Krajina jazyka

Brice Petit is riddled with the wormhole of verse. He sees it everywhere and in everything, from a musical line spilling from a flute to the pricked soul of a bicycle. He knows no other way to deal with a world whose injustices and lies he perceives with morbid sensitivity. He itches persistently and can only scratch his itch with verses that run rampant in his head like a cancer metastasizing on paper. He has voluntarily built a dam against this unstoppable outbreak in the form of a nearly twenty-year-long publishing fast. But his verse doesn't need to eat to flourish. And on Brice Petit endlessly taps out a new line. Arranged and translated by Petr Zavadil.