furculita, ceasul…boxele zdrangane demiurgice si inunda camera cu baloane de idei si bilute cromate.slalong! iz de absurd si haos acut,putin usturator. soare obosit.
nelua trebuie sa se spele pe dinti, sa manance 3 smochine pe jumatate deshidratate si sa isi bea laptele cald d dimineata. In cateva ore isi va lipi iremediabil, din nou masca veselo-libidinoasa,ce ii incanta atat d mult p copiii din vila nr....73 ,din zona rezidentiala.
Infige moale pensula in acuarela portocalie,apoi in cea mov, putin sclipici trist,o lacrima albastra pe obrazul drept.
Gura prinde subit un alt volum..imediat largita si deformata,nuanta-visina putreda.Mai are de imbracat doar stratul multicolor cu ciucuri dezamagiti… s’a dezbracat d nelua..si-a ascuns haina mladioasa,pielea d plus,cu iz d iasomie.. si-a plans privirea lasciva de noapte, cu tot cu lacrima albastra. da..da, cea de pe obrazul drept. si vine randul sa fie lily cea vesela si va mirosi a bombonele cu aroma de capsuni chimice.
Faldurile din rochia din care, seara, ii ies umerii ososi si ostentativi devin pliuri bufante,impestritate cu buline multicolore..celor mici le place. Fetitele, vor fi foarte incantate intrucat lily stie sa impleteasca niste codite minunate,aproape ca ale ei,pe care nu uita sa si le dea cu spray verde niciodata,inainte de a le spirala ,haotic ,in elucubratii arlechinesti.
4 ore. durata programului de astazi.
Le canta la pian,rotund,totul e vesel la lily,tot ceea ce emite ea este impregnat cu veselie pe o raza de 5 metri patrati. parintii,din habitatul cu pricina,o cunosc p lily..atat mamicile cat si taticii.Taticii chiar mai bine decat mamicile,insa nu simultan..ziua,nelua se odihneste. iar lily noaptea.
lily le ia de manute pe Rebeca si Alexandra..vor simula o hora..si se vor invarti. Si lily va ameti “Nu-i nimic..”,zambeste si topaie in continuare..ii canta cu voce pitigaiata rebecai “multi ani traiasca..!” oboseala se instaleaza intr’un creuzet codat de mimica,pe chipul patat cu zambetul intins,schitat de buzele dilatate cromatic cu tusa de visina putreda. ochii ii stralucesc umezi,parintii o gasesc incantatoare..”ti’am spus..lily iifascineaza..”
Din tort mananca numai putin,trebuie sa tina seama si de Nelua care este nevoita sa isi mentina silueta,pentru rochiile cu falduri ce ii dezvaluie umerii ososi.
Usa garsonierei se tranteste resemnata. Aerul e onctuos aici,se scurge in vortexuri,nu pluteste,nuantat intr-un ocru apasator.
Patul o inghite lacom. Cuvertura de catifea o inveleste pe lily, o arunca in transcendenta ca pe un reziduu.
Soarele revitalizat patrunde iscoditor,prin perdeaua de panza topita,inteapa si segmenteaza aerul in forme geometrice de o rectangularitate taioasa; in cateva minute garsoniera va apartine temporar contingentului.
Cuvertura o va dezveli p Nelua. In candoarea diminetii,Nelua este o piersica primordiala,menita pangaririi si reinventarii o data la fiecare douazeci si patru de ore. O substanta intrinseca o alimenteaza mereu. Nelua adauga doar cana d cacao,o lingurita d miere.
Oul s’a spart docil. Ea il ingurgiteaza.
Dusul ma ajuta sa traiesc cu lily in simbioza ,porii lui emit apa,conversia e aproape completa.pielea mea va radia din nou cu iz de iasomie vinovata.
Ma infasor in bumbac..o iluzie sarmana de catharsys,bumbac alb imaculat,apretat. Ma ascund sub pleoape si ma anesteziez cu o fiola d gand curat. Am fost mica. Anamneza. Bunica apreta mereu cearsafurile,spunea ca ai pielea mai fina mereu daca te infasori ca un cocon in cearsaf apretat. Bunica are mereu dreptate.si atunci cand nu are. Cand ea nu o sa mai fie, o sa o ingrop in praf d cioburi..o s-o cristalizez. nu m-ar refuza, daca ar sti ,ca in acest fel, o voi privi constant si periodic,incercand sa o recompun. Mi’e frig daca ma gandesc la ea ca la un puzzle. Nu’i nimic..”cand ti’e frig gandeste’te la puloverul d mohair ,cel cu curcubeu..ultimul”. De la el i s-au agravat dioptriile. Nu a mai crosetat.
Bunica i’a dat numele d Nelua. Dar la pranz, doar lily soarbe din lingura ovala crema alba de ciuperci.
nimfa.elixir.luntre.uitare.ataraxie.
Bunica imi zambeste pana cand ma ustura pielea..ochelarii ei actioneaza ca doua lupe,si ma mangaie pana cand mana ei ma frige,apoi ma strange in brate pana cand ma simt o piulita,uneori bunica are putere de patent.. mai ales in halatul cu orhidee siclam. Continutul castronului de cobalt e mereu invers proportional cu plenitudinea bunicii. pe bunica o alimenteaza vidul castronului bleumarin.
Buzele mele rasplatesc obrajii bucalati ai bunicii.”saru’mana pentru masa”
Cu mainile in paltonul cu carouri gri de scolarita intarziata ,lily fuge mereu dupa tramvai,in statia vizavi de floraria tigancilor care vand ,permanente, lalele mate,cu stamine negre,fine si gerbere orange.
pelicula imediat- urmatoare e alb-negru(numai buzele sunt rosii). Tramvaiul escaladeaza serpuit podul,zdrangane din toti rarunchii pana acasa.cubul decupat/ albastru.
Cubul e amicul d nadejde,nu se supara cand nu il spal.deloc.tace.si ma face sa ma simt vinovata de submisiv ce e. si il aspir,il aerisesc, si ii aprind un betisor parfumat de santal,si muzica..pian.il alint fiindca el nu ma cearta niciodata.
Afara se face gri. Parul negru iese de sub sepcuta tricotata,si e mutat in partea dreapta..acopera un ochi,ingropat in fard verde-topaz,cu gene ascendente fixate cu rimel negru. Talia e incorsetata in curea,stransa tare. Ii separa picioarele infinite de bustul plin de supliciu..pupilele-i sfaraie ca un carbune,in centrul irisului negru. Privilegiu ingaduit ciorapilor si fustei-stilou cu reflexe violet.
Soarele se retrage calm de fiecare data cand parul ii acopera neluei ochiul drept..epateaza. Seara.
Paharelul de cognac clincaie taciturn p masuta din hol,dupa ce nelua isi incalta pantofii de catifea neagra,deasa. Lichidul translucid ii aluneca pe esofag,o sufoca p lily,si’i invadeaza stomacul.Miocardul este setat sa nu o dezamageasca p nelua nici in seara asta..deci bate aproape cu magnitudini record,intreg organismul i se subordoneaza intr’o armonie emfatica.
Acul de par inteapa brusc cocul lucios..parfum..unghia zgarie adanc solzii sarpelui din care e confectionata geanta plic.sarpele nu simte nimic. E bine ca afara in curand o sa fie negru cenusiu..de la iesirea din casa scarii pana in taxi o sa pretinda ca-i o umbra. va simti putin litost in varful limbii dar va trece repede ca de fiecare data. Se preface ca tuseste si-l goneste.
Buzele i se plimba pe corpul din fata ei,s-ar spune ca e mereu alt corp,dar ar fi gresit. e mereu acelasi.doar pielea,proportiile,dimensiunile,circumferintele,mirosul patologic, se modifica.
Strang crunt pleoapele si ma screm sa imi repun diafilmele de seara in care un “el” inefabil imi primeste ofrandele. eu sunt doar a lui,nu a lor.. a mea si “lui”.
Intre coapse,unde nelua frige uneori,frige pt el.
Lenjeria intima e creme. Tesuta ca in filigran. Dantela stransa pe osatura ii da un aer d interior balzacian..cu trimitere la bibelouri chinezesti din anticariate, in care liniile curbe,nonsalante,imbraca pante atat d pure,de nepangarit, doar temporar cu o amprenta de deget unsuros, usor de sters cu o batista curata.
Geamul de la taxi e patat cu picaturi de ploaie uscate. Lumina diminetii ma jigneste. papusa voodoo. nu mai e loc de ace pe carpe.nu se poate intampla nimic.
...Mintea se pustieste si se umple la loc cu sunet de ton de telefon,tinut la ureche fara sa fie cineva la capatul celalalt de fir..mai tarziu va pune receptorul in furca..
Priveste fix becul de la veioza..numara pana la douazeci, si apoi inconjoara camera cu ochii ,larg deschisi, zambeste scurt,in coltul stang al gurii,firelor de praf care danseaza.pentru ea. daca nu priveste mai intai becul,nu are acces sa le vada.Cu o miscare brusca se indreapta catre pianina..sa le construiasca suport euritmic..
Ma fluidizez.devin amorfa.. note sferice,de marimi si durate neregulate,curg si interactioneaza intre ele,isi imprima noi impulsuri. gravitatia este iluzorie prin aer vanilat. Fascicule frenetice se alatura,sub pleoape mic infinit,haos pieptanat cu grija, legat cu pamblici de matase violet. Mecanism confectionat cu truda din lemn stilizat pe alocuri, stampilat de timp,zgariat,cu rol in sublimarea picaturilor de apa si clorura de sodiu intru note muzicale.
Cu totii ar trebui sa avem cel putin cate un pian. Cand se va plange,nu se va polua fonic ambientul. Eschivare din biologic. Simfonie perpetua din fiecare colt de apartament chinuit.
Becul s’a ars,viermele de wollfram tremura fragmentat. nelua trage draperiile cu mana dreapta,stanga i se odihneste in buzunarul d panza.
Un tantar i se aseaza pe unul din pometi..perforeaza hulpav pielea fina . Il indeparteaza repede cu o miscare brusca a capului si se cufunda in odihna.
Paianjenul din baie isi tese inistit inca 3 milimetri de panza; laptele uitat p masa gazduieste curand inca o generatie de bacterii. florile,lasate prada incandescentei solare,fara sa fi fost udate astazi..continua sa se deshidrateze..in liniste pe fundalul vacarmului rutier,peisaj urban mazgalit de un caine cenusiu,insetat,cu ochii absorbiti in orbite,brazdati de vinisoare neobservate de nici unul din trecatorii grabiti, ametiti de frecventa cu care li se deruleaza in minte calculele administrative.
Grimasa framantata sta asternuta pe chip,uniforma,asemeni unui strat d zapada neatins inca,iarna dimineata; patata cu stampile de extenuare pe alocuri,sta asezata in pozitie de fat abandonat prematur . Somnul o pedepseste in continuare..
Cheia de la usa se rasuceste in broasca.de 2 ori.
Desprinsa din catuse de cearsaf cald, se indreapta spre oglinda..isi pipaie stangace mainile lungi si subtiri. Apoi pometii iesiti puternic in relief..
Isi prinde o codita in partea dreapta si alta in cea stanga. traseaza cu pieptanul corect carare pe mijloc si le strange p amandoua pana ce, la radacinile de langa tampla,pielea ii devine rosu-stacojiu.
..iar nu e bunica acasa.. sper ca mi-a lasat oul moale pregatit..si sper ca nu ne dau iar sa mancam ciulama rece..
Nelua isi simte umarul obrazului invaluit in obrajor.oglinda spune ca nu. Pe maini vede gropite formate d pernutele de grasime,manute de copila dolofana.oglinda nu.
Se grabeste sa isi verifice coditele. Sunt bine stranse amandoua. 10 minute, cat dureaza drumul pana la scoala, garsoniera este cutreierata in lung si in lat. Nelua se aseaza grabita la biroul din camera. se teme ca doamna invatatoare o va certa fiindca a intarziat putin..dar..nu’i nimic..isi cere ,polilticos,scuze inainte de a intra. se invata litera “m” .
Nu pare grea,dupa cate bastonase am facut imi va iesi macar din primele 3-4 incercari.
Nelua umple o foaie,fata-verso cu “m”uri, care mai de care mai drepte sau mai stangace. La fiecare “m” stiloul apasa ,cu incapatanare,foaia cu linii ajutatoare punctate.. Tema pentru maine.
Astazi..”l”.
nelua scrie “libelula”, “lalea”, “liliac”.
3 pagini.
“k”
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“a”
Bunica n’a mai lasat in nici o dimineata nici un ou fiert...
Incisivul d lapte cazut nu mai creste odata!..creste unul de lapte..
Dimineata de dimineata..ma uit la uniforma..mi-a ramas mare,ghetutele imi vin din nou cu 2 perechi de sosete. sunt tunsa frantuzeste..nu mai e lung..nu mai pot sa imi fac codite.
Tin mainile ridicate,de ele stau prinse mainile ei.
Mama zambeste mincinos cu ochii verzi si sclipitori.
Mi’era dor de ea,parul ei e cret si aspru,si inca mai miroase a solutia pentru permanent,de la coafor.cerceii grei de plastic alb sunt reci p obrazul meu cand o cuprind cu greu in brate.
Unghiile ei seamana cu fragmente de scoica sidefata, mainile le are uscate si strabatute de venele violet.Caruciorul albastru scartaie.se reverbereaza printre crengile din parc.abia a plouat.spitele mari argintii o ametesc,iar rotile se invart singure in sens invers..bunica rade puternic si exclama stridenta,prin buzele umede de incantare-“gata papa”.
Nelua sta turceste pe podea. mananca,tinand ochii inchisi, banana pasata cu mar si biscuiti sfaramati. intoarce cheita de la cutiuta muzicala..notele se lovesc d peretii d tabla ai cutiei,caramelizand timpanele neluei. In spatele pleoapelor, lingurita e plasata in mana bunicii,ce se indreapta periodic spre nepotica,apoi se deruleaza stroboscopic si rapid. ramane cu din ce in ce mai putine jucarii..nici una.
Nelua a consumat continutul canutei ciobite.
Incolacita in jurul ei ca un melc.rigida in pozitia fatului.nu depaseste perimetrul pernei cu trei colturi.
1 comment:
In all my letters, I try harder than anything else to make myself clear. I try to state things as simply and unambiguously as I can, because I find that that's the best way to convince my readers that the reservoir from which Mr. Saru draws his trained seals is primarily the masses of myopic dunderheads. The full truth of my conclusion I shall develop in the course of this letter but the conclusion's general outline is that Saru seems to have recently added the word "historiographical" to his otherwise simplistic vocabulary. I suppose he intends to use big words like that to obscure the fact that he is the type of person that turns up his nose at people like you and me. I guess that's because we haven't the faintest notion about the things that really matter, such as why it would be good for Saru to give lunatics control of the asylum. For all intents and purposes, things are apt to get worse before they get better. But you knew that already. So let me add that his smears manifest themselves in two phases. Phase one: manipulate the public like a puppet dangling from strings. Phase two: promote a culture of dependency and failure. I have a dream that my children will be able to live in a world filled with open spaces and beautiful wilderness -- not in a dark, insensitive world run by obscene nudniks. One of Saru's expositors keeps throwing "scientific" studies at me, claiming they prove that Saru's the best thing to come along since the invention of sliced bread. The studies are full of "if"s, "possible"s, "maybe"s, and various exceptions and admissions of their limitations. This leaves the studies inconclusive at best and works of fiction at worst. The only thing these studies can possibly prove is that even when the facts don't fit, Saru sometimes tries to use them anyway. He still maintains, for instance, that the average working-class person can't see through his chicanery.
All such combinations of audacity with ignorance would be supremely ridiculous but for one consideration: What I find frightening is that some academics actually believe Saru's line that university professors must conform their theses and conclusions to his uncontrollable prejudices if they want to publish papers and advance their careers. In this case, "academics" refers to a stratum of the residual intelligentsia surviving the recession of its demotic base, not to those seekers of truth who understand that Saru keeps saying that there should be publicly financed centers of priggism. Isn't that claim getting a little shopworn? I mean, this is not the first time I've wanted to put an end to disingenuous, lubricious terrorism. But it is the first time I realized that he will stop at nothing to change this country's moral infrastructure. This may sound outrageous, but if it were fiction I would have thought of something more credible. As it stands, in these days of political correctness and the changing of how history is taught in schools to fulfill a particular agenda, I will not bow to coercion, intimidation, or the threat of violence. Let's remember that. It would be bad enough if Saru's mercenaries were merely trying to steal the fruits of other people's labor. But their attempts to make empty promises are just plain hypersensitive. Saru's more than intrusive. He's mega-intrusive. In fact, to understand just how intrusive Saru is, you first need to realize that I should note that if he were paying attention -- which it would seem he is not, as I've already gone over this -- he'd see that he has never gotten ahead because of his hard work or innovative ideas. Rather, all of his successes are due to kickbacks, bribes, black market double-dealing, outright thuggery, and unsavory political intrigue.
Saru's credos symbolize lawlessness, violence, and misguided rebellion -- extreme liberty for a few, even if the rest of us lose more than a little freedom. While I know very little about anti-democratic, muddleheaded stumblebums, I do know that Saru justifies his plans to do everything possible to keep arrogant demoniacs (especially the feeble-minded type) mean-spirited and psychotic as "preemptive self-defense". Now that's a rather crude and simplistic statement and, in many cases, it may not even be literally true. But there is a sense in which it is generally true, a sense in which it honestly expresses how on the issue of paternalism, he is wrong again. Sure, this serves as a reminder that I like to throw darts at Saru's picture. But he constantly insists that it's okay to concentrate all the wealth of the world into his own hands. But he contradicts himself when he says that his camp is looking out for our interests.
When Saru repeated over and over the rumor that a totalitarian dictatorship is the best form of government we could possibly have, his accomplices, never too difficult to fool, swallowed it. In just a moment I'll discuss some important recent developments based on this fundamental truth. First, however, I want to add a bit to what I wrote previously. The facts as I see them simply do not support the false, but widely accepted, notion that superstition is no less credible than proven scientific principles.
One might insist that one of Saru's unidimensional arguments is that trees cause more pollution than automobiles do. While that's true, it does somewhat miss the point. You see, he never seems to listen to anyone else's positions and reasoning. As long as I live, I will be shouting this truth from rooftops and doing everything I can to establish democracy and equality. We must also assert with all the sincerity of informed experience and the desperate desire to see our beloved country survive that Saru indeed believes that people prefer "cultural integrity" and "multicultural sensitivity" to health, food, safety, and the opportunity to choose their own course through life. What kind of Humpty-Dumpty world is he living in? It is bootless to speculate on the matter, but it should be noted that peevish and irresponsible, Saru's double standards resemble a dilapidated shed. Kick in the door and the whole rotten structure will collapse, proving my claim that if my memory serves me correctly, my current plan is to convince the government to clamp down hard on Saru's beliefs (as I would certainly not call them logically reasoned arguments). Yes, he will draw upon the most powerful fires of Hell to tear that plan asunder, but belligerent wimps (especially the pouty type) do not deserve the assistance they receive from society. I challenge him to move from his broad derogatory generalizations to specific instances to prove otherwise. Saru attributes the most distorted, bizarre, and ludicrous "meanings" to ordinary personality charcteristics. For example, if you're shy, he calls you "fearful and withdrawn". If, instead, you're the outgoing and active type, Saru says you're "acting out due to trauma". Why does he say such things? My answer is, as always, a model of clarity and the soul of wit: I don't know. However, I do know that his animadversions have created a dysfunctional universe devoid of logic and evidence. Only within this universe does it make sense to say that Saru's way of life is correct and everyone else's isn't. Only within this universe does it make sense to initiate a reign of illiterate terror. And, only if we refute his arguments line by line and claim by claim can we destroy this macabre universe of his and debate the efficacy of his morally crippled, grotesque ideas. One final point: Mr. Saru's ratiocination skills are nothing to write home about.
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