The girl and the ladybugs

No matter the scolding and injuries she got in the previous day from her parents,she would still put on her set of shabby clothes and sneak out of the house at around 4 o'clock in the morning on the patio in front of her home.
She would lay down,after taking her clothes off one by one,feeling the soaky grass with her bare fingers and toes.
..Such relentless joy she would feel within when the ladybugs were starting to mount on her arms and knees once more,all rhythmically marching... She could even hear the beat of her friends' tiny legs!
After she would feel her body utterly covered up in red and black trembling dots,she would start telling them the story which he had prepared for that morning.
They would then stop creeping onto her and every single ladybug would find its spot and freeze in sheer silence,charmed by her lullaby-flavoured voice. Her peachy lips would quiver in a merry smile while telling the story. She wouldn't mind the chilly air,nor the very cold dew on the grass firs.

**

After she would finish her story and would reveal the miraculous fairy tale end,the tiny insects would start scattering off her silky skin. She would then thank them and close her eyes. She would keep them closed while getting dressed.
She would patiently walk blindfold on the patio until she would get into the house. Once in her room,she would sit relieved in her bed for a minute. Then, she would take off her clothes with a sudden move and smile,watching the musical notes which the ladybugs had scribbled that morning onto the stave she had tattoed on her left arm.
She would then rush towards the piano she had in her room and would give life to the last musical notes that she had received. She would play the part of symphony she had gathered up to that moment, she would play it again and again until the following early morning when she would get some more notes in the exchange of whispering a new story for the ladybugs.

ma grabesc

ilustration: "Wieden + Kennedy 12",ad school,Portland.


ma grabesc,mereu m-am grabit.
m-am grabit sa cresc.
m-am grabit sa stiu tot,iar afland ca asta nu se poate,ceea ce inca nu stiu ma ameninta ca o profesoara batrana cu indexul ridicat spre mine.
ma grabesc sa calatoresc.
ma grabesc fiindca ma tem de clipa in care nu as mai avea ce sa povestesc.

ma grabesc fiindca vreau sa devin nepoata care ar atinge imposbilul; ma grabesc sa muncesc; ma grabesc sa-i daruiesc bunicii jumatatate din ce s-a grabit ea sa-mi daruiasca mie.

masor timpul in unitati empirice; astfel,consider ca atunci cand pierd timpul,de fapt nu pierd timpul,ci eventuale viitoare amintiri sau evenimente constructive.
traiesc mereu in viitor; ma bucur de lucrurile ce ma vor bucura,iar ceea ce'mi place cel mai mult sa strig este:"abia astept!"
asta nu e bine.

imi grabesc retina sa inregistreze cat mai mult din tot ce-i frumos.
ma grabesc fiindca ma edific din ce in ce mai puternic de convingerea conform careia exista un cuantum covarsitor de frumusete care ar putea sa-mi scape nevazut; pastrez in mine tot ce vad frumos,precum o bibliotecara maniaca.

ma grabesc fiindca,in timp ce eu sunt perisabila,exista atatea si atatea entitati perene; ma grabesc fiindca primul lucru care fuge e tineretea; tineretea e cel mai bun atlet;
eu m-am obisnuit cu tineretea si nu sunt obisnuita sa ma dezobisnuiesc de nimic rocambolesc.

ma grabesc fiindca seman cu mama,iar ea s-a grabit sa ma nasca.

Halston Fall 2009

Halston Fall 2009 www.halston.com

sa nu ma gaseasca timpul in care ordinea ma va pieptana

illustration: Ronit Baranga (via oitzarisme.ro)


Precum un obuz,mintea se sparge in adevaruri diforme si tonice,care,la randul lor, se deschid crunt precum rodiile coapte.

Suntem bilute colorate din silicon,scapate pe un asfalt,si lasate sa danseze pt amuzamentul vreunor eventuali zei.
bilutele danseaza intr'o dimensiune divina nefiltrata din muzica popoarelor barbare,reflectand dominatia simtului asupra ratiunii.
ele infatiseaza un fals spirit liber,infirmat de fatalitatea cartilor de tarot cand mainile batrane ale tigancilor le izbesc de masa,intorcandu'le cu fata in sus.

Ordinea e un monstru.
ordinea e dictata de institutii,de regulamente sociale,de viitorul de plumb plasat deasupra capetelor copiilor de catre parintii tematori de o insuficienta materiala ulterioara.
din dorinta de a fugi de ordine,mintea naste cate-o fetita cu marsupiu,in care in fiecare dimineata fetita gaseste cate'o jucarie noua.

Timpul e un prestidigitator.
Factorul timp are proprietatea de a sanctifica batranii si copii.
batranii si copii traiesc suspendati si privilegiati din punct de vedere social.
chipurile batranilor si ale copiilor castreaza capacitatea mintii de a valida perversitatea,malitiozitatea,egoismul,viclenia..
chipurile copiilor blocheaza mintea de la a imagina viitoare fapte mizere,iar cele ale batranilor de la a imagina astfel de fapte trecute.

printre toate acestea,se cuvine sa ne bem ceaiul,sa ne bucuram de ochii inca fara dioptrii,de mainile inca fara pistrui,de cate ni se intampla maine.

there is a body

ilustration: "Equilibrum at the absolut distinction" by Michael Chevalier


i'm lapped by dainties and untramelled fragrances.
i've met willingness itself.
it lives within a human body.
i've met civility and wisdom and idiosyncrasy as well,afterwards ,and they've all decided to shack up with willingness. they now live altogether in this human body i've met.
they carry a name and they run undercover within a lavender perfumed body,which is forever there to bask mine.
i turn so warm,that i go liquid and i trickle into my own nose. and then i go up to my own brain.
one needs to change his thoughts system in order to properly grasp flawless ethics. one needs to get the primeval outlook back on his rack.

i used to think that aristotelian ways were out of date. but they're not. therefore,i savagely pour love upon all artefacts of morality. i pour love upon that human body,host of all good feelings.
and then the ribald becomes the desperate attempt to enjoy that body.
and then i tread into the impending vortex of all joys.

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.