Tuesday, September 30, 2008

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.

Friday, September 26, 2008


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.

Monday, September 22, 2008


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.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

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.

Friday, September 19, 2008

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.

Thursday, September 18, 2008


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.

Monday, September 15, 2008

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.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

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.

Sunday, September 7, 2008


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.