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Chapter III
Night is still young. Leg stopped to bleed and you are free of bondage.
But where and who is she? What was that urge that drove you to this house?
Who you are? Did you ever knew?
You are trying to remember but it is like to try to remember things that never happened.
On first page of small book covered by dark aged skin is glued small mirror and you can see face of young pale white man, skinny cheeks covered by bristle, dark shadows under eyes too.
Do you remember your face? Did you always possessed that one?
Subtle hands somebody who never need to fight or work manually on pages of diary covered by blue ink written words. Letters are small, sharp, scattered and not really carefully written, first impression on these notes is somebody who was in hurry in thinking written these texts and it was almost sure hand of man. Atmosphere suddenly change when creek of main door suddenly sounds and echoes in house.
Somebody is coming.
In hurry notebook is hidden in pocket and you can catch yourself almost running down on wide stairs to entry room. Than you are standing next to door, waiting for coat of stranger who just entered into wast hall full of colored beams of light passing through windows of unusual shapes. Glimpses of strange images -coming from nightmare of somebody who still do have imagination- could be seen on the edge of sight. When you touch strangers coat your crude strong old hand of all-life-working man can feel elegant expensive soft wool and that feeling remains you lost memories of hers skirt, old warm sweeter she used to wear and autumn. Feeling of hot blood running into your black polished shoe from under of your black trousers. Wound caused by razor opened again. Few words where told. Stranger is young tall man with pale skinny face, without suitcase, but with look somebody who just arrived to the town. Confused enough by new feelings caused by mysterious entry room he does not notice notebook covered by dark aged skin fell out of his coat pocket. You are not fast enough to return it back to him, because he is gone before you can bend your old back to pick it up.
Chapter II
Diary, razor, blue flowers
and exotic scent
You are trying to remember. Everything is veiled by mist.
You have entered into house, then standing under stairs you have given
your coat to faceless butler. Pictures on colored windows are
changing shapes like some kind of nightmare dreams hidden in dusty
corners of your mind. Have you been so tired and fell asleep?
Why you are in this room just woken up in old skin covered armchair not even remember you have fell asleep?
Cigarette is burning between your fingers, some old kind one without
filter, smell of dark French tobacco is smooth on you lips, tongue and
in throat.
Behind almost clear window, again covered by ages old dust it is
getting dark and it is raining. You know it, much more because of
feeling because of soft whispering in your confused head and because
grimness atmosphere in the room.
It is not cold but you can feel without tartan blanket you are covered
with it can be little uncomfortable. Inhaling tasty smoke make you
feel calm and self confident even you know nothing about situation you
are in, nothing to be afraid you think, just old silent room with
walls covered by age darkened expensive ornamental wallpapers, rain
behind window, drying flower in old vase on the table.
There are two glasses and empty bottle of port vine, too. One of
beautiful crystal glass have red lipstick mark on the edge and it is
not completely empty.
No single memory with whom you gotten drunk, but that crimson red
lipstick is exactly color of lips you like to kiss and usually girls
you like to flirt with use to wear this kind.
peaceful emptiness.
Again you can feel more than hear that somebody is opening door and
scent of of heavy mysterious exotic perfume compound with natural
smell of room and dark tobacco smoke. "Good evening dear Guest," her voice is soft and and profound, not
like heavy smokers or old people have, "welcome in one of most secret
places in town." She is still behind you and it does not seem that she want to come in
sight.
It is first moment you have tried to move and first moment when you
have realized that you cannot because one of your legs and left hand
are bound to old chair you are sitting in.
Panic shiver goes over your spin. "Don't be afraid Guest, I will not hurt you more than you like, your
bondage is only first step on your travel to find who you are and what
your conscience and sub conscience want."
"My name is Alice and I'm owner of this place of dreams. Without this
small trick every mystery and magic could be lost in short time and
that is not reason, why you have entered this house, don't you think?" Few pictures suddenly appear in your mind.
Old, black and white, almost faded photography of house, door with
rusty mailbox with mysterious, half covered figured of somebody
passing through. Old hand written draft of article in skin covered
diary, you are using for make notes about your dreams. "Yes, you remember, I can feel it. So feel free to explore my house
and you can stay as long as you want. You can unbound yourself by
blade lying on the table and you can you can use front or back door to
leave and enter building whenever you want. There is only one rule:
when some door are locked, you are not allowed to enter and please do
not even try." Your sight catch silver light on the table and in same moment your
feel she left the room but her musky exotic smell still stays in room
remind you something long time lost in your heart but in short time
soft breeze with rain scent prevail. It is not so easy to move whole old armchair with lion like legs you
are bonded to but you finally can pick half opened silver razor blade
from heavy wooden table laing almost out of your reach. Your diary is
lying nearby and both, diary and blade, are covered by petals of small
blue forget-me-not flower from vase. Some memory, like ghost is trying
to show you something, but street lamp behind of window cover room by
its orange light suddenly and ghost memory disappear before it can be
unveiled.
At last both of your hands are free and both legs too. Really sharp
blade is covered by few drops of your blood flowing down from open
wound on your leg. Wound is not dangerous but it will make you scar
for sure because it is deep and wide opened. Warm blood between toes
on your bare food.
Thanx to everyone who voted future / Dekuji všem kteří byli volit
This blog will be short and only one reason I'm writing it now is to thank Czech people, citizens of our small country.
I will not translate whole text, just meaning, because I'm writing only few factually informations in really ironical and aggressive diction that is not so important for people who live outside of Czech Republic.
As other European countries, we are standing on the edge of crisis and one of main reason is not global stock-exchange, but stupidity of parliament members. I was all the time anarchist pure heart, but of course I know, that is utopia, so it was reason why I wanted to give vote to future without stupidity, without people we already seen to govern our country in way to ruin it just because of their incompetence and selfishness.
I'm writing against Catholics in same sentence as against fascist and hypocrites.
This blog is thanxgivin' to all of the citizens, that has given us future and hope.
Hope is bitch who never die, and I love her much more, when she is so beautiful as my wife is.
So once again to Czech people and my promise to world that I will try hard to do my best for this world, we are living in.
Original Czech text, published at my main blog: http://petru.blog.idnes.cz/c/140943/Dekuji-vsem-kteri-byli-volit.html
Musím se přiznat, že možnost, že by naše země snad mohla mít zase jednou důstojné zastoupení lidu díky politikům, tak tahle myšlenka hýčkaná jako cennost, mi těsně před volbami připadala pomalu stejně utopická jako ono mé vysněné bezvládí.
Nedoufal jsem, stejně jako nedoufali mnozí moji kolegové a přátelé.
Osobně neznám nikoho, kdo by volil stranu Prasete Bradavičnatého (ke vší úctě k tomuto roztomilému živočichu, připadá mi, že do Afriky se hodí přece jen více než do Českého parlamentu), ale i přesto báli jsme se, že jeden slušný hlas proti populismu, nebo i jen někollik desítek proti hlouposti, že to všechno bude málo.
Jsem rád, že naděje umírá poslední (ta děfka nádherná) a jsem rád, že slušnost ještě také nesešla na úbytě. Ukázalo se, že ani vynikající kampaň zaměřená na blbce a hloupost, která, na nějaké hodne nízké rovině, nás spojuje všechny, ať už jsme intelektuálové nebo kovkopové a fotbalisti, tak že tahle kampaň byla jen hromadou vyhozených peněz.
Chtěl bych poděkovat bohu, za to, že jste šli volit a nevolili jste svině, o kterých to už víme, chtěl bych tomu bohu poděkovat, jestli naše volba byla šťastná. Neděkuji ale nakonec bohu, s jedním okem vševidoucím, ne snad proto, že něj nevěřím, ale proto, že mi moloch jeho uctivačů kazí život a mučí ženu těsně před svatbou, a volil jsem i proti jeho zástupcům (chtěl jsem říct vyvoleným, ale těmi nejsou ani křesťané ani demokraté, pamatuji-li správně ze starého zákona).
Tak tedy děkuji vám všem, kdo jste byli volit a volili jste za slušnost, skromost, rozum a změnu.
Jsem rád, že oranžová nebude v parlamentu stejně jako černá-hnědá buranů, fašistů a nácků a nebudem muset hajlovat, stejně jako nebudem muset vzpínat ruce v němé prosbě k bohu nicneřešícímu a zaostalému. Popravdě jsem stejně tak rád, že nedáme zelenou emotivnosti bez pevných základů.
Vyhrála budoucnost, nad hloupostí, minulostí a molotovovým šampaňským místo učebnic a vzájemné tolerance. Doufejme.
Dnes poprvé od revoluce v osmdesátémdevátém jsem na vás, na nás, občané hrdý.
Raděj bych nás všechny nazýval pouze lidmi, ale vím, že je to zas jen projev mé utopické mysli a proto jsem rád, že jsme alespoň občané s dobrým vkusem a snahou.
Vím, že ony molotovy to nevyřeší, stejně jako ješitnou nadudost nesmrtelných pederastů, zlodějské rozhazování nejen pražských místo-držících, vím, že volební lístky, stejně jako peníze nás nenakrmí, sopku ani černobilský ropný vrt neucpou a pochopení jiných nezvýší, máme před sebou práci. Hromadu práce. A týká se nás všech i když především dnes hlavně generace nás mezi třiceti a řekněme pětačtyřiceti lety (bez urážky).
Je načase vychovávat děti (ano vím, že já to své opustil a snad mi jednou odpustí), je načase tvořit hodnoty (ne jen HDP), ale můžeme se dnešní ráno poplácat po zádech a podat si ruce. Alespoň dnes můžeme věřit, že naši práci nerozkradou a své děti uvidíme vyrůstat bez dluhů do budoucnosti.
Tak tedy ještě jednou děkuji všem, kteří volili změnu a naději.
Chapter I
She told me her book will be like house, every chapter will be one room and I have found I want to walk through one of my own.
