occasionally there is too much ado / about night-time, that’s fine, turn out the light / and slide me in the grave, this time I’m through / with sounds and lights, for me now dreams feel right
While government propaganda branded the cartels as being a morass of depravity and death, Febo saw an open field before him—it was all lies, a soulless black–and–white story crying out to be filled with the soft tissue of sentiment and turned into fiction.
In the margin of an article about war crimes, my dear Solomon had quoted a poet who said that since time immemorial ‘killers of all nationalities have belonged to but one nation, the nation of killers’ and that ‘everywhere the children of light and the children of darkness have already separated’.
After I returned home from Noémi’s on that ill-fated morning when I desperately tried to evade the grotesque creature that I later adorned with the nickname ‘the Birdman’, I was greeted by a deadly silence, and Juliska’s portrait seemed to stare at me like an apparition from behind the glass door of the cabinet.
It was in the very beginning, when mankind had been driven out of Paradise and first knew suffering. In no time at all people became wicked and were mine. For me, this was no fun at all. What I like is for a person to choose between good and evil, leaning first to one side, then the other, until finally coming to me...
When I was getting to Trefilov’s place, I felt a new wave of fear come over me. Maybe, like deep inside I was already feeling how it would all turn out, but – to just cut the shit for a second – I wasn’t afraid of the consequences, but that Sergei Igorich really would turn out to be a homo...
Time to get to the point. You’re happy? / Like being in a bottomless pit? / Darling, is your life harder now / than mine is with another man?
I left a book / on a park bench: / how foolish
One must not leave a woman alone in the garden.