HOW TO STEAL A STORY
Easy.
You are just copying the received letter. From Cetinje. From Željko Dapčević. A friend. Good and dear.
You resist in vain, the story is stronger.
"Here I took some time, so I said I'd call you. We are well and healthy, which we wish you too. I hope that this letter will find you in good health and mood...
How good those times were when letters started like that. When the blue envelope did not mean a bribe but contact with dear people. Those letters in blue envelopes were somehow warm, slow, tender. The second is telegrams. They are aggressive. Whether they carried good wishes or sad news, they were somehow quick, sharp, penetrating. Even the postmen who brought them had a different voice and demeanor. Officially.
And the letters? The letters were like pieces of soft cotton sheets, with which we could cover and conceal ourselves. Of course, not whole and for a long time, but it was still warm and snug. I always opened the letter with fear, fearing that by tearing open the envelope, I would tear and hurt the white letter inside. And then the letter would be read and read. As many times as needed. It was stored in books, notebooks, under the pillow... Then it was taken out again and read. Today, no one reads these e-mailed letters twice. The machine sorts and remembers them by itself. They become her property. Power goes out - no letters. There are no messages. No friendship. When the memory fails, half the brain also fails. Gone are the memories. Words. Think. Photographs. Everything goes. The man began to live a double life. One in your brain, the other in your computer. And computers are becoming more and more powerful and easier to hack. They take in and take with them more and more of our life.
And why am I writing this? I just wanted to ask you if the viruses finally gave up and lost the battle with you. Do you ride a bike? The word cycling always makes me think of storks (God knows why). So I'm not far from the picture.
You are on top of a brick chimney, in the middle of a big sod of twigs and grass, calmly pedaling your bicycle and curiously observing the world. Who knows what else is in that picture. And the river, and houses, and poplars, and the obligatory clouds and kids in the mud on the street, excited...
This is the kind of friend you have.
And I just wanted to ask you - How are you, my God?"
HOW I BUYED MYSELF
Easy.
There are various ads. Verbal, written, written on notes in windows, pinned to poles, printed in various newspapers, printed in "Advertisements", and most of them are electronic, on the Internet.
And my name appeared in an electronic one. I peek curiously.
Twelve books are sold for 299 dinars. Among them Reflection, my book of poems, I really need, because I don't have any copies left to give away.
I bought it immediately.
She got it right away. By post. I did not see the seller.
And I'm in good company. Yesenin, Mayakovsky, Desanka and eight Somboracs. First pages, with dedications, torn.
U Reflection – no.
My dedication is looking at me.
Dedicated to the famous journalist from Sombor.
Fair, it couldn't be fairer.
It's time for the buyer to know who the seller is, and it's time for me to find out who I "trusted", that's exactly how I wrote - I gave the book as a gift.
HOW THE PICTURES WALK
Easy and silent.
Unusual. At night while I sleep peacefully. I don't know why.
I just have a hunch.
Although they are right next to each other, and there are many of them, of different sizes, and the smaller ones, as if they want to snuggle up, warm themselves and try to get closer to the bigger ones with their sides, some seem to be chasing each other, then with their upper arms they try to push away the picture above, some seem to be afraid, then with their corner-shoulders they try to hide in the armpits of the neighbors, and some proudly stand still...
I don't hear their movements, I don't feel them, and I don't notice them immediately.
They never woke me up.
Usually during the day, quite by chance, I see that all the pictures are distorted, so I don't know if they were really walking and if and where they would have walked all the way if the nail didn't hold them firmly.
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