HAPLESS BOMBS

“Points are at the end of a line.” [1]

A young man is taking a stroll.

Or is he not taking a stroll?

He is taking a stroll.

–         Who is that crying young man?

–         I am him.

–         Look at him: not just desperate, but also embittered.

–         It is I.

–         Not just embittered, but also ludicrous.

–         He is totally anarchic and about to break.

–         Who on earth would want him nearby?

            The young man is taking a stroll, but we suggest that you query him directly.

2.

I slipped. I did slip.

Luckily, I indulge in philosophy only with a hammer.

Luckily, I’m ignorant of philosophical systems.

Luckily, my only philosophical system is my very self.

But I did slip.

 

3.

–         Are you seducing me, ma’am? Tiny stains of white matter have dried around your mouth.

–         Those who fetishise bird poop would surely be led astray. When I talk to you, I understand fascism. I always dreamt of a healing untainted love. Now that I am within its reach, – what do you want to do with me?

–         None of the politically correct stuff, ma’am. I take care of my heartbeat and my psychogalvanic response. I could take a polygraph. “He is no more guilty than a dove is”, witnesses would say.

–         If I have halved your misogyny and turned it into self-disgust, I could as well be on my way.

 

4.

We should speed up, spin it about, turn it around.

Our ideas must be simple but hazy, attractive but despicable.

For, who and what are these democratlets?

Playing the details, those dabblers at melancholia.

 

Whoever has brilliant ideas these days is proclaimed a fascist.

When we become gods, they will never dare say “God is just a detail.”

              The digestive system detects an abundance of principles in me.

 

5.

–         My  love, if I had to call you a name, I’d call you “love”. Lucky thing is – I have to.

–         It is still rough enough to keep me satisfied. Dandy cynicism strikes me as having an undertone of tart pathos.

–         I am all stricken, makes me almost traumatised. Love, oh love, my annual undertaking.

–         When it comes to sex, I’m as good as a fish flipper.

–         I flip women and flippers.

–         Surgery, my love, is not a women’s privilege. In all our matters we can always turn to it.

–         I kiss your hand, with unction. An erection is a canonical gospel.

–         With surgery it ascends to Heaven.

–         Mine is a double morale: I hate myself and my neighbours hate me. I recourse to surgical-as-political; my penis no longer is my own.

–         Nor does it rise to the level of general wellbeing.

 

6.

“Arrange your thought and action so that Auschwitz would not repeat itself”.

 

But verily I say to you:

“Think and act as if you were in Auschwitz already.”

 

7.

That proclivity of yours to express yourself in numerical terms shows

what a heavy burden you carry.

You run a risk of growing ambitions not appurtenant to yourself.

Policemen recognise their own failures in you.

“You will never bathe in the same river again!”

“And never twice the same policeman”.

I love the system. I never contributed to it in any way

and yet it shows me nothing but grace.

 

8.

–         Where to, young man, and in such a hurry? Someone waiting for you?

–         In more of a hurry, ma’am are those for whom no one waits. Those who hurry in order to run into the ones who might be waiting for them, one bright day.

 

Dragan Radovančević

Translated from Serbian by Miodrag Kojadinovic

Images: Dragana Nikolic

[1] Euclid’s Elements, Book I

 

 


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3 Responses to HAPLESS BOMBS

  1. potop deluge says:

    brilliant…

  2. guest says:

    Science is a differential equation. Religion is a boundary condition.
    Alan Turing

  3. Mike Dorian G. says:

    He amassed here a considerable ideas on Turing´s thought. That´s truth. In a metaphorical way, sure.

    I read this as an equation of desperateness, as well as of irony as a mean of justice and self-awareness.

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