(Para)filijos (graceless)

Prisiprašiau.

Reikia eiti išpažinties.

Gal tada laukimas nustos.

Gal tuomet laukimas išeis.

Ir vietoje laukimo pasibels vagis.

Noriu, kad mane pavogtų

Intenciškai,

Sąmoningai,

Libidiškai,

Su meile,

Klaidom.

Be taškų,

kablelių

vaikiškais veidais

teisėsaugos įsikišimu

geriausia

vagystė

pasaulyje


Yet, silence. Still, silence. It is so (un) pleasant to be alone. Sole. Incomplete. Equally pleasant to move to a new place. To change residence. Reside elsewhere. Everytime I change my residence, it appears to be some adventurous hot spot.


First, … Road, with a lucky giant window right into the jaws of the urban catastrophe with re-occurring police sirens and occasionally luxurious deaths.


Then, the brilliant culmination of everything, … Street, seemingly void and empty as it exists in a parking lot, and that virtually stands for nothing, so I am not even going to fabricate metaphors for you. And yet, amusingly, in that petty yet comfortable and warm place, everything that has been was erased in one motion.


Third, … Crescent. Such a nice name for a horrible landing. I was just wandering around my window, where, I think, someone had their drugs delivered, and it made me feel comfortably numb inside; silence and solitude within, yet life occurs elsewhere. How well it is to know that sometimes.


For a brief moment, I think of you– a free association, definitively – and here, too, I selfishly think to myself: how good that you exist, that you are, that life – maximally, whatever that means – is within you, around you.


Without me. For I am truly lifeless.


Fourth, … Walk. Five entire years of my existence, and I write this while picturing a different you. Without grace, it is here that I’ve learnt how to be an adult, but just like my father, I rebelled. I smashed windows, drank, on a petty whim smoked, fought with you, cherished you, envied for you, longer for someone else (what a coincidence; also a you) in secrecy and in the open.


Made the best meals, went on the worst hunger strikes. Was at my most eloquent, and at my longest dithyrambs for utter nonsense.


Caressed and beat you senselessly. With heart. Iš širdies.

Truly. Always. Pre-destined.


Left and returned.

Left and returned.

Left and returned.

Left and returned.

 

And thanked the monster who did not, after all, end up eating me alive. And cursed him all at the same time.


Fifth, … Quay, my only residence by the riverside. You, again, and me, still, sheltered together in a comfortable complacency. Shopping carts, a broken fridge, exploding toilet, having guests over. And, yet, detachment. Solitude. Distance. The most social, and the most lonesome.


Together, but opposite one another. Good phrase. No wonder; you’re the native speaker. And I remain the stranger.

Sufficiently, exceedingly eloquent, and yet, with just enough of a degree of nonsense. Strange words. Foreign expressions.


I make mistakes on purpose.

I commit errors to appear more human.

I appear fallible so that you have a task of completing me.

I am but an intention in this shithole of eternity.


And my, I gave you quite the completionist task.


Sixth, ... gatvė. All the streets in the motherland are called streets. No drives, crescents, quays. Just streets. And haven‘t I picked the most wonderful street of them all.

City on the left. Forest on the right.

Space, dragged out luxuriously. Everstreching us. Yet everything together, intimately. Intertwined. Like you and I.

Quite a task. Leaving everything you hold dear and familiar to follow a fever-eyed me toward yet another one of my lifelong caprices.


I didn’t even know why it was so important to me.


A fixation.

A need.

A yearning.

Longing.

For something.

To come.

Leaving the door

Completely unclosed

A thief

Could at least

Lose their way here.


It’s a little morbid; bringing you to a home in which I hoped another, no – the other – would lose their way there.


I was perfectly neglectful. Of you, and myself.

My unconscious vibrating maliciously and ever so invitingly.


Sunken in comfortable luxuries of heated floors and air conditioning, I was hoping my cross-hearted lunacy was merely a temporary teenage hiccup.


But you.

You have undone our home in ways even I could not foresee.

And the complicated sentiments that still resided – persisted – within me died the day I left our forest home.


Seventh, temporary yet significant … gatvė home. Distraught, dishevelled, clenching my former selfhood, and drunk – both literally and phantasmically – I decided to go against all my reservations.

I am located, even though temporarily, in a home of my dreams. Through my windows I see the Gediminas tower. In the mornings, I hear the bell tower ringing. A comfortable, large bed for a sole, small, petite, night-consumed me. The stuff of dreams. Literally and phantasmically.


The night has fallen, the gods were laughing, and I was, as if, drunkenly purring into the darkness. Language of the dark, I thought to myself.


How good, I thought to myself.

How good that I exist.

For now. Within this very moment.

Maximally. Whatever that means.

Hundred eyed and hundred armed.

Wishing to fixate all of my eyes.

Caress with all of my arms.

Within you. Around you. Which you?

 

And then, I thought to myself, I would certainly be ready to perish.

After all, how many homes can one have?

How many residencies must I forego?


And then, you.

You.

A free association, once again. It’s the first time I’m writing without aliases, pseudonyms, metaphors.

Ugly writing about archetypal human affairs.

Prose without an audience.

Prose for the most significant audience.

For once, prose that is not for the sake of prose.

Experience over aestheticism.


For you.


Tau.

 

Net dvikalbystė lengva.

Kai tu šimtaakis ir šimtarankis, turėti du liežuvius lengva.

Ir ten, čia, tarp šių liežuvių ir mano minčių, buvai, esi, tu. Visuomet.

Suskydusi proza jau dabar nebecenzūruojamam adresui.

Kažkur chrūsčiovkėj, su aptrūnijusia laiptine, nuvytusiom gėlėm ir svastika rūsyje.

Kur laikas sustoja ir ištįsta, vanduo neteka, o lengvai plevena, o mudu miegam amžinoje letargijoje.


Nelegalūs dalykai.
Vagystės.

Mano imbeciliška kalba.

Skubu užbaigti, kad neparašyčiau ko baisaus ir žmogiško.

Viskas išsakyta, išjausta, išliesta. Per pasaulį, rodos, praskrosta, visapusiškai.

Pasirodo, ne.

Ir tuomet, pasirodo, esi tu.

Ir visi mano eskimų bučiniai ir kalbos tamsoje ir šventieji pašventinimai atsistoja prieš mane išsyk.


Neturiu žodžių, gracijos,

Rankos mostų.

Nieko neliko.

Gėdos neliko.

Noriu išlaukti.

Ir tuomet niekad nebelaukti.

Jausti.

Per naują.

Iš seno.

Jau per naują

Jau dabar

Prisiprašiau

Intenciškai,

Sąmoningai,

Libidiškai,

Su meile,

Klaidom.

Be taškų,

Kablelių

tik

nevykusia

proza

iki

kito

karto