Nepabeigtā dienasgrāmata


9. Aprīlis 2006

(bez virsraksta) @ 10:52

Viņš, šis Jans Debelaks, droši vien, bija iztērējis pamatīgu naudu, lai pilnībā zaudētu ārējo individualitāti. Labi, taču ne pārāk labi zobi, izbalinātas dzimumzīmītes, bezpersoniska tīra ķermeņa smarža, lēts pulkstenis, parastas brilles, ikreiz citas. Profesionālis. Superprofesionālis. Pasūtījums nozagt Koperniku varēja tikt vienīgi viņam.

6. Tie, kas uzskata metro par transporta līdzekli, nav lietas kursā par notiekošo. Viņiem parasti ir paņurcītas sejas, jaunākās avīzes, domas - līdzens fons, kas izšķīdina jebkuru infomāciju, vienalga, vai tas ir paziņojums no reproduktora vagonā vai aklo durvju iespiesta cilvēka kliedziens.

7. Tas jums nav nekāds transporta līdzeklis. Tas ir Metro, nepārtrauktai transformācijai pakļauta kopība, kas nekad nesatiksies vēlreiz tajā pašā sastāvā, kādā satikās šorīt no rīta vai vakar vakarā. Jēdziens "kā parasti" nedarbojas zem zemes. Nav šeit nekāda "kā parasti", nekad nav bijis.

Jans bija priecīgs par šo pasūtījumu. Viņam patika Kijeva, šī miegainā pilsēta, kuras skanīgās bruģētās ieliņas tevi piepeši aizved līdz pussabrukušai mājai, uz kuras sienas palicis tapešu kartes nospiedums no kādas citas mājas, jau nojaukta siāmas dvīņa, šeit dzīvoja Podoļskas sīkpilsoņi - rozā tapetes ar puķītēm, redzams taisnstūrains plankums no kādas bildes - reprodukcijas, ģimenes portreta?

8. Te nedarbojas mobilie telefoni, šurp nepienāk elektroniskais pasts. Metro tevi pieņem, iepriekš nofiltrējot visus tavus sakaru līdzekļus, atstājot tev vienu vienīgu konnekcijas paņēmienu - ieniršanu siltajā svešo un personisko domu, dežavū, refleksu un atmiņu buljonā.

9. Atrodoties metro, vairs nav svarīgi, kas tu esi, jo patiesībā tevis tā īsti vairs nav. Tava āriene deformējas, tavs intelekts nevienu neinteresē, tavas emocijas izšķīst kopējā virumā. Jādziens "personība" var iet atpūsties. Tūkstošiem cilvēku paskrien garām iekaisušajām acīm, salīkuši nejēdzīgās pozās. Krūtis, kas saplacinātas pret durvju stikliem, vēderi ar svešu elkoņu iespiestām bedrītēm, gūžas, ko defeormējuši vertikālie rokturi.

10. Tas domā ar miljoniem smadzeņu, sajūt ar miljoniem ķermeņu. Ar vienādu apetīti tas aprij izsmalcinātus slepkavas un bērnu ārstus, bet pēc tam izgrūž atpakaļ virszemē sabiedrībai nepieciešamajās proporcijās, iepriekš paņēmis kaut ko no ikkatra.
 

Comments

 
[User Picture Icon]
From:[info]anonymous
Date: 9. Aprīlis 2006 - 11:31
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Ko Tu te ņemies palmu svētdienas rītā?
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From:[info]dienasgramata
Date: 9. Aprīlis 2006 - 11:46
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iemēģinu jauno galdu
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From:[info]anonymous
Date: 9. Aprīlis 2006 - 11:50
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ej Tu nost! Tu gribi teikt, ka to viņš?


Ouija board
Would you work for me ?
I have got to say Hello
To an old friend

Ouija board, ouija board, ouija board
Would you work for me ?
I have got to get through
To a good friend
Well, she has now gone
From this Unhappy Planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors of it

Ouija board, ouija board, ouija board
Would you help me ?
Because I still do feel
So horribly lonely

Would you, ouija board
Would you, ouija board
Would you help me ?
And I just can't find
My place in this world

She has now gone
From this Unhappy Planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors of it

Oh hear my voice ("hear my voice")
Oh hear my voice ("hear my voice")
Hear my voice ("hear my voice")
Hear my voice ("hear my voice")
The table is rumbling ...
The table is rumbling
The glass is moving
"No, I was NOT pushing that time"
It spells : S.T.E.V.E.N

The table is rumbling
The glass is moving
"No, I was NOT pushing that time" :
P.U.S.H.O. double F.

Well, she has now gone
From this Unhappy Planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors of it
[User Picture Icon]
From:[info]dienasgramata
Date: 9. Aprīlis 2006 - 12:05
(Link)
In 1978, I spent some time in California in the fall, looking for a quiet place to live. I finally found what seemed to be the perfect apartment. But the night after I moved in I heard a tremendous pounding sound. As it turned out, I had moved in right above a Hawaiian hallow log drum school. Every other night, it was converted into a hula school with a live band of six Hawaiian guitars.
I decided to soundproof my place but I didn’t hang the door very well and all the sounds kept drifting in. About this time, like a lot of New Yorkers who find themselves on the West Coast, I got interested in various aspects of California’s versions of the occult. We would sit around at night when the Santa Anna winds howled outside, and ask questions to the ouija board. I found out a lot of information on my past 9,361 human lives on this planet. My first life was as a raccoon.

— And then you were a cow. And then you were a bird. And then you were a hat, spelled the ouija.

We said “a hat?” We couldn’t figure it out. Finally we guessed that the feathers from the bird had been made into a hat. Is this true?

— Yes, spelled the ouija. Hat counts as half life.

And then?

— Hundreds and hundreds of rave eyes.

Now this is apparently my first life as a woman, which should explain quite a few things. Eventually though, the ouija’s written words seemed to take a kind of personality, a kind of a voice. Finally we began to ask the board if the ouija would be willing to appear to us in some other form.

— Forget it, forget it, forget it, forget it, forget it, forget it.

The ouija seemed like it was about to crash. Please, please, what can we do ###060318 now so you will show yourself to us in some other manifestation?

— You should lurk. You should L, U, R, K. Lurk.

No, I never really figured out how to lurk in my own place, even though it was only a rented place, but I did find myself looking over my shoulder a lot. And every sound that drifted in seemed to be a version of this phantom voice whispering in a code that I could never crack.
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From:[info]nrk
Date: 9. Aprīlis 2006 - 11:36
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es atkal par to, ka Rīgā, redz, nav metro

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