трохи вместо Коледа

Elizabeth: Why do you keep them? You should just throw them out.
Jeremy: No. No, I couldn’t do that.
Elizabeth: Why not?
Jeremy: If I threw these keys away then those doors would be closed forever and that shouldn’t be up to me to decide, should it?
Elizabeth: I guess I’m just looking for a reason.
Jeremy: From my observations, sometimes it’s better off not knowing, and other times there’s no reason to be found.
Elizabeth: Everything has a reason.
Jeremy: Hmm. It’s like these pies and cakes. At the end of every night, the cheesecake and the apple pie are always completely gone. The peach cobbler and the chocolate mousse cake are nearly finished… but there’s always a whole blueberry pie left untouched.
Elizabeth: So what’s wrong with the blueberry pie?
Jeremy: There’s nothing wrong with the blueberry pie. Just… people make other choices. You can’t blame the blueberry pie, just… no one wants it.
Elizabeth: Wait! I want a piece!

Elizabeth: [wiping her tears] How do you say goodbye to someone you can’t imagine living without? I didn’t say goodbye.
Elizabeth: I didn’t say anything. I just walked away.

Katya: Sometimes, even if you have the keys those doors still can’t be opened. Can they?
Jeremy: Even if the door is open, the person you’re looking for may not be there, Katya.

Elizabeth: When you’re gone, all that is left behind are the memories you created in other people’s lives or just a couple of items on a bill.

Clementine: I don’t know! I DON’T KNOW! I’m lost! I’m scared! I feel like I’m disappearing! MY SKIN COMING OFF! I’M GETTING OLD! Nothing makes any sense to me! NOTHING MAKES ANY SENSE!

Clementine: Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours.

Clementine: When I was a kid, I thought I was. I can’t believe I’m crying already. Sometimes I think people don’t understand how lonely it is to be a kid, like you don’t matter. So, I’m eight, and I have these toys, these dolls. My favorite is this ugly girl doll who I call Clementine, and I keep yelling at her, „You can’t be ugly! Be pretty!“ It’s weird, like if I can transform her, I would magically change, too.
Joel: [kisses Clementine] You’re pretty.
Clementine: Joely, don’t ever leave me.

We’re bound to be afraid

Какво правя тук изобщо. Разпределям облачното време. Закусвам
стръкчета трева. Следя метеорологията на сълзата ти ангажирано.
Прожектирам тоновете ти на ценители. Понякога вярвам, че
светът е създаден за мен. После точно обратното. Сигурно затова
правя опити за поезия. Сигурно затова оставих на поезията да ме
влачи, да ме тика, защото не мога да си намеря място. Всички места
отдавна са заети. Всички столове са надписани. Всичко е номерирано
прилежно… С цветен флумастер.

от „Канела 4“, Елин Рахнев



амплитудите ти ги описвам в дневник:
многостен с ранени ръбове
шпаклова тихо в ъглите на тъмно
жули линиите скраб за бяло
краят на отсечката ти шава трудно
равнините урокът от който избяга
отвъд потенцията на валентността
се наместваш в чужди реалности
1 2 3 d вреш се редиш преминаваш
пре- минал
пре- сторен
пре- зрял
да беше чакал девет месеца + майка
който не потъва остава на повърхността
прегъни върховете на страниците
остани по корици
така се представяй
с празен пълнител

Les enfants seuls savent ce qu’ils cherchent