Friday, July 24, 2009

She looked beside her, at the back seat of the taxi, and she saw it so empty... She remembered him... How he sat there near her, with his thoughts. He's never been affectionate when they were in the taxi, but he was there...
She turned her eyes. For a bit. She turned back to her left. Never had that seat seemed so empty to her. And she had ridden many times alone in the taxi. Never had that seat seemed so clearly delimited, that seat on her left, in the back of the car.
"What kind of car could it be?..."
She looked out "his" window, in front, out her window... Everything was moving in a certain slow motion, like in a 2046. Including her... When she was playing simulating biting her nails, with her lost look... foggy... far away. Lost in the trees outside...
It's useless.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Awaken again, she started weaving her thread, her cloth, unknowingly, as she always did. There wasn’t much to do anyway, she was all by her lonesome self in that poor, tiny room… house. Her loom was her only companion… And what a good, no, great companion it was… It was threading the most beautiful cloth that anyone had ever seen, it never stopped. Except when she was falling in that numb sleep, waiting. That was when everything got even darker, the wood of the table, chairs, walls, floors, everything.
But it’s not the case now. Now everything is nice and awake and has color… that’s starting to fade because it’s the second faze already…
“But it doesn’t matter, it’s worth it, look at the beautiful cloth that’s coming out of the loom… It’s enchanting, isn’t it? ... Au!...” And the little bright color started coming out of her finger joyfully like a little child that couldn’t wait to go out of the house and play. It spread across the cloth and stayed there looking at her with a happy little face, so she smiled back.
Outside, the trees with the flowers were blown by a beautiful late spring wind. Everything was so nice and calm… No birds though; she wondered why. They were already gone probably; maybe they’ll return for the next awakening. She loved to watch them fly, she could do that for hours. You know how for some people it’s the fishes or the cats?... For her it’s the birds.
The loom was still working, even if she was daydreaming thinking of flying. Yes, it was definitely the second faze, the cloth had more confused and slightly darker colors, not like some time before. They started to form a river that was flowing down a green land with trees and flowers; all the colors were so vivid now and they seemed to contradict each other relentlessly. She didn’t like it, but how could she make them stop? How could she…?
When she turned to look at the pastels outside, everything vanished like vapors, even the grass, the sky... All that was left was her little house hanging on the cloth that was flowing outside the window into the stars. It was time… She turned back and looked at her beautiful loom that was slowing down… the cloth… She was smiling looking at her life. A big yawn… She forgot to cover her mouth and that’s not something a nice little lady would do, but there was nobody there so it can be forgiven. She snuggled down into the rocking chair and she fell asleep thinking how the cloth will make a beautiful cover…

Saturday, March 07, 2009

What would it be like to swim in a really big bathtub, like a sea, and the water to be actually the air over the world? Nobody has to see you, because it wouldn’t be as pleasant to swim knowing everybody's staring at you like at who knows what craziness never seen before. No. It’s OK like this. To feel how the water surrounds every little part of your body and how it sustains you. To do the float and to move your hands like you were flying, to turn and to stand in the water, to dive in and to do a bunch of antics like the dolphins do, to swim really fast like chased by someone, to stop suddenly and to turn around with an amused and serene face, to play alone. Yes, it must be very good. To look to your left, to your right, everywhere around you over the buildings and the trees and over the people and to know that nobody is coming to disturb your serenity and the calm of your water. And to dive in again and to swim really fast. To go on with your silly game by yourself. What would it be like?
I miss the sea, I miss the floating. I want to swim.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Such a weird sensation… That I don’t want to talk about it…
I’m like a mute painting.
What the fuck is this? Who am I?
It’s like… It’s such a bland feeling…
What the fuck is this??? What am I doing?... Question marks… My friends.
I feel like throwing things.
A friend of mine said: “I’m gonna make Oriental Salad.” And I was looking at him with a yummy-yummy-yummy face. But he told me “Imi pare rau, tu ai prieten, n-ai ce cauta la mine.”…
Oh, God, I want to punch something!...
I need my… my love… my boyfriend?...
Nobody knows that I’m alone. And I won’t tell them. I don’t want to talk about it.
I don’t know what to do…
And finally home…

Memories from a second night.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

(You Look Like Rain - Morphine)

There was absolutely nothing that could comfort her. Nothing in this world. She was sitting at that table in that bar, where nobody knew anybody and they were all there to forget about themselves, and she didn’t care if anybody saw her crying, if anybody saw her wet red eyes. Thank God she was wearing good make-up otherwise it would’ve all run down her face. Not that she would’ve given a damn. Just like she couldn’t care less that a lot of the people who were in that low illuminated bar were staring at her. Most of them were men. She, with her refined, so feminine suit and her broad brimmed hat and her cigarette holder… and her sweet, sly Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel Tennessee whisky… Every seep she let run down her throat left behind in her mouth that wonderful caramel taste… It was like a sweet lie telling her that everything was going to be alright… She was decided that that night she needed that whole bottle of lies to make her stop feeling… she needed the caramel.

She knew that every slimy pig that was watching her every move was this close to coming to her and asking her one of those stupid questions like “Oh, pretty lady, why are you so upset, sitting here all by yourself?”. Like a question like that to a person really upset would ever get a nice answer… Or it could start a flirt or… Except maybe if the person would decide that a one night stand is something that could help forgetting… But she wasn’t that desperate. She was sickened by all of them; only the thought that any of them could touch her in any way made her sick. Even their stares, she felt them like hands on her body and that gave her nausea shivers…

Another sip… It felt so good… She loved that whisky, the only one that she could stand to drink; and that night more than ever. How could he just… And to think that she was really going to leave her husband… That man who could give her the moon, really he could buy it probably, but couldn’t make her happy. Not like that young man who woke up in her so many things that she didn’t know she waited for so long to feel.

And now she’s in this sleazy bar drinking her brains out. She hasn’t been in a place like this since high school when she had no money, but was desperately in love with an older boy… She was so young and fresh then… Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to stay or try to find a solution to be with her… No… That’s a stupid thing to think. Another sip. He was too good, too real to be that shallow, he wasn’t a liar. She actually understood and believed him that he didn’t have a choice, but… She could be just a little selfish, right? She could feel hurt, right?

Oh, no… One of those pigs thinks he saw something that says he’d have a chance. Oh, no, please, don’t come… Go away…
- Hey, pretty lady. (Horrible smile.) Why so upset? Wanna tell me your name?
She looked at him still with teary eyes… Why do always ugly and stupid men think that they’re really the opposite?
- Do you honestly think that you can help me?
He wanted to say something more, maybe that he was indeed a fucking knight in shining amour underneath that libidinous appearance, but she lowered her face, the hat’s brim covered her eyes, and she slowly took another sip.

I could tell you taste like the sky ‘cause you look like rain…
Rain… She missed the rain… To feel the raindrops on her face… warm and clean… and steady and calming… And the sound. Just laying on her back on the beach and letting the rain cover her… He was beside her when she turned her head to look at him. They were perfectly balanced: she loved the sky and he loved the sea.

You look like rain, you look like rain…

You look like rain...

Photo © Haleh Bryan - "Midnight Take"

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

I love myself when I’m in love. And every time I realize this it catches me by surprise. It feels like a love declaration to myself. Almost every time it happens towards the end. Maybe precisely to…
I dreamt last night. I dreamt that you came only to tell me that you were “going out, dear”. And then I dreamt a beautiful girl who was trying to commit suicide in the bath tub… under the water with her eyes open… and beautiful… She didn’t. But she had a laugh at my sadness.
Seems so silly. Everything. Traveling to distant land when… nothing says it’s possible... Only the drunken mind thinks it, stubborn against all common sense.
I always believe what people tell me…
Draw a beautiful house in the field. A big house, with trees in the autumn, with golden grass turned to straw, with wooden fence… and sun, a lot of sun, calm, with wind… so peaceful and bringing so much wellbeing… Me, I’m under a tree, a huge marvelously green tree in the middle of this autumn. Nothing can come here… I’m smiling. I longed so much for this smile… It feels good.
I’m waiting for my man… I’m almost laughing thinking it because this is silly; it’s a silly way to make fun of ourselves and to be unwarily glad of our lives here. We know we’re good here… we know it’s never going to get better… and we know we’re never going to leave this place. It’s ours; finally, we have found it. It has been made for us. It’s like a dream… everything seems that it could move in slow motion, but it’s not; it’s just slow, the rhythm.
We have a dog and a cat, that get along… I don’t know where they are… and we have chickens… and horses. And everything a perfect dream needs in order to be perfect.
More realistic seems the dream with the girl drowning.
Nothing to say.
Just waiting.
Love with an expiration date… the stupidest thing I could do.
But so beautiful.
Who am I kidding?
I just want to leave. That’s it. That’s all I want to do.
… My coffee got cold.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Melodia asta-i ca un film.
Imi umple creierul. Ma ridic si ma uit pe fereastra. O printesa neagra prinsa intr-un turn de fildes; de cine nu se stie inca. Trista, resemnata, se uita prin sticla mincinoasa a ferestrei ei. Sticla care o tine departe de tot ce-i afara, de toata viata ei care-ar fi putut sa fie, care-i arata… Bine ca macar poate sa vada afara. Incepe sa se intunece, chiar se transforma tot intr-un film intunecat care-o tine captiva, linistit ca nu poate sa scape. Dar ea se gandeste; tot timpul se gandeste la cum sa evadeze. Si simte ca se apropie ziua. Nu se poate baza pe un calaret necunoscut, nu-l poate astepta atata vreme. Vantul… se vad copacii goi si neobusnuit de inalti, ii misca vantul parca inadins spre ea, pasarile… ciorile sunt agitate, le vede aproape cand trec prin fata ei, parca vin sa se prezinte… Sau poate se uita la ea, vor s-o vada? Le vede ochii. Toate simt. Ce vis ciudat…
Bataia din usa temitei ei o face sa se intoarca de la fereastra rautacioasa. Incet, hipnotic… A venit sa-i spuna ca a mai trecut un an si ca e din ce in ce mai bine. In curand o sa dispara de tot nevoia de-a evada, o sa se obisnuiasca si cu lipsa luminii… si cu el… O sa-i para din ce in ce mai frumos chiar, pan-o sa ajunga sa-l iubeasca, sa-l adore. Asa s-a intamplat cu toate… Zambeste indulgent si increzator. Toate l-au urat la inceput. Ea nu spune nimic. Nu zambeste, nu plange, nu ofteaza, nu face nici un gest. Se uita la el, il asculta. Ea se gandeste inca. O trece un fior insa: i s-a parut pentru o secunda, nu mai mult, ca parul lui negru, lung luceste altfel astazi. O secunda si-a disparut ca o naluca; nici nu poate fi sigura daca s-a intamplat sau nu. El o priveste. Tot timpul o privea; chiar si cand nu se uita la ea, o vedea mereu. Si a vazut si acum, zambeste multumit. A vrut sa vina sa o mangaie, sa o linisteasca, dar s-a intors si-a iesit. Era prea devreme.
Ea ramasese neclintita in mijlocul odaii. Stie fiecare coltisor, fiecare fir de pai, patul, scaunul, masa la care scrie din cand in cand… Toate sunt intunecate, pana si lumina din cele doua torte e intunecata. S-a gandit la toate paginile pe care le scrisese si care disparusera in momentul in care atinsesera sticla, in momentul in care iesisera din mainile ei… N-o sa-l iubeasca niciodata.