Autumn 2016


Coalition of Irrelevant

(in a French cafe)



I am hijacked by loneliness these days.

Lots of sadness flow by closed doors to madness.

Wine glasses are one of the most elegant things in the world.

Men with decent cameras are the sexiest.

I swing my crossed leg.

I look at how it swings.

Conscience is just a random nice word on the wall.

Rain spreads its mist on my designer blazer while I smoke a cigarette outside.

Not a chance I'd do that in Ireland.

But I never drink coffee at 6pm in Ireland, too.

Holidays are for to do things we don't usually do.

I still have a habit to buy random things in Lithuania.

Now I own a bizarre red hat.

A man next to me drinks 'Red Brick' beer.

Through the open door we watch fancy cars.

Vilnius puts on the lights




(...I know I know. But at least I can write in English this time.)                                            

Alice went to the woods. Birds warble, mushroom pickers drink Coca Cola, peel boiled eggs for breakfast, bicycle thieves, delighted with themselves, getting ready for bed. Peace and quiet. Thereby Alice met a fox. The fox asked: 'Alice, would you like some fresh raspberries?' - 'Yes please, - cheered Alice, - I would love some fresh raspberries!' The fox got embarrassed, as for she doesn't have any, she only asked to sound polite. And how could you possibly have fresh raspberries, it's January, snow and ice cover bedspread all raspberry bushes.

- I only have raspberry jam, - admitted the fox with slight disappointment, - shall we jamm?

- You're grand, - replied Alice, - all good, I got rum in my bag, show me the jam, we'll make some sandwiches some baps and strike a party, will be fun!

And so it was, fun for everyone, and in the morning no one woke up being sad. We live once, right, so no point to sob or to distress your heart, said Alice to the fox, and powered down the laptop. Agnė Žagrakalytė, 'Pure truth about Alice Meler'.

Translated from Lithuanian. By me. Discovering new forms of poetry...


I only want to live in peace and plant potatoes and dream.

-Tove Jansson, Moomin, Vol.1