Reference na odbornou činnost Dušana Dvořáka, MMCA najdete ZDE
We are Europeans. The Old Empire from Tasov.
Ivan Martin Jirous.
A
Prayer for the Arrival of Pope to the Prague Infant Jesus
My
grandpa, no they did not break him down. The communists! He was
having a laugh covered in the sheets where it said:
ARBEIT
MACHT FREI
This
poem was written for the All-poets Night that took place on 28th
August 2009 in Ospělov, some days before the first cannabis
confiscation on my research farm, the 18th August 2009.
On
the Bastille Day 14th July 2009.
Dear
Pope.
Pray
with us
A
Prayer of Saint Infant Jesus of Prague.
A
Gift towards your Arrival to Golem’s City.
To
the City of Jesuses, the Infants’.
To
Prague, the Hundred-towered.
Mother
Mary. 2009.
The
Prayer of Life.
Pope
to Vatican.
(Pope,
the Vaticanian). x
Holy
Father. Of the Sheep of Ratzinger’s.
And
Jesus.
Humble
and savage like Bob Marley and Janis Joplin.
Joyful
by master Lao’-c and Sidhárta.
We
dance to U2 and pray:
For
us. For Gypsies. Arabs. Refugees in Marseille.
For
rent and for purchase. For Ganga. For Zuzana. For Turku.
For
Fidel Castro. The Prisoners of Conscience. For the humble and for the
savage.
To
brothers and sisters – oh yes we want to look them in the eye.
We
welcome Dalailama and we open the home prison to the queen of Barma.
Our
Hearts.
Jaroslava
Moserova. Agnes, the Bohemian. Mother Theresa.
Baked
Jan Palach. The Blackie boy. Little Gipsie girl burning.
Little
Gipsie sleeping without a lion, a guitar, a jar, on the desert of
Moravia.
We are Europeans. The Old Empire from Tasov.
Yes.
The
Czechs.
We
kick each other to our ankles.
Wounded
Souls.
Unbelievers.
To
each other. To oneself.
Praying
to money and power.
Praying
to mistrust.
Praying
to god of lie.
Praying
to advert on emptiness.
Holy
Father!
Please
pray facing the Infant Jesus, for president Václav.
To
resign to Senat and truth.
To
enter faith.
Please
pray for all the men in Politics.
Let
them be decent and honest
And
agreeable to our hearts
Like
Women.
Let
them live in dignity and beauty of the Spirit.
Like knights.
Like knights.
Let
them freely
Live
surrounded by the wealth of friends.
The
Spirit of the Close
Jesus
Why
not
Quite
that.
And
We are praying. The twothousantandninetimes spitted-on joyful Infant
Jesuses, that’s what they said.
And
They went to the Mountain of Blaník go wake up the St. Wenceslaus
knights on the September of 28th. 2009.
The
Knights of Blaník! We are here!
The
Infant Jesuses.
Vaclav!
Wenceslaus!
You
can utter the Order!
They
Will arise!
From
the Mountain!
...
On Říp, with Eva and Vašek.
“The
pompoms strike bam-bam
♫”.
Mejla’s
Velvet Bohemia Underground.
By
Blaník Mountain. In Nad Viktorkou (pub).
September
the 28th. 2009.
We
live in Prague.
That
is there.
Where
will appear.
Spirit.
Alone.
Ivan Martin Jirous.
Prague’s
spitted-on Infant Jesus.
With Little Blackie in the dusts of the Old Empire.
Martin Luther.
King.
He plays.
With Little Blackie in the dusts of the Old Empire.
Martin Luther.
King.
He plays.
For
the last Time.
Peace
in every Village. Peace.
To Dárfúr. Ospělov. Guantanámo.
Just like toilet paper.
The Peace it gives. Unfolds.
By the open Heart
Displayed
Human. | Son | Daughters of HuMan.
To Dárfúr. Ospělov. Guantanámo.
Just like toilet paper.
The Peace it gives. Unfolds.
By the open Heart
Displayed
Human. | Son | Daughters of HuMan.
Let
us pray
Every
one their own prayer
Of
Silence and of Strenght.
The
Knights of Blaník!
It’s
hard! the Hour of the Land!
We
are praying for Us.
For
Palestinians.
For
Jews.
We
are praying for the Indigenous.
From
the helicopter we shoot
The
rabbits of Peru. TV WORLD.
We
are awake.
We
are vital.
We
see the dark karma of Pakistan.
We
see the whole Peru of blood.
We
see Texas.
Siberia.
Wanow
We See:
The
Doors.
The
Wall.
The
WTC.
Please
play!
Above
the Grave.
ETC!
Václav!
Václav!
We
are here.
The
Infant Jesuses!
With
naked bums.
Sweet-smelling
chamomile.
With
bier.
With
chamomile.
They set out of the Blaník Mountain.
And they had walked and they were shouting and they went on up to Advent
They set out of the Blaník Mountain.
And they had walked and they were shouting and they went on up to Advent
With
push-scooter Ist,
the Gueen
Visit
the Emperor
Who
wears no clothes.
To
Gardens of Getsemane – sleep like logs.
OUR
GODS
ARE
BETTER
THEN
YOUR
GODS
‘CAUSE
THEY
HAVE
BIGGER
THOUGHTS
TITS
