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.