Viena lapa - Post a comment

We saw twilight that night. Sky was bright red with infantry troops' blood. Our commander was killed by rission troops who held captive satan himslef and his demons. I was appointed the new commander and I was killed too.

Eviction from my flat took place on july 23rd. I was wearing underpants and striped shirt when I heard loud noise outside my door. I listened for a while and then opened it. There he was, my long gone commander. I saluted him and he put his hand to his head.

We drunk tea that evening, commander was tired from the road. I put on some records and time slowly passed. At one moment he produced a postcard from hell. That's when it all begun.

When dawn sat on our shoulders we were sure to be nominated as poets. We continued with light alcohol and drifted in the shadows of eternity. My commander, what a noble man, he had three brothers, all of them dead. "We'll invite them for dinner sometime", I said. He nodded and put a glass to his lips. When we arrived at the station of marihuana and heroin we were wiped out by white light.

The morning came sniffing our belongings, searching for stolen goods. I rejected the offer that was hung upon me by unknown people and proceeded to bathroom. I washed my face and prepared to fly away. It was a cruel morning, doors of the world were shut, me, not even noticing what happened. Commander was lying dead on the floor, his personal items and passport thrown on the floor in disorder.

I started to think and that was a mistake. A week ago I had met a man who sold me a cold iron. I thanked the board by posting a bulletin about how bad drugs are and were immadiately evicted. After a week on the street I realized my purpose in life - it was to write. I mostly write postcards from hell and then burn them. I have seen war, I have no need telling that. I have seen my own blood, I have seen men spitting poison just to get along those lines of time that sit in our system not letting to die not letting to live. I survived the war, war didn't survive me. War is my captive and I'm about to execute it publicly and without remorse. My sister writes me - "don't be stupid!"

Es neesmu kretīns, latviešu valoda mani par tādu padara. I constrãda.

- I have reached something awful in latvian. It's not bolivian, don't confuse it.
- Have you written something in latvian?
- Oh, yes, extensively, but nothing is published, no, mostly personal notes.

This is the man who rejected his own language.

This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
She lost control again.

- Is there a purpose?
- Oh, that would be awful!