How many awful books have I read from eloquent writers?
How many wise proverbs, great ideas and the praises of madness?
Those in the halo of inspiration already sold out:
do they write to communicate or to get moral satisfaction?
What is the point of easily acquired money and deceptive glory?
They bribed reviewers; those former offenders.
The ones who read; do they really believe those who write and exaggerate?
Those who read; do they know what bizarre things will happen at the end?
I have not avoided cheap hacks works.
Those who did not know they wouldn’t last long;
authors with a countryside pedigree.
Some are unable to write barefoot, and therefore put on socks before they begin writing.
I followed their heroes;
I analyzed those psychopaths and idiots who unnecessarily dramatise and pull some weird moves,
without good reason and without any connection.
I read carefully and ticked the most important and effective phrases
and spiritual guidelines.
But I am no longer able to accompany them,
because now I am tired of words;
tired of the chapters and of the introduction;
tired of attractive covers and cheap translations,
of forewords and strange endings;
tired of shootings and stray bullets.
I’m very washed out and depressed from being critical and censorious.
But I do not cease to provoke and ask.
Being very drowsy and with an incomprehensible persistence,
I am storming at the fiction and I keep reading.
Tomislav {Tommy} Andric 