<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132736673396610704</id><updated>2009-09-29T00:35:16.601-07:00</updated><title type='text'>URBANCOLIA</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>URBANCOLIA</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216413672840800960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132736673396610704.post-4880184462478176394</id><published>2008-06-11T02:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T08:16:08.712-07:00</updated><title type='text'>dikt</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Fem veckor på golvet&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;och ibland förändras ljuset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De berömda berlinermolnen i ultrarapid&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;passerar susande&lt;br /&gt;elektrifierar mitt skägg.&lt;br /&gt;De har injicerat naloxon i rummet och de tar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ständigt bilder av det.&lt;br /&gt;Så vacker är den stilla nakna kroppen under blixtkupolen&lt;br /&gt;och ändå skrämmer den de små levande varelserna.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;så liten är min rädsla, ändå mer levande än jag själv.&lt;br /&gt;Tio i topp av alla tiders långa bildlösa drömmar.&lt;br /&gt;När du är ett barn och när din hjärna är lika stor som ett par mörka ringar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tror du att de i filmerna är dödsdömda killar&lt;br /&gt;som längtar efter lite realism.&lt;br /&gt;Du är nu här i sömnlaboratorierna&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men visst kan du tänka annorlunda.&lt;br /&gt;Under natten faller klistrig snö&lt;br /&gt;den sorten som inte går bort från huden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I en kortfilm med mig själv då jag kör en ATV&lt;br /&gt;klipper jag in bilder från Mars.&lt;br /&gt;Efteråt raderar jag alla från bilderna på flygplanet.&lt;br /&gt;Jag tar till och med bort planet och sätter dit ett par moln och&lt;br /&gt;nu är det bara jag ensam&lt;br /&gt;som flyter i skyn medan jag håller en ångande kopp te.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;översättning: Kajsa Sundin(2008)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8132736673396610704-4880184462478176394?l=sociurbancolia.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/feeds/4880184462478176394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8132736673396610704&amp;postID=4880184462478176394&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default/4880184462478176394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default/4880184462478176394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/2008/06/dikt.html' title='dikt'/><author><name>URBANCOLIA</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216413672840800960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='15829030253416410183'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132736673396610704.post-3263979512981671303</id><published>2007-03-29T06:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T02:12:51.603-07:00</updated><title type='text'>poemes</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;de la vodka ou du vin &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« we stand in galleries mournfully unable to look as modern as that » (Andrei Codrescu)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;la première fois que j’ai vu mon nom imprimé&lt;br /&gt;c’était en quatre-vingt onze dans un journal local dans&lt;br /&gt;le nécrologue deux jours après la mort de mon père&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;j’étais sur le point d’exploser tellement j’en étais fier et stupéfait et ravi&lt;br /&gt;j’ai lu bien sûr cette annonce une&lt;br /&gt;vingtaine de fois j’ai même épelé mon nom&lt;br /&gt;j’y ai mis le doigt la langue l’oreille et soudain&lt;br /&gt;je me suis souvenu&lt;br /&gt;du mort que j’avais laissé à la maison des miroirs couverts avec&lt;br /&gt;des draps de mon nouveau statut d’orphelin&lt;br /&gt;et vite fait je me suis mis à feindre la honte&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;je me maudissais et j’ai jeté oh le journal très loin de moi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mais à portée de main quelque part où je pourrais le trouver plus tard&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;je l’ai caché sous le lit comme si c’était une revue porno&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;à quatorze ans j’ai écrit une histoire de science fiction&lt;br /&gt;et un écrivain bucarestois m’a dit&lt;br /&gt;comme ça au petit bonheur nous étions assis face à face&lt;br /&gt;il était on ne pouvait plus réel et barbu et pourtant&lt;br /&gt;j’avais du mal à me l’imaginer je n’avais jamais vu d’écrivains auparavant&lt;br /&gt;pire encore je croyais qu’ils étaient tous morts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tu es doué m’a-t-il dit tu as de la force&lt;br /&gt;je sentais ma peau se tendre dans mon dos j’attendais&lt;br /&gt;une punition quelque chose je me disais aïe il sait que je me masturbe&lt;br /&gt;il sait que je fume&lt;br /&gt;je me suis acheté un cahier j’ai écrit sur la couverture&lt;br /&gt;avec des lettres grossies dan sociu poèmes la maison d’édition&lt;br /&gt;une telle sur la première page dan sociu poèmes couverture par&lt;br /&gt;préface par puis j’ai été pris par une sorte&lt;br /&gt;d’anxiété mais que vais-je leur offrir au lancement du livre de la vodka ou du vin&lt;br /&gt;je savais que c’était dans les coutumes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;et la nuit quand la faim me tenaillait je me mettais en petite tenue&lt;br /&gt;dans la cuisine je mangeais du bortsch à l’oignon et hop&lt;br /&gt;l’anxiété si les lecteurs entraient maintenant par la porte&lt;br /&gt;et ils te voyaient&lt;br /&gt;du coup je n’ai presque rien écrit jusqu’à maintenant&lt;br /&gt;parce que je sais moi comment ça se passe avec la poésie&lt;br /&gt;et comment on te regarde quand tu arpentes la maison en petite tenue&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traductions par Linda Maria Baros (2002)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8132736673396610704-3263979512981671303?l=sociurbancolia.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/feeds/3263979512981671303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8132736673396610704&amp;postID=3263979512981671303&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default/3263979512981671303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default/3263979512981671303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/2007/03/poemes-dan-sociu.html' title='poemes'/><author><name>URBANCOLIA</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216413672840800960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='15829030253416410183'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132736673396610704.post-6805229707861907344</id><published>2007-03-29T06:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T09:00:16.756-07:00</updated><title type='text'>poems</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Five weeks on the floor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;and sometimes the light changes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The famous ultrarapid berliner clouds&lt;br /&gt;pass and electrify&lt;br /&gt;my beard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s music you can rely on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They injected the room with naxolon and are&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;continually taking pictures.&lt;br /&gt;So beautiful, the still naked body under the cupola of flashes&lt;br /&gt;and yet it terrifies the tiny creatures.&lt;br /&gt;So tiny my fears and yet vivider than myself&lt;br /&gt;in the top ten imageless long dreams of all time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you’re a child and your brain is the size of a pair of dark rings&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you think the guys in movies are sentenced to death, guys&lt;br /&gt;longing for a bit of realism.But here in the sleep lab&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you’re allowed to think something else.&lt;br /&gt;Last night a sort of adhesive snow fell,&lt;br /&gt;the kind that won’t rub off.&lt;br /&gt;In the short film of me driving an ATV&lt;br /&gt;I inserted images from Mars.&lt;br /&gt;After that I erased everyone from the pictures I made in the plane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I even erased the plane and the clouds and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;now it’s only me&lt;br /&gt;sitting in the sky holding a steamy cup of tea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;e-card from Big Natural Hills&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Decoupled socks hide like cats&lt;br /&gt;in the back room. An injured sailor’s shirt&lt;br /&gt;hangs over the chair splashed with chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;At 5 she bragged that she would grow up&lt;br /&gt;to be a man. Then she left for work, left a mug&lt;br /&gt;and a damp red tea bag on the shelf,&lt;br /&gt;marking another bygone era.&lt;br /&gt;She watched the Baby Channel all night&lt;br /&gt;like a partly bloomed flower&lt;br /&gt;or a plan to electrify the entire country.&lt;br /&gt;You squeeze a stamp picturing red&lt;br /&gt;astronauts and then let go, and it looks&lt;br /&gt;like the cortex of a white mouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You got old in this proletarian neighborhood.&lt;br /&gt;They used to say it smelled like punctured&lt;br /&gt;lives. You used to think the towers&lt;br /&gt;of the little Russian church were so fragile&lt;br /&gt;you fed them croutons and carrots.&lt;br /&gt;The next morning when you left&lt;br /&gt;big brother’s house, you felt the acute shift&lt;br /&gt;from cold guitar to acoustic, an iodine rain&lt;br /&gt;over a crowd of broken heads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Come with me I know exactly where we’re going &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bathroom neon made me look ugly every morning before work. After the landlord threw me out of the studio apartment I discovered self-esteem. Friends usually make some effort but let’s be real things make more sense on TV. Not a single person gives a damn about following directions in here. While I was in the hospital I felt some kind of fear of quietness but sometimes quietness meant something else. The color screen was pinging from time to time and if you stood and listened and I stood in an hour they collected all the pings and it sounded like a little Chinese song. Anthony’s friend went out running and next to him a guy was in costume and had a bluetooth and was also running. When the tower collapsed the explosion lifted him a few feet off the ground and he kept running in the air. And even after the explosion threw him back onto the sidewalk he kept running without knowing why. I thought he was Wall Street trash who didn’t deserve to know that he had just lived the moment of his life. In the postoperative room after gastro-intestinal procedures you call your relatives after your first fart. Everything depends on the juicy crackers when I was little they tricked me into drawing them with markers. The emoticons are the nicest people you can meet. Bucharest’s advantage is that you can always run into the old lady on Grandma’s oil bottles. In Unirii Square on a huge Phillips screen the company founded by Marx’s uncle said: Karl’s best sayings aren’t his. The new clothing stores have floors made entirely of glass and you can see the factories underneath. I photographed my slippers and put them on my desktop I’m waiting for someone to come in and see them. We got out of the car me to smoke you to collect ladybugs we stopped by a tree stump. We made two children in one year the storm took away our roof. In another year the kitchen burned down. You put your ladybugs in your pocket and we got into the car. The name of this folder is hospital and when I close it I am asked do you want to save changes to hospital? As a child the hours of winter made me feel the voluptuousness yet another lost sense. The crowds waiting at the traffic light are a force. The TV series used to keep our family together for weeks together they connected us to other families. And even after the explosion threw him back on the sidewalk he kept running without knowing why. A gigantic magnetic resistance has shrunk everything it’s hard now to kill your secretary with a filofax. I’m afraid to leave the supermarket. Staying home to watch TV or going to a party with TV stars and pretending not to know who they are. You only smoke homegrown pot maybe this will make you forget that nothing grew at home. Saying Paris is Bucharest’s older sister is like saying I myself have an older sister in Paris. There are no emoticons to express what I’m feeling right now it’s as if we are taking our drunk kid to school. The bacteria in the soil activate the serotonin. Autumnal noon the children have been fed and are now functioning outside in natural daylight. Anne Frank’s diary is on sale at Buchenwald. And when he called his relatives yeah yeah I know it’s awful what’s going on but listen. When he was young his mother cheated on his father and now he’s sending us all jokey emails. In an old photo of the two of us on the TV near your shoulder it says I’ve sped and. It would be difficult for me to write my story I’d have to cast myself as a loser. God hates the arbitrariness of the linguistic sign writing is talking without being interrupted. Because time destroys the precise resources of narcissism that make us survive. On September 11th Anthony’s friend found out he had cancer and when he called his relatives: yeah yeah I know it’s awful what’s going on but listen. So Anthony fucking 9/11 ruined my cancer moment. It’s impossible not to burst into laughter the night they operated on me Gloria Gaynor was giving a concert in Romania. You would be dead if you were taken to an emergency room in any other city in Romania. I’m dead in every city except Bucharest my ghosts are haunting Romania. At the new company they were asked to give up verbs conjunctions and prepositions. Children who don’t know any English should die at birth I don’t want synchronized spoken translated cartoons. There’s a one-eyed tomcat on the moon I can hear it whining lost on Clint Eastwood’s property. We are much prettier in pictures we smile under the multitouchscreen layers of mud. I was in the hospital my daughter telephoned me she told me not to clap my hands otherwise the butterfly would fly away from my t-shirt. And someday there will only be Tuesday and Wednesday and Tuesday and Wednesday Tuesday Wednesday Tuesday year after year. So much withdrawal until the discovery of tobacco when I was one my grandfather slew a pig. In its stomach they found some small flattened components of a satellite they were embossed in Cyrillic. Then it was the winter of 1732 a few guys stood around at the end of the car cemetery. They are screaming terrified and pointing my absent spot will is pancreas the next sex? When they were operating on me you heard me saying with somebody else’s voice thank you dear for warming it up for me. The necessity of death is the best imaginary friend one can have. Like a samurai’s wife who’s saving money to buy him a terrifying mask.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(2007) Translated by Paul Killebrew&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8132736673396610704-6805229707861907344?l=sociurbancolia.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/feeds/6805229707861907344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8132736673396610704&amp;postID=6805229707861907344&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default/6805229707861907344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default/6805229707861907344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/2007/03/poems-dan-sociu.html' title='poems'/><author><name>URBANCOLIA</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216413672840800960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='15829030253416410183'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132736673396610704.post-3112874662174754960</id><published>2007-03-29T06:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T08:24:56.455-07:00</updated><title type='text'>versek</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Miközben hülye hivatalnoknővel veszekszem,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a rave forradalom valahol tőlem távol&lt;br /&gt;születik és hal meg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A pénztárak előtt&lt;br /&gt;leizzadt tömeg mint a Love Parade-en,&lt;br /&gt;itt nem táncolnak és utálják egymást mind –&lt;br /&gt;itt mi vagyunk azok&lt;br /&gt;és csak magunk közt,&lt;br /&gt;a bájos pillanatokban,&lt;br /&gt;egyfajta ezek vagyunk – görnyedt háttal,&lt;br /&gt;krumpliszsákok&lt;br /&gt;lábon állni próbálván,&lt;br /&gt;seggreülve a város milliárdosa&lt;br /&gt;iránti csodálattól&lt;br /&gt;aki kisebbik fiát akasztófára küldte&lt;br /&gt;és most óriás emlékműveket emel&lt;br /&gt;neki.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nem izgat a rave kultúra&lt;br /&gt;de bosszant&lt;br /&gt;Mihá szavazni küldött mert,&lt;br /&gt;mondja ő,&lt;br /&gt;a polgármester megszámolhatja a pecséteket&lt;br /&gt;személyimben&lt;br /&gt;a következő kihallgatáson.&lt;br /&gt;A holnapoktól való félelem – és a holnaputántól,&lt;br /&gt;és a hátralevő élettől – ostobává tesz,&lt;br /&gt;ravasszá, bizáncivá.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Estefelé, mikor ő nadrágomat mossa&lt;br /&gt;első tulajdonosa&lt;br /&gt;megtömi magát energiaitallal,&lt;br /&gt;lemegy Berlin utcáira&lt;br /&gt;és&lt;br /&gt;táncolni fog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Egész télen vártam éves fogfájásom&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ami általában januárban kap el&lt;br /&gt;kommunikálás, beszerelés, tervezés, irányítás&lt;br /&gt;és vagy két, három kegyetlen hétig tart,&lt;br /&gt;nyomozás, felkészülés, edzés, bemutatás&lt;br /&gt;ebben az évben márciusban kapott el,&lt;br /&gt;tervezés, alkalmazás, fejlesztés, kibővítés&lt;br /&gt;mikor éppen azt hittem, vége, megszabadultam,&lt;br /&gt;időzítés, kezelés, felértékelés, kórjóslás&lt;br /&gt;és készültem sokat beszélni, karattyolni, mormogni&lt;br /&gt;irányítás, asszisztálás, beültetés, igazolás&lt;br /&gt;szégyenlős, meg nem értett szerelmi vallomásokat mély söröskorsókba,&lt;br /&gt;titkosítás, bevezetés, tárgyalás, megoldás&lt;br /&gt;most csak hallgatni tudok, hogy ne engedjem számba a levegőt,&lt;br /&gt;vezetés, felülvizsgálás, óvás, meggyőződés&lt;br /&gt;tehetetlenül hánykódom, egy fájdalomcsillapító sem segít nekem,&lt;br /&gt;oktatás, szervezés, felügyelés, tesztelés&lt;br /&gt;anyám köhög mellettem szüntelen, nyolcadikáig nincs pénzünk,&lt;br /&gt;és ellenőrzés és eladás, mondja egy okos ember a tévében,&lt;br /&gt;ezek mind az új generáció sikerszavai.&lt;br /&gt;A szavak, súgja megrémülve, és simogatja ezüstszínű szemüvegkeretét.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;shanghai truelove ltd.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14:30, kislányom alszik.&lt;br /&gt;A kislányok akik pizsamáját gyártották&lt;br /&gt;könnyedén horkolnak&lt;br /&gt;a világ másik végén.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Mi kell egy férfinak -&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;egy rúd&lt;br /&gt;vagy négy méter alumínium cső&lt;br /&gt;húsz méter vasbeton&lt;br /&gt;hatos átmérőjű,&lt;br /&gt;négy négyzetméter terakott,&lt;br /&gt;két kiló festék,&lt;br /&gt;bőrszíjak&lt;br /&gt;egy magas domb –&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hogy nagyon magasról ráhugyozzon&lt;br /&gt;szülővárosára.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Uram, tégy erőssé&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mint egy póker automata billentyűi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Útipénzem megittam&lt;br /&gt;és az eső tönkretette az összes csikket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gyűjtsek annyi erőt,&lt;br /&gt;hogy kimenjek a buszállomás budijából&lt;br /&gt;és rámosolyogjak egy sofőrre:&lt;br /&gt;isten bizony mondom neked, testvérem –&lt;br /&gt;átmész ma velem Lipicán.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Uram, add nekem a rövid szoknya erejét&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hét férfi vár az állomás kocsmájában.&lt;br /&gt;Vár zavarosan bámul a poharak fölött –&lt;br /&gt;a lábai durvák,&lt;br /&gt;öregek, lyukacsos harisnyába szorítva.&lt;br /&gt;Dudorásznak a sörfoltos&lt;br /&gt;rövid szoknya alatt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;És mind álmodják hogy&lt;br /&gt;egy pillanatra elvinnék magukkal&lt;br /&gt;a meleg fülkébe,&lt;br /&gt;behúzott függönyökkel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A hazafelé vezető úton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Mondták a tévében&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a holttestek meghosszabbodnak&lt;br /&gt;néhény millimétert&lt;br /&gt;magasabb nő leszel&lt;br /&gt;szerelmesebb férfi leszek,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;magasabb leszek&lt;br /&gt;védve érzed majd magad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;A megvert nő&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aki a semmibe néz&lt;br /&gt;az ablakon&lt;br /&gt;a 8. emeleten&lt;br /&gt;irigykedik&lt;br /&gt;a megvert nőre&lt;br /&gt;aki a semmibe néz&lt;br /&gt;az ablakon&lt;br /&gt;az 1. emeleten:&lt;br /&gt;az elsőt nem szánják meg&lt;br /&gt;csak esetleges éhes, eltévedt&lt;br /&gt;sirályok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ennek az agynak minden szennye&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kezdődött&lt;br /&gt;egyszerre az első tiszta maszturbálásommal,&lt;br /&gt;bűnösség nélkül,&lt;br /&gt;félelem nélkül, mert&lt;br /&gt;éppen felfedeztem&lt;br /&gt;hogy senki sem tudhatja&lt;br /&gt;mi van eszemben,&lt;br /&gt;a szülők sem,&lt;br /&gt;az isten sem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Akkortól&lt;br /&gt;el a végig&lt;br /&gt;szabad leszek, és&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mindörökre –&lt;br /&gt;emberke egyedül,&lt;br /&gt;egyedülálló fejben.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Egyik napról a másikra&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;megnőtt az eső&lt;br /&gt;zöreje:&lt;br /&gt;egyenesen a tarkómba&lt;br /&gt;az ablak mögött&lt;br /&gt;egy óriási macska&lt;br /&gt;morzsolja fogai közt&lt;br /&gt;egy óriáshal&lt;br /&gt;csontvázát –&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a helyen ahol állok&lt;br /&gt;néhány napja&lt;br /&gt;csend van –&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;voltak csendes&lt;br /&gt;napok&lt;br /&gt;mikor&lt;br /&gt;mindenre&lt;br /&gt;gondoltam –&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mondd el&lt;br /&gt;a legrosszabb dolgot&lt;br /&gt;ami veled&lt;br /&gt;történhetne&lt;br /&gt;és rögtön&lt;br /&gt;körülírnék&lt;br /&gt;egy másikat&lt;br /&gt;rémesebbet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Mikor mellbimbóidat szopom&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;egy rajzfilm&lt;br /&gt;szereplő vagyok –&lt;br /&gt;számból&lt;br /&gt;buborékok&lt;br /&gt;jönnek&lt;br /&gt;amikben&lt;br /&gt;nem&lt;br /&gt;ír semmit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8132736673396610704-3112874662174754960?l=sociurbancolia.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/feeds/3112874662174754960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8132736673396610704&amp;postID=3112874662174754960&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default/3112874662174754960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8132736673396610704/posts/default/3112874662174754960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sociurbancolia.blogspot.com/2007/03/versek-dan-sociu.html' title='versek'/><author><name>URBANCOLIA</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216413672840800960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='15829030253416410183'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>