in my self defence...

In his self defense The apocalyptical scenes of the Mad Max movies Is not so far away these days Looking through the dotty mash On the window of the late hour train, To where we call it home. Only they had mashes made of steel, We have money made commercials. Tell me what color is the train? So i can write a poem about it. About the face, That i saw on the other side of my window, And about love, Waiting on the station, For his other half to come. They tried to ban graffiti on the trains, Now they stick to commercials Tell me what color is the train? In my defense... The loss of love is greater, Than the loss of trees. The Rain forest doesn't hold enough water, To match the flood of tears. The loss of known patterns Is greater than the loss of friends I never was much of a dancer The march of a hundred men, Where numbers count to nothing? Stumping feet demanding The pattern of the next move. That stampede of feelings Goes through my ears With its rhythm Taking me away.... To the place they called home The blank pages Of things i have never written They are my dancers in the wind Me... myself... i never was much of a dancer. Iron flaps of an iron shaft. Rusted on the concrete wall, Of the gray, closed down factory... In the land that i love and call my mother... Those are my dancers They came without a fight Waving flags of sympathy... They took her and made her a slave... I'd ask my brothers To take them away... In an infernal dance of war... Me... i never was much of a dancer In my defense i forgot to write, because i can update my status every single minute On the book of faces And i can change it right from wrong From left to right. The tone is my rhythm The water line is sound... The melody is the pattern. So i wonder... From time to time... Can you tell me... What color is the train? He asks me: “can i seat down?” In a strange language i don't understand “no,” i reply. All of the sudden I have two workers Sitting next to me... One, the one right next to me, Smells of booze and sweat... Left and right. Both strangers. i lay down my coat, The silver edelweiss shines on it... Why me? Does it look i'm friendly? i just need peace, i need a war To stay away from them. Of what they represent. They speak in codes, i can clearly see their dark lips moving, But i don't understand their words... Their dark eyes, This land has never given birth to... The one sitting next to me sneezes... 1, 2, 3 times... Spreading his disease... i'm not a Nazi, If i just don't want to catch anything from him. Finally they leave Than an old man with special needs i could write a new chapter of Camus’ The Stranger He's acting weird. i wasn't the only one to notice, Someone sitting next to me is smiling. i smile back... Than i notice it's just a reflection in the mirror A reflection by the mash That keeps me in... In the prison of commercials On the late night train...

tomažu

na današnji dan so po koncu oddaje oznanili še en konec... pred 29. leti je umrl po lastni izbiri Tomaž Hostnik, glas in idejni vodja Laibacha... Začetek in konec... Kozolec naših sanj. in memoriam...

You searched for yourself in vulgarity
and prayer, lurked like a beast
at the Revelation. Now you have
purified yourself and I
gained faith in you.

Strange are the paths amongst the haystacks,
surrounded by rustling grasslands and fields,
where the corn turns yellow -
fresh blood dripping into to a field of gold.
We searched for you in the woods and meadows
at full moon with our women and dogs.
We searched for you all night and all day.
We never found you, but the quest
was not in vain.

You are a forester!
It is written on your forehead.

A blade of steel from your coffin springs.

21.12.82
zimski solsticij...

Pretty village, pretty flame

We realised it one night
When we didn’t know what to do with ourselves...
As we watched a village to wich our guns were pointed...
The village was still burning,
As later night after night other would on the horisont,
That we were sorrounded with something resembling
A gigantic circle of strange lights...

With all those villages burning...

And the flames were rising,
And licking the clouds, the sky...

It’s a beautifull sight (when the vullage is burning)
It looks so cheerfull...

A little village not even worth mentioning or naming,
That you can’t even see during the day,
On the bottom of the ugly valley...

One can’t even immagine what it looks like at night
...while burning...

What a sight those joyfull flames...

Pretty villages burn pretty.
But ugly stay ugly...
Even while burning

(pretty village, pretty flame 1996)

revolution?

we fought
endles wars...
stood on the shoulders
of the titans...

and bright rose the flames
of our flags...
like the fire of the revolution

but it's not done...
just resting under its own ashes...
awaiting to arise again...
with more power...
with even more flames...
burning...

in the night of the revolution

350 chears for turkey

good good bye turkey, good bye...




green is good...
i'm thinking to myself...
drinking the last 2 drops of absinth
this time i won't roll tyres...
i'll roll myself...

green is good...
my eko friendly road to oblivion
on wich i roll 350 degrees...
roll, roll. roll
as a forgotten tractor wheel

something for our kids to remember

going back to that mall
(dedicated to the two.../3)




as the snow goes down i follow it...
keep your pennies for my thoughts
i'd trade them anytime for flakes
virgin white ones that bring back memories
and gently lay them on the ground...
spreading their white hair... poisoned with desires

sitting at those empty tables...
thinking out loud... speaking our lives

on my left the silent and the wise man
on my right the one whose stories were my desires,

catching...

" i'll make u the fisherman of souls " (jesus, somewhere in the bible, written source)
we were the makers of our dreams
ripping them from the eyes of strangers
foreigners, for what we knew

even if we were strangers to ourselves
we shared 10 moments of our lives...
eight of them we spent together
six of them forgotten under the weight of dark nights
four were stolen by the gypsies
and three we stood brave...

i'd trade the rest of them for those two...
two brave men... not men more giants

one was pointing finger at the irony of life
the other, blinded by all the desires...
the first i knew before i met his greatness
and before i was blinded by the light of his words
the second... the bravest of the three
lived the dream I used to dream about
and made his heart a home for two

brave soldiers... looking for the crystal ship...
from their crystal clear glasses
that they raised to the sky...
like an oad to brave soldiers we lost on the way...

me... i drank life from every bottle...
without a glass to pour it in...

some dreamt about the breakfast at tiffanies
we dreamt of breakfast with the Hunter
some dug for gold
we dug for the worms of our desires "knee De(e)pp"

always the brave 3
our wives were screaming: "come back with a bottle or in it"
like a sad message of no return...
home, or to that hunted place...
between the shelves of a closing mall
sad stories of deaths, broken hearts and unsung songs of desires

all good things come in three

the first, a brave man... a good soldier
that knew the irony of life,
and told it with words that made gods listen...
stories of divine proportions
the second one... the greater reminder
of the story that gave me scars...
the poet of unsung loves

i'd give it all away to sit there at that table...
again

there was no last supper, we went straight for the desert
we screamed for silence and without words
swallowed each other's pain to make it poems...
even if those 10 moments were all we thought we had in common
you were there, when i fell for the first time off my bike
you were there when wheels turned like casino roulette wheels...

where will it stop this time?

no balls back than... just bullets
from russia with love..,
well, back in the ex USSR... to be honest back at that same mall
being what we were...

i'd give my soul for those 2 men...
my shoulders so they can sleep,
my cheeks so they can weep...

tonight i drink 2 u...
no whiskey on my ice this time...
just snow flakes on my cheeks
falling like frozen desires...
frozen by the hands off passing time
it's near to closing time... again...

-earth (O) ¤ zemlja -reality- 15.1.11

"... i really fucked it up this time
didn't i my dear...
didn't i my dear"

mumford and sons

the last part of the 3 internet exhibitions...
dedicated to all the things that come in 3
the father, the son and the holly goat...
the 3 sitting at the table of a mall...
dreams, wishes and to the reality that comes afterwards...
to the 3rd time...

reality strikes loudly with the white silence...

so that i can put them back int the drawer and lock them away...
after all that's where they came from... from the drawers of my memories and moments...

tnx to all of u who gave those moments to me, and tnx to all of u who read them and lived them through...

someone, spoken source



"sandbox made of traktor wheels...
filled with memories of sand...
on the back it said... get the wrench...
i hope i will... someday..."





killer pickguard from back then...



white hall, last door on the left...



she was right... as if she knew... as i did when it was to late (should have sold that dream if it didn't remind me of u so much...



when i grow up i wanna be just like daddy...



"here have a negro... the best part of the negro is the white cream... i got myself a bag of negros... oh i finished all my negros..." and then i'm the nazi-one...



this is where it all started... back then...
" i remember as getting this notebook on new-years eve back than in lenningrad '41..."
vasily orlov wagner



dedicated to the memorie of a great one... sitting drinking from a bottle with a deer head next to your father... as if i knew u... as if u knew me...



specs



gifts


Laibach "der staat"
Drzhava skrbi za fizichno vzgojo ljudstva,
posebno mladine, v svrho dviganja narodnega zdravja,
narodne, delovne in obrambne sposobnosti.
Ravna chedalje bolj popustljivo, dopuscha se vsa svoboda.
Oblast je pri nas ljudska.

The State

The state is taking care of the protection,
cultivation and exploitation of the forests.
The state is taking care of the physical
education of the nation, especially of the youth,
with the aim of improving the nation's health and national,
working and defensive capability.
Its treatment is becoming more and more indulgent,
all freedom is tolerated. Our authority is that of the people.

OUR AUTHORITY IS THAT OF THE PEOPLE!




13. the name poem...
that's where her name came from
danaja tomazh pengov



it's all in the dots... go and ask her... it's all in the dots



something blue, something borrowed, something broken...



2 toilet signs...

almost ready to face reality... almost...