MY
FIRST MAN: SENTIMENTAL VOMIT
I have never written or reminisced about it
as if this part of my memory got blocked: the recollections are vague and dim
as if it had happened in my infancy long before I became who I became — DEPRAVED UNBRIDLED MONSTER
I think I know what happened: I made myself forget about it
my first experience with another man
that guy whose place I crashed at in Leningrad
I don’t remember clearly neither his face nor his cock—just a blurry eroded image
I was 17 he was near 40
Things did not get to fucking
everything was quite innocent: I was lying like a log giving him complete freedom of action but he was delicate and courteous perhaps too much so
He touched me all over and gave me a great blow job — my first blow job ever!
He came twice but I was too nervous and stiff so I couldn’t come no matter how hard he and I tried
He liked my body even my skinny legs he called “sexy”
It must have been from him i first learned that i was attractive and this knowledge turned my world upside down
In order to impress my teenage imagination he took me to a Beriozka hard currency store where we solemnly acquired a bottle of some imported vodka
My imagination was indeed impressed
It was bitterly cold we were dying to get warm so we split the bottle between the two of us
That night I didn’t eat anything except some solyanka that was a bit off
I got sick and puked all over him his bed and his bedroom
I made a mess
I vaguely remember how he started undressing me and when I was already naked he tried to take off the golden cross I was wearing (I got baptized shortly before that and was very religious at the time)
I got ravenously angry called him a faggot a pervert and proudly fell asleep in my own puke while he offended went to sleep on the sofa
A couple of months later I was arrested by the militia for a drunken row in the moscow subway the cops in the sobering station having beaten me up and stripped me naked emptied my pockets and expropriated my golden cross and my watch then threw me onto the concrete floor to “relax” under an icy cold shower where I realized that god had turned away from me and that my religion was not even worth my vomit
Upon my return to Moscow I sent him some of my poems full of adolescent fears depression and vague forebodings of a future knockout life
He wrote me mad love letters to my old address — letters which I read only after his death when he either slipped or jumped off a balcony
one of them stated that he “cannot live without me”
these words meant absolutely nothing to me
later on things happened this way more than once
The only thing that I do remember clearly and forever is the scent of his cologne Drakkar — the scent that I can unmistakably distinguish from any others even though I myself never use perfume
Now it seems to me he was even good-looking
Back then anyone could have taken his place
I was waiting to be seduced and used the first one who came in handy (even though he was sure it was him who used me—so young and innocent!)
He was only part of the faceless crowd of extras—one of those who later in my life were countless
MY FIRST MAN
THE FIRST OF THOUSANDS
a semi-poet/semi-journalist/semi-playboy who didn’t leave behind anything except a slim book of poems and some rapidly aging boys who to this day preserve memories of his embraces
I entered his life and unceremoniously appropriated it
I adopted his identity and extended it to the point where he no longer existed
My adolescent depression grew into something greater than a simple yearning for a good life and someone's strong arms
Even now I am writing not so much about him but about the vomit with which essentially the whole thing had begun
Since then whenever I see vomit I get sentimental
November 11th, 1998, New York—London
PRAGUE HOLIDAYS
It's true that in prague there are almost no blacks
they don't inhabit this place
just like the chinese and the latinos
the prague pussyboys sell their bowels at every corner
dmitri says i'm exaggerating
ok then let's put it this way:
the prague pussyboys sell their bowels at every OTHER corner
this is the main source of the national income and the export of europe's bangkok
the jism hasn't yet dried on their lips but they already run again to the train station luring in their clients with their blue-eyed pimpliness and blond homelessness
for 15 bucks you can come into their mouth and for 30 do whatever you want with them
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxisn't that right prague you bitch?!
czechs are good but slovaks are better
i want to become a pimp let them train me
my unbearable desire to fuck some japanese or chinese girl with meek lustful eyes and braces on her teeth
my insufferable desire to be fucked by a squadron of some flying hussars by a whole stormcloud of cocks
my irrepressible desire to attack drag into a basement rape in the most savage way kick in the stomach suck and piss all over head to toe shit into the mouth scream EAT YOU BASTARD EAT burn heels with a blow-torch cut into pieces fry and gorge with a hysterical mouth and then
my irresistible desire to be roped up tied up with belts handcuffed to a red-hot radiator with a stinking gag in my mouth bloody mess instead of my face my body disheveled and torn to shreds looking with punched out eyes at pitiful remnants remains leftovers scraps stumps rags of myself turning into shit expiring coming with a torn off cock my gnawed neck writhing pleading to finish me off in a ravine with orgasms smiling toothlessly with a torn mouth
i strongly doubt prague can help me with any of the above
at the most inappropriate and tense moment /as always!/ some asshole starts on a violin the fucking moscow virtuosos have already taken all the best places by the john
why is it that guys with shaved heads always check out the other guys with shaved heads?
of course prague shaved-headedness is but a pale copy of german skinheadness but it's no less arousing
i am not used to slavs anymore their submissiveness and laziness
ISN'T IT TRUE THAT SLAVS SHOULD BE SLAVES? /just as they always were!/
prague prague what is my name to you?
here there's enough slavs to eat with your ass
hence this is no place for me
i need to have my name pronounced with pain letter by letter its sounds coughed and spat out breaking the tongue and distorting the mouth repeating it as a divine tongue-tying mantra as a senseless crooked-mouth incantation
before sending me for a fatal assignment
before bringing me for a brutal sacrifice
what could be sadder than the look of unused rubbers
unopened untouched unsoiled by my and others excretions?!
here's the epitaph to my senseless worthless life
here's the sad conclusion to my possessed wanderings
and then again this arousing homelessness and this sweet orphanhood
captivating abandonment and feigned unnecessity
disclaimation and dissatisfaction
this sorrowful hurtful expectation
of new losses and old finds
September 1997, Prague
DREAMS COME TRUE: PORN
as i witnessed myself getting double-fucked on screen
i realized that i will never again be content or fulfilled
ashamed or embarrassed
i won't blush and cover my face with my hands
i will never again lose my mind over a lost love
i will never again be sincere because i simply don't know what that means
this is how dreams come true
from now on i’m going to look at life through the dim prism of this experience
wherever i go everyone will turn to look at me
whisper and point fingers and trying to tame me offer food drugs or sex – the three things my uncomplicated life consists of
three whales on which my suddenly empty universe rests lonesomely
yes it's true that whenever i'm in america they wait for me in europe
and the other way around
all the time someone breathes heavily into the receiver masturbating at the other end of the line (if there in fact is an end or a line)
but what does it matter to me
what do i care about the geography of someone's obsessions and someone else’s compulsions when my soul is like a burnt-down vacant lot or a noxious waste dump covered with snow
my phone book is filled with names of those who'd be happy to use me from behind from below or from above
i have nothing to retort with my mouth and ears are cluttered with some impenetrable cotton wool i am trying to say something but instead only a handful of senseless interjections squeezes out of me
all that i know and remember are my poses
my poses
my poses
the automatic robotic quality of those poses
the shaved head
the glassy stare
the broken lines of my body and the sinister german speech on the set like the announcement of a verdict: every word can carry fatal consequences
it’s hard to tell whether i am laughing or crying
squirming from pain or bliss
i have no escape from this curve of my neck the grimace of my twisted arms
this is the vision that will be pursuing me for the rest of my life
blinding floodlights
cameras entering my throat and my guts
i had an epiphany at that moment
i truly lost my memory
i was in some kind of nirvana while they almost tore my ass
the producer calls trying to get me to do additional filming
i was again seen on german tv – naked as ever
NEVER AGAIN! – I tell myself trying to appeal to my willpower but all the same with my heart stopping i lift the receiver to dial his number
this must be fate
November 18th, 1998, Berlin
FUCK THE MILLENNIUM
The night when in the club I punched that Serb guy in the mug Anton was really into getting it
He already started blowing me in the elevator covered with the graffities of Chertanovo junkies and White Power skinheads
FUCK THE MILLENIUM in bad English and right next to it: LONDON ACID CITY
And what do they know about London?
Silly boy stuffed himself with snow his sweater's collar still-frozen next to the bright-red lips in the grim dim light of the filthy elevator cabin with the walls all covered by cigarette burns /like the skin of that masochist at the sex club in Berlin/
WHOEVER ELSE WRITES HERE I'LL BEET YOUR MUG INTO A PULP – agitated comment in bad Russian
The elevator‘s stuck between floors
It’s 3 or 4 in the morning
A torch-lit procession up the dark staircase to the tenth floor
Used needles crackle under my boots
Why don’t we shoot up as well?
He barely had the time to rub off the makeup
Leftovers of some thievish love
Not a single drop for the enemy
Let’s use it all up between the 2 of us
Endless frottage in the subway in the dark streets
Native shit wherever you go
The smell of burning newspapers
Who'll finish whom off first – you or me
Then the biographers will study every blowjob
Interview and interrogate all the neighborhood jerks
In the window four chimneys billow smoke
I feel like they call me somewhere like trumpets
Fags respect force /should I punch you now or later?/
And then again: FUCK THE MILLENNIUM
At the Seventh Continent supermarket nearby they now sell fuckin' amazing Japanese toothpaste that tastes like candy
The smell of burning wiring in the fish department
Anton poses with his jeans hanging down
Beluga caviar in the background
His hairy crack’s showing
I’m snapping pictures and rubbing my hard-on
And now it’s time for a big blow-up
Christmas sparkles scatter from our eyes
Exotic toothpaste lotus tea I say without opening my mouth:
We all shall blow up now
xxxxxxwaltz with a hammer
again couldn't do without pillaging
what a lovely crematorium
no really: WHAT'S THE FUCK UP WITH THIS MILLENNIUM?!
The purchase of a cucumber
Anton blushes from dirty thoughts
I choose the longest and thickest one
“SLAVA YOU'VE GONE CRAZY!”—his voice changes he speaks in a stage whisper and seems even more cross-eyed than usual
We are cracking up when the saleswoman squeamishly weighs our mighty vegetable
Back home he’ll make lots of noise forgetting all about his neighbors
I'll be strangling him and covering his mouth with my palm while hammering another load into him
/You fucking bullshit when you say you love me
You love this long crooked cucumber
And I love not you but me inside you
Which is the whole point I guess/
And now he can hardly walk
crawling around the apartment on all fours
cum-dripping hole
FUCK YOUR MILLENNIUM! – that’s right bitch that’s right
If you are so young and bald – why not fuck yourself with this imported cucumber?
Then we just ate it
In the kitchen beneath an orthodox cross
December 2000, Chertanovo, cold and dark Moscow Suburbs
A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
meet in an airport restroom
stamp and sign all the forms and declarations
sealing-wax on fresh wounds
pass all the metal detectors all the lie detectors
lie about everything from start to finish
rush down the slippery slopes of california highways
there an olive-skinned boy waits for me ready for my sake to change himself into a girl
a bad mexican girl
morning fog a shaky milky hallucination when I wake delirious without you
on the pier skateboarders with their pants down proudly demonstrate their tight stomachs to the passerby
they will feel you up with their eyes trying to get under the skirt
will get in your way shouting and whistling hoping to attract your attention
dreaming of catching your glance
and you only adjust your wig in the wind and laugh hoarsely while squinting at me
let’s sign a declaration of independence from all these assholes
of independence from all declarations
in a shakespearian garden under a sycamore
we'll get high on soy milk with special k
you know you have the prettiest pussy
the tastiest and the prettiest
sure you know
a silent reproach to motherhood
shivering from cheap coke cut with speed
falling off the bed with a thundering crash tearing each other's throats and ribs
exhausted and suffocating
you don't dare grow old sprouting stubble you don't dare change your slender legs flat chest all your hairless body smooth olive skin
calluses from wrong-sized shoes
a molinier beauty
they will pounce and tear to shreds
they will mock and grin
they will tear cotton wool out of you gnaw away your dark cock
worthless people in the grip of worthless instincts
that’s what you wanted answer me you stupid doll
the pantyhose i bought torn to pieces lipstick smeared over the cold cheeks the dress the wig—all covered in some crap
my ideal girlfriend
for one more night
at least for one more fuck
March 1st, 2001, San Francisco-New York
WE WERE ALL DYING OF THE SAME DISEASES
parade of pipettes
march of syringes
we were all dying of the same diseases
first exchanged experiences
then bullshitted about nazis
compared pills
accounted with antibiotics
“WHAT’S THIS WITH YOU BOYS GETTING SICK NOW?”
“WHAT ARE THESE WEIRD SPOTS ON YOUR BODY?”
doctors say jan’s got tuberculosis
john ditched hospital but with his hormones spent
pevzner got back to moscow – finger got ripped off by a silver mercedes that rushed by
misha – remember misha? – ate some bad soup and dropped dead
the splinters in raoul’s leg – sea urchin needles
“OH SHIT YOU’VE GOT THE BITES ALL OVER YOU!”
“IS IT DEADLY?”
SCARS:
deep extended on left thigh – fell off the bike in berlin
could easily be taken for a knife wound
on right thigh chunk of flesh ripped off – smacked into a car on my rollerblades in new york
scars from cigarettes extinguished on me: at least 2
from police beatings on spine – extended lines like lashes from a whip
growing lump in right nipple under metal
and this red spot on my ass probably will never go away
yes we were all dying of the same diseases
bit off the hangnail on the plane – caught an infection
tried to fight with the ocean – broke a nail on a reef
went horseback riding in the jungle – my ass got bruised my balls got squished
mosquitoes gnawed me half to death
sleeping sickness: bytes from a tsetse fly
tarantula bit me on the cheek – went out with scabs
ate meat of a possessed ape – same one that howled in the mornings under the windows – in an hour got buried burned to hell so it wouldn’t stink no more
there will be no grave
who fucking needs this shit in a foreign tropical country
September 2000, Costa-Rica
I HAD A DREAM THAT I WAS BACK IN RUSSIA AND THEY DECIDED TO CUT OFF MY LEGS
I had a dream that I was back in Russia and they decided to cut off my legs
I looked down and the entire lower part of my body was missing – my legs my balls and such
FUCK – I thought to myself – WHO WILL FUCKING NEED ME NOW WITHOUT LEGS AND BALLS AND SUCH!
I woke up with a nasty headache which ruined my whole day
In the evening Rubin called from Florida and told me that he had the weirdest dream that he was back in Russia and they decided to cut off his legs he looked down and the entire lower part of his body was missing – his legs balls and such
CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE THIS SHIT! – said Rubin
NO I CANNOT IMAGINE – I said – WITHOUT LEGS AND BALLS I DON’T FUCKING NEED YOU!
He started laughing
YOU SHOULDN’T BE LAUGHING – I said – I REALLY MEAN IT
March 1999, New York
Translated from Russian by Vitaly Chernetsky and the Author.
© Slava Mogutin, 1997-2001.
I have never written or reminisced about it
as if this part of my memory got blocked: the recollections are vague and dim
as if it had happened in my infancy long before I became who I became — DEPRAVED UNBRIDLED MONSTER
I think I know what happened: I made myself forget about it
my first experience with another man
that guy whose place I crashed at in Leningrad
I don’t remember clearly neither his face nor his cock—just a blurry eroded image
I was 17 he was near 40
Things did not get to fucking
everything was quite innocent: I was lying like a log giving him complete freedom of action but he was delicate and courteous perhaps too much so
He touched me all over and gave me a great blow job — my first blow job ever!
He came twice but I was too nervous and stiff so I couldn’t come no matter how hard he and I tried
He liked my body even my skinny legs he called “sexy”
It must have been from him i first learned that i was attractive and this knowledge turned my world upside down
In order to impress my teenage imagination he took me to a Beriozka hard currency store where we solemnly acquired a bottle of some imported vodka
My imagination was indeed impressed
It was bitterly cold we were dying to get warm so we split the bottle between the two of us
That night I didn’t eat anything except some solyanka that was a bit off
I got sick and puked all over him his bed and his bedroom
I made a mess
I vaguely remember how he started undressing me and when I was already naked he tried to take off the golden cross I was wearing (I got baptized shortly before that and was very religious at the time)
I got ravenously angry called him a faggot a pervert and proudly fell asleep in my own puke while he offended went to sleep on the sofa
A couple of months later I was arrested by the militia for a drunken row in the moscow subway the cops in the sobering station having beaten me up and stripped me naked emptied my pockets and expropriated my golden cross and my watch then threw me onto the concrete floor to “relax” under an icy cold shower where I realized that god had turned away from me and that my religion was not even worth my vomit
Upon my return to Moscow I sent him some of my poems full of adolescent fears depression and vague forebodings of a future knockout life
He wrote me mad love letters to my old address — letters which I read only after his death when he either slipped or jumped off a balcony
one of them stated that he “cannot live without me”
these words meant absolutely nothing to me
later on things happened this way more than once
The only thing that I do remember clearly and forever is the scent of his cologne Drakkar — the scent that I can unmistakably distinguish from any others even though I myself never use perfume
Now it seems to me he was even good-looking
Back then anyone could have taken his place
I was waiting to be seduced and used the first one who came in handy (even though he was sure it was him who used me—so young and innocent!)
He was only part of the faceless crowd of extras—one of those who later in my life were countless
MY FIRST MAN
THE FIRST OF THOUSANDS
a semi-poet/semi-journalist/semi-playboy who didn’t leave behind anything except a slim book of poems and some rapidly aging boys who to this day preserve memories of his embraces
I entered his life and unceremoniously appropriated it
I adopted his identity and extended it to the point where he no longer existed
My adolescent depression grew into something greater than a simple yearning for a good life and someone's strong arms
Even now I am writing not so much about him but about the vomit with which essentially the whole thing had begun
Since then whenever I see vomit I get sentimental
November 11th, 1998, New York—London
PRAGUE HOLIDAYS
It's true that in prague there are almost no blacks
they don't inhabit this place
just like the chinese and the latinos
the prague pussyboys sell their bowels at every corner
dmitri says i'm exaggerating
ok then let's put it this way:
the prague pussyboys sell their bowels at every OTHER corner
this is the main source of the national income and the export of europe's bangkok
the jism hasn't yet dried on their lips but they already run again to the train station luring in their clients with their blue-eyed pimpliness and blond homelessness
for 15 bucks you can come into their mouth and for 30 do whatever you want with them
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxisn't that right prague you bitch?!
czechs are good but slovaks are better
i want to become a pimp let them train me
my unbearable desire to fuck some japanese or chinese girl with meek lustful eyes and braces on her teeth
my insufferable desire to be fucked by a squadron of some flying hussars by a whole stormcloud of cocks
my irrepressible desire to attack drag into a basement rape in the most savage way kick in the stomach suck and piss all over head to toe shit into the mouth scream EAT YOU BASTARD EAT burn heels with a blow-torch cut into pieces fry and gorge with a hysterical mouth and then
my irresistible desire to be roped up tied up with belts handcuffed to a red-hot radiator with a stinking gag in my mouth bloody mess instead of my face my body disheveled and torn to shreds looking with punched out eyes at pitiful remnants remains leftovers scraps stumps rags of myself turning into shit expiring coming with a torn off cock my gnawed neck writhing pleading to finish me off in a ravine with orgasms smiling toothlessly with a torn mouth
i strongly doubt prague can help me with any of the above
at the most inappropriate and tense moment /as always!/ some asshole starts on a violin the fucking moscow virtuosos have already taken all the best places by the john
why is it that guys with shaved heads always check out the other guys with shaved heads?
of course prague shaved-headedness is but a pale copy of german skinheadness but it's no less arousing
i am not used to slavs anymore their submissiveness and laziness
ISN'T IT TRUE THAT SLAVS SHOULD BE SLAVES? /just as they always were!/
prague prague what is my name to you?
here there's enough slavs to eat with your ass
hence this is no place for me
i need to have my name pronounced with pain letter by letter its sounds coughed and spat out breaking the tongue and distorting the mouth repeating it as a divine tongue-tying mantra as a senseless crooked-mouth incantation
before sending me for a fatal assignment
before bringing me for a brutal sacrifice
what could be sadder than the look of unused rubbers
unopened untouched unsoiled by my and others excretions?!
here's the epitaph to my senseless worthless life
here's the sad conclusion to my possessed wanderings
and then again this arousing homelessness and this sweet orphanhood
captivating abandonment and feigned unnecessity
disclaimation and dissatisfaction
this sorrowful hurtful expectation
of new losses and old finds
September 1997, Prague
DREAMS COME TRUE: PORN
as i witnessed myself getting double-fucked on screen
i realized that i will never again be content or fulfilled
ashamed or embarrassed
i won't blush and cover my face with my hands
i will never again lose my mind over a lost love
i will never again be sincere because i simply don't know what that means
this is how dreams come true
from now on i’m going to look at life through the dim prism of this experience
wherever i go everyone will turn to look at me
whisper and point fingers and trying to tame me offer food drugs or sex – the three things my uncomplicated life consists of
three whales on which my suddenly empty universe rests lonesomely
yes it's true that whenever i'm in america they wait for me in europe
and the other way around
all the time someone breathes heavily into the receiver masturbating at the other end of the line (if there in fact is an end or a line)
but what does it matter to me
what do i care about the geography of someone's obsessions and someone else’s compulsions when my soul is like a burnt-down vacant lot or a noxious waste dump covered with snow
my phone book is filled with names of those who'd be happy to use me from behind from below or from above
i have nothing to retort with my mouth and ears are cluttered with some impenetrable cotton wool i am trying to say something but instead only a handful of senseless interjections squeezes out of me
all that i know and remember are my poses
my poses
my poses
the automatic robotic quality of those poses
the shaved head
the glassy stare
the broken lines of my body and the sinister german speech on the set like the announcement of a verdict: every word can carry fatal consequences
it’s hard to tell whether i am laughing or crying
squirming from pain or bliss
i have no escape from this curve of my neck the grimace of my twisted arms
this is the vision that will be pursuing me for the rest of my life
blinding floodlights
cameras entering my throat and my guts
i had an epiphany at that moment
i truly lost my memory
i was in some kind of nirvana while they almost tore my ass
the producer calls trying to get me to do additional filming
i was again seen on german tv – naked as ever
NEVER AGAIN! – I tell myself trying to appeal to my willpower but all the same with my heart stopping i lift the receiver to dial his number
this must be fate
November 18th, 1998, Berlin
FUCK THE MILLENNIUM
The night when in the club I punched that Serb guy in the mug Anton was really into getting it
He already started blowing me in the elevator covered with the graffities of Chertanovo junkies and White Power skinheads
FUCK THE MILLENIUM in bad English and right next to it: LONDON ACID CITY
And what do they know about London?
Silly boy stuffed himself with snow his sweater's collar still-frozen next to the bright-red lips in the grim dim light of the filthy elevator cabin with the walls all covered by cigarette burns /like the skin of that masochist at the sex club in Berlin/
WHOEVER ELSE WRITES HERE I'LL BEET YOUR MUG INTO A PULP – agitated comment in bad Russian
The elevator‘s stuck between floors
It’s 3 or 4 in the morning
A torch-lit procession up the dark staircase to the tenth floor
Used needles crackle under my boots
Why don’t we shoot up as well?
He barely had the time to rub off the makeup
Leftovers of some thievish love
Not a single drop for the enemy
Let’s use it all up between the 2 of us
Endless frottage in the subway in the dark streets
Native shit wherever you go
The smell of burning newspapers
Who'll finish whom off first – you or me
Then the biographers will study every blowjob
Interview and interrogate all the neighborhood jerks
In the window four chimneys billow smoke
I feel like they call me somewhere like trumpets
Fags respect force /should I punch you now or later?/
And then again: FUCK THE MILLENNIUM
At the Seventh Continent supermarket nearby they now sell fuckin' amazing Japanese toothpaste that tastes like candy
The smell of burning wiring in the fish department
Anton poses with his jeans hanging down
Beluga caviar in the background
His hairy crack’s showing
I’m snapping pictures and rubbing my hard-on
And now it’s time for a big blow-up
Christmas sparkles scatter from our eyes
Exotic toothpaste lotus tea I say without opening my mouth:
We all shall blow up now
xxxxxxwaltz with a hammer
again couldn't do without pillaging
what a lovely crematorium
no really: WHAT'S THE FUCK UP WITH THIS MILLENNIUM?!
The purchase of a cucumber
Anton blushes from dirty thoughts
I choose the longest and thickest one
“SLAVA YOU'VE GONE CRAZY!”—his voice changes he speaks in a stage whisper and seems even more cross-eyed than usual
We are cracking up when the saleswoman squeamishly weighs our mighty vegetable
Back home he’ll make lots of noise forgetting all about his neighbors
I'll be strangling him and covering his mouth with my palm while hammering another load into him
/You fucking bullshit when you say you love me
You love this long crooked cucumber
And I love not you but me inside you
Which is the whole point I guess/
And now he can hardly walk
crawling around the apartment on all fours
cum-dripping hole
FUCK YOUR MILLENNIUM! – that’s right bitch that’s right
If you are so young and bald – why not fuck yourself with this imported cucumber?
Then we just ate it
In the kitchen beneath an orthodox cross
December 2000, Chertanovo, cold and dark Moscow Suburbs
A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
meet in an airport restroom
stamp and sign all the forms and declarations
sealing-wax on fresh wounds
pass all the metal detectors all the lie detectors
lie about everything from start to finish
rush down the slippery slopes of california highways
there an olive-skinned boy waits for me ready for my sake to change himself into a girl
a bad mexican girl
morning fog a shaky milky hallucination when I wake delirious without you
on the pier skateboarders with their pants down proudly demonstrate their tight stomachs to the passerby
they will feel you up with their eyes trying to get under the skirt
will get in your way shouting and whistling hoping to attract your attention
dreaming of catching your glance
and you only adjust your wig in the wind and laugh hoarsely while squinting at me
let’s sign a declaration of independence from all these assholes
of independence from all declarations
in a shakespearian garden under a sycamore
we'll get high on soy milk with special k
you know you have the prettiest pussy
the tastiest and the prettiest
sure you know
a silent reproach to motherhood
shivering from cheap coke cut with speed
falling off the bed with a thundering crash tearing each other's throats and ribs
exhausted and suffocating
you don't dare grow old sprouting stubble you don't dare change your slender legs flat chest all your hairless body smooth olive skin
calluses from wrong-sized shoes
a molinier beauty
they will pounce and tear to shreds
they will mock and grin
they will tear cotton wool out of you gnaw away your dark cock
worthless people in the grip of worthless instincts
that’s what you wanted answer me you stupid doll
the pantyhose i bought torn to pieces lipstick smeared over the cold cheeks the dress the wig—all covered in some crap
my ideal girlfriend
for one more night
at least for one more fuck
March 1st, 2001, San Francisco-New York
WE WERE ALL DYING OF THE SAME DISEASES
parade of pipettes
march of syringes
we were all dying of the same diseases
first exchanged experiences
then bullshitted about nazis
compared pills
accounted with antibiotics
“WHAT’S THIS WITH YOU BOYS GETTING SICK NOW?”
“WHAT ARE THESE WEIRD SPOTS ON YOUR BODY?”
doctors say jan’s got tuberculosis
john ditched hospital but with his hormones spent
pevzner got back to moscow – finger got ripped off by a silver mercedes that rushed by
misha – remember misha? – ate some bad soup and dropped dead
the splinters in raoul’s leg – sea urchin needles
“OH SHIT YOU’VE GOT THE BITES ALL OVER YOU!”
“IS IT DEADLY?”
SCARS:
deep extended on left thigh – fell off the bike in berlin
could easily be taken for a knife wound
on right thigh chunk of flesh ripped off – smacked into a car on my rollerblades in new york
scars from cigarettes extinguished on me: at least 2
from police beatings on spine – extended lines like lashes from a whip
growing lump in right nipple under metal
and this red spot on my ass probably will never go away
yes we were all dying of the same diseases
bit off the hangnail on the plane – caught an infection
tried to fight with the ocean – broke a nail on a reef
went horseback riding in the jungle – my ass got bruised my balls got squished
mosquitoes gnawed me half to death
sleeping sickness: bytes from a tsetse fly
tarantula bit me on the cheek – went out with scabs
ate meat of a possessed ape – same one that howled in the mornings under the windows – in an hour got buried burned to hell so it wouldn’t stink no more
there will be no grave
who fucking needs this shit in a foreign tropical country
September 2000, Costa-Rica
I HAD A DREAM THAT I WAS BACK IN RUSSIA AND THEY DECIDED TO CUT OFF MY LEGS
I had a dream that I was back in Russia and they decided to cut off my legs
I looked down and the entire lower part of my body was missing – my legs my balls and such
FUCK – I thought to myself – WHO WILL FUCKING NEED ME NOW WITHOUT LEGS AND BALLS AND SUCH!
I woke up with a nasty headache which ruined my whole day
In the evening Rubin called from Florida and told me that he had the weirdest dream that he was back in Russia and they decided to cut off his legs he looked down and the entire lower part of his body was missing – his legs balls and such
CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE THIS SHIT! – said Rubin
NO I CANNOT IMAGINE – I said – WITHOUT LEGS AND BALLS I DON’T FUCKING NEED YOU!
He started laughing
YOU SHOULDN’T BE LAUGHING – I said – I REALLY MEAN IT
March 1999, New York
Translated from Russian by Vitaly Chernetsky and the Author.
© Slava Mogutin, 1997-2001.
