Trafika Europe 5 - Slovenian Interlude

name and the most horrible sentences I have ever concocted. And with loathing I see myself place a lit match to the piece of paper and the shameful contents and watch them flare up, and even laugh out loud when everything has turned into ashes. Tish, vish, vush, vish vanish… tish, vish, vush, vish vanish… The moans, the booming in the voice; with amazement I hear the sound and the words come, I am lost, entranced by my deeds, I do it automatically, my reason gawping from the sidelines. And I go on. I don’t want to stop. The hate in me brings the glass out from its place of concealment behind the bedside lamp, gets me to spit three times into the ashes; soon it will be morning. Why all these qualms, these questions of right and wrong, when I know that every day from now on, nine days in a row, I will continue my ritual with incantations and sorcery, and finally pour the filth where it belongs – down our communal toilet? No, spare me lifted fingers and sensible talk. The sorcery has already produced results: after only one day I have a feeling of control, the sense that my curse can affect developments in the house. Furthermore, the ritual has a ---


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