for us no more