Holy shit! Holy pregnant mother of God! Holy Tchai! Holy groah! Holy squatter! Holy mother-in-law! Holy aerodrome! Holy pub filled with darkness and despair! Holy fix! Holy ether! Holy screwdriver! Holy sikadur! Holy Mara! Holy Holba! Holy lyrics! Holy cock! Holy Pok!
I saw the best heads of my generation destroyed by the obsession from numbers debauched life consuming madness peacefull television website
who are desperately searching for a new potencial pounding rivets cleaning poor rock climbing loathful walls full of grass shrub bush tangled in rose hips breaking old pitons hanging in skyhooks while their asses were tight
who fell broke limbs ankles their young bodies laughing to each other drawing symbols of nonsence crying for full cup of tea with milk
who fixed themselves to alcohol moonboards training hard projects neverending discussions
who burnt licked nipples to try to release energy of the Arunchala headless dancing in a crowd to the last radiopieces of shit wastefull jacking off dicks in Alterna
who uncontrollably consumed alco drugs punk´n´roll just to prove the existence of God
who listened to the jukebox in Vera while discussing the hysterical attack of two-colours spiders
who was looking black and white at the bitches passing by asking for sex and waiting for a moment of oblivion and forgiveness
who will never stop fucking all that small nasty blond assholes and meanwhile still thinking about hot fresh apple pies and blueberry puddings
who cheer bears ukraine vodka tuna ukraine gold vodka lying on an autumnal meadow before sunset,
who suffering from waiting for another bloody comment on their new route never stop squeezing keyboard until the great wolf-head coming to prove the eternity
who read the Kerouac Bukowski Styrsky Dostojevskij because they like to consume spanish oranges morocco hash homemade cheese-cakes
who were waiting for LSD-trips to jump out of the faculty of arts to see eagle‘s landing on the street snuffing cocaine for their own pleasure licking toes while their bodies rolling on the dirty red floor
who vomit spaghetty pizza kebab on shirts skirts to see bright eyes of companions looking down on that hot Sahara sand
who dissapeared in a cigaret smoke into the nearest park to have a moment to sit on colorful bench with horny chick who never done Zanda slap
Visions! Omens! Hallucinations! Miracles! Ecstacies! Gone with the karst wind!
Dreams! Adorations! Illuminations! Religions! The whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Pok is Monotematic!
Pok whose bottles of Pilsner never stop tinkle in a car
Pok whose mind fell in schizophrenia
Pok whose soul succumbed call of wildness
Pok whose body is full of ancient energy of Gods
Pok whose eyes will subdue each love eager woman
Pok whose words will not find resistance
Pok whose comfort will never skip the determination
Pok whose mini-brain will never understand
Pok is Abakuk!
Pok in whom was hidden secret of seraphim
Pok in whom was insert pinch of vanity
Pok in whom is settled karst hope
Pok in whom you can thump
Pok in whom you can trust
Pok is God!
Whore! Slut! Tart! Puta! Wolf! Harlot! Strumpet! Hooker! Gone with the karst wind!