nu stiu cum se face ca..

n'am sa stiu vreodata cum sa nu'ncep sa'mi sifonez chipul daca ma gandesc la fetita cu chibrituri

n'am sa reusesc vreodata sa nu'mi indragesc fularele ca pe niste catei tacuti sau sa nu'ncep sa dansez cu limba scoasa intr'o parte de cate ori aud cate'o melodie de la The Arcade Fire

n'am sa incetez vreodata sa cred ca surioara mea s'a nascut din parinti hipopotami cu doar trei fire de par blond in crestet,si ca ulterior ai mei au adoptat'o

n'am sa invat niciodata sa iert minciuna

nu voi inceta niciodata sa cred ca,atunci cand bunica inchide usa la bucatarie ca sa faca bunataturi,nu scoate macar in soapta un "Abracadabra" si ca in cuptorul ei nu traieste o familie de spiridusi patiseri,care o ajuta sa ne ingrase perpetuu cu atata gratie

nu ma va convinge vreodata cineva ca prietenii mei nu emit raze ca niste licurici; treaba voastra daca nu le vedeti!

nu mi se va consuma niciodata convingerea conform careia, odata cu fiecare bucatica de beletristica citita,traversez un avatar,apuc sa traiesc un fragment din viata altcuiva.

i met the walrus

concert de pian

Inainte de a se aseza,isi aranjeaza ,cu o miscare brusca si sprancene incordate,coada fracului.
Madamele flutura din evantaie, iar dantela,multiplele pliuri ,de pe crinolinele rochiilor lungi, buclele lucioase,la care au muncit intreaga noapte bigudiurile, tremura frenetic de entuziasm si pedanterie. Ei isi dreg vocile... ele clipesc rapid si schiteaza zambete injumatatite.
Intensitatea murmurului scade treptat,pana ce salonul se scufunda intr'o liniste compacta.
Degetele lungi incep a atinge ,cu o gratie dusa la paroxism, clapele albe si negre,iar matasea bordeaux ,cu model floral subtil, ce imbraca peretii,vibreaza sub sunete care de care mai ordonate,gazduind tablourile inramate in carcei auriti.
Toti invitatii se stiu onorati sa patrunda avant la lettre in labirinturile portativului tanarului talentat ; iar asta,pentru ca toti invitatii sunt parti constitutive ale unui focar cultural,toti au la indemana portative celebre,inradacinate in memorie,cercetate si exersate in anii copilariei,de'a lungul a ore ce s'au prelins onctuos asupra pielii fine a degetelor nobile.

Pt ca in vremuri dantelate,nu era o chestiune de talent,ci de exercitiu; de hranire a spiritului si de controlare a cresterii circumvolutiunilor,sub egida unei matematici artistice.
Mi'as dori o pereche de ochelari capabili sa sfideze logica,cu care sa merg la o expozitie cu tablouri ce infatiseaza concerte de pian;ochelarii sa imi indice activitatea interneurala de sub coafurile dandy,iar eu sa patrund in simfonii haotice de sinapse.

daytime tastes like lime

There's too much light for my owl eyes out there; sunlight tastes tart,sunlight is a squatter,sunlight neuters my brain.

Daytime minutes hype and they pilfer from my nightime. Daytime tastes like lime.

I sit and watch the unread books in my library turning into giants; then i run to the miror and i can see myself shrinking and gradually turning into a tiny-little bug,devoid of any physical power in order to open the giant books and read them.
I may soon be some taxidermy raw material and agromania is knocking on my ajar door.

graphics in the sky

(ilustratie:Lehel Kovac)


there were graphics in the sky.
mumbling birds blowing up children's floating,red balloons with their wicked peaks.
And children were raising hands and preaching about wintertime.
They were smashing rocks with their bare feet,ingratiating themselves with nature; and wet smiles fled across their faces.
And the sky was starting to show contrition. Children's dancing circles moved into higher gear,draping green fields with their glee and with their grumbling.
None of them was welching,none of them was thinking about fanning out; clouds were overlaping and that day looked quite bleak.
Eventually,after all that goading,the sky said 'yes'.
And then,snow started to fall down,turning fields into white pillows.
Children greeted snow with a salvo.

cand e liniste

(ilustratie:Marcela Cardenas)


Autoizolarea mi se asterne pe epiderma precum o emulsie,ce imi converteste eul intr'o perna de catifea de un albastru obscur.
Propria introspectie vibreaza,valurita,imprumutand diverse unde.
Autoizolarea reprezinta o felie de solitudine,fara de care nu stiu cum reusesc alte persoane sa ralieze contingentului.

Nu gasesc o cale mai buna,in vederea indeplinirii demersului de cunoastere si intelegere a individualitatilor inconjuratoare, decat parcurgerea cunoasterii proprii si reluarea acesteia in mod recurent.
Schimbarile proprii trebuie admise,asumate si,ulterior, analizate statistic. Trebuie configurate un soi de grafice spre determinarea unui ritm si depistarea momentelor de evolutie/involutie.
Suna digital,fiindca suntem digitali si ne digitalizam perpetuu.

Autoizolarea feliata reprezinta o gura de oxigen dintr'un bazin cu apa,ce ii revine la anumite intervale lungi unui amfibian ce petrece mai mult timp pe uscat decat si'ar dori.

In plina solitudine,beletristica'i un san gigant,ce'mi alapteaza mintea.

Este vorba despre pieptanarea gandurilor si impletirea lor intr'un spic,a carui forma sa ramana netulburata pe parcursul saptamanii ce urmeaza.

in familie

cred ca "familia" e patul lui procust.
cred ca membrii unei familii nu impart afinitati; in cele mai fericite dintre cazuri,isi imprumuta afinitati,din cauza coabitarii,iar in celelalte cazuri nici macar atat.
cred ca familia e o institutie.
institutiile,sunt,cred eu,coercitive.

pentru mine,"familia" arata ca o tanti amabila,ale carei brate lungi sunt atotimbratisatoare. si termice. si mai cred ca aceste brate dispun de forte motorii nebanuite,si ca nu obosesc sa te legene niciodata. si mai cred ca, daca balamalele bratelor se slabesc sau scartaie,membrii unei familii trebuie,pe rand, sa mearga la chiosc ca sa cumpere vaselina.


nu cred ca familia e o caruta,si nici ca mamuca si tatucu sunt cai balani meniti sa faciliteze indeplinirea functiei de locomotie.
nefiind cai balani,nu cred nici ca ar trebui sa poarte accesorii menite viziunii unidirectionale.
nu cred ca membrii unei familii exercita apartenenta reciproca. nu cred in posesori si nici in persoane posedate.
nu cred nici ca mamuca este legata cu vreun capastru de tatucu.
nu cred ca,in familie,daca un membru plange,acest flagel trebuie sa se propage.
cred ca e bine,concomitent,ca un alt membru sa rada,rasul e cel care trebuie sa se propage mai departe.

si mai cred ca universurile fiecaruia trebuie bine delimitate si ca trebuie sa aiba o integritate la care sa nu se atenteze in functie de preferintele altui membru,ce detine un univers distinct.
universurile nu trebuie sa interfereze,decat in cazul in care,in urma interferentei, survine energie pozitiva.
in familie nu trebuie interzis nimic. trebuie doar detestate minciuna si isteria.
mai cred ca,in conditiile in care elementele esentiale mentionate mai sus lipsesc cu desavarsire,familia este un element dispensabil.

cred ca familia ar trebui sa fie un castron de portelan in care sa se amestece cu mixerul intuitia si acordul tacit,ca si cum ar fi praf de frisca si respectiv lapte.

talking drawers

my mind is like some piece of furniture with too many drawers of too many different kinds.
I find stories efervescing in each of these drawers.
i find triffling,distinct universes trembling side by side as if they were tv serials,that have nothing to do with one another,and yet piled up altogether.
My mind is a trigger and words are my bullets.
Whenever drawers start opening and forthwith closing back,as in strobe light,the fragments of lives within me are revealed to me once more.
There's no wonder about the outcome; and here i am weaving texts like a wayward,restless spider. That is because of my drawers widely opening up and turning into big mouths.
My mind is,therefore,loaded with whispers,looking forward to going beyond myself,although there's no precise destination. Whispers go out on vacation.
Every night,i have to make up some hand that would close all the drawers and compel them to remain closed, and it is only afterwards that my head can sink in my large,cosy pillow in order for me to get some sleep.

safe ground,come beneath my feet

I can feel a taste of maroon and bitter flesh underneath my tongue whenever i am deceived.
It already comes as no surprise,i can see my cord gradually cooling instead of throbbing faster;i can see my savvy pulse mustering more and more patience,not soaring anymore.
Grown-ups are not to nourish eachother's hysteria;grown-ups are due to thwart hysteria from digging any further into their hollow cheeks.
Grown-ups are to sooth one another and do something for a living.

I try to claim myself as safe ground,gracefully tackling precipitous brinks.
i'm still very fond of watching virgin,thick snow at winter time,but i no longer feel the need to ruffle it with my naked fingers.
I like to believe i make a difference already by streching and testing my boundaries;
some of the unprolific instincts are not to fledge.
i play some fictive instrument which has a will of its own; when playing it,i can only interpret songs preaching ethical topics,songs rendering good feelings.

Geri's game

nu m'am putut abtine;))

i'd like to write

about me-or about you-about blizzards that we drew up there on the ceiling with fairy,pointing fingers,causing no good or harm.
about wintry,cotton mornings,soggy towels,questions which carry no answer whatsoever,about trickling figments descending upon my mind and the top of my torso.
about burning up one's lungs in order to keep sollitude away from tasting my shoulders.
about pigeons and their flight,or some child tweaking his kyte,about mild contorsions of my bare legs,blending with my hands in acrobatic times of lecture.
about gusts of wings or shallow blinks of eyelashes in the limelight,about embroided umbrellas and golden and antic frames that carry no more paintings.
about things which were meant to serve to something and no longer do so.
about their fullfledged shape and their retired use.
about sweet&artsy nonsense.

pp..pentru ca

Nu stiu cum sa ma mai descurc cu atata recunostinta.
Pentru ca ma trezesc si adorm intr'o casa de papusi.

Pentru ca la mine acasa e degringolada atunci cand vreau eu; iar calm tot atunci cand vreau eu.
Pentru ca la mine acasa arata precum caminul viselor mele,si fiindca miroase a vanilie,portocale,sau scortisoara.
Si pentru ca pot sa valsez cu o carte in mana cate ore vreau eu pe timp de noapte.
Si pentru ca am draperii la geam,iar patul meu e un elefant mare de catifea oranj, si pentru ca am propria mea mare involburata,pictata pe perete,langa patul cu pricina.
Pentru ca ma decontextualizeaza de tara in care traiesc; e land-ul meu fara de nationalitate.
Si fiindca pianul suna atat de frumos cand sunt acasa,la fel si xilofonul.
Si pentru ca nu stiu sa nu fac curat aici.
Imi scapa cel mai sincer zambet de cate ori ma intorc acasa,indiferent ce mi s'a intamplat in ziua respectiva in oras.
Pentru ca'i o priza,iar eu sunt un stecher fericit.
Daca as fi fost o garsoniera,asa as fi vrut sa arat.

Locuiesc intr'o uzina neobosita,ce fabrica ganduri curate si ce indeamna la armonie,ceai si lectura.

no-no-no

and i'll clunch both my fists and teeth. and my laughtery will be singing nobody's songs; i'll have my eyes smarting with sheer glee.
and i won't cease jumping up and down,even if my hair will get all white and less sleek than it is for now.
i'll be growing a swan neck and i'll be strolling,for that matter. i shall dress up in lady,and toss some whisps of hair,beseeching friends not to trust what they see.

age is that scourge which would come and grab you. age is an eagle.
but age has nothing to do with merry hepcats and lurid characters,as cells don't die on these old rascals.
good music thwarts cells from dying.

i shall let time be my catalyst for gathering knowledge, and i shall await boredom,as it never visits me.
put on a sworthy,gipsy look upon my face and enjoy the riot, my life will pass me by as a tilted waggon,swinging to the sound of the accordeon.
i'll be praying for my mind to stay a box of chocolates with a wide range of liquor filling in each bombon..

abecedar

Acum stiu ca "neajunsul" e un abecedar; ca iti lasa loc sa'ti construiesti o cultura a lacrimogenului,aceasta constituind,intr'o oarecare masura,o premisa a unei ulterioare predispozitii catre vibratii artistice.

Ragazurile clandestine ale parintilor pe timp de seara,cand intuiesti ca in camera alaturata se construiesc algoritmi economici astfel incat tu sa nu simti vidul din torace,unde locuieste "neajunsul".
Cand fluctuatiile de tonalitate si ritm ale franturilor din discutia parintilor iti implementeaza prognoze ale atmosferei familiale din saptamana urmatoare.
Daca mami inspira lent, si,ulterior, expira dupa deja prea multe secunde, se numeste ca "mami ofteaza". Cand mami ofteaza,nu se pun intrebari si nici nu se povesteste nimic cu entuziasm timp de 5 minute. Entuziasmul cu pricina se conserva pentru "peste 5 minute", cand chipul ii e mai putin incruntat si se intrevede oportunitatea investirii acelui entuziasm intr'un zambet.

Este vorba si despre linistea ce se asterne imperativa,cand "se fac socoteli" si mami tasteaza rapid pe calculatorul de mana. Este vorba despre cum ragazurile astfel impuse indeamna un copil spre o stare de initiala vegetatie, ce evolueaza treptat spre meditatie.
Iar cum meditatia nu poate aduce aduce placere,din moment ce presupune focalizarea asupra nefericitului moment respectiv,aceasta evolueaza spre reverie, in speranta determinarii unei vagi secretii de serotonina..
Reveria reprezinta stadiul in care dispare raportarea la sistemul de referinta real; de aceea reveria deschide ferestrele imaginatiei, iar in cana de cacao cu lapte cald incepe sa se schiteze conturul chipului unui ursulet, cu urechi maronii si blanoase, ce'ti zambeste larg si voios.

wonder toy

Jelly thoughts live in her mind. They tremble with excitement,randomely changing colours and shapes; as if there were nothing surrounding her,as if she lived in a revolving door.
She keeps on moulding reality in her tummy,joyfully gobbling it upfront. Her tummy bakes reality into chocolate muffins,in order to feed her pretty dolls. That is why,every once in a while at morning time, her tummy aches.
She wears husky eyes,goldy locks and very red&chubby cheeks.
I got her as a present from mom; she takes Santa for granted and she's my wonder toy.

entice

cry,cry not-lie,lie not about shimmering temptations. temptations never come alone,they carry scary hunches about tastes,perfumes and gestures.
we were brought here in order to entice and be enticed. that is why our grins are putting on delicious wolfish smiles.
the hermits are the blessed,enlightened ones,dealing not at all with skin,lines and curves,which get us dizzy with shallow displays of bodies. take bare shoulders,for instance;they mean candy. therefore,taylors made up strapless evening gouns for fancy,bony ladies. such pieces of cloth make us deal no more with grasps of semiotics.
steeping into lust with bare feet makes us happy.
there's no music in sheer happiness because hapiness is deaf.
hapiness looks sharp,tastes sweet and sounds like savage screams.

ekklepto

cum poate ceva vechi sa persiste ca nou?
sa te gadile,sa te pipaie meschin,sa te faca sa chicotesti,sa rosesti,sa'ti musti degetele,sa'ti rozi unghiile.
cum poate ceva sa se mute in ceasca ta de ceai ,indiferent de ceasca,indiferent de aroma ceaiului,si sa locuiasca acolo fara a plati vreun soi de chirie?
si apoi sa se stearga de culpa cu manseta camasii tale.
sa ia forma unei sugative de scoala primara si sa te transforme in stilou chinezesc cu pompa de cerneala stricata; sau a unei rasnite si sa te prefaca in bob lucios de cafea si sa te lase sa te centrifughezi in deriva?
cum poate ceva sa manance doar nucile si stafidele din cozonacul bunicii? si sa te imbrace ridicol in balerina de cutiuta muzicala,stergandu'se intermitent cu manseta ta.

Doll Face

A machine with a doll face mimics images on television screen in search of a satisfactory visage. Doll Face presents a visual account of desires misplaced and identities fractured by our technological extension into the future.

Weissman's Neighbour(Соседка Вайсмана ) -Russian Animation

Once a misfortune happened with Mr. Weissman -- it was in 1968. In 2006 his neighbor came across the same incidents. How could she change the course of events? Maybe, time is the cause of everything?
Когда-то господину Вайсману не повезло -- это было в 1968 году. В 2006-м его соседка оказалась жертвой тех же явлений. Как ей удалось изменить ход событий? Может быть, все дело во времени?
Director: Rosa Gimatdinova.

trenulet

si bunica de meserie se ocupa de surprize.
bunica punea atat de mult zahar la prajituri,incat nu intelegeam prajiturile de la cofetarie.
si bunica imi ambala in fiecare an cadourile. in fi-e-ca-re an. le ambala in aceeasi folie de ambalaj din anul precedent. dar nu conta,erau minunate fiindca erau ambalate. ma deprinsesem sa le desfac cu grija.
si nu exista puls mai nebun decat acela cand, sub ambalaj,in fosta cutie de biscuiti a bunicului,am gasit Trenuletul.
alveolele pulmonare au absorbit lacome si fericite tot oxigenul din camera.
am explodat in beatitudinea visului implinit al copilului androgin.
eram convinsa ca nu's baietel. la fel de convinsa eram ca nu's fetita.
miroseam in mod constant a puii de catel,cu care dormeam la pranz in spatele blocului,si a groapa de gunoi din cartier,pe versantii careia simteam adrenalina in coborare pe capacul de veceu.
si veneam acasa,unde bunica ma pupa de la intrare pe nerasuflate,si ma scufunda in cada mereu deja plina cu apa mereu prea fierbinte.
si stirile de la ora zece erau soundtrack.
si mult sapun.
si apoi,dupa c ma stergea cu prosopul zgrumtzuros,imi rasfata pielea corpului necopt in ulei de iasomie.
si genele mi le intindea cu ulei de ricin ca sa'mi creasca "lungi pana la sprancene".
si'n tot timpul asta zambea. zambea mereu. pana cand m'am facut domnisoara,nu am stiut cum arata bunica fara zambetul intins pe cei mai rosii si grasani obraji din cati exista.
si daca nu spargeam nicio cana din setul chinezesc indigo de cobalt,cu trandafiri roz cu tulpini aurii,seara reasambla cu mine trenuletul electric.
si zaceam cu compot de visine intre palme ore intregi(pana se racea ,si'asa nu imi placea cald), hipnotizata de ciclul in miscare al sirului de vagoane confectionate din plastic si tabla.
si zgomotul trenuletului,in recurenta lui de melodie eclectica, imi devenise cantec de leagan.

sunt o rodie

imi plac orele fixe si initialele cu carcei.
conceptul de precizie,intins spre perfectiune,precum o guma de mestecat deja rumegata si regurgitata pe asfalt intr'o zi torida. pe traiectoria dinspre precizie catre perfectiune,cultivand,la un voltaj tulburator,conceptul de estetic.
pendulez ruseste intre instinctual-abnegatie-rational-egocentrism.
sunt o rodie.
o coarda de instrument vetust,sensibila la cele mai absurde&imperceptibile vibratii.
o retina,a priori inzestrata cu un simt acut al detaliului,platit cu supliciul inregistrarii oricarei nuante.
constientizandu'mi instinctul,prelucrandu'l in intuitie, pe cale empirica,din ce in ce mai extins.
sport extrem nascut din incapatanarea plasarii eudaimonismului alaturi de hedonism,intr'un melanj ambrozic,dulce-amarui.

in brackets,thy kingdom come!

i eavesdrop to my bones.
they used to carry me in rapture when showing off under my transparent complexion.
my veins have been endeavouring for supremacy eversince i was more or less a little girl,asking too many questions.
i've got tindrums instead of ears; that's how she made me up.
she tossed the coin,choosing neither heads nor tails.
i came out dancing-screaming-scratching my nose-pondering-wielding-demanding banana charlotte at midnight hours-constantly doing my hair.
fairytales attached to me some curly mind and a ladder to the moon.
i let my bones take the office once more and my mind thrive with figments.
i'll be displaying perfect rules of contact,feeling at ease with tedious people and mundane regards.

plunder

messed up hair isn't an unbearable medusa standing on top of one's head.
freckles,dimples,unsimetrically disposed beauty marks; those mean beauty.
can't swallow jolly sounds&syllables i find in my throat from my morning playlist.
i love wearing embroided gloves. flip the bird whether citizens find those outrageous.
can't straighten up my lips when i'm down the street alone,if i feel like randomely smiling. i'll let my lips make me look as if i were a bloody,happy psycho with simian features.
i like to buy myself a strawberry-flavoured lollypop whenever i feel like doing so.
i like to eat it in the subway,on my way back home at evening time,regarding the people nearby as if i were watching cartoons.

zoom

ca'ntr'un montagnerusse.
bucatele de mozaic turcoaz desprinse din ansamblul in care au fost angrenate initial,miscandu'se digitalizat in vortexuri plurifatetate in jurul propriului trup.
regresez pentru un timp scurt in embrion si fac tumbe.
chipurile dragi mi se infatiseaza sinestezic,extinse in zambete vanilate.
particule organice freamata in tipuri de roci ce se succed stroboscopic. margelele mele de jad zac suspendate,in forma unui paianjen.
dau zoom pe calea lactee din exterior; surplusul de perspective devine un element pretios pentru configurarea unor noi proportii,germinate in integrarea entitatilor deja cunoscute,in cadrul unui nou sistem de referinta.
standardul dimensional contemporan al locuintelor devine hilar.
propria casa ia dimensiunea unui medalion cubic foarte cochet,penduland intre sanii mei.
inelarul si indexul mi se dezintegreaza in dansuri spiralate.
o multime de citrice se autodecojesc in melanjuri parfumate.
velocitatea caruselului dezvaluie parnasuri proaspete in continuare.

clay pigeon (milos tomic)

de parfum

sunt atatea sticlute de parfum..
cand te poti decontextualiza din propria persoana.
a te lasa pe pilotautomat si a te privi ca pe o entitate distincta. a te ridica demiurgic si a te privi in circumstanta curenta.

cand te simti ca o sticluta de parfum,cu design futurist,cu structura dinamica,la al carei continut o mana alchimista picura gradual apa,diluand gramajele ingredientelor initiale,reactia chimica emanand un gaz din ce in ce mai plat.
cand moleculele continutului sunt invadate de molecula de apa cu structura monotona.
cand alcoolul nu mai are de ce sa se sublimeze.
pana cand importanta este atribuita exclusiv sticlutei de parfum.
pana cand continutul sticlutei se mai remarca numai in cazul in care asupra lui se exercita vibratii calculate,fapt in urma caruia continutul cunoaste valuri ritmate. muzica sa faca presiunea sa creasa in interiorul sticlutei,ca dopul sa sara violent ca o supapa de obiect gonflabil.
o alta mana sa puna dopul la loc.
prima mana sa nu mai reuseasca sa scoata dopul.
esenta vaga din interior sa ramana pastrata chiar si in concentratie drastic scazuta.
sa aminteasca fragmentat nasurilor fine parfumul serafic initial.

trick me

would you scratch my leg and listen to my watermelon songs,softly speak to me and nod my questions?
you're kindly asked to lie about approving of my very lofty ideas&idiosyncratic outlook. frown your eyebrows and make mines dance.
buy us a gingerbread house to live in.
feed me scarlet,sour cherries and make me blush for not wearing any underwear beneath my pants.
at night time,let me sleep at the other edge of the bed,and please try not to move your feet too much.
I'll be so missing your nose by dawn..
when you wake up,turn me inside out and kiss my cheek.

let it swim

one may choose swimming instead of walking. swimming while still wearing shoes like the unearthy number of the other people. you might think his/her body would simply adapt,and they might grow a mermaid tail,but,mind you..you would wrong Reality.
if one finds fluids much safer,as it takes much longer to crumble and reach ground,the walking people would tend to so very scold and tackle such an inappropriate naughty citizen. they would sift that blurry mind of his and purge it of such intollerable outlook. blank would feel much neater and there would be no risk of futile epiphanies,inasmuch as clear minds are the thriving ones.
and one would run and hide after having sipped some plum brandy upfront. and one would careen with pirouettes in cosy,blue water,floating on separate corridors of avenues,especially designed by&for swimming people,concealed from the eye of other lucid viewers. tarnish,silky,wet garments would emulate the blow of the wind.there would be neither opened pores nor skin irritations.

asa visezi daca-i citesti inainte de culcare surioarei povesti nemuritoare.

a fost o data ca niciodata un nicaieri unde ningea cu puf de papadie; iar soarele se intrevedea lenes prin dansul particulelor cu masa neglijabila. in acest taram,oamenii nu aveau niciodata grija sa inchida strasnic usile propriilor colibe asimetrice din piatra ,intrucat asezarea se afla in panta. panta nu apartinea niciunui deal. astfel, de sus in jos,pe unghiul bland inclinat,se propaga domol si rar cantecul fluierului si naiului flacailor,cand se odihneau,la amiaza. uneori,sunetele se reverberau in stancile batrane,incantand din a doua incercare si urechile cu timpanul erodat de timp. clopotele de la gatul vitelor pestrite intonau dezacordate hazardul,in ritmul caruia dansau nestanjeniti pufii.in diminetile cu roua,un parau curgea curat,armonizand vuietul gospodinelor ce desertau dintr'o oala in alta laptele gras,ce imprastia aburi diformi. gospodinele purtau obraji durdulii si rosii,iar parul nu mai contenea sa le stea sub marama.

chiromantie a chipului

"Visions of europe" (Bela Tarr)

prin validarea mai multor perspective,chipul constituie mai mult decat spunea Levinas. alteritatea este cu atat mai pregnanta,cu cat simtul vazului este pus la dispozitie.
cred intr'o ~chiromantie a chipului~
trasaturile,indiferent de gradul atins pe scara esteticului,reprezinta o harta a interiorului.
ridurile sapate adanc,sau cozile aplecate ale unor ochi nu pot zace mute. nici mustata.
hipertrofia unor gene nu tace nici ea,fie ca ochii ce ii stau in custodie sunt mici si negri,fie ca sunt mari-calmi si albastru-infiniti.ori atat de caprui si umezi,incat determina privitorul sa secrete un surplus de oxitocina.
nici nasul nu tace. carn ori coroiat.cu atat mai putin sprancenele ori conturul sau volumul buzelor.
relieful chipului sta drept materializarea Eului; daca exteriorul ar intruchipa Suprasinele, iar interiorul-Sinele.
chipul este insarcinat cu suprafata de contact social; echilibru intre miligramele de ezoteric si milimetrii de exoteric care ne danseaza tuturor,in proportii variate.

i'd like to take my time

you need not pull the curtains.it's alright.the sun may enter the room.so may the moon.the xilophone spreads around sweet sound flavours of both wealth and peace.my watch can take its time.may each second last three seconds..i'm not in a hurry at all. i'm not going anywhere.i'm yearning for my hands shaping round letters.i miss the compulsory dark-blue colour of the ink dripping from the pen.i miss blue ink staints getting through my fingertips.i can't picture myself ever missing the keyboard.
i hate speed.i'd rather have my days pourring slowly as if they were made of some honey i keep on twisting above the jar every now and then.
i preffer tasting paper with my fingers to seeing quick images unfolding on some display. i cannot be compelled into the features of this times. if only the subway stations were longer and interpersonal connections more dense..

a crescut mare

isi spuse ca deja a crescut mare.
cand yann tiersen ii devine premergator lui chopin in intruziunea spre subtilitatea,rafinamentul,matematica roditoare a portativelor aparent hieroglifice.
cand periplul prin note,sincope,contratimpi se concretizeaza in ore de plush si reverie inseamna ca te'ai facut mare. mare si norocos.
norocul vine si odata cu citirea ritmic repetata a randurilor lui cioran.."muzica este calea sonora a ascezei".
cand beatitudinea urca precum adrenalina si iti inclesteaza maxilarele in fiorul rece hedonistic.
cand te rasfeti in metrou privind grimase extenuate si ti le poti poti imagina zambind. cu atat mai norocos si fericit cand reusesti sa le transpui in pastel sau in uleiuri pe vreo panza a nimanui,plasmuita.
cand in recuzita proprie ai indeajuns de mult combustibil de ganduri bune si curate incat sa iti faci tie insuti surprize restrictionate in perimetrul dat de circumferinta propriului scalp.
cand iti simti zambetul propagat in alte zambete. te'ai facut mare,norocos,si simplu-fericit.
cand te bucuri daca in jur iti miroase a vanilie si atat. sau a scortisoara.
esti adult-bine cand gesturile si expresiile faciale ale copiilor ti se deruleaza cu incetinitorul pe retina.
cand hainele uneori brodate ale bunicilor iti vin si tie frumos.
cand reminiscente utopice inca iti paraziteaza mintea si iti vine sa chicotesti.
cand te trezesti inconjurat de persoane pe care iti vine sa le asezi in cutii cartonate si legate in funda cu pamblici de matase rosie.
cand ai invatzat sa privesti fara sa critici prin okii neinstruiti si inteligent-sclipitori ai annei karina,intruchipand'o pe nana a lui godard in "Vivre sa vie".
cand traiesti recontextualizata senzatia finalizarii catorva etaje de piese lego.
a crescut mare.

self-made

there was once upon a time a self-made princess living in a self-made tiny castle.
she used to like self-made sweet alcoholic drinks. and that would be due to the pleasant and thrilling taste of childhood,as well as the subsequent state of emphatic rapture.
she used to wear a self-made fringe decorating her forehead. the fringe would foresee her strong eyebrows and very black eyes.
she used to paint her lips in scarlet. she used to wear them in a self-made smile.
she used to dress up in self-made items that would enable her to dance a waltz of some self-made old times when going out at night.she scarcely seemed to inhabit time. she often idulged herself into that parisisian looking-like.
she hated the city she lived in,but she used to so very much love her fairy-tale friends. she would be fast blinking her eyelashes when being surrounded by people and quite seldom when walking quite alone,or reading,or drinking tea.
she used to smoke long,brown,cherry or chocolate flavoured cigars,using a long self-made cigarette holder.
she used to dream about a self-made piano she would have known to play..
she did not think a self-made prince-charming existed.

excess

it is excess the feature that defines me better than anything else.
i listen to too much music.i also shake my shoulders too strong when the very loud music caresses my ears. most of the times i let out reality and dig into sounds.i often get lost in frequency. i stay awake too much.i forget to sleep.i drink too much English tea. i escape the urban landscape and drown into displays of my subsequent actions. i work too much on the stream i use to build of futile thoughts. i feel too much pity for obsolete objects. i am too savvy about my ego. i love too much.i put too much blush on my cheeks. i ask too much from myself.i worry too much. i was said i am too grateful.i'm a neat freak.i find myself brimmed with too much confidence.i talk faaaar too much.