I

The level of proximity they have had does not offer alternative scripts. They were everything or nothing completely. Tragic heroes laughing in the rye, catching the lines of random pop songs, flowing into each other. They went to sleep only when everybody was gone. Only when there was nobody else to save. They were never bored, and they never preserved themselves from meltdown. They existed only on the flip side of freedom, only on the cutting edge of the death drive, they were fabulous only in despair. It is unbearable that the life of one of them can get normalized. It is perceived as a treason. Will you abandon me? Will I leave first? Two wasted Peter Pans on the margins of the queer revolution.

II

revolutions are not happening half-awake

the system cannot be torched from above

our dances when there were ten of us

we are equals

“what would be a gender-neutral pronoun in your tongue?”

what can we reach with our tongue in these places?

there is a thunder

clutching the steely taste of the flu,

of the psychosomatic failures,

of the hasty decisions

of the non-consequent hate and love.

this is such a childish summer

as in 2006.

this is the penultimate trigger hitting my head into the snow

hitting the paddle into the freezing ocean

along the memory exactly there where

there is no pain?

intimacy is what making them anxious

to be not good enough

to be not here enough

to be too much

feeling of intimacy above the feeling of guilt and the feeling of debt

jumping you over, eradicating the former-you

with your drunken and rotten roots

from the endless fear

from the everyday terror into breathless long fearlessness

into the abyss of the possibilities of “yes”

there are some kind of waves

travelling from your hand into mine

we are some kind of a rhyme

we are calmness of a different way


we are an unexpected cosmos around the corner

an ocean between the lines

a calm inside of the unbearable thunder.