Intro.. ...Back Draw... ..Along Poems.. ...More This once happened in a suburban neighborhood which no longer exists. There lived a boy named Patrick: and many people don't remember him anymore. And if we take into account that his memory has always fed on the forgery of images: even he himself is not quite in the picture anymore. It's almost as if he ceased to exist: which didn't happen suddenly (he didn't disappear or evaporate like a ghost) rather it looked as if some another person grew around him: kind of similar: but definitely not as carefree. He was a little boy: an only child and spoiled. He couldn't stand the pain and cried quickly: but since he could lie well: he managed to keep this secret from other important guys. He was even Marosh' best friend - who was the absolute boss on the street: and they talked together: that they have never cried before and will never cry at all. It is not important that a few months later everything was shamefully revealed - because the following events took place while everything was in order and in place. Patrick woke up quite late that morning: and although he wasn't particularly aware of it - he felt great. His whole body was immediately started to fly away. There was a scent coming from the kitchen - coffee and some food: and someone was talking there. It was Grandma and Aunt Anka: who divined from the coffee grounds: what happened to the white-faced girl: "who lives in the attic flat above the grocery store: that she now looks so blue" :and why they don't bake those big round breads anymore. The divine summer sun was shining outside. Patrick kicked off the quilt: turned onto his stomach: tucked his legs under him: put his hands on the pillow: put his head on his hands and started singing Red Apple and swaying from side to side. Everyone in Patrick's family called this act swaying: and it was said: that his mother also did it: when she was little - and it was really powerful shamanism. Powerful - such as casting spells and dancing for the rain: or for a good harvest: because you could ride a horse without a saddle during it: and go hunting or jump into the water to save Anka: and then take her to her house: where she was in love with another man: but Patrick also had another girl: which got very messed up: and in the end: they had to be just friends: even though he had to kiss her very badly. And every time they passed each other: she wanted only him - because he was the hero. Today was best to keep coming back to that moment: when she tells him she'll love him forever and he then kisses her on her little thin lips and pointy nose - like the corner of his little pillow. Several times it happened that someone surprised him while he was swaying: but he didn't mind: one could even say - he sang even louder: when he had an inkling: that someone was listening: and even louder: when he knew it was a stranger. Something like this happened to him many times after that: and it happened many times to the person he turned into as well and likewise: he was always a little ashamed afterwards. But that person could no longer afford to jump out of the window: or hug someone tightly: or otherwise - just disappear - and thus leave the whole thing behind once and for all.So when Patrick: in three graceful movements: carried himself over the window- sill straight into the garden: he had to slip quietly along the wall and up to the door: where his sneakers were lying. If grandma had seen him outside in his socks: he would have had to listen to questions he didn't have answers to: and if he didn't want to look guilty enough - he could have been spanked. Although the drums were not heard often in his childhood song: Grandma dusted the skin on his ass occasionally - and it wasn't that long ago (Since then: he has really started to suspect her of clairvoyance) :when she caught him again naked under the covers. He couldn't understand at all: why she always turns so red and starts pulling his elbow - when he feels naked: in that smooth darkness: so pleasantly. There are always some extra great places in every garden: and here it was mainly around the fence and above the garage. If we do not count the attic (where large translucent walruses live in winter) :the whole garden was the most divine to play. The car garage: in which Grandma and Grandpa had bicycles: was almost completely glued to the fence: and when you pressed your ass against the wall: you could slowly climb up to its roof. There you could hide perfectly under the apricot branches: fill yourself with orange meat and lie somewhere in Africa: where trees with cinnamon bark and vanilla flowers grow. Or tearing shiny leaves: making a hole in them with your tongue and talking about what motorbikes and boats you will buy - when Marosh was also there - or what dogs we will buy: Anka - but this lately less: because it was almost impossible to do anything with Anka lately.
When they met at the Ice Cream Parlor the day before yesterday: she didn't look him in the eyes at all and even called him by his last name: which bit: and then he didn't look at her too. He was looking at the ice cream woman's nutty belly: which was under the knot on her shirt: but it was unpleasant: because Anka was still very much there on the left - and every breath she took hummed in his head like an insidious crosswind: and in the end: he couldn't even say to her: "Anna" :even though Marosh shouted at her twice: "Fat cow." And the worst thing was that it was impossible to forget it: and it was quite disturbing to Patrick: when he wanted to think about her - but now it was necessary to be fast: really deadly rapidly: run off the porch. Patrick did it really at the last moment: because grandma was just seeing off Aunt Anka. When he was tying his sneakers around the corner: he heard: that Aunt Anka would send Anka: to let the children play together: and that she had already been beaten today: because she had thrown new knee socks into the stove. That was good news - that he would be able to be alone with Anka from the morning. They could go look at the rails - where Marosh told him yesterday that "the cunt is a hairy woman" and he imagined her as some fat lady with hair on her cheeks and forehead: minutely and again and again. As he now looked at the blue thing growing on the midden: he said the word to the nettle: and it made him feel devilishly warm. There was always something to look at on the midden: grandfather also put broken wine and drowned kittens there: which meowed: when he drowned them in a bucket. It took a really long time then: and Patrick had to go and see them: and they knew how to swim: they climbed on their big blind heads and they opened their pink and purple mouths - and later there they were: like three hairy bananas and you couldn't take your eyes off them - how wormy and boiling they are. If he still manages to find their skeletons: similar to white-eyed lizards: he will be able to make sure again: that: they do not look blind at all: but as if they saw some thick darkness: which now spills from their eyes. Patrick knew enough about darkness: that it was good during the day: but not at night: because it was full of all kinds of red colors and movements: but it was also as tempting as the blackberry compote up in the pantry: and it was also healing to the eyes and in the morning the breasts are hastily packed in it: and the girls wear it under their skirts: when you can see them into the far.
The pears were hung farthest in the garden. Patrick took a large gatherer from the fence: which looked like a crazy net for butterflies: and he immediately became supreme king: and the president of all butter pears up to the sky: about which the lavish crosier testified here in his hands. In the vineyard: the gatherer fell from his hands among the dwarf apple trees: which were crouching there under the grapes: and five of their huge hard and sour apples fell to the ground - everyone admired them even though no one could ever eat them - so he quickly ran back to the fence to hide behind the dry branches. There were always ants and he was very fond of ants: from the days: when he was riding in a stroller - he was looking at them through the stupid upholstered hoop: which could not be undercrawled: neither pushed away: nor anything - as they walk freely along the sidewalk and he was stretching out his arms over them. Today they had some weird long wings like Zorro's cloaks: but they didn't fly anywhere: instead they followed each other on foot: and that seemed quite strange to Patrck - he would rather have understood: that they would perform like those acrobatic swallows: when it is about to start raining - and they fly close to people's ears. The ants were marching somewhere in the vegetables: and Patrick remembered: that Grandma had soaked the speckled beans for sauce yesterday: and that it would be nice to eat a little. Grandma wondered: when he came out and why she didn't hear him at all: but she was in a pretty good mood: so it was enough for her: when he said: "a while ago:" and asked for food - what always calmed her: and also to Anka's grandmother it always did good expresion on her face: - so it was necessary to do it often: and then eat with gusto in front of them - then they were good children. Grandma did not establish lunch yet: she was just preparing a cake and she had an almost full bowl of boned cherries on the table. Patrick was all transformed into cherry bliss: fortunately Grandma didn't notice: that his hands weren't washed: because: she was busy mixing snow. Grandma was a powerful winter queen. There was nothing good in the fridge: so Patrick asked for bread with butter and ground paprika and sat down opposite the open door. When he was finishing the long brown crust: the gate creaked: and therefore: he had to quickly get back into his sneakers: what he did great: and immediately ran like flash on a hard clay path to the gate: on which he had to donate blood from his knee many times. But not today.
Anka was wearing some kind of white girl's dress: which was tied behind the neck with a bow: white sandals and green dotted panties that showed through her skirt. So it was clearly visible: that they would not go to the track today. But Patrick wasn't so sorry: because he knew for sure: that their great shared passion for snails and beetles: certainly hadn't left her: and it would be enough to turn a few bricks on their bellies - and so it happened. She was very afraid of those rusty centipedes: which always zigzagged into a hole like accordion buses and she was afraid of cobwebs: even though not spiders. He never understood that: and the poor spiders also: because she always chopped every their net what she saw. :But she knew how to grab anything in her hand: and even the locusts: of which Patrick was afraid in turn. When they had enough round flat ones in the cup: what do they pretend to be dead: it was necessary to institute a farm for snails: but there were no pink ones anywhere - these were the most valuable: because there were the least of them - and they didn't find the ones with the thick brown stripes either. That's why Patrick had to climb through two gardens - through trick barbed wires: iron spikes: and other insidious militia: to get under the old walnut: where pink snails most often lived. He did a great job in all of this: and when: he leaped before Anka straight from the top of the fence: he felt a warm triumphant pride in himself: which still warmed him for a while: also then: when he was putting snails on burdock and apricot leaves: but when she then pulled her panties to her knees: stepped on the path in front of him: and gave him the first long blue look in his life: so: he could no longer say: how he felt. He used to be happy: when he had his mouth full of vanilla cream: or: he used to feel cold or heat: or he was normally weak: but now: he felt kind of overmixed. Patrick had never seen so far away. And even though: he focused on her at that time only two slightly longer views - and it all lasted barely a quarter of a minute: it all remained in his head: nicely detailed: every moment: glued with a strong 3 second glue. As she crouches there: the second blue look: when she takes burdock: shakes the snail from it: and she leaves it there a side: to guard itself letter secret.. As she puts her panties by thumbs quickly: when it's all over.. And: as easily: she runs from there in a moment: through the orange gate directly onto the summer-heated street.
![]()