Spontano Sagorevanje: To više nije to ::: Spontaneous Combustion: It's Not That Anymore / Literatura. Knjiga. Literature. Book. Književnost
Može biti da će dosta njih reći da ovo što je on ispričao nema baš nikakvog smisla, ali ja ću svakako zabeležiti njegovo iskustvo.
Tog dana, na sumrak, u ulici Kneza Mihaila, njemu je prišla potpuno razroka žena, obučena u odelo na crno-bele štrafte, onako kako izgledaju robijaške uniforme u starim filmovima i sa patrljcima od zuba u ustima, ona mu se ljutitito unese u lice i zakrišta:
- Tu si magarčino jedna! Ne brini, dobićeš ti svoje!
Ona udari šamar čoveku i ode.
Čovek sa zaprepašćenjem otprati pogledom nepoznatu osobu. On ne razmišljajući puno, šmugnu u pasaž, a odatle u sporedniju, usamljeniju ulicu. Nakon nekoliko koraka, ispred sebe, ugleda malu poštansku markicu, kako leži zalepljena za trotoar. Na njoj je bio lik Josipa Broza Tita. Čovek je čučnuo i pokušao da noktima nekako odlepi markicu ali kako je sve više gulio, tako je i potpuno izgulio i upropastio.
- Niko nema sreće. Svi je izgule i propadnu! – glas je dopirao iznad čovekove glave. On se trže i zagleda se u osobu koja je stajala pored njega i posmatrala šta on radi. Čučeći, on sa trotoara zapita visokog stranca u crnom odelu:
- A vi ste?
- Ja bih trebalo da se pobrinem za Vas. - stranac ga nije gledao prijateljski.
- Trebalo bi da pođete samnom...hajdemo! – stranac ovo izgovori odlučno i nekako vojnički, na to se čovek prepade, ustade i poče da trči.
Dugo je trčao kroz senke koje su polako grad oblačile u mrak.
Umoran stade i pogleda oko sebe. Nigde nikoga. Najednom on oseti jak smrad u vazduhu i za par sekundi, kao da se našao u magli.
On zapita sebe da li se uopšte nalazi u Beogradu, činilo mu se da ništa ne prepoznaje.
„Svi su poludeli i ništa nije normalno!“ – pomislio je čovek, hodajući brzo.
Dodirnuo je čeličnu šipku, pade mu na pamet kako je i rđa na neki način živa. Podhodnik kroz koji je mogao da prođe je poplavljen. Video je žabu. Okrenuo je glavu i otišao je na zelenu površinu gde je seo ispod hrasta. Zagledao se u sada već mračno nebo. Odahnuo je, smrad je oteran jakim vetrom koji je nosio smeće. Čoveku je to izgledalo romantično. Pomislio je na hljade i hiljade godina koje je prošlo, do eto, ove noći u kojoj on živi svoj trenutak. Sa hrasta je na čovekovo rame sleteo strari, crni gavran. Gledao je čoveka očima koje se gase... umiru. Bio je tih i zamišljen.
Čoveku je palo na pamet da ako gavran umre, on može da ga odnese devojčici iz komšiluka koja voli da preparira sitne životinjice i ptice.
Umornom čoveku su se sklapale oči ali nije zaspao, mislio je:
„Težak dan iza mene...kao san...sve manje se osećam trezveno, kao da me neko tajno opija. To svakako nije cela istina...svako kretanje može da mi pomogne, sve treba koristiti, bez zloupotrebe. Duva mi vetar u lice. Prolazi kroz pluća. Neki put je dovoljan dubok uzdah. Nebo je mraćno...kiša će... Kako misle da sve vide kada je sve stara slika...od pre sekunde ili od pre dva meseca, svejedno...oni igraju rulet...“
Udario je grom. Čovek je ustao, gavran, nije umro, odleteo je. Za njim je poletelo još stotine gavranova koji su odledel za njim. Čovek nekako kao opijen pomisli da više ništa ne razume. Zagledao u krošnju hrasta, bila je topla i on je postao topliji. Kiša i vetar koji su počelii su mu prijali. On vide veliki busen lepe, roze biljke. Vetar i kiša su je razobličili, izgledala je kao udobna fotelja. Legao je na nju, pustio je suzu saosećanja i pridremao. Sanjao je čudan san. On u nekoj potpuno mračnoj sobi, gde je svetlost dopirala odnekud ali nije mogao da zaključi od kud. Sedeo je na staroj drvenoj stolici, dok je čitava soba bila od sivo-crnog mermera. Vrata nije video. Najedanput u sobi se pojavi još jedna, bela, isto tako stara stolica. Na stolici se na njegovo veliko zaprepašćenje pojavi i čovek, obučen otmeno, U crvenom sakou sa dugačkim brkovima, sa dugom puštenom kosom na sebi je imao i imao je i fine bele pantalone od lana. On progovori, dubokim glasom:
- Ja sam hipnotizer.
- Ja sam ljubitelj filma i crno-bele fotografije, muzike takođe i nadasve cenim trezvenost. I uostalom kakva je ovo iluzija, treba ti još četiri tarantule da krase ove tvoje hipnotizerske zidove. – resko odvrati čovek.
- Zovem se...
Zamislio je kako mermer puca i on je pucao. Zamislio je zrake Sunca i oni su ga obasjali. Zamislio je da... naglo mu u kadar njegovog zamišljanja ulete muva. Ona ga je probudila. Svitalo je. Kiša je prestala i voda je isparavala iz zemlje. Danas će Sunce biti nepodnošljivo. Puno je muva u blizini, osetio je nečiji izmet. „Vreme će biti da se sakrijem od Sunca i da što pre stignem kući...“ - razmišljao je čovek dok se pridizao sa zenlje, - „Ali moja kuća...moja kuća je još daleko.“ – čovek je shvatio da je sam.
Tražio je duboko u sebi bilo kakvu emocju. Umesto emocija, počele su da mu se tresu ruke i da se grče mišići, od vrata do mišića na nogama. Malo ispod njega ležao je veliki crni labrador, iznad psa se stvorio mali crni oblak. Zapljusnuo ga je zelenom kišom i nestao. Pas je pokušao bezuspešno da ustane. Na njemu više nije bilo lepe, sjajne, crne dlake, kao da je kiša poskidala sve sa njega. Bela pena mu je curila niz čeljusti. Poslednji put je pokušao da stane na noge, koje su ga izdale, pao je i više se nije pomerio. Čovek je ustao i zaključio:
„Jednostavno nije isto... ali prosto, to više nije to ...“
That’s No Longer It
Many might say that what he recounted makes no sense at all, but I will still record his experience.
That day, at dusk, on Kneza Mihaila Street, a completely cross-eyed woman approached him, dressed in a black-and-white striped suit resembling old prison uniforms, with stubs of teeth in her mouth. She furiously leaned into his face and screeched:
- There you are, you donkey! Don’t worry, you’ll get yours!
She slapped the man and left.
The man, shocked, watched the unknown woman walk away. Without thinking much, he slipped into a passageway and from there into a quieter, lonelier street. After a few steps, he saw a small postage stamp lying stuck to the sidewalk in front of him. On it was the image of Josip Broz Tito. The man squatted down and tried to peel off the stamp with his fingernails, but the more he scraped, the more he ruined and destroyed it.
- No one’s lucky. Everyone scrapes away and falls apart! – a voice came from above the man’s head. Startled, he looked up at the person standing beside him, watching what he was doing. Still squatting, he asked the tall stranger in a black suit:
- And who are you?
- I’m supposed to take care of you. – the stranger didn’t seem friendly.
- You should come with me… let’s go! – the stranger spoke decisively, almost militarily, which frightened the man. He stood up and started to run.
He ran for a long time through the shadows that slowly wrapped the city in darkness.
Tired, he stopped and looked around. No one was there. Suddenly, he smelled a strong stench in the air, and within seconds, it felt as though he was surrounded by fog.
He asked himself if he was still in Belgrade, as nothing seemed familiar anymore.
“They’ve all gone mad, and nothing is normal!” – he thought, walking quickly.
He touched a steel bar, and it occurred to him that rust, in its own way, was alive too. The underpass he could have taken was flooded. He saw a frog. He turned his head and headed to a green area where he sat beneath an oak tree. He gazed up at the now dark sky. He sighed, as the stench was blown away by a strong wind that carried the trash with it. To him, it felt romantic. He thought about the thousands and thousands of years that had passed, up to this very night where he was living his moment. From the oak tree, an old black raven landed on his shoulder. It looked at the man with eyes that were dimming… dying. The raven was silent and pensive.
The man thought that if the raven died, he could take it to the neighbor’s daughter who enjoyed stuffing small animals and birds.
The tired man’s eyes began to close, but he didn’t fall asleep; instead, he thought:
“Tough day behind me… like a dream… I feel less and less sober, as if someone is secretly intoxicating me. But that’s not the whole truth… any movement could help me; everything should be used, without abuse. The wind blows in my face. It passes through my lungs. Sometimes, a deep breath is all you need. The sky is dark… rain will come… How do they expect to see everything when it’s all an old picture… from a second ago or from two months ago, it’s all the same… they’re playing roulette…”
Lightning struck. The man stood up; the raven hadn’t died—it flew away. Hundreds of other ravens took off after it. The man, somehow intoxicated, thought he no longer understood anything. He looked up at the oak’s canopy—it was warm, and he felt warmer. The rain and wind that had begun suited him. He saw a large clump of a beautiful, pink plant. The wind and rain had deformed it, and it looked like a comfortable armchair. He lay down on it, shed a tear of compassion, and drifted off. He dreamed a strange dream. He was in a completely dark room, where light was coming from somewhere, but he couldn’t determine from where. He sat on an old wooden chair, while the entire room was made of gray-black marble. He didn’t see any doors. Suddenly, another chair appeared in the room—white, just as old. On the chair, to his great astonishment, appeared a man, dressed elegantly, in a red blazer with long mustaches, and with long flowing hair. He also wore fine white linen pants. He spoke in a deep voice:
- I am the hypnotist.
- I’m a lover of film and black-and-white photography, music as well, and above all, I value sobriety. And anyway, what kind of illusion is this? You need four more tarantulas to decorate these hypnotizing walls of yours. – the man sharply retorted.
- My name is…
He imagined the marble cracking, and it cracked. He imagined rays of sunlight, and they shone on him. He imagined that… suddenly, a fly flew into his imagination. It woke him up. Dawn was breaking. The rain had stopped, and the water was evaporating from the ground. Today, the sun would be unbearable. There were many flies nearby; he smelled someone’s excrement. “It’s time to hide from the sun and get home as quickly as possible…” - the man thought as he got up from the ground, - “But my home… my home is still far away.” – the man realized he was alone.
He searched deep within himself for any emotion. Instead of emotions, his hands began to tremble, and his muscles started to spasm from his neck down to his legs. A little below him lay a large black Labrador; above the dog, a small black cloud appeared. It splashed him with green rain and disappeared. The dog tried unsuccessfully to get up. Its beautiful, shiny black fur was no longer there as if the rain had washed everything off. White foam dripped from its jaws. The dog made one last attempt to stand, but his legs failed him, and he collapsed, never to move again. The man stood up and concluded:
“It’s just not the same anymore… but simply, that’s no longer it.”
_______________________
Predstavlja:
NOĆ SLOMLJENIH STRELA
Iz Predgovora:
"...MEGALOPOLIS III
Mister anonimus, stanovnik velegrada, ponovo medju nama – kratke priče”Noć slomljenih strela” Sebastijana Sava Gor-a
Anarhizam se danas modernizovao a urbani buntovnik konformizovao. Svetska revolucija nije uspela, ostalo nam je da sami vodimo svoje bitke a ostao nam je i andergaund (underground). Pred nama je jedan andergraund opredeljen mlađi beogradski pesnik, rok muzičar i pisac, Sebastijan Sava Gor, koji nam u ovoj svojoj seriji kratkih priča pripoveda o urbanizovanim ambijentima Megalopolisa III, megalopolisa nužnosti, za razliku od futurističko-tehnicističkog Megalopolisa I, megalopolisa želje – Metropolisa, Frica Langa (Fritz Lang, 1890-1976), nikad ne ostvarenog, i Megalopolisa II - tepih-urbanizacije iz šezdesetih godina prošlog veka koja je obećavala “posao i stan za svakog”, ali neuspešno, što se kasnije uspostavilo i kao utopija. Andergraund je ovde važan kao jedini nastavak ideja o Svetskoj /modernoj/ revoluciji, nastalih na zdravoj osnovi Spenserovog konzervativnog anarhizma (Herbert Spencer 1820 –1903) sa krilaticom: “The Man versus the State / Čovek protiv države/”, a koji se takođe nikad nije realizovao kao “naivan”. Dok su se u medjuvremenu pojavile ideje o globalizaciji sveta i društvu bez države, ovaj umetnički pravac, mada naizgled globalistički, zapravo je jedini ostao anarho-podrivački i ima za krajnji cilj da podrije sve društvene sisteme, aparature i establišmente, bilo koje vrste, pošto ih smatra za prodate i pokvarene..."
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Recension for the book - Sebastian Sava Gor: “The Night of Broken Arrows”, Belgrade, 2014, short stories about the urban man. Text is analyzing urban man today, and finds, that this short story is quite different from the urban man of Megalopolis I / Metropolis of Fritz Lang - a megalopolis of wishes/, and the urban man of Megalopolis II / massive felt-urbanization from 1960 - urbanization of disappointment/. The conclusion is that today we have Megwith cult of fun and games/ and that writer fights against that... fight for more nature and more "natural life"/ in yourself, everyday life, love.../
Free PDF - MEGALOPOLIS III Jadranka Ahlgren
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Predstavlja:
ISHOD NA NIŠANU
Iz Predgovora:
„...da je na Zemlji sve racionalno, ništa se ne bi ni događalo...“
- Fjodor Mihajlovič Dostojevski
Objektivna neracionalizacija je postala opšta pojava i u tom smislu egzistencija je ugrožena.
Tražeći, kao hodajući kroz mrak, autor uspeva da iracionalno, nadrealno, podsvesno, lično i kolektivno nesvesno, osvetli i da kroz sopstvenu prizmu, realizuje specifičnu i novu lingvističku formu, nov, literarni stil, kojim nam. predstavlja zbirku poezije, tako otvoreno slikovitu, bez poređenja, koketiranja, sa bilo kakvim
autoritetima, koja postavlja jako bitna pitanja, prvenstveno pitanja koja se tiču naše zajedničke egzistencje.
Na veoma jedinstven i snažno poetičan način, Sebastian Sava Gor uspeva da pretvari nadrealno u egzizstencijalno.
ISHOD NA NIŠANU
Cena : 880,00 RSD
Detaljne informacije o knjizi:
Autor: Sebastian Sava Gor
Žanr Poezija
Izdavač: Sebastian Sava Gor
ISBN: 9788691820510
Br. strana: 70
Povez: broširan
Jezik: Srpski
Pismo: Latinica
Format: 20cm
Datum izdavanja: 2022
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