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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 51 | volume IX | November-December, 2006



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 51November-December, 2006


p. 1
Jure Novak

aught: fifty-three
An unday diary
All the world’s words have lost my mind



I get on at a small train station. A booth with an old ticket selling lady.
The carriage is full of scouts and fourteen-year-old girls. They chatter. I eye them menacingly from under my brow. I don’t care for what they do. They don’t care.
The train stops and stops and stops. The world is a series of scenes through the window. People enter and exit. The world switches like a slide show.
The corner has a man with a long neck and an apple. He gnaws and reads religion. I eye him menacingly from under my brow. No reason.
The sun keeps shining in my eyes. It could be that the train is following the tracks, the tracks the sun or even the sun the train. Clearly, an all-out conspiracy against my humble persona is at large.
I’m headed back. I’ve been there before, but I have a return ticket. I’d nap, but the conductor wants to see the hole again and again. He eyes it suspecting he hadn’t punched it himself.
I open the window, lean, breathe. An older gentleman opposite coughs dryly.
The nap evades me. Not far to go. I tie my shoe.
It’s a beautiful night out there. I could ride and ride and ride.
I get off a station early.

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