[Sometimes man was grateful to dust…]

Sometimes man was grateful to dust, sometimes he knelt before dust and was grateful to it for every nook in which he could hide, sometimes he wanted to give his entire heart to dust, just so that he could sweep those nooks with his little broom, be sweeping out granules and motes, even when there was nothing left to sweep, man then sometimes knelt before his own hands, laid them out on the tablecloth and prayed for crumbs, for each lump of bread gone hard, just so that his palms could touch and give meaning, man then sometimes shelved books already on their shelves, sometimes watered already-watered plants and told himself all would be well in the end, told himself that in the end man will be, that man sometimes and then in the end, and man spoke to man, sometimes to man, sometimes from man, and told himself and spoke, because there was nothing to say, nothing sometimes, and in those times man hid his palms between his thighs, so that he would not see them, sometimes he’d had it up to here with his hands, the hands that swept and gave meaning to soft planes, man was sometimes, sometimes was man, and sometimes grateful to dust and knelt before dust for every nook in which he could hide and sing to himself in gratitude for every mote, even when no voice was at hand or after man, because there was nothing to say, because before the sun behind the sun, no one wants to stand.

* * *

[Man was crossing out and rewriting…]

Man was crossing out and rewriting, man was crossing out and rewriting man, extending tendons and layering strikethroughs over the already crossed-out man and saying I love you, and he had no weather, had no weather for his words, because he had been crossing out and rewriting man through and through and gotten himself tangled in strikethroughs and airlessness, and then only in airlessness, man was a love-affair with airlessness, oh, and saying I love you and ceaselessly crossing out and rewriting every little cloud in man, and man without clouds had no weather for man, but kept saying I love you, and man loved man without clouds, oh, and the sweet scent of blooming lilacs, and white cherry blossoms, and the aerated green of grass, and the song of blackbirds above people without people wove through the air and clutched hearts.

* * *

[Man is thinking of man by the things he used to touch…]

Man is thinking of man by the things he used to touch, the doors he opened, the pedestrian crossing, by tram numbers, the curb he once stepped over, the scent in the shrub dispersed by autumnal air, man is thinking of man by the groove carved into the wood of one bench, the changeable color of light in the crown of a tree, by the streets he walked, man is looking for man on the steps to a park, looking for the brief touch of fingers on a colorless railing, for air wrinkled with voice, handwriting on a level surface, man is looking for man by the light in which he once stood, by joined palms and the laughter that let contours softly flow, man is thinking of man and tears fall onto an open pocket-mirror, and the drops run over the glass, and women are more beautiful because they are strangers and men are more beautiful because they are strangers, and every man and every woman is a star, and man is looking for a blue note, man is thinking of man and holding a blue note eastward of music, man is a blue note, I beg you, do not barge into the period at the end of the sentence.

* * *

[Are you angry with me?…]

Are you angry with me? But why? For what reason? Why are you angry with me? Can you, please, just tell me? Can you please at least give me a hint? See, I don’t know why you’re angry, I can’t think of a single reason, I have no idea what it is that I have done, what have I done that was so terrible? I beg you, why don’t you want to tell me? Why don’t you at least tell me the reason why you’re angry with me? I don’t know…can I do something about it? See, if you don’t tell me why you’re angry with me, how can I change it? What can I do about it? How can I fix it? I beg you, can you just tell me? Please, tell me, tell me what’s going on, see, I have no idea what’s going on, and I beg you, tell me what happened. If we don’t tell each other, how is anything supposed to change? How? What should I do? Tell me, please, tell me…see, I care about you…Why don’t you want to tell me? Why? Do you not care about it? Does it not matter to you? Do we not matter to you? I have no idea what this is about so I can’t do anything about it, but how can I do something about it when you won’t tell me what’s wrong? And please, can you forgive me for this thing that I’ve done? I don’t really know what for, but could you please just forgive me for it, for the thing that I’ve done, you know I didn’t mean to hurt you, did I offend you somehow? Did I say something that offended you? Or did I say something to somebody that I shouldn’t have? But I have absolutely no idea what, do you see that, I have no absolutely no idea what I’ve done, I have no idea, see…Could you, please, tell me? How can I know what I’ve done when you won’t talk to me? I beg you, talk to me. Talk to me! We can’t change it, if you won’t talk to me…How should I know what to do differently, when you won’t tell me? I care about you, don’t you see that I care about you? Please, tell me what’s wrong, tell me and I’ll do everything to change it…What have I done that was so terrible that you stopped talking to me? Is it because of the gun? Is it? Are you angry with me because I held a gun to your head? Sure, I held a gun to your head, fine, I admit it, but the gun was only a toy, see? That I pulled the trigger on you? Fine, I pulled the trigger, sure, I held the gun to your held and pulled the trigger, but the gun was only a toy! I would never really hurt you, see, I would never, I care about you, sure, I admit that I pulled the trigger, but I love you, do you hear me? I love you, I love, don’t you see? I’m only human, like you…I love you! I’m sorry! Please forgive me, I love you! Forgive me! I love you! Forgive me!

* * *

[Love, come look…]

Love, come look, do you see that dirt, look at what that dirt is doing, do you see how it lifts, do you see how it moves, there’s something under that dirt, do you see how it breathes under the dirt, come look at it, don’t worry, see how the dirt periodically lifts and falls, see how it lifts and falls under the dirt, try stepping on it a little, don’t worry, just do it lightly, see if it does anything, if it keeps breathing like this, ahh, that’s it, it is breathing, what do you think is breathing there under the dirt, love, try moving the dirt aside with your shoe like this, don’t worry, just use your shoe to move a little bit of the dirt aside, ahh, that’s it, what is that, gross, that’s nasty, you know it looks like…like a face, or something, and look how it’s all spattered, someone must have poured something on it, or something, see how it’s all sprinkled, slimy and pockmarked, and those nasty stains, as if burned by something, and look, it really is moving, like a crushed slug, or some lump of rancid butter come alive, and look at this moldy hole that looks like a mouth, it’s moving, but it’s not doing anything, really, it’s not doing anything, come, love, let’s see, go ahead and pee on it, come on, don’t worry, that fungus probably doesn’t even know it’s alive, just look at it, how funny it is, nothing will happen to you and it won’t hurt it, just give it a try, love, we’ll have a little fun, stand over it like this, see, it’s only moving in the middle, but other than that it’s not doing anything, pull up your skirt, pull down your panties, just to your knees, don’t worry, and right into that moldy hole that looks like a mouth, ahh, that’s it, beautiful, beautiful, it’s flowing in, look at how that hole moves, making those little circles, like it wants to say something, like some beached little fish, ahh, right, get some, little fish, so that you don’t dry up there under that dirt, gulp it all down, ahh, beautiful, love, just like that, and over here too, where those little slits that look like eyes are, shoot a few drops in there too, and look, love, the thing really blinks, beautiful, beautifully repulsive, are you empty, love, okay, that’s fine, let’s go then, come on, put your clothes back on, ahh, right, and let’s leave, come on, and hey, do you think it was a man, I don’t know, maybe we should have covered it up with the dirt again.

* * *

[You are at the end of the day…]

You are at the end of the day and your hands turn quiet on things. You are at the end of the day, just as you are, as table, plate, butter knife, man alone with no profession, only man. You lie down and night lights up network connections inside you, cascading cities set in slopes under swirling ridges, waterfalls of flat roofs, pillars of white stone, phosphorous lights in windows and behind them voices, families, destinies, of man, which you are. So many people in the world. Truly, is no one superfluous? So much light in a single night, which we are, you and I.

Translated by Ondřej Pazdírek