Status Updates From Polje

‘& I don’t mean crazy like (them) who sometimes—sit on the grass—talking to the birds. I mean real madness. Madness that wears a tie and polished shoes. That nods at the bathroom mirror in the evening, and can’t stop laughing because it knows it’s won again, it can’t lose, because it has nothing to lose. It’s a madness whose fingers are short and thin, too small to hurt another—but just big enough to press a button.’

‘Whether God played a part in my genesis I can’t say—I never got to know him—I pulled down the rattling shutter—on my knees. I had a strange impulse to thank God. I recited what I believed to be the right words. But even as they were coming out of my mouth—I thought about them—(how) meaningless they seemed—evening—smelled like rain—moths fluttered—Perhaps there were things I would have done differently—probably not.’

‘—smelled of damp earth & elderflower—Time seems to stand still—set in a kind of aspic—thoughts buzz like flies grown sluggish in the autumn—the same song keeps playing on the radio, always the same one—over & over again—November rain—the Golden Moon—schnapps—forehead against the window—the passing landscape disappear behind my cloudy breath—the last creatures of the night stagger out—peonies—carnations & hyacinths—’