Mikymauz (1) I was listening to this Jarek Nohavica's song, one of my favourites, and suddenly I felt like translating it. The name is the czech phonetic transcription of Mickey Mouse. Since it is a song/poem, it's difficult to translate and I hope it will be understandable at least to some extent. It's too long, so I divided it into two notebooks. In the morning the darkness awakens me, I grasp my wrist whether it still beats, whether I am still lucky or whether I'm done with and I have waxed shoes morning after morning the same awakening into nothingness. There's no what, there's no how, there's no why, there's no where there's no who, there's no what about, everebody's alone inside of him gaunt Don Quijote seddles his Rosinanta and the God is a blind driver at the steering wheel. I switch on the answering machine - recorder of feelings of others bad news come at the dawn, just like the police I'm half awake, half in the night pause I should laugh, but I have a smile of Mickey Mouse. I'd forbid mornings A good man in the radio airs Chick Corea, it is really funny in here, just like in a mausoleum, in the queue for the mummy, I have shadows under my eyes, a pink daybreak doesn't really touch me anymore. You're saying something about what should we do our depressions in the bed are slowly cooling off everything is veiled in the gloom, who's to blame that woodsmen swope the axe between us? The bed divided into two souvereign states ornaments on the wallpaper are like the barbed wires on the border in a sleep, you don't realize it, a sleep is a sweet dullness, if there was a love within me, there's nothing but a pure venom now I'd forbid barbed wires. That cursed hour, the minute, the short moment when things are neither black, nor are they white when the world's not dark, but not yet bright half awakeness is a pain without the blissful numbness. It's beating franticelly and bluntly stings in the groin to fall asleep and not to wake up, not to have to think about anything leant againts my knees, I'm listening to your tears, it's too late for life, yet too early for death. What was once yesterday, is as though it never was the coffee is drunk and there's no more in reserve the things you don't want to happen, they always happen and a bread with butter always falls on the wrong side I'd forbid butter