ex coloro

progress: today i actually witnessed the *site* of both traffic hang-ups on the way to work. one involved a (if emergency, then forgivable; if scheduled/routine then—could this not be done in the dead of night or something?) down-taken trolejbus wire. the second immediately became the ninth wonder of the world, namely: a tramvaj konked out as it rounded the curve near Vukov Spomenik and, in doing so, completely took out both directions of tramvaj traffic (4 entire lines run along Bulevar Revolucije/Kralja Aleksandra). what was i saying the other day about tactical warfare? yes, quite brilliant. from where i stood (and from there, walked), the tramvaje piled up as far as the (my blind) eye could see created an advertising rainbow (as all tramvaje are painted with large and small, trite and often quite funny, explicit and covert symbols from their sponsors (who obviously feel no need to contribute further, towards a functional vehicular system, since even an immobile tramvaj proclaims the virtues of the peddled product or service)). the progress i mentioned also relates to the outcome: after some time, enwheeled Help (in the form of a small truck) arrived and, like most other autos here, wove between the layers of loosely organised traffic, into the middle of the intersection where stalled the tramvaj. with some exchange of goods, services, and what seemed to be a special connecting device, the tramvaj directly behind pushed the ailing one out of the direct line of passage. the surge of collective triumph permeated through me; though i was 20 minutes late, in this span, i had already reworked the tale such that disheveled humanity now, itself, observes the spectrum of disaster, forges a vital link from a rust whose hues engender movement and fuel the heave in which we recognise the churn of marrow, of industry, and of oceans.

arrived at NB to find the place bright and decorated to high heaven, by which i mean: with the tattered streamers and "strećan rođendan" banner of a kindergarten in which too many birthdays have passed. upon the imperative form of "celebrate" rests our very life: though our nothing is resuscitated again and again, we decorate much—as though, thereby and with desperation, to forget multiply.

today, E showed us that he could bend his knees and clap his hands six times, one for each of his years—and, in particular, this new one, upon which a select few bestowed wishes, in the manner that children have, with neither generality nor bromidity, as though none of us knew that, unfurled beneath these that were bestowed, lay only the hope that anger would give birth to something unfamiliar to us all.