BRANDISLAVA IS BURNING
The application of great pressure causes things to collapse. This is not always comprehensible. Everything is pitch-black. The theories of of scientists who deal with this subject are erronious. We have no choice but to condemn them because they are detrimental to both man and his property. Nightmares occur frequently and backs are bent under heavy loads. These dreams bombard those who dream them. Heads move in the darkness in unbecoming ecstasy. Dragons, devils and evil angels sing obscene songs and terrorize mankind. Many break down and see no way out. Others shoot themselves at dawn. Some are found dead in the canal. Everything is part of the dream world. Deciphering this is tantamount to deciphering death.
Father as Wrapping Paper
The fact that father was not a human being is indisputable. Some observers say he resembles a common beer bottle, but that assertion is easy to negate. Others think he is a living cloud, a spook or something of that nature. All this seems to be the fabrication of the eternal bellyachers who need to feed their fantasy.
I admit that I am a loss to define father. We need a bugbear, a chauffer who will dispatch us to eternal rest.
As far as I’m concerned, father is the categorical imperative of all ethics. He stands on crooked legs, but how he can stand at all is a mystery since he’s made out of wrapping paper.
You may be taken aback, but that’s the way it is. Darling father is made of wrapping paper. He’s so vacillating and so pliable that we can’t help but be fond of him. He loves us, cares for us and always has our best interests at heart.
However, he is erratic. He is vulnerable to rain and he cannot bear extreme humidity since he is made out of wrapping paper. Thus water can be his undoing, but fire is also his foe. Father is not a sacred salamander that can bathe in fire and then rise from the dead like a phoenix from the ashes.
Brandislava is Burning
There are eyewitnesses who reported on great fires in the beautiful city of Brandislava. People ran through the streets, having convulsions due to their fear. The news about the fires was frightening. However, we are not sure that city of Brandislava exists at all. Geographers, who had consulted old books, declared that they could find no traces whatsoever of a place called Brandislava. Thus a journey to Brandislava would be a fantastic journey and a dangerous and foolish one. Our trip would be illuminated with the thunder and lightening of cannons and rockets of the enemy. Let Brandislava burn! We do
not have the capacity to put the fires out.
Translated from Slovenian by Herbert Kuhner