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czwartek, 29 września 2016
FOREIGN LANGUAGES. Beatushka dedicated.

FOREIGN LANGUAGES

 

 

Winter, about dinner time, dark outside. Our almost puppy Airedale was in the yard.

Lusia just started to greet possums that were coming out for the night. Nothing special- as usual.

Suddenly her barking turned into full aggression. Just for the moment.

I jumped to the doors hoping it was not too late.

 

I was wrong: our almost puppy was standing over a dying possum.

It was just beaten to death.

No sound, no blood, just little body in its last spasms.

 

Lusia home, now!

I was full of anger: it should not have happened.  From my point of view this death was a mistake, something absolutely wrong.

There were no enemies, no struggle for survival: not one of these two animals were in the same food chain.

The idea, the reason was just to kill, nothing more.

 

I was standing over the dying possum on my own. Lusia was locked at home, trying to understand what happened to her, calming down after her instinct was triggered.

 

I was standing and watching the short agony.

It was like a punishment to myself that it happened.

It was like taking on myself the sin of its misery.

 

Stupid thoughts- no sin, just instinct, we are not able to fade out from our sofa predators.

Stupid, but the effect, in its human meaning of cruelty, was just in front of myself.

 

This dying possum was a part of our home environment. It lived in our yard like its ancestors did since the shed wasbuilt.  Shame. My shame, not my dog`s..

My mourning, not my dog`s..

 

Contemplating short moment of grief I heard some little rustle in the dark corner close to rubbish bins.

It was a baby possum trying to do something after  sudden death of its mum.

Was it fear in its wide opened eyes? Or totally not understanding what  happened a moment ago?

 

Do something, act, let it survive, try to cover up what happened! Help baby possum!

Human feelings started ruling over understanding  things as they were.  

 

Little possum should not stay with us, should not stay hiding in wall climbers (climbing jasmine?).

 

Basket, towel, little possum in my hands torn from  climber`s branches. Silent but living.

 

It`s important to tell my wife the truth.. To tell it not in a tragic way, but as we had to do something now. We had to find the solution for baby possum, not to cry over its mum`s death.

 

Wildlife vet clinic number, her short talk to them, I am going now.

Distant suburb, almost empty streets in night capital. Silence.

No, baby possum just started making its usual noises out from the backseat basket.

Crying, that it supposed to be in my mind.

 

Easy, everything gonna be all right, easy, shoosh, little baby, we are about….

 

Nothing, nothing would be like before to this little creature, but it was important to reassure it.

It or myself, does it matter?

 

Suddenly I found I am speaking all these tender words in English, not in my own language, not in the language I am using to  talk to my wife, to my sons or mum.

When falling in love, swearing or having sex.

No, I was speaking local language.

 

I don`t think it matters to the baby possum, but for me it must have been a sign of understanding: all that happened that night was not a part of my life. The values which  are so different to mine that to approach them I needed to uselocal language, not mine.

11:58, neospasmin
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NAKED GUMS OR DESIRE IN THE TIMES OF AGEING

01:53, neospasmin
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NAKED GUMS OR DESIRE IN THE TIMES OF AGEING

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środa, 14 września 2016
REINCARNATION OR GOOD MANNERS AUSSIE WAY

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02:09, neospasmin
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środa, 07 września 2016
MY SWEET PERVERT

Tagi: Beatuszka
08:12, neospasmin
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