About me:

Not many things are known about a writer Voja Radovanovic. These are more supposition or third hand informations than the real truth. But, why is it so? Because, for years he was being able to succesfully avoid to expose himself in media, to consort with world-wide JET SET and to give interviews, irrationally claiming that it helps him to stay normal. He even avoids to show himself in public. You can almost count with your toes all those people who had fortune to meet him in person. He writes for "his soul only" and for people that share his point of view. Thanks to just a few literature lovers, who had barelly convinced him to post his site, wider reading audience has the chance to meet his work. From some pathetic data that we have, that are confirmed, it's known that he was born in 1963. He started writing when he was five (rather inconsistently; we have no written document from that period of his life in our archive), and after that he started to work on his writing much more serriously. In that short period of time, ftom his fifth to his fortieth year he continues to be unknown in writting circles. A story goes that the crucial influence on him had meeting with one serbian famous writter who he saw wasted drunk on the sidewalk. Then he thought to homself: "I wanna be like that". All trough he didn't become quite like that, he started to gain his first compliments for his literarry work. For his tale "Daca", published during year 2000 he gained the second prize of "The Crnjanski scene". For story "Mara" he got the same recognition, but four years later. Since year 2000. he wrote five plays and formed genre "New serbian comedy". He gives the best of him to present that genre to the world. He created monodrama "Tesla returns to America" that is efficiently performed in ART theater in Belgrade by actor Miroslav Mihailovic. Some of his aphorisms are published in daily jurnals "Blic" and "Politika", as well as in magazine "Nosorog" ("Rhinoceros"). You can hear his comments on the radio, in the shov "Karavan" on "Radio Belgrade 1". He lives and works (only if necessarily) in Beli Potok (White Creek), single, it's unknown if he has children. Summarily that would be about everything that we know about Voja Radovanovic, everything else would be just a presumption. As The X files say: "The truth is out there..."




Since I created MYSPACE profile, I had met many great and famous people. I would like to thank everybody who had become my friends. I would like to say hi to Rambo (Antonije Pusic, not Silvester), who was one of the first people who accepted my invitation, as well as Johny (Azra), Vasa, Cane, Aleksandra, Cile, Obama and everyone else who took part in my MYSPACE quest. There, I got soften, and I do that only when I am drunk or sincere. For your information I quit drinking twenty years ago.


Print on my first book "How I stayed single?" isn't even dry yet, and I could write a sequel right now. Since I don't have these ambitions I would like to tell you what hapened to me last few days in just a few words. Around half past noon, as I was pouring moving my hand temperately to spice my beans hotchpotch, that was coddling on 180 degrees, and sang a song that said "We used to eat very nice...", a telephone rang in the living room.

I answered the phone inquisitively, hoping that somebody had missdialed my number, I heard a pleasing feminine voice.
"Hello, my name is Suzana, may I speak to Mr. Voja Radovanovic?"
"This is him" - I answered and continued - "I'm 43 yrs old, single, I like everything young people like. I also like Angelina Jolie, Pamela Anderson, Jenna Jameson. Some people say that I look like Rowan Atkinson (Mr. Bean)(it leaves special sensation on women).
Not even looking toward what I have to say, she countinued saying that she is from one political party (I don't want to say wich one, it doesn't even matter) and asked me if I had time for some kind of opinion poll.
"All right" - I said - "But it has to be a short one,  I am cooking at the moment, I don't want to mess my dish."
And so she started asking me questions like: "What are you satisfied with? What don't you like? What do you think about this and that politician?" and something like that for next few minutes. I was trying to think of anything nice, but I couldn't, so I started talking about bad stuff. I told her about this guy and that guy (I don't wanna say names, somebody would be upset that I didn't mention him), and she just kept waiting for me to lose my voice. And so I lost my breath. Once I carelesly made a break, that gentle and soft voice (oh, voice can decieve) had whispered in my ear: "Would you tell me who did you vote for?" My knees felt like they were made of glass.  I quickly brought a chair wich I fell on. I thought to myself that maybe from the other side of the line is some ugly old woman with that soft and tender voice... Can it be? And is it possible that the community three months after elections didn't find out who did I vote for? Iwas astonished by the amount of ignorance. In good old days, something like that should be known even before elections. 104% and 0% against and there you go. I mean, we have to be a mess when people have to ask you who did you choose to vote for. And what's all that guaranteed  electing privacy for? Is that why I hid behind the curtain, from where I accidentally took a pen (my favourite memory I got from elections). "Sir", silent voice stopped my conversation to myself, "are you still on the phone?" "Well, yes I am", I answered, "I know what you said. I remember that I did vote, just I can't remember, who did I chose. But, don't vorry, I wrote it somewhere, I am know that. I wrote it in my notebook with important dates, or the book of regrets, that's where I notify Serbian politicians statements. So, if you could give me your phone number, I will make sure to find that information and share it with you. If it matters, you have a lovely voice" The line failed, I don't know why. And they say so many good stuff about our telephony. I didn't even get to ask her if we could meet that night. A few neighbours praised that she called them to. Who knows, maybe they're jelous and they want me to feel bad. And as Bogart said in "Casablanca": "This could be a start of a beautyfull friendship..." 

White Creek

15. april 2007.


Since I created my MYSPACE profile, I realized what does it mean to know English language. Since I know just a few words like London, Chelsea and Tony Blear, I can just guess what are people writing in letters I get from them. Believe it or not, I get most of my letters from all the kinds of women. What do they want from me? I can't tell, that's why I'm thinking… Next to the text, there's also their picture that says 10000 words (as Chinese concluded long time ago), but no matter what, I would like to know what is written in that letter.

   I wanted to learn English long time ago, but something always stood in my way. I remember, as I if it was just yesterday, but it was almost twenty years ago, when I was much younger and hungry for adventure I used to travel around Europe. One day walking around the streets of Frankfurt (Germany), looking at street musicians, I saw some Japanese guy who was drawing portraits of people going by for money. Intrigued by his work, I wanted him to create the portrait of me.  As soon as he spoke I knew we will be having trouble to understand each other. He asked me if I spoke English, which I answered him negatively. I told him that I speak German, which he unfortunately didn't speak. He then scratched his head (he didn't want to lose potential customer), and I scratched my elbow thinking how much am I going to pay him.  Then I grabbed the last straw and remembered that I can speak Serbian, but he wasn't best with. But he said to himself that he speaks Japanese, which wasn't my favourite in highschool. I thought to myself: "Is it posible that we both know four languages and still we can't understand each other?". At the end we both started using the international language of sad and happy faces as well as hand and feet signs. That worked better for us. I remember what has my late father used to say (every time I'd say something like: "You worth as much as the number of languages you can speak): "For foreign lands, my son, all you need to know are two crucial words: YES and NO. All the other things you can show using your hands and fingers".

  Somehow I realized that my portrait costs 50 DEM. Since I had only 5 DEM in my pocket, I suggested to him that I should make the picture of him in change of money. I also explained that I belong to this new wave in painting, closer to Picasso than Rembrant and that portrait painted by me doesn't necessarily have to look like my model. It depends of my current inspiration and if the face in the picture would have donkey ears (sometimes), third eye (maybe), or three fingers (with a bit if accent on the one in the middle wich represents fight of the people against all the kinds of tiranies).

     I must say that I had the best intentions he didn't seem to understand me at all. From the little bit of Japanese' words I knew I realized that he mentioned Tito and the Non-union pact, so I said something about Kurosawa and Kurodunav. After all, every thing ended well, because he seemed to be a fan of Kurosawa, and that's when I said to myself that I will learn that English so I would not get into this kind of delicate situations. I wanted to learn that damned language but in the years to come I heard from some people in the streets that Serbia will be someday starching all the way to Tokyo (This one was from Osaka), so I thought to myself "Why should I learn English, when he will have to learn Serbian eventually". But those people had tricked me. Instead of people from Japan the Chinese' had learned to speak Serbian. I meet some of them almost every day and I must say that they speak Serbian much better than many Serbs I know.


There are people who suffer although they are innocent. Believe me, there are such people. Look, for example at my case. Several days ago I was walking out of an inn (by the way, it is very pleasant place, they even walked me to to the door and explained me in a friendly manner that they do not serve drunk customers) when I encountered my neighbour Pera. I saw that a camera hung around his neck, he was smiling and walking towards me. It is true that I was a bit drunk, but I am not one of those people who do not know what they are doing when drunk. Spirits are stimulating for me, I even function better in that case. Some things I see doubly, which means twice more than ordinary people, the so called teetootallers can see. I tell you that it was all clear to me from the moment I saw him.. It started in our country too. I am not uninformed, I read regularly world news. I remembered drunk Paris Hilton and bald Britney Spears (from top to bottom) and even that extremely rich man wearing pierced socks. (I do not have only pierced socks but underpants too, which is not a big deal. I do not like self praise). A photo of me going out of an inn on the cover of popular press: no way! Imagine a photo of my torn trousers at the backside; that would be a dessert for greedy reading public and journalistic gourmets. And I tell you that it was all clear to me from the moment I saw him. I don't need publicity and remunaration. I don't even need indemnity because the justice is very slow and it has blindfold over eyes. I see twice better. The moment he approached me and stretched out his arm to greet me, I slapped his face. Then I pulled his camera off and hit it against his head. Can you imagine how people became insolent. They started protecting him instead of helping me to finish him up. Later, he began legal action against me, but I prepared well for the trial. I defended myself, and I presented a load of evidence (newspaper articles) to the judge, where it was clearly seen what they were capable of doing. The judge, who was a generous person, grinned at my explication (I think that was a good sign) and postponed the trial for one month upon the request of the defence, giving me time to procure some more material for the court. (A photo of Boy George was taken while entering male toilet). You should have seen the way he behaved in the court, it was complete failure. His leg was in a cast, (I demanded that he take it off since I doubted it was a fake) he stated that his camera was 200-euro worth (I have a witness who shall confirm that he bought it in the shop: Everything for 69 dinars) and he even asked for indemnity for physical and mental pain sustained. He also stated that I beat him because of the money I lent him one year ago that he did not return back to me and not because he wanted to take a photo of me. Could you imagine that. But I talked too much about this. Did you want to ask me something, or you just dropped by? – my neigbour, from whom I wanted to lend some money, asked me.