Maybe it is about Leonard Cohen. But actually nobody really knows what this limbodance is all about.

Definitely I won’t be able to write it down. A sudden lack of inspiration or maybe I just don’t have the balls to do it when I hear M saying : "Come on Vidal, we are just not sale-able anymore!" Three characters looking for a story. (As you can see Vidal is quite original.)

Three musketeers at the end of laziness. And me among them. Kobinsky is the peaceful one. On Sundays he goes through town dressed as a potato and allows old mamas to rub his belly. He calls it the Sunday gymnastics. Mondays and Thursdays he fills in loan-forms at the National Library for people under 40. I don’t remember how he calls it…well…it’s because of your daily boredom. That is Vidal’s way of finding excuses for his inability to write anything readable.

M on the other hand could be considered the freakiest of all. He’s been working as MC for that deaf-people-community for quite a while now. You feel that you understand him better if you…Ja, he is a collection of funny-peculiar gestures.


I must confess that I cannot be really honest about any of us. They call me Vidal the Smack and we don’t have the most peaceful interaction. But then…how can I write anything if I am not completely honest? (We think that Vidal is still stuck in his Balzac-trauma, so please be kind to him. He used to believe that if you read his texts with disgust or irritation he will just live longer…in your head. But if you’re just bored or insensible he loses his neutrons bit by bit. And there are just a few left.)

I met T in a grocery store where he was voluntarily cracking some nuts for the housewives of the neighbourhood. Later on I realized that it was just his way of getting rid of his Phil Colins "I can’t dance" trauma which tormented him for about four and a half months.

I do this in order to escape my latest trauma?
They gathered us in an old deserted building somewhere in the East and they tried to convince us that volunteerism means something else than what we have been doing. We had long discussions, debates, bla-bla, bla-bla. Sometimes T read us from Priscilla Presley’s "Elvis and me". That’s how we managed to get rid of insomnia.

We had this feeling that we were eating whole-sticky mushrooms all the time… and yes…I’ll go feed the horses now.

I remember that I thought that I am all alone in that building and I made all kinds of sceneries. After a couple of days I started to smell awful and I went for a cold shower singing "Don’t worry, be happy". Two minutes later, out of nowhere a voice started to shout: "Come out! You are not allowed to stay there for so long. There is just one shower and we are so many!" When I opened the door, soaking wet, I ran into M dressed in his striped yellow-violet stretchy night suit. (We should add that this was actually his MC suit. M tried to make his deaf friends focus this way on other senses and forget about their disability.)

The watermelon, the help

Apart from the long discussions about rational voluntary work, everything was just AWSOME! In the end we decided to found a museum of alcohol in order to have a museum to which we could be admitted. The two years that we spent in that building eating water-melons and talking talking talking helped a lot. We are different people now and we really feel like we discovered the one and only meaning of VOLUNTEERISM.

Kobinsky is now in Prague on Karluv Most taking notes for Japanese tourists (who cannot understand how humanity was able to survive without a laptop). Meanwhile he developed a strange hobby. Every evening, especially in summer and late autumn he lies in a sunflower field all painted with honey. He waits until at least 20 bees cover his face. His famous record is 10 bees on the upper lip.

M skins the cream from the milk in a hospital for obese people. From time to time we meet in a small bar in Transylvania. T sings Leonard Cohen’s songs voluntarily disguised as Robbie Williams. On Sundays, from 23 to 24 he has a special show where he lets Robbie Williams’s fans touch his butt cheeks (no, we do not think that Vidal is gay.)

It’s 4 in the morning /the end of December/ I?m writing you now /just to see if you?re better…………………………………………………………………………………………..

If you were a tree smashed by a Mercedes Benz, how would you feel…? Squeezed human flesh covering you, their death sneaking into your carved body … your body exposed like?
We found Vidal sucking his right big toe in the bathroom. In one corner of the shura there was this amount of toilet paper (about 2-3 rolls). You are reading it now.
I do not like them. I do not hate them :::: yellow cheese walls and xanax lullabies till you just…

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