Tamara Stamenkovic
  • Don’t make my words get out

    Don’t make my words get out, because I won’t tell you what you want to hear. Don’t think you have that power to overtake me when I’m weak and use it for your purposes. You won’t be able to win me over, you won’t hear what you need – I will not boost your ego…

  • Rubik’s Cube

    A mystery that hardly anyone can solve. A game hardly anyone can play. A problem that barely anyone can solve. A subject that hardly anyone can manage for a long time. She was created for intelligent playing, selfish keeping and skillful observation. Her other name is Magic Cube. She’s made of undiscovered magic and unveiling.…

  • There’s nothing more dangerous than a woman which is well-read

    There’s nothing more dangerous than a woman which is well-read. She knows the depths in which you would immediately drown. She swims in different genres with tears in her eyes, creating unique worlds and emotions, unfamiliar to you. When she talks, she makes love with words you’ve never heard of. You and she aren’t on…

  • Do we exist only because we are alive?

    Does it truly matter? Or is existence divided into a mindless play on the mind that we’re not alive and the cruel truth we live when we have to survive? When you think a little deeper, there’s no evidence to support either opinion. No answer can satisfy such a unique mindset, and the very idea…

  • Man is shaped by what everyone wants, but never into what he wants to be

    Man is appalled by another man, when exposed to the disgust of his existence. Where there is no parable and we’re all just dots at an intangible distance, too close to each other, touching, but we don’t make a difference, we only impede vision. Too similar to each other, dark and small, we don’t belong…

  • What is memory?

    We reconstruct memories, one by one. We recognize the smell, the touch, the colors, the way everything made us feel, and then we realize that one memory cannot be only one. There are countless others in it, all those fragments of short film frames in our head where the brain, with its fascinating ability, collects,…

  • Between our pendulums of fear, we were swinging…

    We held hands. Across all spaces, over hypothetical dimensions, colliding without touch. An unusual occurrence, the expressionism of two people, as a contrast to the sophisticated individualistic art. You and I, cut off, but together, hitting each other, always so close, always so imminent. Between our pendulums of fear, we were swinging on our own.…

  • And this is us, the plagiarism of all heroes before and after us

    This life, wasted like a wreath of flowers on a coffin. Acidic soil, if it boils long enough, it makes an earthquake. Trust me, this war has nothing to do with hope that someone will save us. This life. Can it affect heroes with sharpened teeth and cut thighs, heroes who are dancing on glass,…