Kousek

konText 14 11 — 08 12 2018

A thrust by forearm crossed the mist. Palm formed a small bowl. Drop. now. now. . not again.
Quick impro with a branch from a small pine. To make a path with your sneakers, to sweep
dust, to overstep a piece of sandstone and deliberately cut off. To put on. To wash. On the way
up hill, a few lines made by cars. Two reddish and one greyish white.
In the draught, cork, salt and some remote herbs are combined. The very same smell today
accompanied the blind one with her husband into their favourite bar. They do not stay longer
than usually, just takeaway coffee and piece of bread. When the interior is overcrowded, they
leave through back entrance. They say goodbye to their waitress, and see you soon.
In fact, the open fan is a single house hidden in the hill. Siamese triplets are bit different in
fine details and bevels. In no. three, there is a bathtub, in no. two there is no privacy and no.
one is a makeshift. Uncountable mirroring in the floor strangely transfers into the mood of
guests. They are becoming gunmen, who are like on pins and needles, afraid of attack from
the horizon.