Public Republic

Raiko Baichev

Photo: Freyja

And so it begins, this morning, waking up, getting up, the mirror in the bathroom, the skin under the eyes all puffy, swollen, dark blue with a little bit of yellow, as if you got punched with a tiny fist, let’s say a baby fist, I’m groggy, whatever, big deal, heading out, the sun slams me, a punch, this time thrown by the sun, in the pupils, in the temples, the forehead, the brain, it halves it like a melon and I need to blink, blink, blink to adjust to all this light that is sloshing in my head, rushing to work, should not be late, should go land my corporate ass in the armchair as soon as possible, hurry, hurry, hurry, hungry, stopping in front of the red sign “fast food,”
good morning, I’d like, a chicken sandwich with French fries, ketchup, more mayonnaise, orange juice, coffee, double espresso, no sugar, here’s your change, thanks, leaving, you forgot your receipt!, that’s ok, I’m in a hurry!, I learned to eat on the go, juggling the orange juice, coffee, sandwich and in my mind going over today’s to-do list, sinking behind the desk, installing myself to execute tasks, they bring me money, this money brings me happiness, all day exchanging life for money, after work – money for life, this is the deal, but right now no time to explain, because I’m in a hurry, hurry, hurry, it’s after lunch, drinking coffee in the office, with chocolate, recently I’ve been eating when stressed! When stressed!, I’m changing – I don’t eat because I’m hungry, I eat because I’m mad, I have two stomachs, the second one is mental, devoid of organs, instead – pulsing mess of tension, fear, stress; this is why I’m getting fat, because of my second stomach, and because I hurry, hurry, hurry, though I’m barely moving, that’s a fact!, I get tired by the time I reach the bus stop, the store, the restroom, the attic, going up the staircase, my lungs are small like little blood pressure pumps my heart chokes me up in my throat, beating there, frothing my saliva, oh, everything so exhausts me; now going back from work, everybody’s in a hurry, hence the traffic jam, making plans in my head for the evening, perhaps see the woman I’m going out with and I don’t really know, don’t want to know her, I’m much better off this way, being a vibrator, true, one with eyes, mouth, voice, smell, hair, bones, breath, but bottom-line still a vibrator, running on calories instead of batteries, occasionally saying things like “I love you,” and ”I’ll miss you,” words that, as you remember, those plush toys say when squeezed, I say them when my vibrator gets squeezed, that’s what I am, I know you envy me or don’t understand, whatever, who cares, everybody’s in a hurry, hurry, hurry, I’m passing a billboard, big, square, made for me, to scratch the insides of my brain, to get in there, here, take a better look, a female skin, bulging breasts, with barely visible little blond hairs, almost transparent, the goal is, I know, to tickle me, there, constantly, in the black box of my subconscious, little blond hairs, vodka, little blond hairs, vodka, touch me, vodka, touch me, vodka, come on, fuck me!, vodka, little blond hairs, the traffic jam’s over, rush home quickly, quickly, quickly, press the gas pedal, I walk in, tired, stiff, consumed, my head, clamped in springs, noises, inside my skull, inside, built-in crackling TV, I need to turn it off, it’ll explode, it will set me off, gulping down, nice little pills, looking so much like little pills, I’m set free, going out, going in, it’s dark in the bar, can I have a shot of vodka, (little blond hairs), no ice, thanks, cheers, drinking, thinking, asking the same question over and over, why am I always in a hurry, hurry, hurry and I can never find me an answer, you know why, because I’m in a hurry, hurry, hurry, and find no time for answers, I need to go pee, it’s locked, I can hear moans from the inside, I go back, another shot of vodka, they leave the restroom, two of them, men, flushed cheeks, oh, no, gross, can’t pee there, I leave, go to her, the woman I’m seeing, the one I don’t know, we watch a movie, eat chicken soup, boiled potatoes, yellow and soft, she tells me stuff, I tell her stuff, we go to bed, and as I’m installing myself inside her body, I begin to hate her, because I expect some magic from her, for her to make some magic, to save me, somehow, how?, don’t know, I come, forget her, delete her, from my memory, tomorrow I’ll paste her in again, and so on forever, I’ll eat my fast food, I’ll eat, throw up, eat, throw up, until my blood turns into ketchup.

Translated from Bulgarian by Zoya Marincheva