I don't want to sleep. I want to write wise words all over this wall. I want to simply cover all the walls in my bedroom with writing so there'll be something on them. And I'd write all over the whole house if I was here alone. I'd take a flashlight and a ladder and I'd write and write till the sun comes up. But my hands are trembling.

my poem no 5:

my heart is beating so fast
anxiety is lying on my chest
and heat is in my thighs, my head and tiptoes
i feel it on my palate
- excessive crampedness
once a man said:
let me dream about my decay...

for my boy far far away

my poem no 4:

heaviness in my fingers

and every smile coming through the screen hurts a little

i miss your warmth

and I’m saying it even though it’s a kitsch

every day it’s raining

the day after tomorrow I’ll run into the rain and I won’t come back till I’ll get ill

till I’ll feel all the seas laying between us on my bare skin

in the evenings I‘m praying to an unknown god

.

a story

I decided I'll put here an old story of mine which I translated to english some months ago. this story (or I should probably call it a tale) is mainly about the city I live in and admire highly and that's Prague. with photos by a great czech photographer Josef Sudek. hope you'll enjoy it.

A STORY ABOUT ONE NIGHT AND A MAN RIDING ON A BIKE IN STREETCAR RAILS

This is a story about a man. A man who is riding on an old creaky bike in the streetcar rails from Pohořelec down to the river by Žofín Island by some especial nights.

It happens when you don’t expect it – as everything important does. The lights of streetlamps have to turn special shade of yellowish shine and it has to be one of the warm cosy nights of late sweet-smelling spring, exceptionally lonely summer or very early jazzy autumn. Then you can spot him. He’s a man around thirty or forty maybe. I don’t know his name because I forgot to ask him. His eyes have a weird hue changing from sky blue across ivy green to stony grey as he’s riding through the city. He also has a dark leather bag with many secret and enigmatic objects in it. Sometimes he takes handful of buttons or coins from one of the pockets and throws them in the air so when someone finds one in the morning it will bring the person good luck.

It was about half past one a.m. and I was slowly walking under the arcades on the Pohořelec square. I had a very long day. It was one of the nights which belong only to you and maybe the moon and some lost birds sleeping in the park. The light was spread on the pools remained after an evening shower and it shivered every time I stepped in it. First I heard just the squeaky sound. And then there he was with his bike and all mysteries of Prague covering him in a soft barely detectable mist. I stayed waiting on the tram stop quite bewildered because this was my night, mine and of the moon and birds. He stopped I sat lady-like beside him above the mudguard. We didn’t talk until we arrived to the Queen Anne’s summer palace but the moon got upset and was jealous anyway and didn’t say another word to me any longer. So easily offended!

On the way from the statue of Kepler and Kopernik to Prašný Bridge – the bridge with a hungry black gate to the Prague Castle – there’s nothing. We rode so very fast from Lions’ yard to the summer palace that my sweater flew anyway and didn’t catch up with us until Malá Strana. The man smelled like grandma’s pantry – raspberry marmalade, honey, mustard and fresh bread all at once. As we flew in the doglegs next to Stag Moat he began to sing and he never stopped even when he was speaking I could still hear the strange melody under his words. Oh, how I loved it – the fast ride and my adored ancient remarkable city surrounding us. When we arrived to the Malá Strana Square he left his bike standing in the rail. We didn’t need to worry about trams, it wasn’t their night tonight and so for the time being they vanished from the world with a loud “plop”. We ran a race to St. Nicolaus church, knocked on the door politely and went inside. He sat cross-legged under the cupola and I laid down on my back to have a good view on the marvelous fresco. At that time – surrounded by all the ecclesiastic fathers – he spoke for the first time and he narrated his story.

He had been a common man – the kind that you meet hundreds of on the street in the morning. And he got very angry about that. He found it so very unfair that God didn’t give him any unique quality and that he’s exactly the type of man who looks the best in a dark blue suit, tie and black shoes. He felt like he can’t stand it a moment longer so he let free his bright yellow budgie and now he’s living Beyond the clouds.

We talked for a while then but we got such a strong craving for a cigarette that we had to go outside because these giant a lá marble statues aren’t used to smoking. We rode further through the gorgeous streets of Malá Strana. The streetlamps were waving at us, stars came out and everything seemed so fairy-tale-like that it couldn’t be true. As we went in the mist from the river near Újezd he threw some glittery coins in the air and the wind carried them from the top of Petřín Hill (one silver coin even got stuck on the top of the observation tower there) to the bottom of the Church of Our Lady before Týn. We got wet from the mist and the air was so fresh and tasty.

What would happen if he didn’t become so scared of the National Theatre’s gold tips and if the woman in the quadriga on the top of the building didn’t crack with her whip so strict? Maybe I would be living with him like Little Prince. I fell of the bike and he disappeared in the milky mist. To this day I have a small dimple on my forehead slightly above my right eyebrow from the fall.

After a while I bounced back and went away. I was asking myself if I even like him after all. When I got to the Charles Bridge the sky turned red and stars went bright yellow. My bare feet were cold from the stony pavement. As I was in the middle of the bridge the statues came to life and started hunting me. Those made by Ferdinand Maxmilian Brokoff were particularly dreadful. I have been having this nightmare since I was little. At this very moment I realized I will never be able to flee like he did. Even if I would like to. The moon still wasn’t talking to me and I started running for my life.