A lyrical pile of pigeon crap by Jakub Simek and Nechcem Nic

Suboptimal Landscapes & False Mirror

Suboptimal Landscapes & False Mirror

that is so 2014

A lyrical pile of pigeon crap by Jakub Simek and Nechcem Nic

Dedicated

Time is just a footnote to a place called home

Dedicated

Dictated but not read evicted but well fed

entrée

Looking up Suboptimal Landscapesfamiliar facefamiliar picture with the pigeons familiar citybut this here is unfamiliar poetry warfarethese lines will be lyrical welfarecheap like five years state planmundane, but who the hell cares

poems of yesterday

1.Myself, my biggest frenemyFrenzy of restless thoughtseither too drunk to rememberor too sober for quiet nights

BalconyMy best friendconnecting kitchen with Godcountless lights cannot beat the darkness

VictoryDoesn’t look like thisyou need a credit top-up to make a calllife doesn’t have a post-paid plan

FelonyCommitted by sins of omissiona smile can be the most serious thing

RemedyA slow breath seems to take foreverexhaling all the silly attempts at happiness

1.I omit myself. Cause irrelevant.Contradiction.

Balconymy best friendconnecting sanity and Insanityparked cars re-appear and fade away disappearlike

Victorylife doesn’t have a post-paid planbut shit is freewe will for sure leave some debts

Felonybeing scaredfeelings of half vegetarian

Remedylife escaping the lungsin that contexthappiness is an overrated plane

2.The outburst of pathetic lovelike poison, like the stupidtobacco every other hoursuffocating me tenderlywith a twistwith a twisted beautythe closer I am the further I amProject Sisyphusit still makes senseas only what we are losingwe really ownlike sense and sensesmeans and fencesmarriages and mortgages

2.Wanted to writeabout Sisyphusso I twisted a cork of Bowmore whiskyit broke in halfand remained in The bottleneckI guess that’s howto escape the fateor at least get it delayed

3.Half the sky

Ok, I get itI got fooled by Tagore sayingthe sky is too small for othersthan the two loverswho only for a couple of hourswere made immortal

Like I need to invent a whole new languageto talk to you between the linesor finally shut upand remain silen_

3.Half the sky

The distance I used to escapemy obsessions they weakenedstill keeping insane my mind state

possessed and puzzledboozed and frozen

thiz waz my _

4.I am a dam of dumbnessa flood of dirty watersa visual recognition softwareI see a silhouette of someonewho looks like youand my CCTV goes from black and whiteto full HD

4.Spilled once spoiledaight boiled ain’t grillednow filled and fooledby folded billwhile dream fulfilledwith booze unrealsome stealing seatshence deal is sealed

lost always, thereforequestion the connection

poems of tomorrow

1.A being, the present continuousthe flipside of realitythe outrooted rotten hollow woodconstant fireyou have to blinkotherwise tears will flowthanks God for themDoes the world exist when I have my eyes closed?Hold it!I’m scared to let the precious moment slip

1.Being contender or notrooted in Autonoom Centerdot on a geometric planetorn like Alterno under the surfacelike its Italic gyeah, hold it!don’t let it slip

2.Snoozing the inner alarmfree fallingdeep diving and climbingup againpathetic, ha?black tea with milk, one sugardevil on my leftthe periphery of attentiona ticklish subject lostdistant peace washed away at the sea shorered lights alertemptied minibar in my headswimming in the lucid poolin diver’s suit and a full gearescaping the chlorine pristinitylooking for a sunk yellow duck

2.Mr Nicit’s Oceanographic weeklythey attempt to subdue youwith high profile interview

thank you HelenI remain calm

to becomethat bearded individualwith dual personality duelto disputeunquestioned answersat their disposalwith no monetary rule

I’ll discuss theink fish ruralhow to deal with their wild residual

how to raise a whale in the pooltrue doubt iscut with the Ocean razorin the end I float away like a stingraywith a healthcare plan

3.Dreams, the most preciousdistilled reality you ownthat will happen onceor notnot todaywho cares?in 412 weeksOr not

3.Dreams distilled like vicinity ofBushmillswe’re always getting preparedbut never readysome major conflict on the chessboardBlack and White they’ve never shaken their handsno reconciliation 412 weeks = 7.89613032 yearssmall things recognition

4.Racing on the treadmill of affectionyou can press the pausetake a sip of that expensive Spanish bottled waterand change the machinefor betteror worseor don’t pausejust run on the same spottowards the unreachable screen of deathwhile Original Don is playing

4.Dude told me:“it makes a differenceto run on the same spot and it dependswhether that place with constant distancebetween the existence and it’s projected hope spanis on the beach of North Seaor Europe easternobviously“

5.Imagine!all the people, imaginein Lyonsitting at the fountaintense, unable to movelooking for a reason and couragethere must be some dream to fight forlike to make some girl happy one dayno Range Rovers and beachfront houses

5.The street runs all the way to the horizonslightlycurvedto the dunesblinking reflectionscars and lamps are wavingI’m waiting at now my favorite pizza joint

The dunes are calling methe street is the means to fuck offI’m thinking surprisinglyhit by 220 Voltthere must be a grinder inside herehm, make it to go please

anything

1.The policy of poetrywords lose meaning upon utteringlike the smell of burning rubbercompletely naturalI can’t stand the distant proximitythe encompassing chokeyeah, sure, chemistrythe opposite of problems is deathgreen tea, no alcohol, no electricitycandle on a Fisherman’s Friend boxwriting because I like the sound of paper

1.First of allI don’t know why it rhymes

shifting to a rejectcrime of wordsubjecting the suspectlights outremain in your cellsnow, repent of your sins

2.Anything goesbut I don’t know wherethe vibrations of sighthe borders where tears stopand have to returndenied visas for the lack of opennessthere is a place for improvementjudgment call busy

2.With fürTe welike to play a gameof beer cans

the game leaves marks in the sandbut that is not requiredany landscape goesjudgment returns missed calls

3.Anywhere we go you leave a stampyour words and smiles stay putfilling the void of every little streetemotional geographycornered between friction and fictionI chose the latterlittering my selfish existencewith pearls of your uncanny rawness

3.Eyeball on herchapter’s overbehind and rawshe also stampsevery site and placebut with her giant ass like cloversight’s subnormaloh god

poems of never

1.Storm in a Cup

A summer before the last summeron a bus I thoughthow below a perfect stormthere must be these ugly deep sea fish with lanternsin dark cold constant waters

Now, basking in the sunlight of the calm oceanI think about these ugly beasts againbut these stale waters are too shallowfor life aquatic

1.Storm in a Cup

The day I left felt like cutting limbsand bliss like shit spread on a nuts housethat does not existThe memory is blurrylike the painting that was given to meit was depreciated fully

The deep sea fish indeedwe need, they’re fairieswe chase them, so we proceedwith the trials of denial

(there is much to be learned from a rainstorm)

2. Sudden Eden

creative unshacklingthe old me was fond of youI dumped itthis deep pathetic fartshook a distant universebut not our open spaceunbecoming graceshameless, fresh, childishkimchi, pickled radishselfish fetish mistakenfalse, unfair coldly calculatedarticulated but unspokenspeechless

expressive single-minded vanity

2. Sudden Eden

2.30 cannot sleepcramping a little bitthoughts spin roundyou and deadliftsbottle chose randomly two passions I don’t plan to quitsumo pull- 2013you, that’s much earlier shitcontinue suboptimally“

though, names fit perfectlyit was hot summer Eve

3. Suboptimal

grasping for despair, climbing over airdining with debt collectors and prostitutesreading them fairy talesabout brave malesturning the other butt cheekresting my tested mindno peace in my veinsI want to feel cold heartless strengthfree of dreams scattered on thousand plateauswords instead of picturesgaps instead of wordsbeeps, likes, updatesit is a small world

traded at a high frequency

3.Landscapes

Can of WD40can be used to improve your surroundingsand surfaces that appear below idealamassed rust and dust this spray will heal

Standing in the fecesbusiness as usualresidual pieces ofsuccess is crucial

7 carati is the gold that does not glitterIemulo will crush you with his voice and guitar

just slow down the rhyme

smoking beer and drinking joints

Already legendarySuboptimal Landscapesnow with False Mirrorreflecting strange shapesour Words are readyin an offence stancewith a shift of anglehalt their existence

_

Typeset in Alterno by David Chmela

Alterno is a text typeface that brings together two opposite directions. — How different the styles within the family could be and still work together? — In Alterno, seriousness and static nature of the roman faces comes together with expressiveness and dynamics of italics in a harmonious whole.

Autonoom Centrum , The Hague 2014

Suboptimal (s)Words