Virbidas
Kmiras
A BOY WITH
A FLY AGARIC IN HIS HAND
Not
necessarily in the fall, outside in the woods,
in the path. Not necessarily a flasher, wacky and
angry. Watching a couple of sunsets going on. Alone
as the blood running in his hands, bright, sharp
and irreversible, the color of the poisonous thing.
The other a global one. Almost invisible, because
near him there are repeating messages saying that
everything is recovering, and they are suppressing
him. He is colorless. Like panoramas in their endless
alternations, mingling into each other (like two
equally deep puddles of mud).
The
boy is observing the alternations of his fixed
states. Not necessarily from increased anxiety,
an always similar hunger and even greater desire
to be explained. It is only now that he recognizes
all earlier knowledge as unapproachable (even though
it was inside him, in his left hand). Only after
he attained the real sunset did the other (which
was also going on, somewhere in the west) gain
the real meaning of something finishing. Only
after expelling
it out from himself, did the boy with a fly agaric
in his hand disappear. Not necessarily with a fly
agaric, not necessarily for ever, not necessarily
a boy.
Translated
by A. Fomina, K. Sh. Keys
©
Amber-Chamber studio, MMIII
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