1. |
Hladinka
03:06
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HIGH SPIRITS
To perceive a walk in the city like a dream
and at night, asleep, to know what we know in waking.
Thereby we make two worlds grow closer,
thereby we open doors and enter out.
Whatever is not, is, and whatever is, is not.
The judicious know that judgement day has come
and the sun shines to never end it.
Try closing your eyes, you'll see without any change.
Try raising your eyelids... the dream won't end.
Try raising your eyelids... the dream won't end.
You are your own desire and its fulfilment,
you are the painter and her painting,
you are the one you're looking out for and the one that rushes after him,
you are the human warmth you offer to the palms of your hands.
In the world within the world, before the world, after the world,
I hear myself saying through my inner ear: „Lady!“
This address is its own reply.
I am all of you.
I raise my eyelashes, the dream won't end.
If only I weren't absolutely colour-blind,
I'd recognise images of fallen leaves within.
What I hadn't missed and what still awaits me.
In the rotting leaf drifts I'd see the maker of man.
HLADINKA
Nahlédnout chůzi městem jako sen
a v noci spící vědět to, co víme v bdění.
Tak v sobě oba světy sbližujem,
tak otvíráme dveře a vcházíme ven.
Co není, to je a co je, to není,
ví, kdo je soudný, že je soudný den
a slunce svítí k jeho neskončení.
Zkus zavřít oči, uvidíš beze změny.
Zkus víčka pozdvihnout... neskončí tím sen.
Zkus víčka pozdvihnout... neskončí tím sen.
Sobě jsi tužbou i jejím naplněním,
sama jsi malířkou i jejím obrazem,
jsi tím, jejž vyhlížíš, i tím, jenž spěchá za ním,
jsi teplem člověka, jež nabízíš svým dlaním.
Ve světě ve světě, před světem, za světem
sebe svým vnitřním sluchem slyším říkat: „Paní!“
To oslovení je také odvětem.
Jsem vámi všemi.
Pozdvihám řasy, nemizí tím sen.
Jen nebýt úplně barvoslepá,
rozpoznám v sobě obraz spadaného listí.
Co jsem neminula i co mě čeká.
V tlejících závějích zřím tvůrce člověka.
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2. |
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THE SONG OF THE MAN WHO HELD A MASS FOR MR. PRESIDENT EMIL HÁCHA
Is that really you –
– being kicked around and pissed on?
Life really is so nasty and ironic,
but you knew all this years ago.
You could have disappeared, say, to London
or rev up your fast car on the roads.
And now you're here, dear Mr. President.
I can only hope that you no longer feel the kicks.
All I can say for myself:
„I lack by far your strength
to push my own life aside and throw myself
humbly and headlong into shit.
Now I have to be here, I have to see all this.
The only thing I'm capable of is being ashamed.
And you are here, dear Mr. President.
And I can only hope that you no longer feel the kicks.“
PÍSEŇ ČLOVĚKA, KTERÝ DAL SLOUŽIT MŠI ZA PANA PREZIDENTA EMILA HÁCHU
Opravdu jste to vy –
- ten zkopanej a pomočenej?
Život je fakt zlý ironik,
vy jste to všechno už před lety vědět.
A moh´ jste třeba zmizet do Londýna
nebo po silnicích tůrovat bourák.
A teď jste tady, drahý pane prezidente.
Já jen doufám, že kopance už necítíte.
O sobě můžu říct:
„Zdaleka nemám vaši sílu
zahodit svůj život a jít
pokorně a pohlavě do průseru.
Teď tu musím být, tohle musím vidět.
Jediné, co dokážu, je se stydět.
A vy jste tady, drahý pane prezidente.
Já jen doufám, že kopance už necítíte.“
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3. |
Hadí sestry
02:41
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SNAKE SISTERS
Sister, we're entangled like snakes.
Where are you, where is she, where am I?
Who did I move by my spine?
Who heats my skin?
Once we weave our nest together
from shiny threads,
you can clearly read from your own skin,
what it never would have said without mine.
I feel between me and you
the gentle pulsing of someone's blood.
The only certain thing is that it's yours or mine,
from my or your vessels.
If somebody's jaw
bites into our meat,
our body will cramp.
My body, hers and yours.
HADÍ SESTRY
Sestro, jsme jak klubko hadí.
Kde jsi ty, kde ona, kde jsem já?
S kým jsem pohla svou páteří?
Kdo mou kůži prohřívá?
Když své hnízdo dohromady
z lesklých vláken spleteme,
ze své kůže jasně vyčteš,
co v ní nestojí bez mé.
Cítím mezi mnou a tebou
jemně tepat něčí krev.
Jisté je jen, že tvou či svou,
ze svých nebo ze tvých cév.
Jestliže se něčí čelist
v naše maso zakousne,
tělo se nám stáhne křečí.
Tělo mé, její i tvé.
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4. |
V Is With Mum
03:19
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V is with mum. Yes, yes. No more riddles.
No more horses raging in veins.
No more looking for lost arms.
No more unknown words of Babylon.
Just only yes. We are sandpainters.
Did he know it when the wind blew his unfinished work out?
Again and again and again. We cannot build constelations.
Maybe we can make someone laugh a bit. We are sandpaiters.
Mum is with V. After ten years.
He cried like a walnut tree cuted down in march
But there is an end to everything,
Even to this divorce. Thirty three.
Thirty three yet again... maybe more
And maybe only halfday till 10 a. m. on tomorrow.
Our bodies are sandsculptures also and noone knows
Which of elements gonna free our souls
Into the sun, the future he read about.
No if, no when, just now.
And so called future is gonna turn
To ash, to dust, to future past.
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Recordings On the Road Czech Republic
Collective publishing project of a few kindred musicians, flowing outside (on periphery or in underground) the Czech music happening and mostly devoted themselves to alternative rock or avantgarde music. Stylistically diverse is united by a similar attitude to music perceived not as a medium, but as the way, autonomous and eminently participating on our lives, on our road. ... more
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