Zilele astea mergeam in ritmul meu nebun prin facultate, mai nebun atunci caci ma grabeam, cand un amic cadru didactic mi-a zis ca se mai uita pe blogul meu si ca-i place. Nu e o remarca auto-laudativa. Am fost profund surprinsa. Nu mai scrisesem pe blog de ceva vreme. Eram cu "treaba" in facultate si ma grabeam, prinsa in mrejele vietii pe care am ales-o s-o am in facultate si iata cum mi se reamintea ca am avut o data timp liber.
N-am mai scris pe blog de foarte multa vreme. La inceput am pus poze, ca sa compensez, si apoi pur si simplu n-am mai scris. Am scris numai cand un sentiment puternic ma impingea s-o fac. Asta nu inseamna ca asa-zisele reflectii asupra lumii s-au oprit. In continuu mintea mea, ca un neoprit comentator sportiv, genereaza impresii despre ceea ce se intampla. Dar de la gand la scris e mult loc si, chiar daca aici nu am pretentii extreme beletristice, totusi nu pot arunca ganduri brute si, mai ales, nu pot arunca fiece gand care-mi trece prin nucsoara aia osoasa.

Azi m-am apucat sa scriu nu pentru ca am cine stie ce timp, ci pentru ca simt nevoia sa insir niste cuvinte.
Sincer, ma bucur ca n-am timp. Sa nu ma intelegeti gresit. Nu muncesc paispe ore pe zi si inca nici macar nu muncesc cat as trebui dar muncesc mult mai mult timp ca inainte si asta ma bucura nespus. Oboseala de dupa o zi de munca iti da cel mai relaxant somn, pauzele vin ca o recompensa, alimentele, dupa ce uiti sa mananci o zi, sunt mai gustoase, paginile alea care le citesti inainte sa pici in taramul visarii apartin celor mai frumoase carti iar imbratisarea parintilor sau a prietenului e mai moale ca cel mai tare balsam de haine. Tot ce tine de relaxare e experimentat la superlativ iar viata ia proportii diferite.
Mereu cand incep sa misc din dejte, incercand sa inot impotriva propriilor curenti de lene ma trezesc fata in fata cu experienta inaltatoare a degustarii vietii ca pe un vin bun.
Mai aud oameni care zic ca daca muncesti nu mai ai timp de nimic, de tine, de viata. Dar fara sa muncesti nu ai chef de nimic, de tine, de viata.

Mai e o chestie. Sa muncesti ceea ce-ti place. Am o amica care initial o dat la drept. Si era nefericita si se chinuia si, cu toate ca muncea ea acolo, nu avea rezultate. Acum e la Colegiul de asistente si a renascut. Merge la scoala, ia numai note bune, are mereu un zambet pe fata si o sclipire in ochi si vrea sa-si petreaca revelionul intr-o garda, cu colegii de grupa. Munca fara pasiune e o pierdere. O viata ai si e o idee buna sa ajungi la capat multumit de ceea ce ai realizat. Eu-s din aia norocosi. Mi-am ales o facultate care-mi place, nu-mi trebe in mod special bursa deci pot sa incerc sa ma concentrez pe obiectele care-mi plac si deci invat de placere. Medicina nu-i usoara dupa nici un standard. Chiar si cu pasiune nu-ti vine usor sa inveti caci mereu pare ca nu se mai termina. Informatiile is ca armatele alea coplesitoare, care par sa vina si sa vina cu toate ca tot ii omori. Dai peste ceva general si peste sase ore descoperi ca inca incerci sa ajungi la capatul acelui subiect si fiecare fraza contine ceva fascinant in ea si nu poti sa renunti si tot vrei sa mai citesti.

Bine. Sa nu credeti ca totu-i roz si eu-s o virginica habotnica si silitoare. Eventual cu doua codite si halat scrobit. Nu. Chiulesc la diverse obiecte. Nu vin la scoala. Aman chestii. Imi iau prea multe pe cap pentru a le putea duce. Imi propun chestii de care nu ma tin. Ma lupt cu lenea nativa. Ma dau cu capul de pereti de cat de proasta is. Un continuu du-te-vino intre "hai sa futem menta" si "hai sa citim despre presiunea sangvina ca totusi ii misto". Invidiez pe aia care pot sta nemiscati ore in sir la birou sau la cursuri dar ii dispretuiesc pentru ca n-au viata in afara facultatii.

Dar adevarul e ca dau din maini mai tare ca-n liceu, de exemplu. Adevarul e ca maturitatea loveste pe fiecare la momentul potrivit. Si tot bat campii despre maturitatea asta de pe la saispe ani si inca nu s-o terminat si nici nu cred c-o sa se termine foarte curand. Maturitatea inseamna a sti despre tine si a te putea controla. Ei. Cale lunga. Dar, ne straduim sa progresam, un hop pe rand.

Am vrut sa scriu pe blog sa va anunt ca n-am murit. Ca is mai vie decat atunci cand m-am apucat sa scriu aici si ca ma chinui sa fiu si mai vie pe viitor. Ma uit pe geam si vad zapada si ma bucur la fel cum ma bucuram cand aveam opt ani si mergeam cu parintii la sanie. Si apoi ma uit in jos si vad un munte de carte cartonata pe numele ei Fiziologie Umana si ma striga EKG-ul la el si deci ma duc. Dar am sa mai scriu. La fel cum "am sa" multe chestii.

If anyone calls tell them I'm away. Tell them I'm not here. Tell them I'm in the bathroom having pleasant, quality time with myself. Tell them I have all the wrong thoughts of all the wrong ages and tell them no, I'm not going to do perform some stupid act of self-identity and slit my wrists. I just need to be in my little corner. On a cold, cold pavement, in some sort of physical or metaphysical dirt or sludge. Tell them all I want right now is to hold my knees with my hands, press my head onto my knees and rock like a little unwashed shivering beggar child. Tell them all I want to be right now is small. Tell them I want the pavement to cave, to crumble, to form a tiny little hole, to engulf me. Tell them I'll leave a little bell on the outside and I'll hold the rope from under there and I'll pull it when I feel alive again. Tell them they should really wait for that. Tell them it makes no difference it's all in my head for my head feels I'm buried alive. My head feels like a land-dweller. My head feels like a worm. My head feels he doesn't belong to a human anymore. My head feels like he belongs to a stool or to a spoon head or to some smartly quoted toilet paper. My head feels only flickers of himself. My head is my soul right now and tell them my soul isn't all well today. Tell them my soul is empty. And tell them that in that gap there is pain. Tell them that there is no vacuum but pain. So intense it seems like it has digested anything else. Air, joy, jokes, smiles and even that golden lil twinkle in the left side of my eyes. Tell them I'm not enjoying this. Tell them I feel no need to feel special. Tell them I feel quite plain and ordinary right now. Tell them I feel the pain felt by any decent human being over a certain age who has felt love. Tell them I can't really explain cause others have tried and have failed. Tell them that even if they were to add all the sad songs, all the suicidal poems, all the macabre paintings and all the crucification scenes they wouldn't be able to express this pain. Tell them this pain they probably felt, tell them they know how personal it is, tell them to remember it and then to think about calling. And then to think about telling me "it's gonna be fine" and "oh, honey" and whatever comforting lines and stories they might chose to come with. Tell them they know that only time is capable to wash this hurt and tell them right now I believe that time is only an urban myth, folklore for the hoping and weak. Tell them right now I don't think anything will cure this pain, this hollow, this endless pit I'm occupying. There's only one thing but right now that thing feels impossible it is to me inexistent. In this cold, cold night, under this pale, insensitive moon, in this filthy dirt I'm standing, the thing that can get me out seems so far away I can only sense it in my memories. Tell them I'm remembering happy times and I'm crying. Tell them I wish I cry all my tears away, tell them I want to reach the point it's physically impossible to cry, tell them in a while I'll want to cry and I won't be able and maybe then I'll be able to listen to all the nice-I'm-there-for-you crap. Because every line like that will make me think, will make me remember, will make me want, will remind me of my desperate need. And I don't want that. I don't want to need, to desire, to remember. I don't want to feel all these human little feeble things. Right now I'm so far away from the human race I cannot hope. The only thing always accessible, the only thing remaining after the fire, after the war, after the flood, after death and despair and destruction now I cannot find, I cannot concoct. I've lost my last refuge and tell them I don't think I'm capable of feeling it very soon. Tell them there's only one sole feeling I can experience, like a point-singularity. That is pain. Tell them to hit their heads to a wall for a day or so, until it really bleeds and then think about calling me. Tell them not to try to search for me for I am gone. At least for a while. Tell them I'll one day join, rejoice, regain all that made me. But now I am not me. Me is lost. Me has just been destroyed, pushed to oblivion, thrown over some invisible ledge or boundary marking the beginning of the internal self. Tell them I am nothingness and darkness, tell them I am just a rocking, sobbing, crying pile of carbon and hydrogen someday will recompose itself. And tell them no, they cannot help. No cigarette, no vodka, no sniff, no hug, no kiss on the forehead, no dance, no joke, no whatever they can imagine to cheer me up will help. No, there is only one thing that can help it's the thing that brought me in this little square I so almost invisibly occupy. Tell them not to call for I am no more.

Iubire, o floare de mar in par intr-o zi de vara, afara, o ispita strans lipita de un umar si un sold.

Iubire, frumusete apriga dintr-un zambet si un cantec intr-o sclipire ca o licarire in adancimea unui iris pierdut in vis.

Iubire, un dans brownian, an de an repetat, cautat, dansat in fiece locsor, in fiece coltisor, in fiecare firida ce gazduieste, ce daruieste un puls, un raspuns la sarabanda neoprita, nestavilita, pe care planeta pulseaza, imperceptibil vibreaza sub miscarea a un milion de miscari sincron, entitati pe acelasi ton, dansand dansul lumii, dansul cautarii.

Iubire, o dorinta, o fiinta ascunsa intr-un ban aruncat, sperat intr-o fantana, o ruga in fiece luna, o speranta pulsand de viata, aruncata intr-o carte de joc, un tarot, o loterie de suflete si semne, cuneiforme insemne, ce pot fi deslusite de-o singura persoana, cu vana cautarii, cu vrerea descoperirii.

Iubire, fericire extatica, nebunatica, haotica, hipnotica, nevrotica, ce nu are nevoie de imne, nu are nevoie de ode, nu are nevoie de nici un vers, o lectie de mers cu capul in jos pe luna, furtuna de vara ce zguduie fiinta, animata de dorinta, de o fata, de un cuvant, de un gand in intensa impletire, ce pare ca porneste in nemurire, ce provine din visare, ce nu are uitare, un lucru ce pur si simplu exista, in forta, aici, acum si nicicum altcumva.

Iubire, vers de jale, gasit mereu in cale, in meandre coerente, rosii-evidente, vine curgand continuu si line, brazdand, de la suprafata in profund, crestand blande sangerande pe inima.

Iubire, durere profunda, o unda, ce sparge, rupe in parti de bucati puse pe brancarde, franturi aruncate pe rugul ce arde acut si mare, sange stropit in zare, maini intinse pe zale, degete prinse in cuie zvarlite-n cale, stomac intins pe piuneze, sinapse continuu chinuitor de treze, corp sfasiat si aruncat in fata diverselor picioare, lovind fara indurare, scobind cu maini de gheata in propria viata, plesnind pana cand, dintr-un gand atotacaparator ramane un gol peticit de impleticite vineteli, amintiri ale dulcei ameteli, asezate in pastel de schinguire, nemiloasa chinuire, o busire brusca in nimicnicia solida, sordida a desertarii.

Iubire, putere si esenta, ura si congruenta, un val ce se intinde si curge in timp si distanta, fara toleranta, nestavilit, neoprit, o viitura ce angreneaza si dreneaza puterea cea mai intensa...pana l scrum, pana la fum, pana la abundentul ras, pana la sufocantul plans, pana cand lumea nu se va mai invarti, universul va muri si ultima fiinta se va stinge.

Tot am vrut sa scriu. Adica sa ma holbez in ecran si sa ma bucur ca un copil cum apar literele, asa, ca prin minune. Daca nu ma uit la tastatura am senzatia ca apar, puf! din senin. Si simt tastele sub degete si vad literele cum tot apar si scriu doar de dragul de a scrie. Plus ca ma plictisesc.
Adevarul e ca nu am ganduri coerente. Am franturi de imagini si franturi de idei dar nimic inchegat. Ma doar uit in jur si-mi mai apare cate ceva in cap, ceva care nu poate fi inclus inca nicaieri. Iar gandurile importante nu merita sa fie scrise pe blog pentru ca-s gandurile tuturor, adica nu-s speciale si daca nu-s speciala ma spanzur. Scoala, prieteni, vacanta, iubire. Sesiunea care o intrat ca o pedofila in vara, care parca nu se mai termina...Probleme cotidiene. Macar nu mai vorbesc de fluturi.
Dar sa va impartasesc din franturi...cum apare gandu' cum il scriu, o sa fie un haloemis...
- mi-o dat o amica pe hi5 [e bun si asta la ceva] link la One Republic cu Timbaland - Apologize. Nu va speriati, Timbaland, care tot apare peste tot, zice doar "ah-ah" in fundal de doua ori si se linisteste. Dar video-ul e facut...frumos. Adica sa-l cautati. Frumos, frumos, manca-l-ar mama pe regizoru' distapt care l-o scos.
- m-o apelat azi donsoara L. pe mess. Nu zicem nume, suntem cuminti. Si mi-am amintit de ea...cheala, nebuna, rece, cateodata enervanta, frumoasa. Si mi-am amintit cum odata eram la ea acasa si in miez de noapte am iesit...am mers pana la casa prietenului meu de atunci si i-am aruncat cu pietre in geam ca sa se trezeasca...Numai ca am gresit geamul. S-o trezit toata casa lui, diverse apartamente de langa, era sa spargem alt geam...da' el ba. Vroiam sa-i dam caramele.
- in ultimele zile m-am uitat la Andromeda, am invatat, am citit si am stat cu omu' meu. Andromeda-mi place, e sci-fi, are poveste, paralele, personaje faine. Cartea...adorabila. Iti vine s-o manci cu zahar si smantana. Omu'...is prea multe cuvinte de spus. Cum zicea profu' la fiziologie: "Daca ar fi sa vorbim despre rolurile sodiului in corp am sta doua zile non-stop." Cred ca fiecare o trecut prin asta. Nu conteaza cat vorbesti, soptesti, strigi, razi, plangi si zgarai despre ceva tot n-o sa fie de ajuns sa te faci inteles. [De aia o aparut poezia si de aia in filme zice "mai bine sa-ti cant decat sa-ti zic.]
- dupa multa vreme ma simt stabila.
- mi-am luat papuci cu buline si mereu rad cand ma uit in jos la ei. Da, asa, ca o vaca superficiala. Dar nu ma pot abtine.
- imi place noul meu stilou. Acolo sus in poza e el, vedeta in prim plan. Recomand sincer tuturor astora care scriu cu stiloul...firma Online.
- am ras recent puternic de absurditatea teatrului uman. Nici un regizor de film nu poate gandi unele lucruri la care poti fi martor in societate. Comportamentul uman, ah, ce dans fervent si frivol si minunat si bezmetic si distractiv.
- romantismul e a dracului de relativ
- tre' sa-mi refac camera. Un plan pentru cand ma intorc din vacanta, cand o veni si aia. De fapt, stiu cand vine, vine vinerea asta.
- azi o venit un prieten bun pe la mine. Nu mai venise de mult la "traditionalul ceai" si imi era dor. Ma gandeam ca sunt oameni cu care se creaza legaturi care par reale. Ca o sfoara pe care o vezi intre doua entitati. Intr-o anumita lumina, in anumite momente, apare. O vezi, o poti pipai, dispare, dar e acolo.

Cam pe aici ma opresc cu micile stupizenii cotidiene.

More and More by Margaret Atwood

More and more frequently the edges
of me dissolve and I become
a wish to assimilate the world, including
you, if possible through the skin
like a cool plant's tricks with oxygen
and live by a harmless green burning.

I would not consume
you or ever
finish, you would still be there
surrounding me, complete
as the air.

Unfortunately I don't have leaves.
Instead I have eyes
and teeth and other non-green
things which rule out osmosis.

So be careful, I mean it,
I give you fair warning:

This kind of hunger draws
everything into its own
space; nor can we
talk it all over, have a calm
rational discussion.

There is no reason for this, only
a starved dog's logic about bones.

O intamplare ciudata cu o pi**a proasta si un fluture

M-am trezit frumos azi dimineata. Era o raza de soare care-mi scalda fata si un lac de transpiratie care-mi scalda corpul infierbantat in sacul de dormit. Pentru ca e sac din ala care tre' sa tina la -nushcategrade si aveam si pantaloni si nu stiu daca ati aflat, e vara afara. M-am holbat la lustra oleaca dezorientata si apoi mi-am dat seama unde ma aflu. M-am ridicat gratios din patul meu somptuos, mi-am repus oasele in ordine, mi-am sters urma de covor de pe fata si mi-am gasit cafeaua lasata de izbeliste azi noapte in bucatarie. Cand eram mica faceam in camera mare din perne de canapea casute in care dormeam. Acum nu a fost cazul, dar tot am campat in casa, mai precis in sufragerie, pe covor, in sacul de dormit. Poate va intrebati de ce. Eu una mi-am pus intrebarea asta azi dimineata.
Adevarul e ca dublu-X-ul ala din mine isi mai face aparitia. Nu mi-e frica de aproape nimic. Merg singura pe strada noaptea, ma cert mai cu oricine daca e nevoie, ma arunc cu capul inainte la provocari si cred sincer in prostia mea ca sunt o femeie independenta si puternica care nu are nevoie de nimic si mai ales de nimeni.

Dupa vreo doua ore de incercari disperate de a adormi, de rotiri pe diverse parti si diverse pagini citite, am simtit ca-mi vine somnul. Tocmai cand inchideam si eu ochii mai bine si mai bine aud un zgomot...Deschid un ochi piezis, aprind lenes lumina...Un fluture imens si negru batea din aripi prin camera. Un fluture doamnelor si domnilor. Nu bondar urias. Nu tantar Anophel. Nu liliac care sa se tranforme in vampir. Un fluture. Un bet fluture ratacit. Ce credeti ca a facut Ioana cea rationala? A tras un racnet, si-a astupat gura ca sa nu-si trezeasca parintii si s-a uitat mesmerizata cum fluturele bate nebuneste din aripi mergand in directia ei. Moment in care Ioana cea brava a zbughit-o din camera. Si-a tras rasuflarea pe hol cateva secunde si apoi a redeschis usa. A cautat fluturele o vreme si apoi l-a observat stand lenes langa lampa din camera, facand o mica plaja la caldura becului. Eroina noastra a facut lucrul cel mai logic in acel punct: a dat un mesaj prietenului, care probabil in sfarsit adormise in patul lui situat in celalalt colt de oras, explicandu-i ce lucru apocaliptic tocmai s-a petrecut. Imi imaginez fata bietului baiat la ora trei dimineata, tehui de cap de somn, trezit de un mesaj de la preaiubita lui in care ii explica cum ea are un fluture in camera care e "urat si mare". Eu m-as fi batut. Dupa ce si-a scot piatra de pe suflet, Ioana s-a gandit putin si a decis cine e regele castelului. Cu nervi si-a luat MP3 playerul, tigarile si fizica si s-a mutat in bucatarie. A negociat cu gandacii de acolo teritoriul impartit, si-a facut o cafea si s-a asezat in pozitia ghiocelul pe scaun sa invete. Dar vai! Cavalerul in armura stralucitoare a aparut. Ieri multumeam sfantului duh ca bunicu mai mere la baie in mijlocul noptii. Deci da, apare bunicu, imbracat in alb si ma intreaba de ce naiba stau in bucatarie. Ii explic situatia disperata in care ma aflu. El ia un spray pentru insecte, merge in camera, identifica inamicul si cu doua sfichiuiri de spray, il anihileaza. Scurt si la obiect. Bine, evident ca al meu castel era total nelocuibil dupa aia, ca sprayul ala cred ca poate omora si oameni la cat de puternic este, deci Ioana si-a luat spasita sacul de dormit si s-a culcat la bunicu in camera, cu cainele asezat tandru in bratele ei. I-a multumit bunicului si a dormit somnul ferice a tuturor printeselor cu un bob de mazare sub ele.

Ciudat este ca eu pun mana pe fluturi. Si pe serpisori de apa si pe paianjeni. Dar in natura. In casa se produce un declic mental - spatiu inchis, chestie mica si nervoasa care zboara/se taraie - error. Creierul intra in colaps si femeia independenta ce sunt eu devine instant o pizda proasta care nu poate arunca pe geam un fluture benign in esenta sa si care probabil ca nu vrea sa se afle intr-un spatiu inchis mai mult ca posesorul spatiului inchis.

De cand am aparatul nu mai scriu. O sa scriu cand o sa-mi vina cheful. Pana una alta va plictisesc cu poze.

Stiam io ca nunta la care am fo o sa fie un prilej bun de poze. Nu ma asteptam sa-l prind pe tafta-miu intr-i ipostaza atat de tipica.
Ce bine ca exsita blocuri comuniste cu multe etaje si ce bine ca lumea e variata in gusturi.

Mi s-o parut atat de frumosi...ea cu parul vopsit in movul clasic, el citind ziarul.

Poze din mareata calatorie la Sibiu [si nu numai]

La Sibiu, in doua zile am scos 3Gb de poze, adica aproximativ 800 de poze clare, ne hyper-supra sau sub expuse, "bluri" etc. Ca tot se plangea tata ca n-o sa fac poze. Adevarul e ca Sibiul e o mina de aur vis a vis de poze. E un drum extrem de frumos din Iasi pana acolo, prin munti, chei etc. si orasul e vechi. Il renoveaza ei, dar au multe cladiri in paragina, chestie care nu m-o deranjat deloc. Plus ca acu' e vara si e puhoiu' de lume la plimbare, deci gasesti fete frumoase, lume care se joaca...nah, e frumos si plin de viata.

Asimetrie
Una din cladirile renovate din Sibiu. Lumina e asa din cauza pozitionarii becurilor pe strada.


Probably the best food in Romania (revisited)
Pe dealul Bucinului (da, asa se cheama), imediat dupa Cheile Bicazului, este o carciuma a carei numa nu pot sa-l pronunt (e in ungureste) unde se gateste dumnezeieste si ieftin. Branza e facuta pe dealul de langa, carnea e luata tot de prin jur, totu-i natural si ca la bunica acasa. Si-ti fute un platou ca-n imagine, la care muncesc doi-trei oameni si care costa vreo 35 roni si te lingi pe dejte de ce bun e.


Red Reflections
Poza asta am incadrat-o pentru ca am luat-o anapoda. Adica nu-i dreapta deloc. Nush daca ar fi fo mai buna dreapta, cand mai merg prin Sibiu o sa ma stradui sa nu mai aplec aparatul. Oricum, se vede beserica veche de vis a vis reflectata in ea.

Eternal Flame
Asta e in curtea unui restaurant. O gradina pitoreasca si intima.

Nostalgia
Vanatoarea de poze cateodata chiar da rezultate. Si o fo extrem de sec. M-am postat in fata geamului, pe niste scari si mi-am pus aparatul la ochi si era clar c-o sa fac o poza si eram sigura c-o sa se intoarca, o sa plece, o sa zambeasca, o sa-si schimbe pozitia, o sa faca ceva. De unde. Fata o stat exact cum statea si mai inainte, ignorandu-ma total, cu tot cu aparat. Mi-a tras o privire rapida si dispretuitoare si si-a continuat alergarea prin cine stie ce ganduri avea in capul ala aplecat si trist.


Silly
Asta e luata la congresul de bioetica pentru care am fo in Sibiu. Iar asta e unul din oamenii din firma alor mei, un tip extrem, extrem de fain. Genul de om cu umor fin, calm englezesc si simt practic tipic masculin. Da, nu arata ca are nici una din aceste atributii in poze pentru ca e, ca orice om inteligent, si copil cateodata si excentric si...ciudat.

Child running
In piata mare, in Sibiu. Mi-o placut la nebunie expresia fetitei asteia. Fugea ca nebuna, dansa, batea din palme, parintii fugeau si ei dupa ea, intra in fantana, nu-i pasa de nimic.

Spring in small things
Hotelul unde am stat in Sibiu era langa un fel de baza militara. Si avea ce credeam io a fi un tanc mic mic in fata. Si cum pretenului ii plac kkturile astea am zis sa-i fac o poza. Dupa aia am aflat io ca ala nu-i tanc ci "artilerie mobila". Da, stiu, informatii valoroase pentru existenta mea mizera. Oricum, am avut un fel de noroc chior de floarea aia din mijloc. Fara ea poza ar fi fost banala. Asa, mie una mi se pare chiar interesanta.


A change in the system
Tot pe dealul ala cu albinele. Chestiile rosii is miere cu gem de afine si zmeura, divina licoare de altfel. Si mereu am iubit ursuletii cu miere, ma fac sa ma gandesc la copilarie cand meream cu bunica in piata si luam ursuleti. Cand eram mica uram mierea si deci o mancam numai pe aia din ursuleti pentru ca ma distra.


Baaaarzaaa
Da, doamnelor si domnilor, e aia care aduce copii. Si noroc.
Fire in the water!
Aici o fo cativa care m-o intrebat ce e. Ei, in Sibiu, in centru, e o fantana arteziana mare mare. Prin care poti sa meri. Si careia i-o pus luminite anul asta. Ei, asta e o poza cu timp de expunere mic, de se vad stropii, la una din stropitoarele fantanii care coincidental avea o lumina rosie sub ea.


Tools of the trade
Asta e facuta tot in izbucnirea de narcisism de acu oliac de vreme. Objecte de prin casa puse impreuna. Ciudat e ca fix lacul de unghii nu-i al meu, e a lu' mama. Si da, se cheama Club.

Stories

Tech Kid Collage
This almost six year old is amazing. Wonderfully bright and witty, with an adorable, inexhaustible desire to learn, she is truly a breath of fresh air. She is the daughter of a very open-minded lady forensic and so I had the opportunity to take shots of her while we were at a Congress.


Entrapment
Taken in a bar in Sibiu. The bar has the maybe best designs I've seen until now. It's "trendy" and yet cozy. It's called Deja-Vu, it's in Sibiu, pay it a visit if you're in the neighborhood.

Through the looking wheel
Well, this is taken through a wooden wheel put as a decorative element in the garden of a very very healthy restaurant somewhere near Bicaz, Romania.


...we are working on the raaaailroaaaad...
No, we don't have pretty signs. We have rusty, bumped signs. But the idea matters. Especially in Ardeal roads.

The looking wheel
Yes, you guessed right, it's the wheel from above. I have a problem with wheels. And windows. Don't know why.

Honey
This is really cool. The bees "live" on the hill I took this shot. It's really cool that in Romania you find "road-traders", people who sit by the road and sell stuff - fruit, veggies, cheese, honey etc. Quite convenient.


Hungry eyes
That thing around her eyes is a bacon ring. Slanina bre. Thought it looked cool.

Today...I was narcissistic.

Experiment with two girls and a fan.

Raight

Shift Happens.

if i could be an assassin or a burglar my trademark would be a tulip
if i could use only one word to describe this world it would be beautiful
if i could sing i would sing a different song each day under the same tree
if i could chose one image in the world to remember before i go blind it would be a child in a snow covered field
if i could chose a place to live in seclusion until i die it would be a hill at the botom of a mountain
if i could keep only one scent in my mind it would be the smell of rain
if i could have only one thought before i close my eyes it would be thank you
if i could freeze time in only one moment it would be our first kiss
if i could live in only one time of day it would be the summer morning, just after daybreak
if i could describe myself in only one word it would be colours
if i could feel only one feeling all my life it would be confusion
if i could touch only one texture it would be silk

Continuand ciclul "Je Recomanda"...Feist.
E genul de muzica "cute". E genul de muzica pe care o asculti intr-o dimineata de primavara sub un copac proaspat inflorit, genul de muzica care se potriveste intr-un camp de margarete sau pe o fusta larga si colorata care e valurita de vant sau intr-o seara cu cer roz si vant proaspat si rece care-ti imbujoreaza obrajii. E genul de muzica delicata, frumoasa, usoara.
Vocea tipei, pentru ca e o tipa, e usor ragusita dar totusi calda. Mare parte din melodii is destul de lente iar temele abordate nu-s in nici intr-un caz "grele". Adica ea povesteste. Despre dragoste, despre familie, despre tinerete, despre veselie si tristete.
E ciudat cum atatea amintiri ma leaga de Feist. Prima data am ascultat-o in America, de la tipa la care locuiam. Stateam pe covor, ea picta nu stiu ce [era la arte] si vorbeam si o pus asta si mi-o placut instantaneu. Tot Feist o fo fundalul sonor intr-o dupa amiaza de iarna acu vreo doi ani, intr-un loc rupt de lume, cand am vorbit verzi si uscate cu un bun prieten la o cana de ciocolata calda cu rom. De ultimul album am auzit de la un alt om tare drag mie. Deci Feist mereu ma face sa ma gandesc la prieteni. Si la liniste. Si poate oleaca la pierderi. Si cateodata la castiguri.
Dar daca aveti o seara mai libera in care aveti chef sa stati ghemuiti intr-un scaun moale si sa cititi ceva, Feist e o idee buna de fundal sonor.

Cigaretes are not a vice if you have a pair of pants to match.There is this woman who is really a girl...
Freedom.
From above a child is still innocent a bird can still fly.
A bright enquiring mind.

Sa votam.

The memories of a man in his old age are the deeds of a man in his prime. You shuffle in the gloom of the sick room and talk to yourself as you die. But life is a short warm moment and death is a long cold rest. You get your chance to try in the twinkling of an eye-80 years with luck or even less. So all aboard for the American tour and maybe you'll make it to the top. But mind how you go, I can tell you 'cause I know, you might find it hard to get off. But you are the angel of death and I am the dead man's son. He was buried like a mole in a fox hole and everyone is still on the run. And who is the master of fox hounds and who says the hunt has begun? Who calls the tune in the court room and who beats the funeral drum? The memories of a man in his old age are the deeds of a man in his prime. You shuffle in the gloom of the sick room and talk to yourself as you die.

Fragility. The most beautiful thing in people is the the inevitability of the ultimate failure.
We are fragile. The so-called weak and the so-called strong, the cowardly and the bold, coke addicts and great rulers, women and men alike, black, white, red, yellow, mixed, children and elders and grown-ups, the fat and the thin, the ugly and the beautiful, the smart and the cretin...You. Me. Us all. Face the ultimate failure.

Imagine. Yourself naked. Your skin colour, your taste, the touch of your hair. See yourself move, an arm raised, an eye twitch. A muscle relief, a scar, a bone coming out from somewhere, a bruise.
Imagine. Your blood flowing, your heart pumping red, your lungs like a sponge, your kidneys brown, your muscles long, your bones yellow, your brain gray.
Imagine. The mechanisms inside. The dance of the cells interacting, the contact, the exchange of information, the processes going on and on, the deaths, the births, the divisions, the transformations.

Think. Break down your body into chemicals and they are worth a total of three dollars. But the simplest human, the commoner, not a Mozart, not a Kant, but an average human being is priceless if only we'd take in account the "simple body functions." Our basic sustaining system is such a complex and well tuned and balanced machine it is priceless.

Think again. What makes us human, what makes us so special is what our mind can make. Imagine. Think. Feel. We have yet to understand our limits. We have yet to create, we have yet to understand, we have yet to invent, we have yet to interact.

Feel. We build illusions of walls against feelings. We learn very soon the power other humans have and we fear and so we grow, we nurture these illusions of protection, isolation, coldness.

The first key. One cell goes rabid and a whole system fails. One process goes berserk and one main body function disappears. It is so easy to hurt us for our bounds are so tight. Temperature. Pressure. pH. Bacteria. Sharp metal objects.

The second key. The more we know the weaker we are. The more opinions we have. The more thoughts we have and the maze grows larger and larger. The larger the risk of getting lost. Lost in the illusion of knowledge, lost in the search, lost in ourselves.

The third key. There will always be some other human being to crush our walls. A death. A new life. A new lover. A friend. Someone will do something to penetrate those careful build pseudo-walls and reach with themselves right in the center of our hearts. The stronger we believe the walls are the harder we fall.

The door. We pass it. We see it every day and we pass through it blindly. It the door to the chamber of a...lady. There is no God. No Zeus. No Allah. No Architect. No green men from the sky. Just her. She sends thunders and rocks and sunshine in our paths. She creates the roads we chose, she creates the mazes we get lost in.

Lady Fate. Her room is cozy, her carpets are soft and she always has a special kind of tea. The warm kind, the perfect kind. Her voice is soft and she is serene. And you can never remember her face.

The invite. She appears. In small signs. Spoon fulls. She presents her hand and shows us the door to her and we pass. But if we enter we understand. We leave and the air feels anew, the ground feels solid and we feel clear.

Fragility. This is our key. Our essence. Our innermost beauty. We are frail. We dance on a thin rope. No matter what we believe of ourselves. No matter how many walls be build. No matter what we think makes us strong. No mater how badly we believe we are titans. We are a leaf. It's complex, it is beautiful, it is unique, it pulsates with life but it can fall so easily and be stepped upon by millions of feet walking carelessly on the street. She can chose to shake the tree. She can chose to light the tree with the most pleasant sun or send storms above it. You chose your branch from the many she lays in front of you. Freedom, yes, exists. But no true strenght.

Fragility.

A walk in the park...

I had a weird dream last night. I dreamed of one of my ex boyfriends. I haven't thought intensely about him recently, I didn't go through one of those lame periods when you think back and sob, but there he was, in my dream, among with other people. Sometimes these things happen to me, I don't think about a person for a while and he or she appears in my dreams, like a reminder note from my subconscious. But anyway. Why he was there is besides the point. The point is that particular guy made me very happy and in that dream we were back together and I was experiencing the same extreme happiness. And we were performers and we all lived together-we were a lot of people, a lot of my friends were there. And we were about to go out and I started searching for a shirt. My head was stuck in the closet and as I was searching something dawned upon me. And I left the place alone, with a strong "fuckitall". The streets looked like the Prater amusement park combined with the first location in Syberia I. And different "machineries" were passing me. One of them was filled with monkeys, it was a mobile zoo. One of them was a show-truck thingy putting on display the gimp from Pulp Fiction (I have someone else to thank for that one)...all the cars were large, were double SUVs, very colourful and they all played music. I sat myself on a blackjack machine. It wasn't working because it was to early in the morning, but I just sat there, looking at it. The machine was placed on a high spot in the city and so I could see the panorama. I don't know how long I sat there. Then, this kid comes along saying he wants to play. And I tell him to wait while I finish this game. But nothing was happening although I was pushing buttons. I got up, bewildered that nothing had happened in the game, and I met another acquaintance who told me that I didn't place my bet. I smiled and we started walking and then I was brutally awoken by a phone call from one of my friends I just dreamed of.

Apart from the fact that I was totally dizzy in the morning[that is, now], I realised something.
Someone holds a meter. Like a thermometer. I once had a thermometer, one of those cheap made-on-a-boat kinda one. And just to see what happens, I placed my finger on it, thus making it heat up. I blew it up in the end, again, just to see what happens. I think there's some sort of dude doing the same thing with happiness. He puts his warm finger on you and besets upon you happiness, but when it's too much, he is careful enough to shatter the glass. The fall is proportional with the amount of happiness. At that time, with that particular guy, I was floating with happiness, intense and full. And the thermometer broke quite badly. And this phenomena happened with other things as well.

I think it's an evolution fail safe system. We wouldn't evolve if we were happy. "I don't need anything" is probably the death of all life forms. Pain makes us evolve, create, invent. All pain, any kind of pain. Being happy is not compatible with evolution. It's like that phrase in medicine "loosing your liver is not compatible with survival". They could put it like "YOU DIE", but not being compatible with sounds more technical.
Basically, if you're happy, you die. Always be unhappy about something, dislike a particular situation in your life and maybe, just maybe he will ignore you and you can carry on your existence without any burning fingers on your personal thermometer.

- Mama, cum dracu ai cazut intr-o groapa cat pazeai lumina de Paste?!
- Stai sa-ti zic.
Am fost la o biserica in Neo Panteleimonas. Ala e un cacat de sat in care tre' sa cobori. Adica iti lasi masina undeva pe drum si, doamne fer, mergi in jos pe deal pana in centrul satului, unde e o beserica [ma-si], inconjurata de carciumi. Si deci grecii in noaptea de inviere stau la cafenea si beau frapethachio, cafethzacio, uzulachio, pizdachio si asteapta lumina. Adica, credinta pana-n ma-sa, ce sa-ti zic... Si iese preotu si se ridica in picioare si fac tri pasi si iau lumina. Ei, si cand am luat si noi lumanarile ne-am dus spre masina, adica da, in susul dealului. Strada era un cacat de strada printre case, una din alea cum numa grecii pot sa le faca si total neiluminata pen' ca, vezi tu, satu' de abia si-o pus electricitate de vreo juma de an, ca inainte aveau lampi de petrol. Mbon, si deci mergeam cu lumina pe cacatul de strada ingusta si nu vedeam nimic si intr-un punct strada se unduia oleaca...ei, io n-am vazut unduirea si am cazut intr-o groapa. O "gropita" in care am cazut pana la brau in care boii mai si plantasera un copac in care doar m-am zgariat. Dar mi-am luxat picioru'. Sa mor io, o data in viata merg la prostia de slujba de Paste si uite ce se intampla...cred ca de fapt mi se comunica ca niciodata n-o sa fie o idee buna sa merg la slujba de Paste. De abia merg pe piciorul asta, naiba sa-i ia cu ulitele si ne-iluminatu' public...
- Macar ai salvat lumina?...

Sa continuam de unde am lasat-o.
Nervoasa ca ai mei nu-mi dau nici un fel de atentie, i-am sunat. Ajunsesera cu o noapte inainte destul de tarziu, mancasera si cazusera lati in pat. A doua zi o alergat de nebuni cu treaba si deci n-o apucat sa ma sune. Dar mi-o luat vopseaua de par pe care o vroiam de ceva vreme, deci totusi stiau ca aveau o fiica perduta pe undeva. Cand i-am sunat era ora noua juma si stateau in curtea unei biserici de pe Olimp, asteptau sa ia lumina. Preotul mai avea o slujba deci slujba de pe Olimp incepea mai devreme. Mama fuma la telefon cat asteptau lumina, ii auzeam pufaiturile iar tata era cumplit de vesel si amandoi asteptau sa mearga la baut. Vorbeam cu ei si zambeam gandindu-ma cat de shui is ai mei si cum devin din ce in ce mai shui pe masura ce trece vremea.

Am plecat intr-un final la Alexandra. Ne-am uitat la un film in care am admirat-o pe Angelina Jolie si, in timp ce-i ziceam noapte buna am adormit dusa. Am dormit minunat iar dimineata m-am trezit "clara", de parca somnul o diluat si disipat toata starea aia in care fusesem cu o zi inainte. Nu ma gandisem la raspunsuri, nu analizasem dar totusi, cand am ridicat capul dintre paturi imi simteam viata din nou compartimentata si la locul ei, de parca raspunsurile se ivisera pur si simplu.
Ne-am spalat cu apa cu oua si un ban de argint, prima data cand infaptuiesc aceasta traditie si ne-am asezat in bucatarie cu cafea si tigari la "o cioaca". Am vorbit verzi si uscate, de la situatie curenta a Iranului pana la relatii si vacanta. Apoi am mancat. Salata "Biof", friptura de miel, salata de sfecla cu hrean, drob...am primit si bere. Am glumit cu mama si cu bunicul ei si in totul timpul asta ma simteam ca intr-un film de Craciun cand o familie ia sub obladuire un copil sarman si orfan. Cred ca o singura data, cand eram cu mult mai mica, am avut o masa de Paste in familie. Mi-a placut atunci, in ciudat faptului ca o trebuit sa ma imbrac frumos si sa nu mananc cu mainile. Ieri am simtit acelasi lucru, numai ca mancam pe o canapea de pe niste scaune. A fost tare frumos.
Am plecat acasa si strazile erau pustii. Erau vreo doua birturi deschise si vreo doi oameni pierduti, dar pana am ajuns pe Stefan cel Mare am fost doar eu, soarele, izul de primavara si muzica din casti. Mergeam si simteam iarasi acel sentiment al schimbarii, de parca ceva in mine s-a mutat, o piesa din puzzle si-a modificat pozitia.
Am ajuns pe Stefan. Batea soarele si strada era inchisa si plina de oameni. Cred ca am zambit tot timpul cat am mers. Era un tata care isi invata baietelul care-i ajungea pana la genunchi cum sa mearga pe role. Si tatal avea in spate un ghiozdan imens si copilul avea in picioare niste role cat jumatate din talia sa si se tinea de tatal lui si incerca sa-si mentina echilibrul si ba intra intre picioarele parintelui, ba se ducea departe si zambea cu gura pana la urechi, era atat de fericit...Erau doi tineri care se tineau de mana...el avea o fata tipica de tocilar, cu niste ochelari cu rame rotunde si urme de acnee si era imbracat banal si cuminte iar ea...ea avea un par minunat blond si niste picioare aproape perfecte imbracte in ciobotele si o fusta de blugi...Pareau atat de diferiti dar in timp ce mergeau si se tineau de mana zambeau si se uitau unul la celalalt cu privirile alea stralucitoare de oameni indragostiti...Am vazut un grup de baieti care se uitau la lumea care trecea pe strada si comentau si radeau, doar stand pe un gard si distrandu-se...Am vazut doi batrani, usor cocarjati care mergeau tinandu-se de mana, doua capete albe care zambeau si vorbeau...Am vazut copii alergand de nebuni si un bebe in landou dus de bunica-sa la soare...Si toti oamenii pe langa care treceam zambeau...Era soare si era Paste si tot Stefan-ul parca era intr-o sarbatoare ascunsa in gandurile fiecarui om care iesise la aer.
Am ajuns acasa ferice. Mereu ma bucur cand vad alti oameni fericiti. Cel mai frumos lucru este un zambet si poate parea cretin cum ma hlizesc la un copil zambind si cum rad de fericirea lui dar nu ma pot abtine. In lumea asta cruda si cu atatea rautate si probleme si cacaturi sa vezi un bulevard de oameni fericiti, macar pentru o zi, pentru cateva ore, sa vezi copiii care inca nu banuie in ce vor creste este pur si simplu frumos.

[Paranteza] Pentru mine cuvantul "frumos" insemna cumplit de multe. In afara ca e un cuvant care-mi place cum suna, e un cuvant cu o mare insemnatate si-l pe care-l folosesc foarte rar. Frumos nu e dragut, nu e adorabil, nu e "cute". Cand spun frumos ma refer la ceva ce imi inalta sufletul, ce ma face sa zambesc din interior, e ceva ce e luminos, ce radiaza. Sunt momente speciale, lucruri speciale, accidente speciale. Frumos pentru mine e un cuvant "plin". Cand am fost in America, la clasa de "Writing" ne-a explicat diferenta intre cuvinte banale si cuvinte "pline". Profa era suav nebuna si si acum imi amintesc cum s-a ambalat toata vorbindu-ne despre "what the hell is "fine"? 'Fine" means fuck-off-I-don't-want-to-talk-to-you. Don't use plain adjectives-fine, good, bad. One word which don't mean shit. When you really want to describe something, there are very few meaningful words. That's why you have to use expressions, comparisons. Don't use plain words or your readers will think you're uninterested in sending the message, or you're too lazy". Cam pe acelasi principiu e si cu "frumos". Folosesc rar cuvantul, in genere pefer sa folosesc expresii, sa detaliez o descriere pentru ca is foarte putine lucruri care merita adjectivul "frumos". [Inchidem paranteza]

Am descoperit ca-mi place melancolia. Is intr-o stare foarte melancolica acum, ascult Regina Spektor, Poets of the Fall, Pink Floyd, K's Choice, PJ Harvey si Portishead si ignor orice vesel de pe comp si ma uit mesmerizata in luminitza de pe varful ecranului de laptop. O pus baetii de la IMB o luminita oranj care teoretic ar trebui sa lumineze tastele in timp ce scrii. E tare simpatica. M-as uita pe geam, ca mereu am asociat melancolia cu un geam, dar pe geam e juma dintr-o beserica, juma dintr-un hotel imens si inutil si multe blocuri deci nu ma ajuta. Am gasit doua poze si le-am pus impreuna si am pus versurile de la On The Radio care m-o tot urmarit astazi prin gand pe oriunde incerca sa se refugieze; statea acolo, ca un ecou de coloana sonora in timp ce eu incercam sa fug prin amintiri si dileme si viitoruri...
E un Paste ciudat. Ai mei is plecati si nu stiu de ce le simt lipsa. Adica nu-i nou sa plece. Nu suntem lichiti unii de altii. Dar de data asta le simt lipsa. Poate pentru ca am nevoie mai multa de ei acuma, poate pentru ca e vacanta si stau acasa, poate pentru ca simbolizeaza ceva ce mie imi tot scapa printre dejte asa cum mereu scpaa sapunu' din maini intr-un dus comun. Nu s-o facut nici un fel de curatenie de Paste. N-o fo agitatie. La restul de prieteni in casa o fo agitatie, certuri pe teme de covoara, bai si pasti, injuraturi, cumparaturi...chestii. La noi ioc. Cu bunicii acasa, cu doua covoare in toata casa, baile curatate sistematic, camera mea total neinteresanta...macar am mancat miel. Si si ala mi-o produs o bucurie fugara. Nu-mi place banalizarea sarbatorilor. Craciunul trecut n-o fo zapada si nu mi-o placut. O fost...sec. Am vazut Sin City, un "family movie" perfect pentru Craciun, un film care intr-adevar te invata ce-i aia bunatate si blajinitate...
Ma gandeam, in miezul acestei stari, cum s-o pivotat focusul vietii mele. Ca o miscare subtila de dans de pe un picior pe altul, o pendulare a greutatii...de la familie la prieteni. Chestiile care apar, cu toate ca ai mei inca stiu de ele, sunt peste ei. Nu mai reusesc sa-mi dea sfaturile de odinioara, mangaierea de odinioara, nu mai merge sa ne uitam la un film impreuna si tata sa ma mangaie pe cap si sa ma pupe pe obraji si sa-mi dea curaj si vointa de a continua. Cred ca e normal. Eu devin tanara si ei devin batrani si oricat de normal e...e surprinzator. Nu credeam ca vor imbatrani, nu credeam ca le poate albi parul, oricat de naiv si stupid este. Ei erau...EI. Spre deosebire de alte familii, ai mei au fost niste titani pentru mine, niste modele, niste prieteni cu care am ras, am plans, am injurat, am luptat cot la cot. Dar din ce in ce mai multe ii depasesc. Relatii si iubiri si dezamagiri si esecuri si dorinte si performanta...ei vad totul din ce in ce mai monocrom. Cu varsta, copacul se rigidizeaza si viata nu mai are un spectru atat de bogat, culorile incep sa devina din ce in ce mai extreme. Si cred ca asta se intampla din adolescenta ultimului copil pana la nasterea primului nepot, cand lumea iara este data peste cap. Deci acum ma intorc spre prieteni. Am o familie de prieteni atat de frumoasa si atat de diversa si fiecare imi ofera un alt tip de imbratisare si la fiecare ma pot ciubari intr-un umar. Pe de o parte e trist, ca as vrea sa revin la cum eram cu ai mei...pe de alta parte is bucuroasa de prieteni...si pana la urma ma bucur cu ce am. Imi petrec Pastele cu o fiinta tare draga mie, cu o fiinta exceptionala on oh so many levels. Si totusi is melancolica. Si mi-e dor de niste chestii si nu inteleg unele chestii si astept alte chestii. Si totusi e cald. Si melancolie...

"Je recomanda...carte" Pentru ca Je tre' sa se trezeasca si vrea sa scrie si cartea merita.

S-o concentrat si "coincidentat" niste chestii recent...Fac impreuna cu alti bravi oameni un cerc de bioetica si la prima intalnire va fi o dezbatere-demo pe tema "daca ar fi o idee buna ca parintii sa poata aleaga sexul copilului din stadiul de embrion". Am aflat recent ca "O clinică FIV din Texas (SUA) oferă „copii proiectaţi după anumite standarde” potenţialilor părinţi. Centrul Abraham pentru Viaţă din San Antonio, face publicitate embrionilor făcuţi la comandă, proiectaţi cu o anumită culoare a părului, inteligenţă şi alte caracteristici, pentru o sumă de 10.000 de dolari."
...si m-am apucat sa citesc aceasta carte. Eu intr-o carte ma implic, "intru" in ea, incerc sa stau la doi milimetri de personaje, ma afund in actiune si idei...In fine, dupa cinci pagini deja vroiam sa intru in carte si sa give those idiots a piece of my mind. [scuzati, romana pica la expresia a piece of my mind].
Va prezint...
Aldous Huxley - Brave New World
E un SF, cu toate ca e in marele pericol de a-si pierde aceasta incadrare si de a deveni roman-profetie/ roman-realist.
Huxley anticipeaza modelarea genomului, influentarea reproducerii si inducerea unor dorinte, ganduri si patern-uri comportamentale in oameni din stadiul de embrion, prin diverse metode.
Nu tin sa va povestesc cartea, v-as strica toata placerea dar uitati niste citate care vorbesc de la sine:

"Till at last the child's mind is these suggestions, and the sum of the suggestions is the child's mind. And not the child's mind only. The adult's mind too–all his life long. The mind that judges and desires and decides–made up of these suggestions. But all these suggestions are our suggestions!" The Director almost shouted in his triumph. "Suggestions from the State." He banged the nearest table. "It therefore follows …"

Our Ford–or Our Freud, as, for some inscrutable reason, he chose to call himself whenever he spoke of psychological matters–Our Freud had been the first to reveal the appalling dangers of family life. The world was full of fathers–was therefore full of misery; full of mothers–therefore of every kind of perversion from sadism to chastity; full of brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts–full of madness and suicide.

Este friki cat de aproape de noi sunt aceste "fictiuni". Nu mi-e greu sa vad lumea in 50 de ani asa. Si, in ciuda faptului ca atunci cand dau peste oameni idioti si aroganti, oameni care pierd vremea etc. imi vine sa zic ca ar apartine in niste work-camps facand ceva util pentru societate intr-un mediu controlat, asa ceva ar fi inuman, imoral, ne-etic. Cumplit e ca stiinta evolueaza mult mai repede decat putem noi s-o intelegem. Stim deja o parte din misterele genomului si iata ca apar din ce in ce mai multe atacuri biologice, iata ca apar clinici care iti creaza un copchil cum il vrei tu, ca un croitor cu o haina si vad viitorului in care opozitia impotriva "genetic tinkering" va scadea si iata cum vom avea noi Minunata Lume Noua a lui Huxley.
Este o carte fascinanta si nu iese din domeniul fictiunii atat de mult incat sa zici ca e nebun/grotesc/hiper-imaginativ.

Ne plac povestile. Un subiect mai vechi, da, dar ne plac povestile. Vorbesc de lume. Lumea in general. Ati observat ce boom de fantasy avem de exemplu? Merg in librarii de ceva vreme dar in ultimii ani rafturile cu fantasy sunt mai pline si mai frunzarite ca oricand. Harry Potter -pentru ca da, se incadreaza in fantasy/children's books-, Eragorn, Cronicile din Narnia si LOTR redescoperiti si tona de chestii aparute acum. Elfi, troli, batalii, vrajitori, chietre magice, cautari, potiuni...fratele meu. Fantasy-ul e aicea de cand lumea, de cand lumea tot tesem lumi in care sa evadam, legende si parabole si alegorii si balade, dar acuma parca o revenit in forta acest gen.
Si mai e un gen de povestiri care il vad peste tot. Jurnalele frate. Realismul brut. De la blogurile care-s extrem de la moda (da, is trendyflendy ce vreti, ma duc si io ca oaia cu valu') pana la zilioanele de jurnale din librarii. Viata noastra e o poveste care merita spusa. Mereu am crezut asta si iata ca iese prostituata, mama frustrata, profesorul universitar, scriitorul si-mi arata ca da dom'le, viata lor merita citita. Si sunt citite. Stam cu sufletul la gura sa vedem ce mai zice acest om, care exista, care traieste, care e viu si a avut curajul sa-si imparta viata, aventurile, gandurile, sentimentele cu noi. Fuck Tolstoi, fuck Huxley, fuck Poe, fuck Kafka, aceasta femeie o fo o prostituata, s-o oferit la sute de barbati, o luat coca, o baut, traieste, isi pune numele pe hartie si ne spune cum o fost!
E interesant ca evadam atat de puternic acum. Ma gandesc ca realitatea este din ce in ce mai cumplita si mai dureroasa daca avem atata nevoie de povesti. Si vorbesc in general. Vorbesc de lume, de stressul care acum 50 de ani nu exista, vorbesc de ritmul in care decurge viata de zi cu zi, vorbesc de tona de probleme care exista sau care ni le facem. O poveste e simpla, e clara, e un loc in care fugim. Fie ca-i un un castel de ambra fie ca-i un boudoir sau o sala de clasa, fugim...fugim...

Je recomanda...pesa' de la ora 11:58, 1 aprilie

Regina Spektor - Fidelity
Tot o auzeam. Dupa aia, pe buda, am citit despre tanti asta in Diverta Magazin. Mi-o placut moaca ei, parea...'telijenta. Si azi mi-am amintit si am cautat.
Cine?
Nascuta in Moscova, inceput pian la 6, crescuta cu "the good ol' guys" - Queen, Beatles. Se muta din Rusia si ajunge pana la urma in Bronx. Continua educatia muzicala, n-o sa enunt lista. Dar cert e ca fatuca invata si invata. E cunoscuta printre membrii miscarii anti-folk din NY. Si restul de istorie complicata o luati de pe Wiki.
Ce?
Dupa sistemul meu propriu si personal de clasificare, intra la categoria "weird shit good/ good for reading." Se aseamana cu Feist pe alocuri, cu Tori Amos pe alocuri, cu Jem pe alocuri.
De ce?
Sunet
Vocea e dementiala. Ajunge sus si ajunge departe si e ciudata si o foloseste ca lumea. Pianul, o dar pianul! Omu' cretz si pianistu'...O iubesc numai pentru ca stie cum sa inoate prin clape ca lumea.
Cantecul are un ritm ferice, primavaratec, o cadenta de topaiala pe strada. Vad copoul verde sau lascar catargi.
Versuri
I never loved nobody fully, always one foot on the ground. And I protected my heart trully, I got lost in the sounds... I hear in my mind all these voices, I hear in my mind all of these words, I hear in my mind all of this music and it breakes my heart and it breakes my heart, it breakes my hea-ah-ah-ah-rt...
Confuzie
Gagica e ciudata. Video-urile nu-s obisnuite, is interesante si-mi amintesc de cele ale lui Tori Amos. Imi place ca n-o pot incadra nicaieri si-mi place ca is cantece dulci-amarui, bune de plimbat, bune de citit, bune de stat pe geam, cu un picior in gol, o tigara in gura si o cana de ciocolata calda cu rom si cu un ochi spre asfintit. Ca sa fim poetici.

Creepy sounds.

-Thank God for the Teachers-

I've never been what you might describe as normal, average, ordinary. Doesn't run in the family, I guess. Some people appreciated my weirdness, some didn't. Considering the way I've been acting until recent years (I'm way calmer now) I don't blame the people who didn't appreciate my colorful personality. Anyway, in high school my weirdness has caused me, among some people, classmates and teachers, to be some sort of pariah. My class-master, a despicable man, spawned from some of God's nasal secretions, tried to convince the board of teachers that I'm a satanist, that I'm violent, mentally disabled etc. He didn't quite succeed in his plan, but my life as a high school student hasn't been the most wonderful one. My life, during high school, began when I exited the gates.
A God-given (yes, God is involved in my life a great deal) event made that my college life to change fundamentally. In the first two weeks of college I thought I reached social heaven. My "group-mates" were ok with my weird, sometimes choleric, sometimes sharp behavior. You cannot imagine how dearly I appreciate them for it.
But more surprisingly, I got "extra-points" with the teachers for it. Tell me, how many teachers, after seeing that your Windows profile is "Lilith", after listening to the story of her (first wife of Adam, demon-mother, feminist etc.), after seeing on your desktop a naked lady (the one above), say, "I love your style, kid, I really do!" This comes from a 45+ year old man, the second in command after the titular teacher for anatomy. This has happened just today. I have had other pleasant surprises. Old and young teachers telling me they appreciate a nonconformist spirit. The people who have been through Negruzzi can easily imagine my surprise. I got to thinking that maybe it's true that medicine-people are crazy. Someone told me never to trust a serious doctor. And I am really starting to believe him. All the great teachers, young and old, professors and assistants I have respected and looked up at are at least a bit out of the ordinary. I might just be really lucky to keep finding these people, my group-mates and mentors but I don't ponder about the reasons much and just enjoy this fundamental change of environment.

Desene frumoase stau pe pereti si am si-o pisica cu noua vieti. Ea ii mai mult plecata, e-adevarat si-acasa cand sta, sta mai mult sub pat. Usa e veche, broasca-i noua, Piata Romana, nr. 9. Usa e veche, broasca-i noua, Piata Romana, nr. 9. Intr-un colt e-o chitara desigur si-un ceas se cazneste sa bata. Afara e vant, ferestrele sint taiate din aceasi bucata. E destul de mica camera mea, dar incap toti prietenii mei in ea. Stau in picioare, se aseaza pe jos, in rest sunt cuminti si vorbesc frumos. Asa ca vino sus daca ploua, Piata Romana, nr. 9. Asa ca vino sus daca ploua, Piata Romana, nr. 9. Asa ca vino sus daca ploua, Piata Romana, nr. 9. Asa ca vino sus daca ploua, Piata Romana, nr. 9. Asa ca vino sus daca ploua, Piata Romana, nr. 9. Asa ca vino sus daca ploua, Piata Romana, nr. 9.

I'm writing this after a failed salvia experiment, two break-ups so close in time and so fucked up that I'll be sure to remember them and a few discussions with the people I've come to call true friends.

From all my life, I remember the past two years most clearly. Not only because they're closest, but because so many things have happened. They've been like the physical growth spurs that leave scars, usually on the back. It's been a very turmoiled period. And I've gained a lot. I've gained wisdom, I've gained strength, I've gained a lot of memories, both good and bad, but all long-lasting. But most of all, I've gained something I've been superficial about. The capacity of having a true friend. I've had friends before, but I think that until I went to the US I didn't comprehend the concept as well as I should have. You see, the period after the US brought to my life this new gift, friendship. Now I can say that finally understand what it means. To cry dry in the arms of someone, to hold someone, to take a leap with someone, to trust, to love, to give and receive, to be able to call someone at 2 am and to hear a savior's voice at the other end.
They are so different. Different backgrounds, different personalities, different points of view but each one is a great treasure I posses. From advice to support, to helping me clean my room and giving me a hug, they have proved, time and time again, that without them I couldn't cope so well with life, I would go slightly insane, I would be incomplete. One of them told me that we all need connections. Some need a lover. That's the connection they need to function properly. Some just need a connection with their work. I need a friend and after all the weird, bad, fucked up, whatever relationships I've been through I've realized that when the day is over and you once again sleep alone, a friend will always be there with a pat on the back and a beer in their hand. Yes, while you sleep they'll bring you beer. They are the sturdy light when home's going bad, when your lover decides it's not working, when you fail at something very important, when you've just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. A friend, someone who fully fills the job description, will be there no matter what. The love and loyalty will not change, the warmth will not change, his sincerity will not change, the entity you love and respect will not change as the wind blows. It takes, I think, a special kind of person to be a true friend. Beer friends, fuck-buddies, pals, come and go. A friend is the type of person which is axiomatic. His principles, his basic desires, his core does not change in time. He is the same. It takes great strength to maintain a steady marrow in this century of so many ideas, so many temptations, so many opinions and influences.
A friend doesn’t knock on your inner door, he's already a part of you. No matter how far you travel, in time or space, when you'll meet him again it will be as if you haven't spoken for five minutes. Another friend said that "friends are like rubber bands - you can pull and they'll stretch, but they won't break".
I was surprised when I first felt the deep, warm love for a friend. It was a feeling I had never experienced before and I knew it was love. After that first time I felt it again, later on, with other, few, people. A warm feeling which fills your whole being. Maybe that's what romantic love feels like and if that's the case, I've never felt it.
They've given me so many things. Each of them taught me something new, carved a print on the path of my life. But the most precious thing I understood was reciprocity. What I would give they would give back. And what a friend would give is everything. Knowing me capable of doing that and knowing that I have people who would do that changed a bit my view on life. Knowing that there are people who I can trust, rely on, ask for help and help in return, love and be loved, has made my life more beautiful and happy, made me a "full shell". So I guess I've written this thread because I've been thinking just how lucky I am to be surrounded by these people, to receive their light and share mine and I'd like to thank them (and God, of course. and my mother and my producer...). And yes, I do realize it's corny and warm and whatever but it really is a cool feeling.

Post atipic.
In primul rand, m-am gandit sa mai bag pastile cu "Je recomanda". Da, mor sa va impartasesc despre lucrurile care-mi fac placere, consider ca sunt frumoase si merita impartasite si ca da, parerile mele sunt absolut dementiale si extrem de magnific de importante.
Deci inaugurez acest preamandru ciclu cu "Je recomanda muzica"

Recent am doua mari pasiuni. A doua de azi incepand. Prima e Gnarls Barkley@. L-am vazut la MTV cu Crazy acu ceva timp si mi-am scos promo-ul si acum am albumul. "Gnarls Barkley is the collaboration between producer DJ Danger Mouse and Goodie Mob rapper-turned-singer Cee-Lo."(Wikipedia) Acuma o incadrare e cam greu de facut, pe lastfm vezi la tags hip-hop, funk, soul, alternative si la similar artists RHCP, Gorillaz, OutKast si Beck, care canta chestii usor diferite. Eu ii incadrez in "black people music I love".
Unele pese sunt foarte saltarete, gen Gone Daddy Gone@, Crazy@ sau Smiley Faces@. Unele is mai calme, Just a Thought, Who Cares.
Am rams surprinsa sa-i vad la MTV, pentru ca sar din tiparul Paris Hilton-Britney-Pussycat Dolls.
Versurile mi-o placut mult. Ca sa stiti, la mine la o pesa conteaza foarte mult versurile. Bine, daca n-are, n-are, dar daca are prefer sa le ascult pe acelea la care-mi place ce lalaie omul.
Who Cares: Basicly I'm complicated, I have a hard time taking the easy way. I wouldn't call it schyzophrenia, but I'll be at least two people today (if that's ok). And I could go on and on and on, but who cares? It's deep how you can be so shallow and I'm afraid cause I have no fear. And I didn't believe in magic, until I watch you dissapear (I wish you were here).
Smiley Faces: But what did you do? What did you say? Did you walk or did you run away? Where are you now, where have you been? Did you come alone or did you bring your friend? I need to know cause I noticed you're smiling. Out in the sun, having fun and feeling free. And I can tell you know how hard this life can be, but you keep on smiling for me. So what went right? What went wrong? Was it the story or was it the song? Was it overnight or did it take you long? Was it knowing your weakness that made you strong?

Al doilea e Mika@, multumesc Raluca, m-o facut si mai ferice decat sunt natural zilele astea. Il asculti, pentru ca e un el, si primul gand care rasare e "happy". "Mika (born Mica Penniman in 1984) is a Beirut-born, Paris and London-raised, New York-based singer who has a contract with Island Records and used to attend Westminster School. He first appeared on BBC Radio 1 in September 2006. He has a background in classical songwriting." (Wikipedia)
Primul cantecel ascultat de mine e Grace Kelly@. Ritmul fara versuri ma face sa vreau sa tzopai si sa sar cu mainile intinse, sa ma rotesc pe strada si alte manifestari asemanatoare. Pesa e scrisa la furie si versurile sunt destul de nervoase: Do I attract you, do I repulse you with my queasy smile? Am I too dirty, am I too flirty, do I like what you like? I could be wholesome, I could be loathsome, I guess Im a little bit shy. Why dont you like me? Why dont you like me without making me try?I try to be like Grace Kelly, but all her looks were too sad. So I try a little Freddie, I've gone identity mad!
Cantecele in mare au ritmuri vesele si versuri, eh, mai putin vesele.
Sa disecam ritmul. Baetu' e pianist, chestie care o apreciez foarte. Deci pianul e important. Notele la piesele "vesele" sunt in mare parte staccato sau cel putin marcato. Adica is apasate bine acolo. Se aud destul de clar si pentru mine creaza partea puternic sentimentala a pieselo. El in timp ce compune face sunete de percutie, care evident, urmeaza traiectul pianului, mentinand ideea de dinamism a marei parte a pieselor. Chitarile nu par prea importante [sau nu le aud eu ca fiind foarte importante]. In schimb in Any Other World viorile sunt foarte frumoase. Ce e extrem de interesant si important e vocea lui. Nu zice aiurea ca "so I try a little Freddie"; vocea i se aseamana foarte mult cu a lu Freddie Mercury si poate de aia imi place asa de mult, ca-mi aminteste de Queen si deci de copilarie. Ajunge foarte sus cu notele si are o voce extrem de muzicala, ceva gen anti- Type 0 Negative, Charon, HIM, Avinmahr. Nu e oarecum patetico-feminina cum e aia de la Maroon 5, e doar frumoasa.
Muzica e buna pentru mers pe strada, condus, anotimpuri calde, munte. Este frumoasa si folosesc acest cuvant in plentitudinea lui. Rar mi se intampla sa-mi placa un album cap-coada, cred ca le pot numara pe dejtele de la o mana. Cum ar spune filozoful...deci da. Da.

Nota: @ inseamna un link la o poza sau un video sau ceva ce merita vazut.


Asaaa. A doua parte din postul meu atipic si foarte "diminetzatic" este o poezie. N-am pus cred niciodata poezii pe blog, dar ma mai ocup si de din astea. Nu pretind ca-s mama lor de bune, dar le scriu numai cand simt ca vreau sa le scriu. Cred c-o sa mai pun, ca un "wellcome doormat to my lil' universe".

Dear sweet mistake,
how dirty was fate,
what wicked play she unfolded,
how perverted the tale was molded,
how peculiar did the roads wind.
Life threads seem to e'er entwine.
Definetly not the happily ever after,
yet we've been through tears and laughter,
fire and stone,
binded then so alone,
bleeding autumn, blazing summer,
beautiful spring, cold winter,
cool breeze at dawn, burning sun in the noon.
Like the sun and the moon,
withered and in bloom
we bounced between dimness and loom.
We gathered memories we loved and hate,
we picked up flowers for mistakes,
we learned and in the end
on each other we leaned.
Dear sweet mistake,
how long will it take
before our roads again shake,
before the story will shatter into sand,
before i shant be engulfed in your soft hand?
Dear sweet mistake
we shall break...