You are not in the mood to go in. Into the store. Into a queue of people.
There's a movement of restlessness within you, a hysterical gelatin in the neck.
Thick sweat is being spilled down your thin skin.
You close up. You are dizzy. Tiles are in movement. There's a wall crawling towards you.
The back of some toilet seat breaks off. Something coughs.
Something coughs in two and feels itself with open mouth:
your face – frightened, twisted, soft in a spot that is intangible.
You hold on to a door knob. Descriptions of hidden horror run into your arms.
You are not in the mood to go in, but you do.
You have to buy something. You urgently need something.
Something on a shelf. Something there, inside, in the dizziness of the place.
You enter. Tiles stare at you. You are not in the mood to continue.
You are not in the mood to go – to be here.
You feel dispersion in your nails. You run like white sand through all the bones.
You can’t inhale all the way. You can’t do it from the beginning.
You hurry to the shelf. All is flickering, all revolving.
Eyelids squeeze down to your teeth, teeth cling to other teeth.
A heartbeat slides like varnish on wood.
And finally you reach your shelf.
Here it is what you urgently need. Here it is …
You take it. You go to the cashier, in the queue, where there is no one.
You run out, to the first curve, and sit on yourself …
… holding onto what you have bought,
something you have urgently wanted from birth:
a forgery of Munch's The scream with a golden frame to put on the wall.
Ni ti iti vanjo. V trgovino. V vrsto ljudi.
V tebi je gibanje nemira, histerična želatina v vratu.
Gosti znoj se poliva po redki koži.
Zapreš se. Vrti se ti. Ploščice so v gibanju. Proti tebi leze stena.
Zlomi se hrbet neke straniščne školjke. Nekaj zakašlja.
Nekaj zakašlja na dvoje in se otiplje z odprtimi usti:
tvoj obraz – prestrašen, izkrivljen, mehek v točki, ki je neotipljiva.
Primeš se za kljuko. V roke stečejo opisi skrite groze.
Ni ti iti vanjo, a greš.
Nekaj moraš kupiti. Nekaj nujno potrebuješ.
Nekaj na polici. Nekaj tam, notri, v vrtoglavici prostora.
Vstopiš. Ploščice bolščijo vate. Ni ti iti naprej.
Ni ti iti – biti tu.
V nohtih čutiš razhajanje. Stečeš kot beli pesek po vseh kosteh.
Ne moreš do konca vdihniti. Ne moreš od začetka.
Pohitiš do police. Vse miglja, vrti se.
Veke se stisnejo do zob, zobje se oklenejo drugih zob.
Utrip srca spolzi kot lak po lesu.
In končno prideš do svoje police.
Tu je to, kar nujno potrebuješ. Tu je …
Vzameš. Greš k blagajni, v vrsto, kjer ni nikogar.
Stečeš ven, do prvega ovinka, in sedeš nase …
… in v rokah držiš, kar si kupil,
kar nujno potrebuješ že od rojstva:
ponaredek Munchovega Krika z zlatim okvirjem za na steno.
