Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

Deep

I have the word deep. I have other words too. But the word deep, it is tired (...)

Danijel Dragojević

we didn’t rest in it; we have dug in water, we have dug in earth, we have dug the bones, we have hit with the hoe wings and stone, we have plucked weeds from the faces of those gods that for long kept silence in us, we have plucked the algae from your hair, a lit-up harbour, we have prayed for rain and for wind without rest; in it dwell Freud’s mice, blue, gloomy like herds of albatrosses, in the corners of his room white seeds like a drug, an ocean of ants; we have drank in it, we have prepared our ships to set sail, we have smoked in it and we have danced, we have fucked, we have broken plates, windows, candles, our tall and soft sexes alike to dandelions implanted in the walls, we have begged for mercy in it, wanting to save and to change with it, we have destroyed the words and we have climbed in the mountains with our books burning in our pockets; lamps, we have lamps , the word was yelling after me, lamps , yelling like a ghost on an iron deck, but I was tired, I could have bought one just to throw it in his head, to light the jellyfish up, to light him up as a concertmaster ignites the embers in the cello’s skull; we have dug colours, we have

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