be vewwy vewwy quiet...

I’ve had my mojito. I’ve closed my circle.
Not.
I still hope you’re dead. Wish you dead with all of my soul.

“I’m in the middle of developing a complex of abandonment.” An affirmation about as false as most of my affirmations. Truth is, I’m past that stage. Left behind is what I feel like most. Left behind by the circus, the little girl took up drinking.

Meet cuba libre. Always truthful? For reasons unknown, it left me.
Let it be finlandia. Still hanging on to that one. I’ll huggle it, and kiss it, and call it bobby.

Yes, of course I’m over bobby. There was nothing to get over, but the wound of being left behind once again. Being ignored, not called the next day or any other day again. ‘I miss you already’, big fat hippie liar! Hope you fell off the scaffolding. Crushed your bones – free falling, parachute failure, sabotage, a friendly push off the cliff before the rope was tightened, anything would do, really. I miss you already.

Poor ozzie, it’s not even like I hate him. I just wish he were dead, so that I wouldn’t be left behind. Is that too much to ask of him?

It’s 11 pm and I’m drinking. Again. Blabbering in writing, surprisingly coherent. Or at least that’s how it feels right now. Tomorrow will be a better judge of this, I guess.

jurnal de paranoiac

paranoiacul se trezeşte singur. întotdeauna.
paranoiacul deschide repede televizorul să audă din gura lui neti sandu că astrele nu-i surâd.
paranoiacul întoarce mereu capul înapoi, dar nu se opreşte niciodată.
paranoiacul urmează mereu alt drum, revelat de lumina verde a semaforului. preferabil a celui pentru pietoni.
paranoiacul zâmbeşte larg şi des şi cât mai frumos şi cu o rază de deschidere cât mai mare către lume. ştie că de fapt îl urăşti. de fapt te urăşte.
paranoiacul are puţini prieteni, dar foarte multe cunoştinţe.
paranoiacul vorbeşte puţin, pentru că oricum gandeşte prost. de gândit gândeşte mult, cantitatea nu şi-a negat-o niciodată.
paranoiacul crede in minesweeper. el nu joacă minesweeper. paranoiacul CONSULTĂ minesweeperul. cu religiozitate fanatică.
paranoiacul ştie că exista un plan divin, care vrea ca el să ia de la rosetti un autobuz care întoarce, pentru a coborî în exact acelaşi loc, doar că de cealaltă parte a străzii. mersul pe jos face bine la problemele de inimă.
paranoiacul are multe probleme. mai ales cu inima.
paranoiacul este constant obosit. de la stres.
se culcă cât mai târziu, pentru a se asigura că se trezeşte singur. paranoiacul se trezeşte singur.

12.11.2007

i-am povestit cum azi au tăbărât pe mine să mă ia în braţe şi să imi spună că mă iubesc. m-a întrebat dacă nu le-am spus că şi eu îi iubesc, că aşa era drăguţ.
pe copii nu pot să îi mint.

Mă strînge pielea. O fi de la cazătură. 8 etaje nu e tocmai puţin. De fapt, nu am putut să cad. Picioarele nu m-au ajutat, capul a apăsat prea tare în jos pe gît, pe genunchi, pe podea. Aşa că am deschis pielea si am eliberat sîngele. El nu are conştiinţă, cap, gît, genunchi, podea. A căzut uşor, picătură cu picătură prin aerul gros, condensat de noapte si vînt. Am căzut cu el, am plutit scurgîndu-mă, prelingîndu-mă, alunecînd prin aer, vîscoasă şi grea de viaţă. Grea cu viaţa. S-a dus. M-am dus. A rămas doar pata lipicioasă de pe încheietură. Mă strînge pielea.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.

Supposedly, my mother was pregnant with me when she felt a deadly crave for rapunzel. Or Valerianella locusta, also known as corn salad, mache, lamb's lettuce, field salad, Feldsalat in Germany, Nuesslisalat in Switzerland, or Vogerlsalat in Austria. Father trespassed into a witch’s garden to fetch some and the third time was a charm. She caught him red-handed. Or should I say, rapunzel-handed? Either way, the old man readily promised his unborn child in exchange for his reputation. That’s how they came to pick my name. Personally, I think it could have been better, but I’m nonetheless happy it’s not corn salad.

I had been living with tante Gothel for 12 years, a happy time of childhood play with spiders and snakes, when the old shrew locked me up in the tower. A tower in the middle of the forest. Not very entertaining, I’m afraid. No stairs, no door. One room, one window. One girl. What was there to do besides growing hair? Did I mention no scissors? Every time she wanted to drop by, tante had to first get up. Up the tower. So she would ask me to let down my hair, which I did, and then climb the locks. No, it didn’t hurt.

One day, I was combing my hair, singing my heart out (Dave Matthews Band’s Rapunzel), when I heard a deep voice calling me and asking me to let down my hair. I rushed to the window, you can imagine, and threw the mane out. Thirty minutes and several indecent imprecations later, Prince Charming was up in my room. I had never needed, nor wanted him, but since he was there, and looking handsome too, I shrugged and answered ‘Why not?’ to his proposal of friendship, sex and marriage.

That moment on, he would come every night. Many gay moments did we share until a slip of tongue gave me away in front of tante Gothel. I can’t tell whether it was my asking why my dress was getting tight around my belly or why Prince Charming seemed lighter than her when he climbed my hair, but she burst into a fit. In anger, Dame Gothel cut short my braided hair and cast me out into the wilderness. Figures there had been a way in and out by means of a stair, but the wench enjoyed pulling my hair.

I soon gave birth to twins, the apples of my eyes. Sure, life wasn’t easy in the forest, with no food, shelter or change, but it was bearable at the thought that my prince would look for me. Had I known he had become blind, I wouldn’t have been so optimistic. However, my destiny wasn’t to be tragic, so we were soon reunited, and lived happily ever after. Until he got fat.

vis

i dreamt i was being dismembered. part by part, my limbs were being torn.

i opened my eyes in horror.

everything around me reminded me of you.

i closed my eyes in despair.

item not found

it's not like she didn't like love. she didn't feel funny about it either, she didn't. she just didn't believe in it. some claimed it had once existed, but the whole story about a man and a woman caring about each other in so many ways as love was supposed to include seemed just too far-fetched.

sometimes, she allowed herself to daydream about it, but reality would then immediately take its toll in shuddering and eye rolling currency. she knew love was overrated anyway. not to mention long extinct. *if* it had ever been real.

she’d heard people talk about it, but, like mammoths, it had eluded her all her life. so, like them, it could only remain as traces frozen into blocks of ice down at the south pole. if at all.

on jealousy

Its beady eyes snicker in the dark. It takes its cane and heaves it deep through the pulp, jeering with contempt. The scar will fester and gracelessly leak out its soupy offspring. It will inflict the whole, it will transcend the whole, it will affect its everything. It muffles a sigh of projected bliss in order to concentrate better on the job itself, thrusting the wicker deeper into the soft tissue.

Jealousy takes one by surprise, perfidiously lurking along the train of thought, it suddenly lurches and fiercely takes one over. It is the purest synthesis of absurdly oxymoronic emotions that chemically fuse in one’s brain, through which they apocalyptically work their way like sulfuric acid. The gist of the irony is that these feelings and emotions have an intrinsic way of creeping through the corridors of neural connections that keeps them in the shade until one finds oneself being nudged in the ribs, with a devious wink, by an embodiment of repression.

The world shifts forms and colours, at first confusingly swiftly, only to switch to a distortedly lagging mode in a matter of seconds. Nothing is like before, everything undergoes dramatic change. The lips mumble cryptic messages, the glances turn perverted, the hands writhe lustfully, reaching for conspiratorial touches. The passer-bys look meaner, the crows caw reproachfully, the omniscient voices around swirl into a maddening tornado. It all darkens and sinks into itself, ever filling its ever-growing hole.

It heaves the cane from the furrow and watches it fill with the scarlet secretion. It rubs its hands as it bites its lips with joy. It might as well get a chair, sit back and enjoy the show. Ah, right on time, blondie!

oras

gottfried

Stand still.
I am standing still.
Obviously, you are not, otherwise I wouldn’t have told you to.
Just do it already.
I will as soon as you stand still.

Is it ready?
Yes. Here, take a look.
Wow. Great. Are you sure it’s supposed to look like this?
D’oh. I saw it on tv.

http://www.helnwein.com

ah, the pain

she did thrive on the moments
of diving in melancholy,
royal depression and ailments
when all to her was folly.
the world would gun her down
her dreams, her life - disaster,
and fate had cast a frown
upon this sorrow master.


Sometimes she couldn’t be sympathetic of other man’s suffering. It’s not like she didn’t care, but the spotlight in her mind was primarily set to fall on her own precious pate, and any outside competition was anything but fairly dealt with. She would always win herself. So what if he said he was low? He was just spoiled. Her pain was real.
She could feel it every night, she would weep a little, careful not to be seen, but then boast about it the first chance she had. The hugs would not stop the cascade of sobs and she would even occasionally wring a little tear in the corner of her eye to express her being deeply hurt. It would make her feel good.
She would then act bravely, proclaim her emotional independence and her stepping into a brave new world of stability and strength and feminism. She wouldn’t go so far as burning her bra or anything, but she would feel even better about herself.
Then, it would dawn on her. This whole self-empowering, self-sufficiency, autonomy thing…was it not getting to the core of her fragile being? Had it not rotted her frail, poor heart to numbness? Something must be wrong, she used to feel. She must have turned to stone. From all that pain she had kept inside. Yes. The pain. She could feel it again. But that was good. That meant she was sane. And normal.
But the pain…ah, it hurt. She would cry on her girlfriend’s shoulder once again about it. It would make her feel better.
What was it that he said? He was low? Ha! He doesn’t know what low IS.

of steak and man

tatăl meu despre a te ataşa de rock stars:

"e ca relaţia dintre un om şi friptura lui. friptura ţine la om, îl iubeşte?" :-<

the magus

so cruel a book. i would paste other fragments too, but they are rather graphic. i shall forever remember nicholas's night with julie, though. here's a small fragment on smiles.

'A figure appeared in the door. It was Conchis. He came to where I hung from the frame, and stood in front of me. I closed my eyes. The pain in my arms drowned everything else.
I made a sort of groaning-growling noise through the gag. I did not know myself what it really meant to say: whether that I was in pain or that if I ever saw him again I would tear him limb from limb.
"I come to tell you that you are now elect."
I shook my head violently from side to side.
"You have no choice."
I still shook my head, but more wearily.
He stared at me, with those eyes that seemed older than one man's lifetime, and a little gleam of sympathy came into his expression, as if after all he had put too much pressure on a very thin lever.
"Learn to smile, Nicholas. Learn to smile."
It came to me that he meant something different by "smile" than I did; that the irony, the humorlessness, the ruthlessness I had always noticed in his smiling was a quality he deliberately inserted; that for him the smile was something essentially cruel, because freedom is cruel, because the freedom that makes us at least partly responsible for what we are is cruel. So that the smile was not so much an _attitude_ to be taken to life as the _nature_ of the cruelty of life, a cruelty we cannot even choose to avoid, since it is human existence. He meant something far stranger by "Learn to smile" than a Smilesian "Grin and bear it." If anything, it meant "Learn to be cruel, learn to be dry, learn to survive."
He gave the smallest of bows, one full of irony, of the contempt implicit in incongruous courtesy, then went.
As soon as he had gone, Anton came in with Adam and the other blackshirts. They undid the handcuffs and got my arms down. A long black pole two of the blackshirts were carrying was unrolled and I saw a stretcher. They forced me to lie down on it and once again my wrists were handcuffed to the sides. I could neither fight them nor beg them to stop. So I lay passively, with my eyes shut, to avoid seeing them. I smelt ether, felt very faintly the jab of a needle; and I willed the oblivion to come fast.'

do read the book. it will be worth reading all its 720 pages.

smile.

How many smiles away is happiness? Are we there yet?
No, not there yet. Keep faking.

But it hurts, mummy. My cheeks are sinking in, they will soon be able to tell…
Come, sweetie. Don’t worry, mommy will take care of that. All you need to do is think happy thoughts. Here, think of… cotton candy.
Sticky, all-too-sweet, pink cotton candy?
Whatever you like, honey.
Mom! Look at me. Just once look at me! I hate cotton candy! Alright?
Now, don’t frown like that. People don’t like mean-looking kids. Be a nice little boy and show me your perfect pearly teeth. There you go… no, don’t grin like that!
I wish I had no mouth. No teeth. No lips. Just a hollow emptiness. I would be smiling AAAAL the time.
That’s nice, sweetie. Be a good boy, now. Take mommy’s hand.

Is happiness nice?
Sure it is. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.
Why is it so far, then?
What did I tell you about frowning? Better. We’re not far now.

What does it look like?
What does what look like?
Happiness.
I told you, like everything you’ve ever wanted.

All in one place?
Yes.
Neat.
Neat indeed.

Will daddy be there?
Huh?
Daddy, mommy. Will he be there?
If you want him to.
I do.

Mom?
Yes, sweetie.
It still hurts.
I’m sure it’s not far away.

hand me down

Someday they'll find your small town world
On a big town avenue
Gonna make you like the way they talk
When they're talking to you
Gonna make you break out of your shell
Cuz they tell you to
Gonna make you like the way they lie
Better than the truth
They'll tell you everthing
You wanted someone else to say
They're gonna break your heart.

(matchbox twenty)

what Alice did

mama-mi zice ca sunt maniaaac...

dan mulţumind publicului bucureştean

publicul bucureştean







ce noapte...

on dreams.

visele frumoase sunt cele mai urâte. pentru că atunci când te trezeşti zâmbitor şi fericit te uiţi în dreapta şi vezi că perna iţi zâmbeşte maliţios înapoi. sarcastic şi dureros. şi scurta incursiune în tărâmul inconştientului subconştient lasă brusc un gust amar de bitter suedez, cu deosebirea că în cantităţi mari nu te ameţeşte.

deci eu votez pentru coşmaruri. pentru că te fac fericit că viaţa ta e mai bună de atât. că de fapt nu ţi-au mâncat căinii piciorul, doar îţi amorţise de la frig, uitat în afara plăpumii. că nu dai examen la sport, ci doar la lexic şi semantică (mult mai accesibil). că nu te vânează poliţia, era doar filmul din seara precedentă.

mult mai bine aşa.

din nou in oraşul lalalelelor

experimentul piteşti partea a doua.

partea întâi s-a petrecut acum aproape un an şi s-a lăsat cu prietenii frumoase şi amintiri pentru toată viaţa. the tulimpics.

ieri mă urcam în autocar pentru partea a doua, cu prietenii deja formate din bucureşti, vamă... şi draga de doris asigurată de ionescu ne-a dus şi ne-a binedispus cu film care se termina cu ei doi împăcându-se. iar în piteşti dragul de andi ne-a dus şi ne-a binedispus cu bomboane până la hush.

hush e un club-restaurant de vizavi de teatru. sau aşa ceva. frumos acolo, plăcut, curat la baie :">. cam uscător la buzunare, altfel. intrarea - cu toate insistenţele lui codruţ, că suntem prieteni cu ăia, că am venit din bucureşti...- 15 ron. nota de plată umflată cu nişte beri şi sucuri. bacşiş gras, că noi suntem finuţi.

la concert, s-a cantat frumos (ca de obiceiu), s-a dansat mai pe furiş, că veniseră piteştenii la restaurant şi nu se vedea de noi. eu m-am potrivit în spatele-lateralul boxelor din dreapta scenei şi m-am bucurat de un concert printre costin şi cristi. dar bine fu şi aşa, chiar am fost de ajutor când voia costică scrumieră şi i-am adus eu, că, de, cânta, nu putea să plece. sau putea, dar a fost mai bine aşa. dan a uitat one time-ul, dar s-a revanşat cu foarte frumoase alte cântece ştiute bine. szaby a cântat frumos, ca de obicei, numa ca s-a dezlanţuit pe solo cu nişte acorduri de mulţi ani trăiască/lamulţiani cu sănătate/nuştiu,că eram beată. crissu a rupt vreo 3 beţe. sau 3 perechi. a dat şi lu dragoş la final un băţ rupt, la cerere. a făcut un solo cam lung şi nesărat, în rest nimic de reproşat. şi cine mai era? a, da...codruţ :)) zîmbăreţ, pupăcios, mi-a promis că ne dă un bax de postere să facem ce-om vrea cu ele. a, şi motanu cu poveşti din joace şi bancuri, şi alex haios şi somnoros, ca noi toţi în autocar la întoarcere.

după concert, am dormit într-un anume garden, în care fusesem şi astă-vară şi nu mi-a plăcut, şi ne-am mutat într-un alt loc nefericit, să ne mâncăm minţile, după ce le băusem în prealabil. SĂ NU MĂNÂNCI NICIODATĂ LA DOLPHINS!!! pfff... ce explozie de gusturi! care de care mai dubioase! tacâmurile miroseau a ciorba, puiul şanhai mirosea a ciorba...numai ciorba andrei mirosea a altceva. de arătat nu mai vorbesc. frumos a fost însă în compania selectă a traurmatizaţilor, bătaie cu mâncare şi fulare. şi şerveţele. la final piteştiul a sărbătorit plecarea bucureştenilor :)).

la întoarcere am dormit cu toţii, inclusiv motanul, alex şi szaby, care au venit cu noi din motive obscure mie acum. dar am vazut răsăritul în timp ce restul dormeau şi m-am simţit blazzată.

Am vazut chipul tau intr-un geam
Intunecat de vagon de cale ferata
Zorii m-au prins privindu-te
Oamenii dormeau chirciti mofturos
Peste tot imprejurul meu si
Mi-am cerut iertare pentru ei.

mă uitam la soare. de fapt, vorba lui dragoş, la dunga aia roşie de dinaintea soarelui.

a, şi...for the record. dragos s-a dat la mine! pârâţi-l lui penny. (nu că ce i-au făcut loghi şi florin n-ar fi fost destul de rău ;)))

p.s. uitasem! cea mai tare fază... pentru mine, că memorabile au mai fost, dar merg mai bine povestite pe viu. cand am ajuns, toata lumea a tăbărât pe dan şi eu am rămas la urmă...nu voiam să mă duc...da voiam să mă duc nuştiuunde şi trebuia să trec pe lângă el...şi mă duc eu tiptil...se uită la mine, mă opresc. "ai venit să ne vezi?" "mhm" "şi vrei să mă pupi?" :"> l-am pupat, na... şi la plecare n-a mai fost aşa ciudat, am pupat fără nicio treabă şi pe el, ca şi pe toată lumea. glad i got this over with. i knew the first time would be awkward :))

höpöhöpö

sau baliverne, pe finlandeză. răsfoind caietul pentru examenul de azi, mi-am adus aminte ce fun poate sa fie limba asta şi mi-a reapărut dragul. de-a dreptul adorabila...

cum ia ea cuvinte din engleză şi le adaugă un i hotărât, mută accentul pe prima silabă şi scoate perle precum KETSUPI, BITSI, PUBI, ROKKI, PINKI...you can guess, right?

saaau... cât talent în lipirea cuvintelor pentru a face cuvinte noi: mobilul e telefon de excursie, naivul are ochi albastri SINISILMAINEN, gelosul... şosete negre MUSTASUKKAINEN,

ce urât fac finlandejii aştia când se supără... aproape că se încruntă şi exclamă: VOI VITSI! adică Ce glumă! sau doar suspină cu un mic VOI,VOI... cel mai grav e când scot un PERKELE!. atunci chiar se îngroaşă treaba. tocmai au scos un La dracu!

şi câtă melodie... mă plimb seara pe pod. KÄVELEN ILLALLA SILLALLA. ceva amuzant? TUTUNTUNTUIEN. mai cald. LÄMPIMÄMPI. imunitate- VASTUSTUSKYKY.

unde mai pui că la a se îmbrăca şi a şi-o pune nu e nici o diferenţă, şi li se zice PANNA?

şi cireaşa de pe tort e profesoara...draga de Marika. "itse inseamnă tu însuşi", iar "În burticul maimuţei sunt două banane"

ode to the first power in the state

really now, what would i do without tvr? or even the occasional culture on tv sigma? to be continued, new and improved with cable.

dom'le, a'nnebunit blocu'!

supărată după examenul de concepte, ajung eu acasă şi mă postez în faţa liftului. apăs. aştept. apăs. aştept. mă încrunt. apăs. bat. aştept. mă durea şi piciorul. deci mai apăs şi mai aştept. 10 minute mai târziu, depăşeam o băbuţa pe la etajul 6.
"maică, dacă ştiam că vii, urcam cu tine." dau din umeri, urc mai departe. ce de ganduri îmi treceau prin cap, ca înaintea morţii... puteam sa zic mai tare, m-ar fi auzit...da ştiam aia, de ce n-am răspuns?...şi de ce nu mi-am ¤gâfâial㤠luat pastilele aseară?
la 8. acolo stau. şi scot cheia să deschid singura barieră dintre mine şi patul nefăcut. şi aud un bocănit. din lift. da, normal, probabil se lucrează. un mormăit suspect. deschid uşa, dar nu la casă, ci la lift. uşile închise, nimeni înăuntru. mă uit pe gemuleţ, nişte adidaşi continuaţi de nişte picioare, dubios sprijinite de peretele liftului. mă copii, voi va ascundeţi în lift? nici pe departe. tanti maria trăgea un pui de somn şi visa. în lift. hai s-o scot. spiritul ăsta civic! am împins în uşă, am tras, nimic. tanti maria, dati-vă mai încolo, să vă scot. nuu. vă e rău? nuu. mi-e bine.
8-) bineînţeles că nu am reuşit nimic. dormea pe o pungă cu sticle, fix în dreptul uşilor. mă duc la administrator, vine omu' trezit din somn, şi începe: haai, maria. haaai, că tu ştii cât te iubesc eu pe tine..hai să te duc acasă...nimic. aduc o umbrelă lungă să împingem în ea, în sacoşă, ceva. nimic. haaai, mariaaa, haai. hai la tine acasă, să vorbim. hai că te mangâi eu... moment în care am considerat datoria mea de vecin îndeplinită. şi m-am retras. puţin speriată. discret şi sigur.
20 de minute mai târziu, îmi dădeam jos căştile. mai e nevoie să spun ca aceleaşi sunete se auzeau dinspre hol? nu ştiu cum s-a reuşit, dar cam peste alte 15 minute nu se mai auyea decat bârfa de după a babelor strânse toate la mine pe palier.
în loc de epilog. tanti maria e sexagenară. la fel şi administratorul. doar ca el e şi însurat. si tot o sexagenară trage şi concluzia, zgomotos: dom'le, a'nnebunit blocu'!
..dar ce bine am dormit după

intr-o buna zi...

dar până atunci, îmi asum sprâncenele ridicate, privirile perplexe, zâmbetele artificiale, mai artificiale ca vopseaua de păr sau chiar şi decât cola.
am de dat. şi ce ciudat, oamenii nu vor să primească.
am avut o pornire absolut umană azi de a îmbraţişa un om. avea nevoie. o ştia şi o ştiam. aşa că am întins braţele spre ea cu toată căldura. penibil, nu? mă gândeam...îmbrăţişările ar putea face lumea un loc mai bun. refuzul ăsta placid, zidul rece, nu, nu de marmură, nici macar de fon de ten... un zid de vid, de gol... asta stă în calea fericirii. cred. şi doar e blogul meu, pot să zic şi că fericirea miroase a vanilie. şi aşa e. că zic eu. deci sunt sigură.
eu vreau să trăiesc in videoclipul de la everyday. e ciudat cum dave matthews m-a luat prin învălurie şi m-a absorbit în ultima vreme. dar mă simt bine cu astă nouă pasiune. videoclipul de la everyday e un videoclip cu oameni care se îmbrăţişează. ştii tu, ca in campania aia cu free hugs. doar că la final puteai să îi îmbrăţişezi pe oamenii din band. deci da. puţin diferit. în orice caz, era frumos cum în afară de doi toţi reacţionau pozitiv şi dădeau mai departe. şi aş vrea atât de mult să se întâmple asta. everyday.
poate într-o bună zi.