Tamara Stamenkovic
  • If you sell your soul, you will become a wine on Devil’s lips

    They say, if you sell your soul, you will become a wine on Devil’s lips, bitter, but sweet, toxic, thick. They say, if you make that pact at the intersection, at midnight on Friday, with the shadow of a bloody hole, you’ll be gifted, damned, I don’t know. Transparency runs from the bite on my…

  • 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…

  • 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,…

  • It tears you that she’s first to tear you apart

    If we reap what we sow, if karma is real, if we give back what we give, then the heavy chain around her neck is her making. And silence is her consequence, and the absence is her creation. You just stepped into the mud in which she raised herself from marble. All her dead illusions…

  • A disguised farce of lies

    I was born with reversed skin, like a stolen whisper from another dimension. My skin wasn’t tangible to others, it wasn’t visible. And I can’t lie; I was a snack to a truth that mercilessly bite my neck. / I hear a crack in my vein / The truth is that I’m a lie that…

  • How we behave when someone leaves us?

    Let’s think for a minute about what we do and how we behave when someone who has meant so much to us leaves us? Let’s be fair, we’re not looking for ways to hurt less, we’re doing the opposite of what we should do. We go to places we used to go together, and allow…

  • The distance

    The distance between us isn’t easy to calculate using miles or kilometers, fathoms, or with light-years. This distance is lively, fragile, a fluid thing, the transition between us and our life after us. Sometimes you’re so far away, as the farthest, egocentric star still visible by my modest telescope. To others, we separated by the…

  • The dark appearance of the half-dead person

    Have you ever thought about how many of you were dead in other people’s minds? How many wounded replicas of you are walking in the streets, beaten and wounded, hit, raped, left behind, or left to die? Those are the same people but in different bodies. I collect them as they pass by me and…