Scattin' my way thru life

Equilibrium

2011-12-14T10:42:00.011+02:00

s
I've lost You
when I was born -
I've been
recovering
shards of You
ever since
everywhere -
especially
when I touch bliss
barefoot
You find my heel
& enter me
sharply.
You glitter
on every road,
that's why
I have to keep
walking,
to let You nest
in my flesh.
When it will rot
and fall away,
You will arise
shimmering,
whole -
Your presence,
my absence
our climax
an eclipse.

II.
I've lost you
ten years ago -
you've been with me
ever since.
A decade of leprosy,
watching you flow
through my fingers
tainting my skin
with your snow-white
(threefold) denials
every night
- no longer keeping count.

III.
I've lost you
the moment I had you
a year ago.
Erasing the days
has become so hard -
no sweet amnesia,
my sleep brimming
with tigers.
I offer my flesh
to appease them
'round midnight.
And yet the darkness
hides more peace
than the thrashing
light of day
when I become
a battering ram,
a blunt shatterer
of porcelain masks
& dreams.

I lead my life
from breath to breath
from shard to shard -
piecing together
your absence,
my presence.
s

Mandala

2010-11-23T10:11:00.002+02:00

a
I listen
to the rain
and the midnight
sweepers
brushing away
the debris
of the day.

I taste
the bitterness
on my lips
& swallow
the absinthe
of your absence.

I inhale
the smoke
of my Gehenna,
letting it fill
the void
in my lungs.

I see
my reflection
in the darkened
window
and rejoice
in the stranger
smiling back.

I touch
all the places
you have claimed,
lulling myself
to sleep
& stretching
to the ends
of the night.
a

Indika

2010-11-16T09:01:00.006+02:00

a
This is who I’ve become –
slowly
& exquisitely
spinning the yarn
of time before time
submersed
in golden clouds
of incense,
draped
in silks
of red and purple.

Under the tilted
saffron moon
- your all-seeing eye
showering me
with the awareness
of your every heartbeat -
I bask & glow
and redeem
my forefathers,
diving back to my roots
into the blood before blood
the tide before tide
thickly throbbing
with the heat & dust
of thy/my land.

My body sways
to the caressing
sound of the sitar
- my palms open
to receive the
p(e)ace and grace
of the heavens
that touch the ground
Here.

This is what I've become -
a lightning rod,
a crossroad,
another pinpoint
of communion,
a silk thread
tying the skies
to the earth
& bringing them closer
with every breath
I draw,
into the holiest
of marriages.
a

a

Balkanika

2010-11-15T08:49:00.014+02:00

a
This is who I am -
kin after kin
of dark faceless
shepherds,
bearded flute-playing satyrs
mating on the wet grass.
From their grunting
& panting
came we -
strong arms
to tend the sheep
& hold the hot-headed rams
and bury the hatchet
in the skull
of whoever threatened
our lineage.

This is who I am -
effigy after effigy
of silent women
with knitted brows
and knotted flesh,
whose milk and sweat
blended with that
of their sheep
in an all-pervading
rut scent.
Taken on the hay
in drizzle or hail,
in times of peace or war
from their tears & shrieks
came we -
tender arms
to milk the ewes
& dry the newborn lambs
all for a better life,
all for the offspring.

Dark
silent
nameless
nomads
sliding on the slopes
of the mountains
where gods would
roam and rage
against the meagre
mortals
- we step on their skulls
& spit on their bones,
we feast and dance and drink,
for we shall see the sunrise!
a

Mar adentro / Sea within

2010-11-12T09:15:00.009+02:00

I drink

the amber wine

of oblivion

- its acid erasing

the fingerprints

you left on my body,

its sweetness

intoxicating

my lewd brain.

Slowly,

the cry of the peacock

fades away,

no longer arousing

the tide of my blood

on moonless nights.

As the caravels

leave the port,

so do my memories

depart

one by one

towards better futures

or a spring of scurvy

& curses.

Forever exploring

the seas where dragons lie

- what better way to wake them

than to rattle

the crooked relics

of all my losses?

Forever treading

the jungles where tigers lurk

- what better lullaby for them

than the songs I'll hum

to my unborn children?

I let the conches

I walk on

tear at my flesh

- they are much gentler

than the miles between us.

By air, sea or land

we are so apart,

so distant,

that they'll have to

give new names

to our oceans & straits.

I circumnavigate

with hope

- once started

my journey

will end

on your shores -

my sails torn

my masts broken

my crew all dead

my deck a-creaking.

Only my lonely toll

will call

out to you

over & over again.

Fado curvo / Twisted Fate

2010-11-12T09:10:00.006+02:00

a
I burn with you
- the sweetest fever
contorting my senses,
spiraling me down
into Saudade:
the deepest
longing &
solitude
that I cannot contain,
but which hold & rock me
ever so gently.

I sit & drink the sea,
the waves washing against
my gargantuan throat.
The pebbles
I carefully pick
to weigh me down,
the shells of
empty words
set aside -
I shall
never speak
again.

My heart bleeds
on the cruel strings
of Moorish guitars
in the port of Lisboa.
The dark, endless
longing
spooling
my being
into silk cobwebs
with which
I weave myself
(yet) another cocoon,
warmly welcoming
the silent winter
of waiting.
a

Point of No Return

2010-11-01T22:32:00.008+02:00

The saffron

half moon

rising

leaves me

gasping

at the remembrance

of your sideways

midnight glance.

I couldn't read it first

- all the more now -

as its searing tip

pierces my side

again

& again.

The ineffable flow

from my heart

- as deep as the Ganga -

rushes down my thighs

just as muddy and wild

& not even the flute-player

knows what lurks

ahead / underneath.

I am the master of Naught

& I let the void devour

the uncharted hillocks

of my flesh

that you've impregnated.

When nothing remains

after this acid

exercise

of extinction,

you'll know

I love you.

Nebuchadnezzar

2010-10-03T16:43:00.010+03:00

Claws rip
the reddish clay,
tufts of grass
fly behind your
heavy paws.
You dart forward -
ever onward -
a bolt of senses
compressed,
ready to pin down
your prey.

The heat surges
to bring you a
whiff of her.
You stop -
nostrils flaring,
pulsating in the
crazed rhythm
of your blood,
of your panting.

A wave of anger
electrifies your brain,
tightening your muscles
into that beautiful
deadly poise -
you were born
ready to strike,
you will die
crawling & drooling.

No time to waste.

One last leap
& you've overcome her,
crushing her to the ground.

You sink your teeth
into her neck,
slurping the life
out of her
with a big
orgasmic gulp
that takes you
beyond the hunger
and whatever
the Maker
imprinted on you.

The heavens open,
you're blind and deaf
to everything else
except her.
When she will
fill you - then
only then will you
remember who
you are.
a

Waiting

2010-08-30T19:28:00.008+03:00

'
It starts
with a tingling,
my largest organ
first
- electrified,
my skin
burns -
then every neuron
grated
replies
post-scriptum
post-partum.

My feet
dance to
a tango
they thought forgotten.
It's been so long,
Penelope shouts
from inside me,
overtaken
I let her mourn
for all ladies-in-waiting.
We are
one
& the same.
Weaving our
solitary
despondency.
Confined,
yet free
to ride
the waves
of sacrifice -
from the blood
to the tears
shed -
we flow
overflow
& fill the space
unconquered
around us.
Every virgin territory
meaningless
when all
living interstice
must be filled
with expectation,
inseminated
with the desire
to overgrow.

Overreaching,
my heart
pumps
pure hybris -
anything
but waiting
waiting
waiting
- no mantra
can save it
from bursting at the seams.

I stand -
a mellow puppet
yearning for the strings.
'

The Teachings of Don Juan I

2010-08-24T20:59:00.004+03:00

a
From Carlos Castaneda's Journey to Ixtlan

"You must renew your personal history by telling your parents, your relatives, and your friends everything you do. On the other hand, if you have no personal history, no explanations are needed; nobody is angry or disillusioned with your acts. And above all, no one pins you down with their thoughts."

"How can one drop one's personal history?" I asked in an argumentative mood.

"One must first have the desire to drop it," he said. "And then one must proceed harmoniously to chop it off, little by little."

"Little by little you must create a fog around yourself; you must erase everything around you until nothing can be taken for granted, until nothing is any longer for sure, or real. Your problem now is that you're too real. Your endeavors are too real; your moods are too real. Don't take things so for granted. You must begin to erase yourself."

"What's wrong is that once they know you, you are an affair taken for granted and from that moment on you won't be able to break the tie of their thoughts. I personally like the ultimate freedom of being unknown. No one knows me with steadfast certainty."

"When nothing is for sure we remain alert, perennially on our toes," he said. "It is more exciting not to know which bush the rabbit is hiding behind, than to behave as though we know everything."

"There is no need to see your death either. It is sufficient that you feel its presence around you. One of us here has to learn again that death is the hunter, and that it is always to one's left. One of us here has to ask death's advice and drop the cursed pettiness that belongs to men that live their lives as if death will never tap them."

"To assume the responsibility of one's decisions means that one is ready to die for them. It doesn't matter what the decision is," he said. "Nothing could be more or less serious than anything else. Don't you see? In a world where death is the hunter there are no small or big decisions. There are only decisions that we make in the face of our inevitable death."
a

Mise en abime II

2010-08-16T19:41:00.007+03:00

a
Escape
to a world of possibilities,
where nobody else's
chimeras
can follow.

Let them chase
with avid
worldly eyes
- watch them
draw near -
they come
only to drool
on the glass.

Then
with an elegant swipe
pull the blinds
& dive
unabashed
into the attic
where the madwoman
awaits.

Take your time -
you have until
the next old moon
to put on
the cocoon
of cobwebs
& the carnation
of new blood.

Tick tock
All dressed up now
ready to emerge
on the shore
of Nostalgia
or Neverland -
little does it matter
- you don't mind
retracing your
fickle steps,
crushing your old trails,
or leaving new ones -
always behind,
always for you to follow.

But you must
keep rehearsing
your tango steps,
remember?
So many partners
lined up for
the milonga tonight
- most of them dead -
such excellent dancers!
Gluing your body
to theirs
brings new thrills
every time.

Only the copper sand
crawling
between your toes,
embracing your ankles
makes you skip & hop -
it ingrains a new
blood mandala
on your calf,
on your thigh -
time to stop!

On your next dive
you'll avoid
the rapturous treachery,
you tell yourself
sobbing
& wishing
you had gone
waltzing
tonight
instead.

Live your life
on a dreaming spree
and you'll be free.
a

Mise en abime

2010-08-12T22:05:00.005+03:00

Escape to a world
of possibilities
only to start
the exquisite chase
& massacre
of all 'would-be's
or 'what if's
- we're each and all such
accomplished
assassins.

Lost on the trail of time
treading on the broken wings
of hopes & dreams
can be so intoxicating
and liberating!

With each ogrish
step and smile
extinguish!
eliminate!
the prude illusions.
Skip
from skull
to skull -
bury all choices
deep in the mud
of existence.

Be always ready
to lend a helping hand
in butchering
the neighbour's
overweight ideals
- oh, the smell of fresh blood
dripping from the carcasses
of misconceptions.

Live on a killing spree
and you'll be free.
a

Theremin

2010-08-10T21:58:00.009+03:00

a
The tide of my blood rises
as the Heat peaks
in cricket hysteria.

My body wrapped in herbs
picks up the thudding pulse
of the Earth Womb
& becomes the magnetic pole
of iron-red ants.
My skin tingles under
their bewildered march
- but I lay open to their
hosts & hoards & armies,
learning from their
erratic hesitation
a new Morse code.

always reaching out

The sound of His Voice
- almost unbearably vibrant here -
sends me into waves of shock.
Like a theremin,
I let my body
sing His praise
- the instrument resting
once more
between the hands of its maker.
a

They've killed me - again

2010-08-10T21:36:00.004+03:00

a
Almost a year of silence.

My friends know why - nobody else cares...

Peru. China. India.

What can I be, but self-referential & silent?

Always coming back to the town with no cheer
Always giving Balkanians another chance to kill me faster & more efficiently

I'm nothing but game.
a

Avenue of Hope

2009-11-21T21:34:00.002+02:00

Along the avenue of hope
The footsteps falter, the fingers grope
and the days stretch out beneath the sun.
No one's born & no one dies;
no one loves, so no one cries,
and we wait to see just what we will become.

Don't let me falter, don't let me ride,
Don't let the earth in me subside,
Let me see just who I will become.

You're like the clouds in my hometown,
You just grow fat and hang around
and your days stretch out beneath the sun.
And no one's born & no one dies;
no one loves, so no-one cries
and we wait to see just what we will become.
Don't let me borrow, don't let me bring,
Don't let me wallow, don't make me sing,
Let me see just who I will become.

Don't let me falter, don't let me hide,
Don't let someone else decide
Just who or what I will become.
Don't make'em borrow, don't make'em bring,
Don't let them wallow, don't let them sing.
Let them stretch out beneath the sun.
a

Haboob

2009-09-25T11:20:00.005+03:00

a
Been fighting
my occluded fronts -
enjoying victory,
unaware of the loss -
mine?
everybody's ?
a
Wearing a (real)
smile everyday
has finally
worn me out.

Not back to
my old self -
first step
taken
this century
actually.

Only the swaying
is familiar,
something to grip on.

Fickle
Fragmented
Fictitious
I stand before you
once again.

P.S. Occluded fronts form around
aaaalow-pressure areas.
aaaaI am not under the weather,
aaaathough I have sunk (my)
aaaaone thousand ships.

a

Voicemail

2009-08-21T11:42:00.002+03:00

Elijah rock shout shout

Elijah rock comin' up Lord

Elijah rock shout shout

Elijah rock comin' up Lord

Elijah, Elijah

Elijah

Elijah, Elijah

Elijah

He's been a rock and a shelter for me
You can call my rock in the mornin'
Call him late at night
He's always with me
And all my battles He'll fight
When I'm in trouble
I can call him on the line
He put a telephone in my heart
And I can call God anytime
a

How to Go Back to One's Old Self in 7 Days & Lose Both Sleep & Self-Esteem

2009-08-18T13:10:00.002+03:00

a
El Misti's smokey curves

are already fading

in the distance

(or just settling?)

The colors

of a lost world

dimming

under metropolis dust.

Why are dead doves

deader & uglier

in my dystopian

cradle?

Perpetuum

mobile

swaying

between past

& future

- never here -
a

Not Dead Yet(i)

2009-08-13T16:17:00.002+03:00

a
Veni, vidi, vici.
a

Blindfold

2009-05-21T15:02:00.002+03:00

Music for a while
Shall all your cares beguile:

Wond´ring how your pains were eas´d
And disdaining to be pleas´d

Till Alecto free the dead
From their eternal bands.

Till the snakes drop from her head,

And the whip from out her hands.

Gura mea de rai

2009-04-27T16:40:00.008+03:00

Patima şi Învierea Domnului

2009-04-17T14:24:00.002+03:00

a
Psalmul 41

În ce chip doreşte cerbul izvoarele apelor,
aşa Te doreşte sufletul meu pe Tine, Dumnezeule.
Însetat-a sufletul meu de Dumnezeul cel viu;
când voi veni şi mă voi arăta feţei lui Dumnezeu?
Făcutu-mi-s-au lacrimile mele pâine ziua şi noaptea,
când mi se zicea mie în toate zilele:
"Unde este Dumnezeul tău?"
De acestea mi-am adus aminte cu revărsare de inimă,
când treceam cu mulţime mare spre casa lui Dumnezeu,
În glas de bucurie şi de laudă şi în sunet de sărbătoare.
Pentru ce eşti mâhnit, suflete al meu, şi pentru ce mă tulburi?
Nădăjduieşte în Dumnezeu, că-L voi lăuda pe El;
mântuirea feţei mele este Dumnezeul meu.
În mine sufletul meu s-a tulburat;
pentru aceasta îmi voi aduce aminte de Tine,
din pământul Iordanului şi al Ermonului, din muntele cel mic.
Adânc pe adânc cheamă în glasul căderilor apelor Tale.
Toate talazurile şi valurile Tale peste mine au trecut.
Ziua va porunci Domnul milei Sale, iar noaptea cântare Lui de la mine.
Rugăciunea Dumnezeului vieţii mele, spune-voi lui Dumnezeu:
"Sprijinitorul meu eşti Tu, pentru ce m-ai uitat?"
Pentru ce umblu mâhnit când mă necăjeşte vrăjmaşul meu?
Când se sfărâmau oasele mele mă ocărau asupritorii mei.
Când îmi ziceau mie în toate zilele: "Unde este Dumnezeul tău?"
Pentru ce eşti mâhnit, suflete al meu, şi pentru ce mă tulburi?
Nădăjduieşte în Dumnezeu, că-L voi lăuda pe El;
Mântuirea feţei mele este Dumnezeul meu!
a

God is Love

2009-04-16T13:50:00.005+03:00

ENCYCLICAL LETTER DEUS CARITAS EST OF THE SUPREME PONTIFF BENEDICT XVI

"That love between man and woman which is neither planned nor willed, but somehow imposes itself upon human beings, was called eros by the ancient Greeks. Let us note straight away that the Greek Old Testament uses the word eros only twice, while the New Testament does not use it at all: of the three Greek words for love - eros, philia (the love of friendship) and agape - New Testament writers prefer the last, which occurs rather infrequently in Greek usage. The tendency to avoid the word eros, together with the new vision of love expressed through the word agape, clearly point to something new and distinct about the Christian understanding of love.

In the critique of Christianity which began with the Enlightenment and grew progressively more radical, this new element was seen as something thoroughly negative. According to Friedrich Nietzsche, Christianity had poisoned eros, which for its part, while not completely succumbing, gradually degenerated into vice. Here the German philosopher was expressing a widely-held perception: doesn't the Church, with all her commandments and prohibitions, turn to bitterness the most precious thing in life? Doesn't she blow the whistle just when the joy which is the Creator's gift offers us a happiness which is itself a certain foretaste of the Divine?

But is this the case? Did Christianity really destroy eros? Let us take a look at the pre-Christian world. The Greeks—not unlike other cultures—considered eros principally as a kind of intoxication, the overpowering of reason by a “divine madness” which tears man away from his finite existence and enables him, in the very process of being overwhelmed by divine power, to experience supreme happiness.

[...] Man is a being made up of body and soul. Man is truly himself when his body and soul are intimately united; the challenge of eros can be said to be truly overcome when this unification is achieved. Should he aspire to be pure spirit and to reject the flesh as pertaining to his animal nature alone, then spirit and body would both lose their dignity. On the other hand, should he deny the spirit and consider matter, the body, as the only reality, he would likewise lose his greatness.

[...] Eros, reduced to pure “sex”, has become a commodity, a mere “thing” to be bought and sold, or rather, man himself becomes a commodity. This is hardly man's great “yes” to the body. On the contrary, he now considers his body and his sexuality as the purely material part of himself, to be used and exploited at will. Nor does he see it as an arena for the exercise of his freedom, but as a mere object that he attempts, as he pleases, to make both enjoyable and harmless. Here we are actually dealing with a debasement of the human body: no longer is it integrated into our overall existential freedom; no longer is it a vital expression of our whole being, but it is more or less relegated to the purely biological sphere.

[...] Love is indeed “ecstasy”, not in the sense of a moment of intoxication, but rather as a journey, an ongoing exodus out of the closed inward-looking self towards its liberation through self-giving, and thus towards authentic self-discovery and indeed the discovery of God.

[...] Eros is somehow rooted in man's very nature; Adam is a seeker, who “abandons his mother and father” in order to find woman; only together do the two represent complete humanity and become “one flesh”. The second aspect is equally important. From the standpoint of creation, eros directs man towards marriage, to a bond which is unique and definitive; thus, and only thus, does it fulfil its deepest purpose. Corresponding to the image of a monotheistic God is monogamous marriage. Marriage based on exclusive and definitive love becomes the icon of the relationship between God and his people and vice versa.

God's way of loving becomes the measure of human love."

Pope Benedict XVI (Joseph Alois Ratzinger) - born on 16 April 1927.

Happy B-day, Brother Leonard!

2009-04-15T11:08:00.007+03:00

Happy Birthday, Lady Day!

2009-04-10T08:40:00.006+03:00

a
A few days late,
But you were
always too
early or late.

Early r(e)aped,
Late for joy,
What a strange fruit!
But you always kept
your wits about you.

Your adamant core
still shakes me
& makes me,
it sets my every string
a-buzzin'

So much sorrow
(how rarely sweet?
or were you also
the Lady of Illusions
& Self-deceit?)
in a charred,
sharded lifetime.

Half a life-
always prime time.

They ate you up,
gobbled you
with shrieks of pleasure -
the buzzards!

Shackled
to your hospital bed,
to your heartbeat,
you draw your last breath
yearning for another low?

I
desperately
want
you
for
my Grand
mother /
lover.
I
want
you
seared
in my flesh,
since my soul
you've already
branded.

Truly
Faithfully
Forever
Yours.

B
a

(Still) My B-day

2009-03-28T23:41:00.004+02:00

a
Woke up this morning,
found out that
I don't hate the 80s
(I am their child)
afterall
& that the sun
could still shine.

What a surprise
that I get
at least
one day of
freckled
optimism
a year!
a

Johannes Caput 5

2009-03-24T08:52:00.012+02:00

a
Post haec erat dies festus Iudaeorum et ascendit Iesus Hierosolymis.
Est autem Hierosolymis super Probatica piscina quae cognominatur hebraice Bethsaida quinque porticus habens.
In his iacebat multitudo magna languentium caecorum claudorum aridorum expectantium aquae motum.
Erat autem quidam homo ibi triginta et octo annos habens in infirmitate sua.
Hunc cum vidisset Iesus iacentem et cognovisset quia multum iam tempus habet dicit ei vis sanus fieri.
Respondit ei languidus Domine hominem non habeo ut cum turbata fuerit aqua mittat me in piscinam dum venio enim ego alius ante me descendit.
Dicit ei Iesus surge, tolle grabattum tuum et ambula.
Et statim sanus factus est homo et sustulit grabattum suum et ambulabat.
a

Ramblin' on My Mind

2009-03-21T14:28:00.004+02:00

a I got ramblin', I got ramblin' on my mind

I got ramblin', I got ramblin' all on my mind

Hate to leave my baby, but you treats me so unkind
I got mean things, I got mean things all on my mind

Little girl, little girl, I got mean things all on my mind

Hate to leave you here, babe, but you treats me so unkind
Runnin' down to the station, catch the first mail train I see

(I think I hear her comin' now)

Runnin' down to the station, catch the old first mail train I see

I got the blues about Miss So-and-So and the child got the blues about me
And I'm leavin' this mornin', with my arm' fold' up and cryin'

And I'm leavin' this mornin', with my arm' fold' up and cryin'

Hate to leave my baby, but she treats me so unkind
I got mean things, I've got mean things on my mind

I got mean things, I got mean things all on my mind

I got to leave my baby, well, she treats me so unkind

Wistful Thinking

2009-03-19T22:08:00.002+02:00

„Nu ştiam că am astfel de idei. Le-am rostit acum ca fiind gîndurile mele. Erau cele mai profunde sentimente ale mele care căpătau o formă pe care n-ar fi căpătat-o niciodată dacă nu le-aş fi exprimat cu glas tare, dacă nu le-aş fi formulat astfel într-o conversaţie cu altcineva. Atunci am crezut că am o minte pasivă, într-un fel. Mai precis, că mintea mea se putea aduna, putea forma gânduri din încâlceala de dorinţe şi dureri, cînd lua contact cu o altă minte, cînd era fertilizată de ea, cînd era foarte întărâtată de mintea aceea şi îmboldită să formuleze concluzii. Simţeam acum cea mai rară şi mai acută alinare a singurătăţii.”

Perambulaţiuni şi periegheze

2009-03-09T10:03:00.003+02:00

Iacătă cam pe unde mă duc pe mine picioarele mele neliniştite in the midnight hour. Ca de obicei, Bucureştiul e un amant mereu surprinzător.

Noul meu panaceu muzical II

2009-02-27T11:47:00.007+02:00

A doua variantă – mult mai lentă – îmi răscoleşte atât de plăcut my old nausea, încât pur şi simplu renunţ să mă mai întreb “what the f*ck’s wrong with me?” Iar Gattaca e unul din puţinele filme care rulează în loop în lobul meu temporal.

Noul meu panaceu muzical I

2009-02-27T11:21:00.006+02:00

Thank You for Your Time!

2009-02-23T07:13:00.002+02:00

a
We are
all
ebbing towards
our Origin.

The only
palpable
reality
is that of
the fluxes
underneath
my skin.
The only
lullaby
is that of
my own pulse
which I
no longer feel
in my dermis.
I seize the icy
panic
& thrust it
between
my shoulderblades,
but my ossified skin
shrieks with pleasure.

Squandering
& meandering
self-seekers /
twisted
nostalgic
collectors ─
we all learn
to wield
that deadly weapon
─sooner or later─
we kill by
absence,
which is
nothing but
remoteness
in time.
Where have
all the
Good Samaritans
gone?

Life is
Love is
the unconditional
Giving of
Time.
a

To My Lover

2009-02-18T08:28:00.009+02:00

Your sweet weight

is pinning me down

on velvet cushions.

My body ―

numb

& deaf

feels your every

muscle

twitching ―

the same current

builds up

in my skin

at first,

then

deeper.

My breath

rides on

your breath ―

ever faithful,

shadowing,

anticipating.

You seem

indolent,

detached ―

eyes closed ―

but you prey

on my

every heartbeat ―

if only I could

skip one for you!

I long

to dive

in your pupils,

yet you

postpone &

tease,

making my brain

tingle.

Then you open

your eyes,

I find myself

dumbstruck

illiterate ―

I cannot

read you.

Scorn

Defiance

Possession

or Defeat?

I mirror you

as you reflect me.

Games People Play

2009-02-13T08:36:00.004+02:00

a
You go your way
I'll go mine:
itsy bitsy spider
crawlin' up the wall.
You can hop,
I'll get the scotch ―
your place
or mine?

Odd man out
― always ―
isolate &
desecrate
since the dawn
of time.
No one
holier than thou ―
counting their last breaths
with rabid eyes
with red rabbit eyes.
Follow the leader
plunder & burn
heaven awaits you!

Spin the bottle
― mating games ―
at full throttle.
Truth or dare?
Analyze that!
Hide & seek
behind chlorotic
eyelids.
One alligator
Two alligator
First one out
Gets to shout!

Thalassa! Thalassa!

2009-02-11T09:33:00.002+02:00

a
Born of thee
I cannot
but lend my
conched ear
to your beat.
My flesh
pulsates
under the full moon,
quivers
& dissolves
the night.
My luminescent
organs ―
known only to thee ―
exist
when you
call them by name.

I hold
your protean
face
'tween my hands
& ravish you.
Once ― when
you had fled from me ―
I went searching
& found you
on a blurred
northern shore
licking the ribs
of a whale ―
I wished
they were mine.
Another fight
& I had to cross
the nec plus ultra
for you ―
received your pardon
on an Irish (l)edge.
I long for the
moment when
we'll both collapse ―
burning with melancholy
exhausted &
content ―
in the
Portuguese
twilight.

Then
you'll speak
only of me ―
my ember ashes
ingrained in your tongue ―
I in every vowel
You in the smooth consonants
of your name.
Thalassa! Thalassa!
a

Lark

2009-02-10T08:50:00.005+02:00

A
I swing
in the hammock
of my fling ─
sipping
the greenish brew ─
diluting
the dusky bile /
travelling towards
an embittered dawn?

Sifting through hues
─ secundum non datur ─
I swirl in the aurora.
The price paid:
give in
to the arctic night
I ─ dervish of light ─
give in
to devilish fright.

Give in
Step in_to
Trans-cend
Your cinders /
Your senders

What if
When / if
Who if
Not Me
Is You?

I
tie
I
lie ─
my lisping thoughts
betray me
you say?
The trail leads to Erewhon:
Welcome to my Garden of Wonders.
Though you’ll
ride in circles
you’ll never
tread on the
same patch
twice.

Ensnaring
Circe
you call me?
Forgetfulness
is the foremost gift
of a goddess.
Mischief
inherent ─
my true insignia
─ hidden in plain view,
held sky high,
under the wing of a lark.

A

Black Coffee

2009-02-03T10:59:00.004+02:00

“Sober up”
the drill-sergeant yells.
“You’re in the army now”
- been here all your life -
neck deep,
boot up the ass.
“Straighten up
& fly right!”

Wrigglin’ on your hook
memories peelin’
one
by
one.

You are
who you were –
that’s what
they never tell you
- no use knowin’ it
anyway –
always too late.
Catchin’ up
Sunny side up
Flip flop.

Je ne sais quoi

2009-01-23T13:47:00.003+02:00

Aceste cuvinte ne doare... sau nu?

2009-01-03T02:31:00.003+02:00

I'm sorry but I don't want to be an Emperor - that's not my business - I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible, Jew, gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another, human beings are like that.
We all want to live by each other's happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone and the earth is rich and can provide for everyone.
The way of life can be free and beautiful.
But we have lost the way.
Greed has poisoned men's souls - has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed.
We have developed speed but we have shut ourselves in: machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little: More than machinery we need humanity; More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.
The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me I say "Do not despair".
The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress: the hate of men will pass and dictators die and the power they took from the people, will return to the people and so long as men die [now] liberty will never perish...
Soldiers - don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you and enslave you - who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel, who drill you, diet you, treat you as cattle, as cannon fodder.
Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts. You are not machines. You are not cattle. You are men. You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate - only the unloved hate. Only the unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers - don't fight for slavery, fight for liberty.
In the seventeenth chapter of Saint Luke it is written " the kingdom of God is within man " - not one man, nor a group of men - but in all men - in you, the people.
You the people have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy let's use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give you the future and old age and security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power, but they lie. They do not fulfil their promise, they never will. Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to fulfil that promise. Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men's happiness.
Soldiers - in the name of democracy, let us all unite!
Look up! Look up! The clouds are lifting - the sun is breaking through. We are coming out of the darkness into the light. We are coming into a new world. A kind new world where men will rise above their hate and brutality.
The soul of man has been given wings - and at last he is beginning to fly. He is flying into the rainbow - into the light of hope - into the future, that glorious future that belongs to you, to me and to all of us. Look up. Look up."

Vreo idee ce e cu discursul ăsta? Mai are vreo relevanţă pentru cineva?

2008-12-19T10:59:00.006+02:00

In Gallarus Oratory

Seamus Heaney

You can still feel the community pack

This place: it’s like going into a turfstack,

A core of old dark walled up with stone

A yard thick. When you’re in it alone,

You might have dropped, a reduced creature,

To the heart of the globe. No worshipper

Would leap up to his God off this floor.

Founded there like heroes in a barrow,

They sought themselves in the eye of their King

Under the black weight of their own breathing.
And how he smiled on them as out they came,

The sea a censer and the grass a flame.

Soul Food

2008-12-17T14:51:00.002+02:00

a
“Nimeni nu este atât de sărac ca să nu aibă nimic să dea şi, pe de altă parte, nimeni nu este atât de bogat ca să nu aibă nimic de primit.”
Papa Ioan Paul al II-lea
a

Old Love = Nostalgia

2008-12-12T12:21:00.002+02:00

Ce surprindere dureros de plăcută să constaţi că deşi ai îndesat ceva în străfundul unui sertar al memoriei, nu s-a prăfuit deloc.

Retrospectiva anului 2008

2008-12-09T15:30:00.010+02:00

După verde de Aiud

Verde de Paris

Şi Irish Green

Tot mai dulce e iarba de acasă, of course.

Fever

2008-11-07T16:42:00.004+02:00

a
When wrought pain
melts your axons
do not gasp
in protest.
Let the ice
crystals
expand &
caress your blood.
What use are your
fingers
anyway
'xcept to
imprison
all that is free?
- pouring
murdered thoughts
on paper
- shaping
the untouchable
- spreading
the thighs
of the Universe.

Do not increase
your burden,
accept & welcome
the imminence
of the explosion.
Get high
on the current
running thru your spine
and if you're lucky enough,
you won't feel
the intrusion
of the iced blood
on your overheated
core.
Then,
only then
will you know -
for a split second
before non-existence -
your centre.
a

Trial & Error

2008-11-04T13:17:00.002+02:00

a
I try to
erase the paths,
yet I find
myself
retracing
your steps.
Had I been
a hermaphrodite
snail,
I would have
gone back
to my other
half,
blissfully
speeding
on the rainbow
snail trail.

But
every building is
a daguerreotype
of an encounter.
The stubborn stucco
clings
yellow with jealousy,
the cherubs
accusing me of
a roundness
we never had.

Waiting for the
sword
of the gargoyly
Justice
to cleave
my vertebrae,
I suckle
the remembrance
seeping through
the cracks.

Waiting to
putrify /
petrify,
I try to
unlearn
what you
never
taught me.

Waiting for
illumination
through stultifying
repetition -
chanting the mantra &
waiting.
a

In a Killer Mood - again

2008-11-03T14:23:00.001+02:00

Lions & Rams - For Jo

2008-10-28T10:23:00.004+02:00

a
We both love
the sheen,
the sheer
pleasure of it -
creating our
very own
Big Bang,
just for
the kick &
spark of it.

We collide
contuse
confront
question -
therefore
we are.

We seed
each other
with strength,
forever playing
"last man standing",
knees jitterbugging
after midnight.

The last of those
who cut their breast off
for better fitting
the bow.

(the other
breast
quivers
with sharp
expectation)

Unchecked
Unspoiled
Unyielding

We.
a

God Save the Brits!

2008-10-24T16:34:00.007+03:00

a
O bătrână aristocrată bretonă mi s-a destăinuit, după decenii trăite în Marea Britanie: „Englezii nu au simţul ridicolului”.

Fiica ei, pe jumătate evreică şi apatridă într-un procent variabil, mi-a şoptit conspirativ mai târziu: „Excentricitatea este virtutea supremă a britanicilor”.

Enjoy Little Britain!
a

Rien que / Nihil sine...

2008-10-21T12:30:00.006+03:00

Ga(s)ping,

the pearly chasm

falls cracking&
crackling

into the abyss.

I wish I had that depth!

As it is, I am only

dredging -

dangling,

rattling my sinews.

Motley ribbons

flow from the

Fool's mouth:

despair

desire

decadence&

destruction.

Of course.

Condemned since childhood

by a decibelous fart -

rien que douleur

dorénavant! -

he shuffles his feet

from yellow to purple rooms.

Never allowed the

velvety blackness of

his own eyelids

he lingers on -

a mock-heroic illustration

of his sententious

sentence.

The asinine infants

point & cry

as he drags on -

the quicksand of his pain,

so beautiful when shifting,

what a treacherous landfill!

In the mood for something strong - a Harley for starters

2008-10-17T09:35:00.003+03:00

A surge of (r)a(n)cid feminism

2008-10-15T12:08:00.004+03:00

a
Oh, my heroes!
a

.......
a

Newsflash: just because I'm a woman and I don't frown, doesn't mean that:

A. I'm superworried about wrinkles and ageing.

B. I don't have a head full of problems, which I am about to solve.

C. I don't mean business.

Version 1
Alone and bored in the Garden of Eden, Adam asks God to give him a companion. God replies:
“Alright, I will create Eve. She will be beautiful, graceful, someone you can talk to, anything you want... But she will have to be stupid.”
“Why, Lord?”
“So that she will love you and stand by you.”

a
Version 2
Eve is sitting all alone and bored in the Garden of Eden, so she asks God to give her a companion. God replies:
“I will create Adam for you. He will be someone you can talk to, although he won’t really understand and won’t listen to what you’re saying. He will be stronger and faster, so that he can do the hunting and the heavy lifting. But he will act silly at times and he will be full of pride.

So we’ll have to keep a little secret to ourselves, I must tell him that I created him first.”

Nichita Stănescu (31 martie 1933 - 13 decembrie 1983)

2008-10-14T13:44:00.014+03:00

a

Într-un ou negru mă las încălzit

de aşteptarea zborului locuind în mine;

stă unul lângă altul, nedezlipit,

sinele lângă sine.

Sentimentul unei aripi îmi curge-n spinare,

senzaţia de ochi îşi caută orbită.

O, tu, întuneric mare,

tu, dezgustată naştere încremenită.

S-a aşezat pe mine o idee

şi mă cloceşte maternă.

Acum, tot ceea ce este e

rotundă căldură şi fermă.

Sare din mine un fel de plisc

în toate părţile şi deodată.

Refuză să fie un obelisc

şira intimă, curbată.

Sparg coaja pielii mele, arsă,

lipită de-a dreptul pe suflet,

ca să-mi rămînă ne-ntoarsă,

întîia încercare de umblet.

It's a jungle in here!

2008-10-13T16:46:00.005+03:00

“COMPETITIVE SALARY” = We remain competitive by paying less than our competitors.

“JOIN OUR FAST-PACED TEAM” = We have no time to train you.

“CASUAL WORK ATMOSPHERE” = We don’t pay enough to expect that you’ll dress up; well, a couple of the real daring guys wear earrings.

“MUST BE DEADLINE ORIENTED” = You’ll be six months behind schedule on your first day.

“SOME OVERTIME REQUIRED” = Some time each night and some time each weekend.

“DUTIES WILL VARY” = Anyone can boss you around.

“MUST HAVE AN EYE FOR DETAIL” = We have no quality control.

“CAREER-MINDED” = Female applicants must be childless (and remain that way).

“APPLY IN PERSON” = If you’re old, fat or ugly you’ll be told the position has been filled.

“NO PHONE CALLS PLEASE” = We’ve filled the job; our call for resumes is just a legal formality.

“SEEKING CANDIDATES WITH A WIDE VARIETY OF EXPERIENCE” = You’ll need it to replace three people who just left.

“PROBLEM-SOLVING SKILLS A MUST” = You’re walking into a company in perpetual chaos.

“REQUIRES TEAM LEADERSHIP SKILLS” = You’ll have the responsibilities of a manager, without the pay or respect.

“GOOD COMMUNICATION SKILLS” = Management communicates, you listen, figure out what they want and do it.

Funny, ha?

Degrees of Comparison

2008-10-10T16:41:00.002+03:00

a
To my dear friend in a kingdom by the sea

man / wo-man / Hu-man
male / fe-male
point /counter-point.
Longer, hence more complex.

Relation-ship,
not an ounce of abstraction
in it.

To the contrary,
the stench of Noah's Ark
reaches to high heavens -
a bold assertion of Life.

One multiplied by Two,
never again to be divided.

No helm,
no mutiny,
no jettison.

This ain't no Ship of Fools,
though a fool is s/he
who yearns for terra firma.

United by seasickness
we stand,
the paleness of our faces
ever more familiar.
We pace the planks
aghast, but adherent.

E la nave va
forevermore.

Sita Sings the Blues

2008-10-10T15:47:00.007+03:00

Wow! Cel mai ameţitor, sincretic şi psihedelic film pe care l-am văzut de la Yellow Submarine!
Absolut incredibil! Enjoy!

www.sitasingstheblues.com

Expiating Loneliness

2008-10-09T13:27:00.003+03:00

a
Conversation
spirals
towards the dim ceiling
like an opium dragon.

Ghost words bounce off the table -
not a numb social game
after all.

_________________

The pleasure & terror
of wedging
splinters of Self
into the Other.
_________________

Intoxicated
by returning echoes
of the same Longing,
I shed awareness
like yesterday's skin.

The Fickleness of Being

2008-10-03T12:07:00.004+03:00

Aseară am văzut (pentru prima dată „live”, mi-am dat seama spre ruşinea mea) Visul unei nopţi de vară în traducerea surprinzător de fecundă şi jovială a Ninei Cassian şi în regia lui Felix Alexa. Am digerat şi regurgitat piesa asta mai de „n”-ori decât Amintiri din copilărie, până nu i-am mai simţit deloc gustul şi mi-am întărit alergia sastisită la comediile închinate lui Hymen. Numai dorinţa (explicabilă din 32 de pdv-uri) de a-l revedea pe Marius Manole (ok, şi pe Bodochi) m-a făcut să îmi iau spontan un bilet.

Spre marea mea surprindere, am râs. Mai cinic şi reţinut la început, apoi gâlgâind şi foindu-mă în scaun ca orice copil. Ce păruse ţeapăn şi searbăd iniţial, aşezat într-un decor mult prea minimalist pentru a stârni reverii multicolore şi inepuizabile, s-a desfăşurat sclipitor sub ochii mei uimiţi. Neaşteptată aducere la zi (era să zic upgrading) prin tangoul care făcea şi desfăcea cuplurile la fel de magic ca licoarea lui Puck. Gâdilicios de amuzantă transformare a răgetelor de măgar ale lui Fundulea în divina arie a lui Mozart Regina nopţii. Inspirată deschidere a visului prin decuparea unei luni de hârtie (yes, it’s only a paper moon!) de către magicianul orchestrator al piesei (Puck, nu Oberon). Aceeaşi lună fosforescentă este mototolită şi aruncată pe epilog (Think but this, and all is mended, / That you have but slumber'd here / While these visions did appear. / And this weak and idle theme, / No more yielding but a dream…)

Interesanta virare spre lubric a întregului joc m-a făcut să mă întreb pudibond şi idealist care fuseseră intenţiile lui Shakespeare şi cum se montase piesa pe vremea lui (poate nu la selectul The Globe, ci prin provincia desfundată). Şi cât de fascinant e să râzi la unison cu alte zeci de oameni, să te întrebi în acelaşi timp ce ne uneşte cu publicul de acum mai bine de 400 de ani. De ce râdem? Mi-a zburat mintea de la Henri Bergson (care la 1900 scria Le rire, c'est du mécanique plaqué sur du vivant – incidental, meşteşugarii din piesă sunt numiţi „mechanicals”) la Isaac Asimov (care în Jokester prezuma că o rasă extraterestră a implantat umorul în creierele umane şi studia reacţiile rasei, iar de când oamenii şi-au dat seama de asta, nu a mai răsunat niciodată râsul pe Pământ).

Am primit o supradoză de teatru, trecând printr-o cascadă de categorii estetice: de la comic la ridicol la monstruos la sublim, presărat cu puţin obscen. Nu pot să închei decât aşa:
I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was – there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, – and methought I had, – but man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. (Fundulea, aka Bottom)

Formidubitabil

2008-10-01T09:23:00.003+03:00

Sunt pe Culmea Şovăielii: mi-am înfipt ultimul piton în coasta ei cu mult timp în urmă. Cam bate vântul pe aici (fericiţi sunt cei călăuziţi de el). Peisajul e mai vast decât mi-aş fi închipuit vreodată: cât vezi cu ochii numai opţiuni, probabilităţi, căi bifurcate, trifurcate, încurcate, dileme, trileme şi trireme. Dubito, ergo sum.

Aşadar, să ezit, să nu ezit. Să exist, să nu exist. Am suprins cu coada ochiului pe un blog o frază interesantă: nu poţi spune că exişti, dacă nu ai primit cel puţin un mass pe mess. M-am trezit întrebându-mă ce s-a întâmplat cu „un copac, o casă, un copil”. Când au rămas în secolul trecut, şi mai important poate, când am uitat eu să fac pasul în secolul XXI?

Mă mângâie totuşi gândul altora care s-au lăsat dezmierdaţi de culmi prin mansarde cu „Amour” încrustat în rama ferestrei deschise spre cerul parizian. E mai plăcut să îi ai drept colegi peripateticieni într-un alt secol.

Nu sunteţi de acord? So shoot me - they shoot horses too, don’t they?
a

Just another sunny day behind the bars of my office

2008-09-25T13:14:00.004+03:00

Da, e clar - am mai degrabă un fotoblog – habar însă n-am de ce refuz cu îndârjire să folosesc cuvinte.

Că sunt mizantroapă, anti-socială etc. etc. ştiam deja – dar în aşa hal? Totuşi, e plăcut să te mai surprinzi din când în când.

You covered up that place I could not master

2008-09-23T08:33:00.008+03:00

Sleeping Beast

2008-09-03T11:06:00.003+03:00

a
Feel like I've been sleeping for a hundred years. And since no one woke me up, I'll be sleeping for who knows how many more.

P.S. Procol Harum
a

Versiune prescurtată a nemuritorului Nicolaescu

2008-09-01T08:40:00.002+03:00

a
Dacii: - Cine sunteţi voi?
Romanii: - Noi suntem stăpânii lumii!
Dacii: - Veţi fi, după ce vom pieri noi!

Şi au pierit.

конец

Hasta una nueva revolución!

Pink Forever!

2008-08-28T11:15:00.006+03:00

a
Two loves of my life (yap, I can't be monogamous either!) : good old Pink Floyd & Kubrick's Space Odyssey.

Rerun: Live at Pompeii.

Smoooooooth

2008-08-26T10:50:00.003+03:00

Christian McBride & Niels Pederson-Bye Bye Blackbird

Ultimul Român

2008-08-20T13:18:00.010+03:00

a
Profesorul clujean Raul Volcinschi este o legenda vie printre fostii detinuti politici. Fondator al AFDPR dupa 1989, din care avea sa se retraga ulterior, a fost o perioada si consilier al ministrului de interne Gavril Dejeu. Preocupat de reformarea CNSAS prin eliminarea intereselor partidelor si incredintarea Colegiului chiar fostilor detinuti politici, recent, profesorul Volcinschi si-a vazut si dosarul intocmit de Securitate. Acesta contine peste 100.000 de mii de file, cuprinse in 123 de volume. Organizator al miscarii de rezistenta a studentilor romani in anul 1956, Raul Volcinschi a fost, dupa eliberarea din 1964, si unul dintre mentorii unui atentat armat la adresa lui Ceausescu. Despre acestea si multe altele in interviul oferit in exclusivitate ziarului ZIUA.

Am o traditie de condamnati in familia mea. Inainte de mine a fost tata. De doua ori. Intai trebuie sa va spun ca eu am facut un liceu de elita - liceul "Aron Pumnul" din Cernauti. Era unul dintre cele cinci licee mentionate pe tara - e vorba de Romania Mare - ca fiind de elita. Erau si evrei si nemti, cine putea intra, dupa merite. Bunicul a fost staret al manastirii Putna; a trecut la Fondul Bisericesc Ortodox Roman, care avea in proprietate padurile statului, padurile din Bucovina de Nord. Bunicul era doctor in trei ramuri: in teologie, filosofie si istorie. El a intemeiat muzeul de la Putna. Era un mare om de stiinta, calugar, cunoscut cu Iorga. In primul razboi mondial, tata trece in Romania, este incorporat in Armata Romana, bunicul si bunica sunt deportati la Sopron, in Ungaria - bunica moare de mizerie acolo, bunicul ramane deci vaduv, tatal este condamnat la moarte pentru dezertare in fata inamicului - ca romanii erau inamicii Austriei. In timpul razboiului este prins de austrieci, condamnat din nou la moarte. Evadeaza. Dupa razboi, fiind vorbitor de limba germana, cu studii la Viena, este numit la ambasada si apoi consul la Berlin. Cu un asemenea trecut, va dati seama ca am fost nevoiti sa ne refugiem in tara dupa ultimatumul sovietic.

Si ce ati gasit aici, in Romania mica?

Eu am ajuns la Cluj, unde au inceput rapid si necazurile. Totul a pornit de la Gisela Vass, al carei nepotel sade pe scaunul de presedinte al Camerei Deputatilor - Bogdan Olteanu. Cand m-am intersectat cu ea era sefa problemelor de relatii internationale ale PCR, prin 1955. Eu nu eram membru de partid, dar l-am impresionat, cum s-ar zice, pe un decan de la Agronomie, care era de fapt profesor de educatie fizica, ungur, si om de incredere al lui Gisela Vass. Cauta sa-i recruteze oameni. Intr-o discutie cu mine, la o conferinta cu alte cadre didactice, el ma intreaba: "Stiti limba maghiara?". Zic: "Nu stiu maghiara, dar stiu alte sapte limbi, care totusi conteaza". "Aaaa... Stii limbi straine? Ce stii? Engleza, rusa, frnaceza?". "Da, da, da". "Ooo, bun", zice el. "Perfect!". Mi-au propus sa ma inscriu in Partid cu promisiunea ca ma fac ambasador. Aveau nevoie de oameni, culti. Am refuzat. Si-atunci m-au dat la verificat, la Securitate. Eu eram refugiat, nascut in Cernauti, ajuns la Cluj. Nu aveau de unde sa ma ia. Si atunci au cautat si la nevasta-mea si, hopa, au descoperit ca era din neamul Orezanu, fiica de mosier expropriat. De-aici a inceput urmarirea mea si apoi, dupa revolutia din Ungaria, arestarea si incarcerarea...

Cum a inceput revolta in Cluj?
Pe o baza reala: in Ungaria curgea sange. In trei centre universitare romanesti s-a manifestat imediat o reactie. La Bucuresti, erau Marcel Petrisor, Ivasiuc, Andronescu... Cam vreo 300 au fost arestati. Au vrut sa faca o manifestatie de solidaritate. N-au reusit. Ca stiti, unde sunt multi, e si tradarea imediat si Securitatea i-a ridicat si le-a dat si lor ani bunisori de puscarie. La Timisoara a fost o greva studenteasca foarte mare, dar au gresit: ei au facut-o in sali de curs, in cantine si asa mai departe si nu au iesit in strada. Au fost incercuiti, scosi de acolo om cu om, arestati si condamnati. Acolo, masa de studenti fiind mare, nu au indraznit sa le dea pedepse prea mari, cum se dadeau - 25, 20 de ani -, ci le-au dat mai mult in jur de 10 ani. La Cluj, se incepuse organizarea unei rezistente universitare de prin '49-'50. Eu am ajuns in ianuarie '49 si in scurt timp am facut parte din grup. Erau elemente exceptionale! Ne organizasem in sistemul falangei. Principiul 5-5-5. Securitatea a avut ceva de studiat.

Si cum ati actionat in '56?
Noi aveam stabilita legatura cu miscarea din munti, pentru ca cei mai activi si cei mai buni dintre noi erau niste studenti din Fagaras - fratii Ursu, dar si altii... Cand a izbucnit revolutia din Ungaria, nu am mai stat pe ganduri si am vrut sa aducem arme din Fagaras. 22 de automate urmau sa ne fie aduse la Cluj. Si se zvonea ca veneau din Ungaria trenuri cu prizonieri, revolutionari maghiari, pe care, prin Romania, ii duceau in Rusia. Gata, ne-am facut planul sa atacam trenurile si sa-i eliberam pe ungurii arestati. Pana atunci am mai lansat o operatiune: unul dintre noi, Stefan Balan, din Teius, avea o legatura cu un ofiter, Toader Margineanu, din Fundul Bargaului, unde era singura unitate cu rachete pe vremea aceea. Vroiam sa spargem inchisoarea Gherla si apoi Aiudul, sa eliberam detinutii politici si apoi sa vina cu totii spre Cluj. Unii soldati s-au raliat initiativei. Margineanu a incercat sa scoat niste tunuri dar a dat alarma si a fost prins. Si noi am fost arestati, prin tradare. Nucleul, in jur de noua insi. Ne-am intalnit cu militarii la ancheta. Soldatii astia s-au comportat extraordinar la interogatorii... Pe unul l-a batut pana l-a lasat in sange un maior Vainer, evreu din Cernauti, pe care, culmea! il cunosteam din copilarie. Zicea: "Ba, am sa te omor in bataie" si tanarul ii raspundea: "Bine, si ce castigati? Il omorati pe soldatul Ene, fiu de iobag din tata in fiu. La un neam intreg nu ai sa pui dumneata lat". S-au comportat admirabil baietii astia. Capitanul lor a fost condamnat la moarte si executat, fara sa divulge legatura cu Balan, cu noi, si cu actiunea de la Cluj.

Pe dvs cum v-au anchetat?
La Cluj a fost toata ancheta. Am fost dus si la Rahova, din "prietenie" dar ancheta s-a desfasurat la Cluj. Unul dintre noi, mai slabut, a inceput sa divulge reteaua nostra. Atunci m-au luat la schingiut rau de tot. Ma legau cu catusele, cu mainile la spate, si ma agatau intr-un carlig, aflat in WC-ul arestului ... Ei, cat poti sta asa? 15 secunde, 20? Incep sa-ti cedeze incheieturile, se instaleaza o durere ingrozitoare... Asta se cheama estrapada, in termeni stiintifici - au inventat-o spaniolii, se zice. E ca si cu "patul lui Procust": esti mic, te pune intr-un pat mare, te intinde si te rupe. Dupa aia, bataia la talpi. La inceput ai impresia, cand il vezi pe ala ca da cu ciomagul - tu stai legat, cu picioarele in sus si cu un baston bagat pe dupa picioare si pe la incheieturi, unul te rastoarna, tu stai cu picioarele in sus si unul te loveste - ca nu simti nimic... La a treia, a patra lovitura am inceput sa simt durerile la incheieturi... Urcau, urcau, pana la genunchi, cand ajungeau in dreptul pieptului aveai impresia ca sare inima din tine, ca nu mai ai nici o posibilitate sa scapi, ca crapi. Simteam ca sare inima din mine si ma duc. Nu m-au lasat numai cu bataia la talpi. Deodata, am avut impresia ca in spate e unul care imi da cu ceva in cap. Eu simteam, dar nu vedeam. Dar o simteam deja pe scoarta si ziceam "Ma, al dracu', sta unul cu un ciocan in spatele meu si imi trage in cap". Ei, era maiorul Vainer care ma batea cu o ranga.

Si, cum a fost sa va intalniti cu un om pe care il stiati de mic si care era acum in postura de tortionar, iar dumneavoastra in postura de victima?
Trebuie sa intelegeti problema evreiasca din Romania. In Bucovina erau cam o suta de mii de evrei. Ei s-au simtit mereu straini cu romanii. Cand au venit rusii a fost o bucurie. Multi au mers mai departe apoi, cu trupele sovietice, si au ajuns sa lucreze pentru Armata Rosie cine stie pe unde. Altii pentru Securitate sau Partid. Asta a fost... Acesti oameni erau cei care, in general, au descins din odgoanele Armatei Rosii. Nu stiau romaneste, stiau sa injure, dar cu accent. Aceasta faza a durat pana in 15 mai 1948. Dupa aceea urmeaza promotiile noi de securisti, deci a doua Securitate. Astia erau din popor si aveau un fanatism nemaipomenit. De altfel, fanatismul este caracteristic tuturor partidelor de stanga, care au un univers utopic. A treia faza a fost din 1964. Noi judecam Securitatea, dar in primul rand trebuie judecat Partidul. Securitatea raspundea la comanda Partidului. A patra faza este cea cu Revolutia culturala. Asta dureaza pana in anii '80, cand incepe faza finala si se creaza disidenta, cu aportul sovieticilor. Si, practic, s-a intors roata de unde-am plecat, de la prima faza: de la komitern la noul komintern. Asa s-a creat "perdeaua de fum" dintre oamenii regimului si forul moral pe care il reprezentau detinutii politici: prin asa-zisii disidenti.

Sa revenim la momentul incarcerarii. Cat ati stat in arest?
Cu toate schigiurile la care eram supus - sau poate mai ales din cauza lor -, mi-am pus in cap sa o sterg de acolo. Eram sportiv atunci. Am comis, sa zic asa, un act unic in istoria contemporana a Romaniei: am evadat in forta de la Securitate, dar m-au prins. Am doborat sase subofiteri de Securitate... Eram deja in ancheta de vreo sase luni, la Cluj. La un moment dat mi-au bagat in celula un baiat, Eugen Crisan, cam de varsta mea, care se certase cu secretarul de partid de la fabrica Unirea si a vrut sa il arunce in Mures strigandu-i "Ba, comunistule!". Sediul Securitatii era atunci intr-o fosta scoala de ucenici, dar nu puteai sa stii unde te afli pentru ca tot timpul eram legati la ochi. Baiatul asta facuse scoala aici. Deci, gamela cand ne venea o ungeam cu sapun si cu un pai el desena. Iar el imi arata pe unde se poate iesi de acolo, cate trepte sunt, si tot asa. In ziua de 5 mai 1957 am rupt fiarele alea de la pat, de legatura, le-am bagat in buzunar, iar dupa-amiaza, pe la 17.00, ne-am decis sa batem in usa si sa zicem "ne e rau". Am batut eu in usa, l-am chemat pe gardian si i-am spus si ca robinetul e rupt si sa nu mi-l impute mie. Pe pereti, baiatul ala scrisese pe pereti "Morte al comunismo international". Gardianul vine sa se uite la chiuveta si l-am lovit cu fiarele alea in cap si mi-aduc aminte cat de mare era si cum a cazut imediat. Iesim si ne-am zis sa deschidem toate celulele si sa ii eliberam pe cei care erau tinuti acolo. Am deschis o celula unde se afla fiica lui Ilie Lazar, Lica Lazar, si cu fiica unui legionar. Acolo erau celule de femei si unele in care erau si preoti. La capatul celalalt al coridorului a aparut seful de tura, un plutonier, care, cand ne-a vazut, a inceput sa strige. Noi am reusit sa mai deschidem cateva celule si ne-am dus. Am iesit din subsol, cheia era in usa, am deschis si am urcat la etaj. Am vrut sa sparg usa la anchetator, pentru ca am vazut ca avea in fiset un pistol, si am vrut sa iau si actele noastre ca sa le distrug. Pe mine ma durea ca acest Ganea incepe sa vorbeasca si vor veni altii care vor avea de suferit. Atunci ne-au ajuns din urma militienii. In total, eu am doborat sase subofiteri, am iesit pe niste usi de sticla pe care le-am spart, si am dat intr-un hol urias unde vad vreo 60 de securisti care tocmai ieseau de la o conferinta. Eugen Crisan se loveste de ei, rastoarna un grup si eu ies pe scari. Eu am sarit scarile, si sarind, m-am lasat pe vine. In momentul ala peste capul meu a trecut o rafala din stanga mea. Pe Crisan l-a taiat in doua. Am apucat sa mai fug dar au inceput sa traga cu pistoalele dupa mine. Am cazut atunci cu capul pe marginea trotuarului. Eram plin de sange. M-au ridicat si m-au dus inapoi pe aleea aia. Am reusit sa ma smulg dar am cazut, apoi a venit un alt soldat care mi-a tras una in ceafa cu patul armei. M-au dus intr-o carcera, unde am stat asa ghemuit si m-au lovit cu cizmele pana au obosit. Asa s-a terminat epopeea evadarii.

Pacat. Cat ati stat inchis de-atunci?
Pai am primit 20 de ani cu executare. Si am facut din ei opt ani, dar totdeauna in regim de restrictie, cu lanturi. Am vazut multe crime oribile in puscarie. Am stat si la Gherla, si la Jilava. Asta era o puscarie de tranzit si cine aude de Jilava se cutremura. Stiti de ce? Pentru ca era sub pamant. Dar mancarea era mai buna decat in alte parti... Cand eram la Jilava, intr-o zi, la un moment dat se deschide usa si intra un individ, mai in varsta decat mine, el avea vreo 55. Avea o bocceluta si vine catre mine si ma intreaba daca poate sta, jos, langa mine. Si imi spune "Imi dati voie sa ma prezint, sunt Dinu Noica". El nu isi spunea Constantin. Era in '63, cu un an inainte de eliberare. Era legionar, incadrat cu Steinhard... care mi-a fost si el apropiat, desi ne-am intalnit tangential. Noica avea ideiile lui, pe care mi le-a impartasit atunci pentru ca auzise de legenda evadatului din arestul Securitatii. Era tratat cu respect, oricum. Stia deja ca vom fi eliberati in curand, respectiv peste un an. Si mi-a spus: trebuie sa ne folosim de regim, sa colaboram si sa lucram cu oamenii lui in speranta ca vom duce mai departe flacara nationalista. Vroia sa faca o reteau in interiorul Partidului. Eu am respins ideea lui. I-am spus: "Domnule Noica, ne batem gura degeaba. Ei sunt stapani din Oder pana in Murmansk si de la Murmansk pana la Vladivostok. O sa-ti trimita trei, patru turnatori care sa te inconjoare si sa-ti suga ideile. Dupa sase luni, daca nu te baga la inchisoare pentru propaganda anti-comunista inseamana ca te vor impacheta ca pe un stiulete si te vor tine asa, pe un raft intr-un hambar, cu sobolani roind in jurul dvs. Lucrurile amestecate, legionari-comunisti, miros urat. Ce rost are? Eu stiu ce fac. Cand ies, ma duc in munti!". "Ei, domnule, nu, ca te impusca, te omoara", zice el. Eu i-am raspuns: "Si ce sa fac altceva? Cu o moarte toti suntem datori". Nu a mai zis nimic. Pana la urma, s-a dovedit ca am avut dreptate si planul lui s-a nascut ca un avorton. Ce a produs? Securitatea a fost mai tare. O anumita aripa.

Si cum a fost dupa ce ati iesit cu atentatul acela impotriva lui Ceausescu?
Eram la Craiova; eu aveam domiciliu obligatoriu la Craiova. Era in 1983. Au fost trei tineri de actiune, pe langa care am fost si noi, batranii. Vroiam moartea regimului comunist. A scris si istoricul francez Alex Decotte in cartea sa "Romania insolita - De la Dracula la Ceausescu", aparuta anul acesta, in Franta, la editura Rocher. Domnule Roncea, Nicolae Ceausescu a fost tinta unei tentative esuate de asasinat, de care, poate, nici nu a aflat vreodata. Decotte zice asa, ca Ceausescu ar fi trebuit sa fie secerat de gloantele a trei tineri conjurati, recrutati si sustinuti de patru intelectuali mai in varsta. Pe mine ma face asa, "enigmaticul profesor Raul Volcinschi". Mai erau Tudor Bugnariu, fost primar al Clujului in perioada 1944-1948, Simion Pop, fostul decan al Facultatii de Drept, si profesorul de drept Mircea Stoica. Tinerii erau Viorel Roventu, Petre Nastase si Nicolae Stanciu si operatiunea urma sa se desfasoare in micul sat oltenesc Gostinu, in timpul unei vizite oficiale de lucru a dictatorului. In urma unor schimbari de ultim moment in programul oficial, cei trei nu au mai apucat insa sa isi puna in aplicare planul de a-l prinde pe Ceausescu intr-o ambuscada, la vizita programata la cooperativa agricola din satul Gostinu. Desi reprogramat pentru a coincide apoi cu o alta vizita in zona, atentatul nu a mai avut loc, iar baietii au fost inhatati de Securitate. Pentru a nu se face valuri pe seama atentatutului la adresa conducatorului, baietii au fost anchetati pentru "tentativa de jaf armat", conform marturiilor smulse in arest. Grupul Roventu-Nastase-Nicolae a fost condamnat, intr-un final, pentru furt cu circumstante agravante iar procurorii au cerut si obtinut pedeapsa capitala. Sentinta a fost comutata, ulterior, in 25 de ani de inchisoare, iar baietii, saracii, au fost eliberati abia in perioada Administratiei Constantinescu. Astia au fost, astia sunt eroi anticomunisti, nu tot soiul de dizidenti inchipuiti.

De ce tocmai atunci?

Pentru ca lui Iliescu i s-a spus: "Domnule Presedinte, daca pe Ceausescu l-au ratat, pe dumneavoastra sigur nu o sa va rateze".

Dupa 1989 ati devenit fost fondator si vicepresedinte ale AFDPR...
Da. La 4 ianuarie 1990, la sediul PNTCD, la etaj, sala plina, multa lume, pe un scaun se afla generalul Latea, care vorbea cu masa asta de oameni sa facem o asociatie. Si am facut-o. Latea era primul presedinte. Eu intre timp, atunci, am fost numit in CPUN. Apoi am creat si Uniunea Democrat Crestina (UDC) care, pana la urma a fost inghitita de PNTCD. Coposu ne tot spunea ca nu e cazul sa fie doua crestin democratii in Romania si atunci am mers la ei. Cu AFDPR-ul n-a iesit bine. Am intrat si eu in conflict cu Ticu Dumitrescu, dupa ce avocatul Octavian Radulescu a fost dat afara si s-a infiintat Federatia fostilor etinuti politici. Ticu avea o problema cu legionarii, care il contestau: luase Ordinul Muncii de la regimul Ceausescu. El zicea ca legionarii fac, ca legionarii dreg, ca acum nu trebuie sa mai vorbeasca. Cum, domnule? Dar au tacut toata viata aproape, in lagare si inchisori. Cred ca il incita Magureanu, cu care se tot intalnea. Dar ei erau majoritatea membrilor AFDPR, cum au fost si in inchisori. La arpacas am stat la coada cu totii. Faptul ca unul facea parte dintr-un partid, iar altul din alt partid, nu trebuia sa fie motiv de cearta intre noi. Ticu a venit cu o brigada de batausi de pe santier si a spart AFDPR-ul. Noi am fost foarte solidari in puscarie. Raul te aduna. Dar Ticu Dumitrescu a acaparat aceasta suferinta si a transformat-o intr-o afacere. Afacerea "anti-comunismului". Voua va ramane datoria sa nu lasati asa suferinta noastra si sa incercati sa reinviati visul furat al lui Dinu Noica.

Victor RONCEA
Ziua Nr. 4309 de miercuri, 13 august 2008
a

Not an entirely misplaced dream

2008-08-18T17:55:00.002+03:00

Hyppolite Taine - Viaţa şi opiniile filozofice ale unei pisici

2008-08-15T11:23:00.004+03:00

Cel care mănâncă este fericit; cel care digeră este mai fericit; cel care dormitează digerând este şi mai fericit. Restul nu e decât vanitate şi nerăbdare a sufletului. Un om fericit este cel care, ghemuindu-se la căldurică, cu burta plină, îşi simte stomacul la treabă şi pielea pocnind de sănătate. Gâdilatul delicat pătrunde şi mişcă uşor fibrele. Exteriorul şi interiorul se bucură cu toţi nervii. Dacă lumea ar fi un mare Dumnezeu preafericit, aşa cum spun înţelepţii noştri, pământul ar trebui să fie un pântec imens veşnic ocupat să digere creaturile şi să stea cu burta dolofană la soare.

...

Alţii, mai rafinaţi, au crezut că rotisorul este Dumnezeu, spunând că e sursa tuturor lucrurilor bune, se roteşte întotdeauna, stă pe foc fără să se ardă şi e de-ajuns să te uiţi la el ca să cazi în extaz. După părerea mea, nu s-au înşelat, dat fiind că ei îl vedeau prin fereastră, de departe, într-un fum poetic, colorat, scânteietor, la fel de încântător ca soarele în amurg. Dar, stând aproape de el ore întregi, eu ştiu cum e curăţat, reparat şi îngrijit în grabă, şi am avut de pierdut cu ştiinţa naivelor iluzii ale stomacului şi ale inimii.

Ajuns la acest nivel de înţelepciune, nu cred că mai am nimic de cerut de la natură, de la oameni, de la nimeni; poate cu excepţia câtorva mese copioase de la rotisor. Nu-mi mai rămâne altceva de făcut decât să adorm în propria-mi înţelepciune; şi asta pentru că perfecţiunea pe care am atins-o este sublimă şi nici o pisică gânditoare n-a pătruns misterul lucrurilor înaintea mea.
a

Memento

2008-08-14T09:56:00.005+03:00

"The process of movement (sensory stimulation) involved the act of perception stamps in, as it were, a sort of impression of the percept, just as persons do who make an impression with a seal. This explains why, in those who are strongly moved owing to passion, or time of life, no mnemonic impression is formed; just as no impression would be formed if the movement of the seal were to impinge on running water; while there are others in whom, owing to the receiving surface being frayed, as happens to (the stucco on) old (chamber) walls, or owing to the hardness of the receiving surface, the requisite impression is not implanted at all.

Hence both very young and very old persons are defective in memory; they are in a state of flux, the former because of their growth, the latter, owing to their decay. In like manner, also, both those who are too quick and those who are too slow have bad memories. The former are too soft, the latter too hard (in the texture of their receiving organs), so that in the case of the former the presented image (though imprinted) does not remain in the soul, while on the latter it is not imprinted at all. "

Aristotle On Memory and Reminiscence

"I can't remember to forget you."

"esperando tu olvido"

Cocooning

2008-08-12T16:43:00.004+03:00

Can you listen/watch in silence?

Mourning Becomes Athena

2008-08-08T15:20:00.005+03:00

P.S. Fotografia asta mi-a „ieşit” după ce reuşisem să dau cu aparatul meu foto de dalele de la Mogoşoaia şi să îmi blochez shutter-ul. Not bad for a rookie.

Thalassa (Aşteptându-l pe Cousteau)

2008-08-07T09:39:00.002+03:00

Precum marea
după o tarantelă-n miez de noapte,
înţesată de alge înecate –
cadavre fosforescente
sub mondschein –
infestată.
Atingând-o
îţi înfăşori
şira spinării
într-un arc voltaic
de dezgust.

Ce altceva
poţi face
decât să aştepţi?
Timpul coagulează
tot ce e mort.

Precum marea,
hrănindu-se
din propriile capricii,
ascunzându-l pe Proteus,
murind în înălţare
doar pentru a recădea în sine
Eu sunt.

Dyspnea 'Round Midnight

2008-08-06T11:02:00.004+03:00

a
Feeling sad
really gets bad
'round midnight

Thelonious Monk

Miles Davis & John Coltrane

Dans

2008-08-05T09:23:00.007+03:00

Sunt (relativ) tineri. Laptopul nu le lipseşte din braţe. Dansează în faţa webcam-ului, oglinda e probabil atât de „old news”.

Dansează patruped, biped, aped.

Seducţie voodoo, htoniană, care îmi face sângele să dea în clocot. Rădăcinile viguroase ale picioarelor sparg scoarţa. Catabasis - corpul călătoreşte Dedesubt şi extrage magmă şi profeţii pentru muritorii arşi de soare.
Sau pur şi simplu schiţe ludice, reiterări ale acelorlaşi milioane de paşi deja făcuţi mai mult sau mai puţin stângaci şi automat. Acum dansează Între, deja cu tentă de compromis, iar lipsa inovaţiei mă doare puţin. Odiseea nu are suflu, ambitus şi corabia se sparge de acelaşi mal de pe care tocmai se desprinsese.
Pot însă să se şi înalţe - revelaţia vine atunci când picioarele li se desprind de sol. Cuvintele care planează Deasupra sunt şi mai îndărătnice şi casante, nu pot fi pur şi simplu înşfăcate şi coborâte. Dar tinerii dervişi acced la un tărâm la care maeştrii anchilozaţi nu mai reuşesc să ajungă.

Dansează goi, îmbrăcaţi, ascunşi în spatele măştilor.
Aruncă hainele una câte una, ca pe convenţii. Sau se înfăşoară în amăgitoare transparenţe. Puţini se înfăţişează crud şi pur. Mulţi trişează, dându-ne de gândit cu ceea ce ascunde corpul şi îl trădează în cele din urmă.

Fagocitează avid spaţiul pe care îl stăpânesc, totul devine o prelungire a corpului lor. Sau sunt încremeniţi între limite dureroase şi concrete. Dar interiorul lor dansează mai exuberant decât oricând.

Dans. Performance. Happening.
Mulţumesc!

Kinda Blue (again)

2008-08-01T11:01:00.003+03:00

Also sprach...

2008-07-31T09:02:00.005+03:00

a
The Joker

I believe whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you... stranger.

Wanna know how I got these scars?

Y'see, madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little... push.

See, I'm not a monster... I'm just ahead of the curve.

You have all these rules and you think they'll save you.
I have one rule.
Then that's the rule you'll have to break to know the truth.
Which is?
The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules. And tonight you're gonna break your one rule.

It's about... sending a message. Everything burns.

Nobody panics when things go "according to plan," even if the plan is horrifying. Introduce a little anarchy. Upset the established order and everything becomes chaos. I'm an agent of chaos. Oh, and you know the thing about chaos? It's fair.

Harvey Two-Face

You thought we could be decent men at indecent times. But you were wrong; the world is cruel and the only morality in a cruel world is chance. Unbiased. Unprejudiced. Fair.

Why do I always Love the Villains?
a

Secţiune de rădăcină

2008-07-30T09:40:00.021+03:00

No, fusăi acasă, de fapt mai acasă decât acasă, în Bucium Poieni, dincolo de munţi, dincolo de păduri, dincolo de neguri. De nu mă credeţi, ni acia!

Şi mai incredibil, nu există semnal de mobil, internet, gaz, canalizare sau apă curentă, iar o săptămână şi mai bine acolo a acţionat ca o lobotomie asupra mea. Mi-a îndepărtat toate sentimentele ostile împotriva Bucurescilor şi băştinaşilor de pe Dâmboviţa. Mi-a spulberat încâlcelile dilematice cu care mă tot încăieram, mi-a destins ridurile de expresie. Mi-a netezit creierul atât de bine încât îmi doresc să trăiesc şi să mor acolo.

Reintrată însă în venele pline de funingine ale metropolei, am pierdut tot ce mi se dăduse. Învelişul ăsta exterior al meu e permeabil până la disperare şi Bucurescii oferă prea puţini nutrienţi şi multe multe toxine. Mi-am regăsit ritmul de Bator orb, care bate drumul spre muncă fără să bâjbâie sau ezite vreodată. Da, pot lua metroul spre birou cu ochii închişi şi sunt în stare să lucrez la fel o zi întreagă graţie relaţiei mele rutinate cu tastatura mea prăfuită. Singurul lucru care îmi scapă este când s-o hotărî Stăpânul să mă vândă.

Enfin, să revenim la văcuţele, ciobăneştii noştri mioritici şi tot alaiul de fiare, lighioane, bâzdâgănii şi dihănii din coasta Corăbiei.

Corabia e Ea, pururi învăluită în neguri şi încă plină de aur. Se spune că acolo s-a răsturnat arca lui Noe cu toate bogăţiile ei. Viaţa în Bucium trece şi se petrece în umbra ei şi a Nigârlesii.

Deşi ne-a cam ţârâit toată săptămâna (tot îmi dorisem la Paris să îndur o mocănească în Bucium), ecşpediţii au fost destule. Am înfruntat noroaie mişcătoare, pe Vâlva Băii şi fiare neîndurate.

Deh, viaţă tare grea şi frumoasă!

Din episodul următor

2008-07-28T16:53:00.007+03:00

Nirvana

No Comment

2008-07-15T15:47:00.016+03:00

Sursa

σφαίρα

2008-07-11T15:43:00.008+03:00