<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056</id><updated>2011-10-25T13:15:36.337+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Broken Pieces</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>84</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-5287163783373718038</id><published>2009-07-24T20:54:00.008+03:00</published><updated>2009-07-24T21:29:04.633+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>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...&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;"What kind of car could it be?..."&lt;br /&gt;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...&lt;br /&gt;It's useless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-5287163783373718038?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/5287163783373718038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=5287163783373718038' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/5287163783373718038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/5287163783373718038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2009/07/she-looked-beside-her-at-back-seat-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-4830254990904912678</id><published>2009-05-12T17:45:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T23:32:19.943+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>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.&lt;br /&gt;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…&lt;br /&gt;“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.&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;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…?&lt;br /&gt;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…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-4830254990904912678?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/4830254990904912678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=4830254990904912678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/4830254990904912678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/4830254990904912678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2009/05/awaken-again-she-started-weaving-her.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-2101288818595731796</id><published>2009-03-07T16:18:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T16:28:23.188+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>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?&lt;br /&gt;I miss the sea, I miss the floating. I want to swim.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-2101288818595731796?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/2101288818595731796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=2101288818595731796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2101288818595731796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2101288818595731796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-would-it-be-like-to-swim-in-big.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-6109679247348183414</id><published>2009-02-27T12:06:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T12:39:33.384+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Such a weird sensation… That I don’t want to talk about it…&lt;br /&gt;I’m like a mute painting.&lt;br /&gt;What the fuck is this? Who am I?&lt;br /&gt;It’s like… It’s such a bland feeling…&lt;br /&gt;What the fuck is this??? What am I doing?... Question marks… My friends.&lt;br /&gt;I feel like throwing things.&lt;br /&gt;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.”…&lt;br /&gt;Oh, God, I want to punch something!...&lt;br /&gt;I need my… my love… my boyfriend?...&lt;br /&gt;Nobody knows that I’m alone. And I won’t tell them. I don’t want to talk about it.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know what to do…&lt;br /&gt;And finally home…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Memories from a second night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-6109679247348183414?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/6109679247348183414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=6109679247348183414' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6109679247348183414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6109679247348183414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2009/02/memories-from-second-night-such-weird.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-1050347792185113208</id><published>2009-02-15T16:29:00.009+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T17:10:39.215+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="WIDTH: 300px"&gt;&lt;object height="110" width="300"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/he1S_pz4Ky/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/he1S_pz4Ky/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="110" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div style="PADDING-RIGHT: 1px; PADDING-LEFT: 1px; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1px; PADDING-TOP: 1px; BACKGROUND-COLOR: #e6e6e6"&gt;&lt;div style="PADDING-RIGHT: 4px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; FLOAT: left; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 4px"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.imeem.com/embedsearch/E6E6E6/" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;form style="PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; MARGIN: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px" action="http://www.imeem.com/embedsearch/" method="post"&gt;&lt;input name="EmbedSearchBox"&gt;&lt;input style="FONT-SIZE: 12px" type="submit" value="Search"&gt; &lt;div style="PADDING-TOP: 3px"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/ads/banneradclick.ashx?ep=0&amp;amp;ek=he1S_pz4Ky" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.imeem.com/ads/bannerad/152/10/" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/ads/banneradclick.ashx?ep=1&amp;amp;ek=he1S_pz4Ky" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.imeem.com/ads/bannerad/153/10/" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/ads/banneradclick.ashx?ep=2&amp;amp;ek=he1S_pz4Ky" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.imeem.com/ads/bannerad/154/10/" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/ads/banneradclick.ashx?ep=3&amp;amp;ek=he1S_pz4Ky" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.imeem.com/ads/bannerad/155/10/he1S_pz4Ky/" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/form&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;(&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/noemirha/music/SYFf-41J/morphine_you_look_like_rain/"&gt;You Look Like Rain - Morphine&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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…&lt;br /&gt;- Hey, pretty lady. (Horrible smile.) Why so upset? Wanna tell me your name?&lt;br /&gt;She looked at him still with teary eyes… Why do always ugly and stupid men think that they’re really the opposite?&lt;br /&gt;- Do you honestly think that you can help me?&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could tell you taste like the sky ‘cause you look like rain…&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You look like rain, you look like rain…&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;You look like rain...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SZgrn1Vh6WI/AAAAAAAAAFI/fXI4hAPo6W8/s1600-h/Haleh+Bryan+-+Midnight+Take.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303036524561033570" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 382px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SZgrn1Vh6WI/AAAAAAAAAFI/fXI4hAPo6W8/s400/Haleh+Bryan+-+Midnight+Take.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SZgpePuwpyI/AAAAAAAAAFA/zgDr6M8HmfU/s1600-h/Haleh+Bryan+-+Midnight+Take.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=825555"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Haleh Bryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Midnight Take"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-1050347792185113208?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/1050347792185113208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=1050347792185113208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/1050347792185113208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/1050347792185113208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2009/02/you-look-like-rain-morphine-there-was.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SZgrn1Vh6WI/AAAAAAAAAFI/fXI4hAPo6W8/s72-c/Haleh+Bryan+-+Midnight+Take.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-8413587669769176122</id><published>2009-02-10T10:37:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T12:02:04.252+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>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…&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;I always believe what people tell me…&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;More realistic seems the dream with the girl drowning.&lt;br /&gt;Nothing to say.&lt;br /&gt;Just waiting.&lt;br /&gt;Love with an expiration date… the stupidest thing I could do.&lt;br /&gt;But so beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;Who am I kidding?&lt;br /&gt;I just want to leave. That’s it. That’s all I want to do.&lt;br /&gt;… My coffee got cold.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-8413587669769176122?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/8413587669769176122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=8413587669769176122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/8413587669769176122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/8413587669769176122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-love-myself-when-im-in-love.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-6398572859796792500</id><published>2008-10-15T12:38:00.007+03:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T19:06:50.693+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;object height="110" width="300"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/2eyDDdmR8T/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/2eyDDdmR8T/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="110" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/noemirha/music/io00TWbZ/apocalyptica_coma/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melodia asta-i ca un film.&lt;br /&gt;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…&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-6398572859796792500?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/6398572859796792500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=6398572859796792500' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6398572859796792500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6398572859796792500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2008/10/melodia-asta-i-ca-un-film.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-7280780905342013597</id><published>2008-07-04T11:02:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T11:06:06.114+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;(Chopin mood.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It smells like flowers, wild flowers.&lt;br /&gt;And I don’t know what I want.&lt;br /&gt;But, as usual, I know what I don’t want.&lt;br /&gt;I feel solitary. This didn’t change. It stayed the same.&lt;br /&gt;Rock and… what am I?&lt;br /&gt;I am water.&lt;br /&gt;What kind of water? Salty? Sweet water? Sweet and salty water. Is that possible?&lt;br /&gt;I’m a selfish water. Hidden in a summer night’s dream.&lt;br /&gt;Hiding…&lt;br /&gt;Showing Narcissus’ reflection.&lt;br /&gt;Patience will be rewarded.&lt;br /&gt;I’m looking for a book. A rare book...&lt;br /&gt;I feel as dry as I was.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-7280780905342013597?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/7280780905342013597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=7280780905342013597' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/7280780905342013597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/7280780905342013597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2008/07/chopin-mood.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-5689423056222198074</id><published>2008-06-08T13:15:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T13:17:57.452+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;Cosmonomie.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Equilibrium… There has to be equilibrium. One has to have equilibrium. The exact quantity of opposite things. One has to feel safe. But not too safe. One has to feel secure. But not too secure. One has to have everything. But not quite everything. One has to know everything. But really how much? One can be in a hurry. But how much should one allow one’s hurry to overtake the equilibrium? One can be egocentric. But how much can one give to others to fool one’s ego (… that one is not egoistic, thus satisfying the ego’s selfish need not to be egocentric)? One can be logical. But is logic enough really? One has to feel one’s world. But where one becomes too blind to logic? One can be firm. But one has to know where one’s firmness has to bend or break.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The plan wasn’t much of a plan… I just started walking…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;And maybe nothing really ends…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-5689423056222198074?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/5689423056222198074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=5689423056222198074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/5689423056222198074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/5689423056222198074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2008/06/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-149190357599008384</id><published>2008-04-18T14:43:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T14:48:30.691+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt; - Esti urata… i-a spus.&lt;br /&gt;Si a luat-o prin surprindere. Stia c-asa o sa se intample. Voia chestia asta. Sau nu? De fapt nu-l interesa. Interesul se pierduse de mult. Ce mai ramasese? De ce mai ramasese? Nu stia. Intotdeauna ii fusese greu sa renunte la lucrurile care-i fusesera dragi. Poate nici n-o s-o faca de data asta, poate-o s-o pastreze acolo. O sa-ncerce s-o criogenizeze sa vada daca o s-o poata resuscita mai tarziu. Nimic nu-l putea impiedica sa spere c-o sa fie, ca e de fapt posibil. Dimpotriva, asta-l facea sa se simta mai bine… Ar fi totusi traumatizant sa renunti fara nici o tresarire la asa o bucata din viata ta. Daca exista oameni care fac treaba asta… merita sa aiba…?&lt;br /&gt;Isi aminti de ea. Zambi in sinea lui… Era tot acolo. Se uita-n jos, se gandea... La ce? La ce-ar mai putea inventa ca sa se justifice fara sa spuna adevarul ala ingropat in ea? Ala care era numai pentru ea si pe care-l tinea numai pentru ea? Poate era prea rau, poate… Daca-i spusese adevarul? Nu. Toate ziceau ca nu. Singura solutie era amortirea.&lt;br /&gt;Si-o imagina ridicandu-si ochii spre el si uitandu-se la el. O vazu nemiscandu-se. Unghiile schimbandu-i-se intr-un roz-mov, in cel mai frumos lila pe care el i-l dadu ei. Pielea albindu-i-se… I-o vedea translucida… Si perfecta. Era frumoasa asa. Si rece. Si sincera. Il astepta. Era frumoasa asa…&lt;br /&gt;Lumina deveni greoaie, cetoasa, grea. Nu mai putea sta, nu mai avea de ce. Cand s-a ridicat si-a iesit pe usa, ea se uita in continuare in jos, la masuta. N-a vazut daca plangea sau nu, nici nu s-a uitat. A plecat. Si ea a ramas. In casuta ei mica. In lumea ei mica. Inghetata pentru el. Pentru ca asta era tot ce mai putea face pentru ea, singurul fel in care-o mai putea ajuta. Singura sansa pe care i-o mai putea da. Era sigur c-avea sa se intoarca. Macar numai ca sa vada daca mai e vie… daca-l mai vrea, daca-i mai vrea… El inca o voia, fusese prea frumoasa.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-149190357599008384?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/149190357599008384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=149190357599008384' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/149190357599008384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/149190357599008384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2008/04/esti-urata-i-spus.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-2852685572675157665</id><published>2007-11-14T09:51:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T09:51:42.474+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And I sailed away with him. And I let what would have been to be. It seems such a distant sea now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-2852685572675157665?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/2852685572675157665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=2852685572675157665' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2852685572675157665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2852685572675157665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/11/and-i-sailed-away-with-him.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-6351679578531694233</id><published>2007-09-28T09:49:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T09:56:00.831+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Da, imi place sa ma uit la mine."&lt;br /&gt;"Hm." pufni cu un zambet aproape arogant si dispretuitor.&lt;br /&gt;"Da! Pentru ca in poze sunt asa cum as vrea sa fiu."&lt;br /&gt;"Si de ce n-ai fi in realitate asa cum ai vrea sa fii?"&lt;br /&gt;"... O intrebare buna."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-6351679578531694233?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/6351679578531694233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=6351679578531694233' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6351679578531694233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6351679578531694233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/09/da-imi-place-sa-ma-uit-la-mine.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-304227168943663026</id><published>2007-09-24T11:52:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T11:59:04.188+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Vorbeste cu mine. Zi-mi ceva, orice...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;N-ai ce sa-mi zici. Pentru ca nu existi. Eu te-am creat asa cum am creat atatia altii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vreau sa pleci.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-304227168943663026?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/304227168943663026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=304227168943663026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/304227168943663026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/304227168943663026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/09/vorbeste-cu-mine.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-2497332183657855857</id><published>2007-09-05T13:52:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T14:46:58.378+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Pricepi ca am si eu cap, suflet? Ca pot sa judec? Sa simt? Pricepi??? Nu ma controleaza nimeni! TU esti singura care m-a controlat vreodata!&lt;br /&gt;Ca un plug-in in cerebel... Nici nu mi-am dat seama...&lt;br /&gt;Cum se poate sa nu te vezi decat pe tine? Si cum se poate sa construiesti inchisori din pareri?&lt;br /&gt;Si, daca reusesc sa mi te scot din rarunchi, din maduva, din ceafa... poate... Poate o sa pot fi ce-am fost, ce-as fi putut fi. Si poate-o sa te pot ierta in sfarsit. Poate-o sa te pot intelege, poate-o sa ma pot pune in locul tau si poate-o sa pot pentru putin sa vad lucrurile asa cum le-ai vazut tu. Cum le vezi tu.&lt;br /&gt;Sa te iert ca sa pot fi eu.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-2497332183657855857?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/2497332183657855857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=2497332183657855857' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2497332183657855857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2497332183657855857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/09/pricepi-ca-am-si-eu-cap-suflet-ca-pot.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-2529950585168823646</id><published>2007-08-22T13:45:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T13:58:23.787+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Stii sentimentul ala ca iti rade sufletul? Cand il simti usor ca aerul? Cand nu-l mai simti inchis in tine? Cand te uiti la el si tot dispare-n jur? Cand tot in jur pare atat de usor, toate au o rezolvare atat de simpla... Si parca iesi prin piele. De fiecare data cand ii zambesti. Si poti s-o faci doar cu ochii si tot simti ca iesi prin piele. De fapt, poti sa n-o faci deloc, tot simti ca iesi prin piele... Te iubesc. Pentru tot ce mi-ai dat. Probabil ca ma iubesc pe mine pentru ca m-am lasat sa simt ce-am simtit. Si pe tine pentru ca ai fost acolo asa la momentul oportun. Si conjuncturile pentru ca ne-au adus impreuna. Probabil ca iubesc pur si simplu.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-2529950585168823646?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/2529950585168823646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=2529950585168823646' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2529950585168823646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2529950585168823646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/08/stii-sentimentul-ala-ca-iti-rade.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-3512144870107413816</id><published>2007-08-01T18:43:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-08-01T18:44:34.775+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I’m in love with the idea of being in love. But this idea is not the best lover there can be. It is not the most considerate and tender one. It almost always makes me suffer, hurts me, disappoints me. I think it doesn’t love me back. I think the idea of being in love isn’t in love with me. And it keeps on teasing me.&lt;br /&gt;Can you give me sanctuary, I must find a place to hide, a place for me to hide…&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, that’s it, baby… hurt me…&lt;br /&gt;Successful hills are here to stay, everything must be this way…&lt;br /&gt;But it's getting harder…&lt;br /&gt;You gotta meet me…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-3512144870107413816?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/3512144870107413816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=3512144870107413816' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/3512144870107413816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/3512144870107413816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/08/im-in-love-with-idea-of-being-in-love_01.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-1951421646073012424</id><published>2007-07-12T19:40:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2007-07-12T19:50:41.805+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Astazi sunt frumoasa.&lt;br /&gt;Azi ar fi trebuit sa ma vezi.&lt;br /&gt;Ar trebui sa te trezesti cu mine. Dupa o noapte in care am fost impreuna in oras si-am baut cateva cocteiluri sau orice altceva.&lt;br /&gt;Sunt atat de… reala, deloc studiata, dar constienta, autentica, eu in zilele in care sunt foarte obosita… Si sincera, foarte sincera. Si-mi place absolut tot. Savurez fiecare senzatie si fiecare sentiment. Imi plac toti oamenii din jurul meu. Ii vad altfel, cu un calm si o liniste… Si cu un zambet imens inauntru.&lt;br /&gt;As vrea sa ma ploua pe fata. Si pe umeri. Si sa-mi ude parul. Si sa fie soare. Si racoare.&lt;br /&gt;As vrea sa-mi bata vantul prin par si sa ma uit la tine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-1951421646073012424?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/1951421646073012424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=1951421646073012424' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/1951421646073012424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/1951421646073012424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/07/astazi-sunt-frumoasa.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-2622535104106148578</id><published>2007-06-14T19:21:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T19:22:06.038+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Am o floare.&lt;br /&gt;-         Ia uite, floarea asta iar s-a pleostit.&lt;br /&gt;-         Pai, da. Ca n-are cine sa-i puna apa. Asteapta sa-i pui tu. Depinde de tine ea.&lt;br /&gt;Dialog cu mine.&lt;br /&gt;Dar in momentul in care imi ziceam chestiile astea ma urcam linistita in pat cu sticla de apa in mana si m-a lovit: asa e. Depinde de mine. M-a intristat fantastic treaba asta. Deci traieste daca vreau eu sa traiasca. Groaznic! Pentru o fractiune de secunda i-am simtit nevoia, setea, frustrarea, neputinta, tristetea, frica, resemnarea… Si mi-a venit sa plang. Nu stiu de ce, dar ma ingrozeste gandul ca ea traieste daca vreau eu sa traiasca, ca depinde de mine… Pentru atat de putin. Nu trebuie decat sa-i pun apa. Ma simt atat de vinovata c-am lasat-o sa se apropie de moarte de atatea ori si ca i-am dat abia dupa aia apa de care are nevoie… Ma doare ca e supusa vointei mele?… Pentru ca nu se poate apara si pentru ca eu as putea sa-i fac rau doar prin indiferenta, ignoranta. De asta ma doare si de asta mi se pare groaznic ca depinde de mine ca sa traiasca.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-2622535104106148578?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/2622535104106148578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=2622535104106148578' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2622535104106148578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2622535104106148578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/06/am-o-floare.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-1694949136431377880</id><published>2007-06-05T10:10:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T10:12:46.314+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Devenim defensivi cand vine vorba de preferintele noastre, de gusturile noastre? De ce? Ne identificam cu parerile celorlalti despre lucrurile care ne plac?&lt;br /&gt;Ieri m-am ratoit la un prieten pentru ca mi-a spus ca din toate preferirtele mele din anumite liste gasise una singura care i se parea interesanta. Lasand la o parte starea de irascibilitate cu care m-am luptat toata ziua ieri, m-am enervat imediat si am reactionat. Poate putin mai liber decat as fi facut-o in mod obisnuit, putin mai lipsit de tact. De ce? In definitiv fiecare are dreptul la opinie si o are. Pe mine nu ma afecteaza in nici un fel parerea lui diferita de a mea despre aceleasi lucruri. Atunci de ce m-am simtit jignita?...&lt;br /&gt;Mi-am petrecut restul serii in mijlocul unei batalii micute inauntrul meu. M-am simtit prost imediat, mi s-a parut c-am exagerat si ca nu era cazul sa ma zburlesc asa si mi-am si cerut scuze, pentru ca e un prieten bun pe care n-as vrea sa-l jignesc (asta e samuraiul alb); in acelasi timp, ma enervam din nou cand imi aminteam care a fost motivul reactiei mele iritate si-mi ziceam ca e perfect indreptatita, ca nu e cazul sa-mi justific alegerile in fata nimanui, decat poate a mea, ca trebuie sa ma accepte asa cum sunt (asta e samuraiul negru).&lt;br /&gt;Cred ca nu mai e vorba de pareri diferite pur si simplu…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-1694949136431377880?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/1694949136431377880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=1694949136431377880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/1694949136431377880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/1694949136431377880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/06/devenim-defensivi-cand-vine-vorba-de.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-2706649952350499294</id><published>2007-05-31T11:23:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-05-31T11:24:26.259+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Let go of the old and welcome the new. Old clothes, people, regrets, they don’t work, they only hurt. :) And it’s true. New clothes, new people, carefully selected this time, new joys. Open your eyes, smile and inhale them all. Don’t let go of your memories and don’t regret them.&lt;br /&gt;End of “Note to self”.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-2706649952350499294?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/2706649952350499294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=2706649952350499294' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2706649952350499294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/2706649952350499294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/05/let-go-of-old-and-welcome-new.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-7470462118259806937</id><published>2007-05-21T17:38:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2007-05-21T17:42:53.707+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Nu stiu altii cum sunt, dar pe mine ma distrag cu totul greselile gramaticale (si aici sunt incluse si cele de punctuatie) atunci cand citesc ceva. Nu mai sunt atenta aproape deloc; nu pot sa urmaresc un text scris gresit; nu pot sa-mi imaginez (asa cum fac de obicei) ce citesc. Si nu pot sa nu ma intreb de ce anume totusi oamenii, romanii au uitat sa se exprime corect romaneste. Nu pot fi in nici un caz indulgenta si refuz sa trec cu vederea! Nu am pretentia ca eu sunt “fara de greseala”, dar stiu ca in momentul in care nu sunt sigura de ceva, ma interesez, caut, iar cand gasesc o greseala la mine sau mi se atrage atentia aspra uneia (pentru ca accept, ba chiar sunt recunoscatoare), nu trec peste ea cu indiferenta, “lasa, ca intelegi tu ce vreau sa zic”, ci o corectez; spre deosebire de generatiile noi care sunt din ce in ce mai agramate.&lt;br /&gt;Nu mi se pare normal ca, doar pentru chestia asta, am inceput sa apreciez din start mai mult oamenii care scriu si vorbesc corect romaneste. Nu mi se pare normal ca a inceput sa ma bucure cand dau peste cineva care se exprima corect, nu mi se pare normal sa-i fiu recunoscatoare ca-si cunoaste limba.&lt;br /&gt;Eu nu inteleg de ce… imi este imposibil sa pricep… De ce, de exemplu, pun 2 puncte “de suspensie” sau dimpotriva o puzderie, cand semnul corect de punctuatie este format din 3 puncte mari si late?!&lt;br /&gt;Ma rog. Cred ca suntem “DOOM”-ed sa ne modificam limba si regulile (care au functionat foarte bine pana acum) dupa cum dicteaza “limba vorbita” de actualele “generatii de maine”.&lt;br /&gt;O sa ma scuzati, va rog, daca o sa refuz sa ma supun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-7470462118259806937?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/7470462118259806937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=7470462118259806937' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/7470462118259806937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/7470462118259806937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/05/nu-stiu-altii-cum-sunt-dar-pe-mine-ma.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-4531100186767967481</id><published>2007-05-07T10:26:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2007-05-31T13:58:54.278+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Eram cu Andreea intr-o excursie intr-un loc destul de ciudat. Iesisem sa ne plimbam prin hotelul-insula (care plutea) in care stateam si sa ne cumparam diverse prostioare. Am vazut un fel de chiosculet de unde oamenii isi cumparau niste cartelute care stateau in siruri de cate doua pe niste suporturi ciudatele (pareau destul de importante) si ne-am cumparat si noi. De fapt, eu le-am cumparat. Cand sa plecam de-acolo, s-a anuntat imbarcarea si am aflat ca alea de fapt erau niste bilete pentru o scurta excursie pe pamant. Andreea vroia sa mearga in alta parte, dar am zis ca daca tot le-am luat ar fi bine sa mergem si noi sa vedem cum e. Ne-au lasat la un fel de sanatoriu care era aproape pustiu, dar se vedea ca era “locuit”. Cred ca ne-a fost teama ca era de fapt o diversiune, ca ei vroiau sa ne lase acolo, asa ca am vrut sa plecam imediat si-am rugat-o pe mama lui Adi sa ne ajute sa evadam. Ne-a zis ca nu se poate, ca trebuie sa mergem intai pe partie si ca oricum ne costa inca 2 milioane sa plecam, iar noi nu mai aveam atatia bani la noi. Ne-am gandit ca Adi ar putea sa-i trimita ei niste bani asa ca Andreea l-a sunat si l-a rugat s-o faca. Foarte ciudat… A trimis banii mamei lui care ne-a cumparat biletele si ne-a ajutat sa plecam de-acolo.&lt;br /&gt;Am ajuns acasa la noi, unde ne astepta Adi. Era o camera micuta, inghesuita. Aveam si-o pisica. Pe care n-o tratau asa cum ar fi trebuit. Camera s-a transformat intr-un apartament. Mama se ingrijea mai mult de Aldo decat de pisica mea. Aldo era foarte obraznic, nu asculta deloc, continua sa ma muste chiar daca mama ii spunea sa inceteze.&lt;br /&gt;Nu mai stiu cum, am ajuns sa ma lupt, cu sabii japoneze si imbracate in chimonouri, cu Uma Thurman, care era la fel de serioasa ca-n “Kill Bill”. M-a batut, evident. Foarte nervoasa, m-am hotarat sa ma fac si eu luptatoare ca ea. Pentru asta a trebuit sa renunt la tot ce facea viata mea sa fie comoda: la telefon, haine moderne etc. Mi-am impletit un toiag din bambus (forma lui si felul in care l-am impletit sunt foarte importante: erau niste fasii de bambus pe care le-am invartit in jurul lor ca sa fac un con foarte lung; ala era toiagul) si am plecat in calatoria initiatica pe care trebuia s-o parcurg ca sa pot deveni o luptatoare ca Uma Thurman.&lt;br /&gt;Urmatorul cadru este un spatiu deshis, un cer foarte intunecat, cu lumina venind de la un soare probabil din spate, in fundal cred ca se vedeau si niste munti foarte inalti, deci cred ca eram pe o creasta, si un sir incredibil de lung de oameni (un fel de bastinasi?) care mergeau spre soarele respectiv. Eu mergeam cu ei si eram foarte vesela, entuziasmata de calatoria mea. Ei erau foarte seriosi. M-am intors si eu spre soare si mi-am continuat drumul. Ei se oprisera sau inaintau foarte incet. Creasta pe care mergeam s-a transformat intr-o ramura groasa si foarte dreapta a unui copac foarte inalt care trecea pe langa o stanca aproape neagra dintr-o padure foarte mare si inalta. Trebuia sa trec pe-acolo si mi-am dat seama si cum, pentru ca nu era loc pe ramura pe care mergeam sa treaca doi oameni in acelasi timp; mai era cate unul care se grabea si trecand, bastinasii, fara sa schiteze nici cea mai mica expresie, ii dadeau mana si-l tineau pana ii depasea. Asa ca asta am facut si eu. Am ajuns la o mica intrerupere a ramurii si a trebuit sa astept sa treaca cei care erau in fata mea. Jos, pe pamant, traiau niste oameni rai, care-i vanau pe cei din copaci, cam ca-n “The Time Machine”. Asa ca bastinasii trebuiau sa le ofere momeli din cand in cand pe cate unul dintre ei ca sa scape cat mai multi. La micuta asta intrerupere, intre cele doua bucati de ramura era o gaura in stanca unde statea unul, conducatorul lor cred, care arata aproape ca Predator. S-a hotarat aici ca trebuie sa se dea o momeala ca sa se poata trece si au ales o fata bruneta si foarte frumoasa imbracata ca o Jane. Saracuta… era foarte speriata in timp ce statea agatata de o liana desupra intreruperii, asteptand si sperand ca o sa apuce sa treaca. De jos a venit un fel de bici ca un fel de tentacul fara ventuze (cu ala cred ca vanau), a apucat-o pe fata si a tras-o in jos. Bastinasii au inceput sa treaca peste intrerupere, tristi, dar stiind ca n-aveau altceva ce sa faca. Nu stiu cum a scapat intreaga de la oamenii rai, dar inainte de-a trece si eu, a aparut in fata conducatorului agatata de liana si ratoinduse-se la el:&lt;br /&gt;- De ce m-ai dat pe mine? De ce i-ai lasat sa ma ia?&lt;br /&gt;Fara sa zica nimic, conducatorul s-a aplecat inainte, spre ea, si i-a supt fata toata. Ea a ramas cu un craniu micut, acoperit de o chestie alba (nu cred ca era piele). Uitandu-se cu ochii mari la el, a inceput sa tipe si sa incerce sa-l loveasca:&lt;br /&gt;- Aaa… Nu-mi vine sa cred c-ai facut asta! Nenorocitule!...&lt;br /&gt;Dar au tras-o mai departe cu tot cu liana. Dupa un ras scurt, satisfacut, a intrat la loc in gaura lui si a redevenit impasibil. Mie nu-mi venea sa cred, dar a trebuit sa trec si eu prin fata lui.&lt;br /&gt;Cred ca mi-am continuat drumul, dar nu mai stiu daca am ajuns sau nu luptatoare ca Uma Thurman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-4531100186767967481?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/4531100186767967481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=4531100186767967481' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/4531100186767967481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/4531100186767967481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/05/eram-cu-andreea-intr-o-excursie-intr-un.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-458521661636307380</id><published>2007-05-03T18:58:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-05-03T19:07:21.360+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/RjoH-ScIuAI/AAAAAAAAABc/SkPrEkmDfYQ/s1600-h/Corpse+Bride+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060365897987307522" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/RjoH-ScIuAI/AAAAAAAAABc/SkPrEkmDfYQ/s320/Corpse+Bride+1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mint. Nu incercam sa-mi revin cand ascultam melodia aia sau pe oricare dintre celelalte pe care le ascultam hipnotic atunci. Eram in cadere libera. Pentru ca ma luase in brate si picioarele incepusera sa i se lungeasca. Ma tinea in brate si picioarele i se lungeau din ce in ce mai mult. Se uita in ochii mei si eu in ai lui; i-am zambit si eu. Si zambind mi-a dat drumul. Eram deasupra cerului. Am inceput sa cad ca intr-un film noir animat. Cu mainile si picioarele moi, incapabile de vreo miscare oricat de lipsita de noima, cu ochii ficsi, cu fata amortita de incredibil. Vantul batea in sus pe langa mine, dar eu nu-l simteam, il lasam sa treaca. Nu ma opuneam cand ma rostogoleam in aer. Asa mi-am pierdut orizontul, neopunandu-ma, si am intrat in vartej. Acolo m-am speriat si m-am trezit. Am incercat sa ma apuc de cate-o radacina care intra in vartej de pe margine, dar ma invarteam atat de tare si ma afundam atat de repede incat n-am putut. Atunci a trebuit sa strig. As fi vrut sa fiu singura in lumea asta ca sa ma poata durea in liniste, dar a trebuit s-apuc mana care-a intrat in vartej dupa mine. Am vrut sa vad cat de adanc pot sa cad, dar mi s-a facut frica de neantul care s-a deshis sub picioarele mele; nu ma asteptam sa nu-i vad capatul, iar pe mine ma sperie foarte tare necunoscutul. Asa ca lasitatea m-a salvat de mine.&lt;br /&gt;Advisory: Do not try this at home!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-458521661636307380?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/458521661636307380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=458521661636307380' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/458521661636307380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/458521661636307380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/05/mint.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/RjoH-ScIuAI/AAAAAAAAABc/SkPrEkmDfYQ/s72-c/Corpse+Bride+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-9183113984904283571</id><published>2007-04-18T15:21:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2007-04-18T15:21:50.025+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Haide, vino. Vino, vino…&lt;br /&gt;Vino langa mine. Vino, vino la mine.&lt;br /&gt;Mi-e dor de tine, vino…&lt;br /&gt;Vino!&lt;br /&gt;Mi-e dor de pielea ta. De cum mirosi.&lt;br /&gt;Ma strangi in brate… Vino.&lt;br /&gt;Am nevoie…&lt;br /&gt;Vino, vreau sa fii aici.&lt;br /&gt;Vino!...&lt;br /&gt;Uite, sunt aici. Vino…&lt;br /&gt;Vino la mine…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-9183113984904283571?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/9183113984904283571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=9183113984904283571' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/9183113984904283571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/9183113984904283571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/04/haide-vino.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-3099873200808439864</id><published>2007-04-14T12:33:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-04-17T12:42:41.527+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I gotta smash that bunny!… I gotta smash it to the ground… and use my fist… or my foot… And look at it when I do this… I gotta smash it to small, tiny pieces… I don’t know why, what it’s gonna change. But I’ve been telling myself that I’m gonna do that for some time now. And some day I’ll do it. I’ll stop looking at it and thinking it and I’ll break that small rabbit. And I’m gonna keep as a souvenir, like Indians used to take the scalps of the ones they had killed, his little bell which now hangs around his fragile neck on a red ribbon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-3099873200808439864?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/3099873200808439864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=3099873200808439864' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/3099873200808439864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/3099873200808439864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/04/i-gotta-smash-that-bunny-i-gotta-smash.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-1476582895290359326</id><published>2007-04-05T16:07:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2007-04-05T16:25:09.643+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>- Nu mai am ce sa spun. M-am golit, ii arunca in fata cuvintele si isi lipi buzele una de cealalta ca pe niste porti imense si greoaie ale unei cetati care si le inchidea pentru ultima data. Isi lua privirea de la el, iar capul i se apleca sub resemnarea hotarata.&lt;br /&gt;El se uita in continuare la ea. Chiar asa era? Chiar nu mai era nimic de spus? Asta a fost tot? S-a terminat? Nu durea, dar era ciudat. Era ciudat ca nu durea.&lt;br /&gt;Erau bruneti amandoi. Ea… nu se uratise, dar se neglijase de la o vreme, iar acum parea gri. Amandoi erau tristi… si trecuti… Obositi. De relatia asta?... Hm… Da, era timpul, dar era ciudat. Sa inceapa sa-si separe obiceiurile si sa si-l scoata fiecare pe celalalt din viata lui, sa faca atatea lucruri singuri sau… cu alti oameni? E posibil? El zambi trist. Maine o sa fie mai bine. Deja incepuse sa simta ca se trasforma intr-un copac si ca radacinile mai aveau putin si ajungeau in miezul pamantului. “Te iubesc!” Suna ciudat de familiar… Devenise familiar, nu mai era fior. Da, venise timpul. Se golisera unul pe celalalt fara sa-si dea seama. Se hranisera unul din celalalt prea mult, nu mai ramasese nimic.&lt;br /&gt;Statura asa un timp, fara sa spuna nimic, in camera cu lumina apasatoare, dar gandindu-se la acelasi lucru. Amandoi vedeau pietrele care ajunsesera…&lt;br /&gt;Se mai uita o data la ea… Incerca s-o vada din nou frumoasa asa cum o iubise la inceput… Dar nu putu si-si intoarse privirea.&lt;br /&gt;Nu mai ramasese altceva de facut decat sa iasa amandoi din camera cu lumina apasatoare si sa paseasca.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-1476582895290359326?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/1476582895290359326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=1476582895290359326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/1476582895290359326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/1476582895290359326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/04/nu-mai-am-ce-sa-spun.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-4944574599887012516</id><published>2007-03-28T20:50:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-03-28T20:54:22.431+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Whispers:&lt;br /&gt;“Such a stupid girl…”&lt;br /&gt;“Such a stupid, stupid little girl!...”&lt;br /&gt;And, in the comforting darkness of her room, two tears rolled on her cheeks and fell on the coverlet while she asked herself for the thousandth time…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-4944574599887012516?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/4944574599887012516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=4944574599887012516' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/4944574599887012516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/4944574599887012516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/03/whispers-such-stupid-girl-such-stupid.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-6865509082295701149</id><published>2007-03-18T22:04:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-03-22T14:55:51.132+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Imi doresc sa pot vedea intotdeauna lucrurile ca si cum le-as vedea pentru prima data. Imi doresc sa pot deschide ochii suficient de larg incat sa vad ce e in jurul meu cu totul, intr-adevar. Pentru ca de cele mai multe ori my eyes are wide shut.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-6865509082295701149?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/6865509082295701149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=6865509082295701149' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6865509082295701149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6865509082295701149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/03/imi-doresc-sa-pot-vedea-intotdeauna.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-5427027455765637864</id><published>2007-03-15T15:16:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T15:28:58.249+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ma gandeam mai devreme:&lt;br /&gt;Mi-ar placea sa-l chem pe Mr. Deejay la mine azi?&lt;br /&gt;Sa fie patul facut si ordine&lt;br /&gt;Si eu imbracata in altceva&lt;br /&gt;Sa inchid usa&lt;br /&gt;Si sa stam sa ascultam muzica din asta&lt;br /&gt;La volum suficient cat sa poata fi simtita si pe niste boxe care sa se auda bine&lt;br /&gt;Si mi-am imaginat ca Mr. Deejay ar face o miscare sa ma sarute&lt;br /&gt;Dupa aia m-am vazut pe mine refuzandu-l&lt;br /&gt;Si dupa aia pe el intins de-a curmezisul patului&lt;br /&gt;Si eu intinsa langa el cu capul pe pieptul lui&lt;br /&gt;Nefacand altceva decat ascultand muzica si stand asa&lt;br /&gt;Mi-am dat seama ca nu vreau nimic de natura erotica&lt;br /&gt;Vreau sa fiu tinuta in brate&lt;br /&gt;Si sa ma simt linistita&lt;br /&gt;Numai ca nu vreau sa vina Mr. Deejay la mine cand e patul facut si ordine si eu sunt imbracata in altceva. Si nu vreau sa inchida Mr. Deejay usa si nu vreau sa incerce Mr. Deejay sa ma sarute. Nu vreau sa fie intins Mr. Deejay de-a curmezisul patului meu si nu vreau sa stau cu capul pe pieptul lui Mr. Deejay nefacand altceva decat ascultand muzica si stand. Nu vreau sa ma tina Mr. Deejay in brate. Nu poate sa ma linisteasca.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-5427027455765637864?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/5427027455765637864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=5427027455765637864' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/5427027455765637864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/5427027455765637864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/03/ma-gandeam-mai-devreme-mi-ar-placea-sa.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-8141737560719949448</id><published>2007-03-02T23:57:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-03-03T00:29:42.048+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;I&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Da-mi o palma, i-a spus ea zambind jucaus.&lt;br /&gt;Soarele intra in camera ei de fetita cuminte. Era o zi absolut normala de inceput de vara. Iar ea statea turceste pe pat uitandu-se la el senina...&lt;br /&gt;- De ce sa-ti dau o palma? Era atat de socat de rugamintea asta incat n-a reusit sa spuna altceva.&lt;br /&gt;- Nu stiu. Asa mi-a venit. As fi vrut sa simt. Si-apoi – de ce nu? – sa vad daca esti in stare sa dai intr-o femeie.&lt;br /&gt;Rade. Se amuza:&lt;br /&gt;- Ar fi fost foarte urat din partea ta daca ai fi facut-o.&lt;br /&gt;El nu mai intelegea nimic. De ce se schimbase atat de brusc? Ce vroia de fapt de la el? N-avea prea mare importanta oricum. Ii placea. Asta era important. Nu vroia sa recunoasca nici fata de el ca incepea sa se indragosteasca de fetita ciudata care statea in fata lui. Isi spusese femeie... Da, trebuie sa fi fost femeie. Si el trebuie sa fi fost de acord cu ea din moment ce se gandea in felurile acelea cateodata la ea. S-a intins sa-i atinga obrazul.&lt;br /&gt;- Hai sa mergem. O sa intarziem, i-a spus in timp ce se dadea jos din pat. Oamenii aia nu sunt pusi acolo ca sa ne astepte pe noi. O sa avem timp sa vorbim despre ce vrei cand ne intoarcem.&lt;br /&gt;Alta amanare. De ce il evita? De ce-i era frica? Isi pierdea rabdarea. Trebuie sa vobeasca neaparat cand se intorc.&lt;br /&gt;- Da, asa e. Ai dreptate. Nici nu mi-am dat seama cand a trecut timpul. I-a zambit si s-a ridicat si el. Haide.&lt;br /&gt;A asteptat-o sa-si puna hanoracul micut si sa-si verifice inca o data imaginea in oglinda. Zambea. Ii era draga tare. Putea sa stea asa sa se uite la ea oricat, nu l-ar fi deranjat. S-a intors multumita spre el si l-a luat de brat:&lt;br /&gt;- Sunt gata. Ai sa vezi: o sa-ti faca bine aerul curat si agitatia.&lt;br /&gt;Da, intotdeauna oamenii se agitau cand ieseau la iarba verde. Fiecare avea de facut ceva crucial pentru rezultatul final.&lt;br /&gt;- O sa vina si Andreea si Catalin, intotdeauna te-ai inteles bine cu ei.&lt;br /&gt;De ce-l trata ca pe un om bolnav? N-avea nimic, era doar putin indispus din cauza racelii care nu-i mai trecea. Si vroia foarte tare sa discute cu ea.&lt;br /&gt;- Esti atat de draguta cand esti ingrijorata... Dar nu trebuie sa-ti faci probleme: sunt bine. Te sperii prea repede.&lt;br /&gt;- Nu mai vrei sa mergi? S-a incruntat la el. Deja am vorbit cu ei, ne asteapta.&lt;br /&gt;- Ba vreau sa merg, merg. Nu, spuneam doar asa, ca n-am nimic… si ca esti foarte draguta. I-a zambit incurcat, n-a vrut s-o supere.&lt;br /&gt;Conducea prudent masina pe serpentine. Peisajul pe langa care treceau amandoi ignoranti era minunat si imposibil de descris in cuvinte. Poate doar in priviri, cum se intampla de cele mai multe ori cand culorile frunzelor se amesteca in felurile acelea cu cerul si pamantul si iarba si apa. Dar nici unul nu l-a observat si n-o sa mai fie niciodata la fel indiferent de cate ori o sa mai treaca pe-acolo. In definitiv asa se intampla mai mereu: esti prea obisnuit cu nuantele din jurul tau ca sa te mai opresti, sa fii uimit. Se gandea la ea: o iubea. Da, probabil ca la un moment dat o sa vrea s-o ia de nevasta si sa-si petreaca tot restul vietii cu ea. Fara sa-si dea seama, a zambit la gandul asta. Un copil... poate doi, trei, cine stie? O sa discute la momentul potrivit si-o sa ia o hotarare impreuna. Pentru ca vor fi unul din cuplurile acelea care se consulta si iau toate hotararile impreuna.&lt;br /&gt;Ea statea linistita pe locul ei, in dreapta lui. Abia daca-l observa langa ea, conducandu-i elegant masina. Se gandea, din nou, la o modalitate de a iesi din toata povestea asta fara sa-l faca sa sufere. Nu prea mult oricum. Si iar n-a gasit nimic, nici o solutie. “Da, cred ca pana la urma o sa trebuiasca sa-i spun pur si simplu ca nu pot, ca am incercat, chiar am incercat, dar nu pot! Intelege-ma!” Era cat pe-aci sa spuna toate astea cu voce tare. Of, de ce si-a permis sa lase lucrurile sa ajunga atat de departe? N-ar fi trebuit niciodata sa-l lase s-o sarute in seara aia. Asa face intotdeauna. Dar acum nu mai are cum sa se eschiveze, acum trebuie sa-si asume responsabilitatea. Acum trebuie sa descurce lucrurile pe care ea le-a incurcat. Gata: o s-o faca chiar in secunda asta, in masina. Da, de ce sa mai astepte? In definitiv n-are nici o obligatie fata de el. E vina lui daca e atat de dependent de ea. Poate chiar o sa-i faca bine sa fie din nou pe picioarele lui, singur. Poate o sa-i spuna diseara, cand se intorc. Mai poate astepta macar atat. Sa se termine si ziua asta si de maine o sa fie libera. O sa plece din tara. Poate asa o sa-l uite in sfarsit. Nu, nu pe nenorocitul de langa ea – zambeste – el n-are nici o vina.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-8141737560719949448?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/8141737560719949448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=8141737560719949448' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/8141737560719949448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/8141737560719949448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/03/nu-stiu-daca-sa-ma-reapuc-sau-nu-de.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-8879648818948968755</id><published>2007-02-27T21:54:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T22:24:52.066+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Stillness of the heart. Of the substance around. This is Pain. Such a complete feeling! It faces Love. But between them there is a distance of millions of miles. Granite collapsing all around. The scream! The panic! Stare at me! I command you! The flower no longer blinds you. Lonely eyes staring in the dark. The hurt! You can almost feel the river of fire tears flowing down. Black and red and light. And then the desperate scream! Shivers down your spine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036305376570372114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/ReSNDnbd8BI/AAAAAAAAAAk/J8vijr6kjww/s320/Jean-Philippe+Poli+-+Immensity.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © Jean-Philippe Poli - "Immensity"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;...............................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let’s dance and forget all about it!... Better yet, let’s ice-skate!...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-8879648818948968755?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/8879648818948968755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=8879648818948968755' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/8879648818948968755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/8879648818948968755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/02/stillness-of-heart.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/ReSNDnbd8BI/AAAAAAAAAAk/J8vijr6kjww/s72-c/Jean-Philippe+Poli+-+Immensity.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-7134188194924058073</id><published>2007-02-27T09:57:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-02-27T10:05:07.546+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Something new and something old.&lt;br /&gt;What can ever be hold?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can buy me with a coffee, I'm so cheap. Yes, pay the dear price of a coffee and buy my inner. Buy my most honest, open and closed smile. And sing me to sleep. As you did... do it again. And again and again... It can never be over. It never begun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-7134188194924058073?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/7134188194924058073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=7134188194924058073' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/7134188194924058073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/7134188194924058073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/02/something-new-and-something-old.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-8509646238262762055</id><published>2007-02-23T22:23:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T22:20:23.768+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Fear. I’m terrified! A horrible monster consuming me, running through my veins. Only you can save me. I’m begging you. What’s going to happen to me? Will you let me be lost in the world? I’m so small and you’re huge. Have mercy! Think. The peach gives herself to you. She’s not aware of the danger. I’m depending on you. I turn my back on you and there you are. But your smile is so strange. It scares me. I turn again. And I feel safe. I’m in your arms, love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034845434671388962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/Rd9dP0CV2SI/AAAAAAAAAAY/qKm8gjM5_ZI/s320/Beau+-+Paris,+France.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=552544"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Beau *&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Paris, France"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;........................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love. Stupidity. Jealousy. Habit. Fear. Humiliation. Frustration. Loveless. Pain. Awakening.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-8509646238262762055?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/8509646238262762055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=8509646238262762055' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/8509646238262762055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/8509646238262762055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/02/fear.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/Rd9dP0CV2SI/AAAAAAAAAAY/qKm8gjM5_ZI/s72-c/Beau+-+Paris,+France.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-6830940793566009693</id><published>2007-01-27T21:37:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-01-27T21:38:13.896+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>There was a shut down engine at the end of the road. There was nothing else but the shut engine. Why was it there?... It was so lonely, she almost felt sorry for the little engine... left there in the dark nowhere to rust. She thought it looked at her as it stood there toppled. Should she go over there, should she not? Should she step out of the sphere of light that protected her? Apparently it was just her and the abrupt mountains guarding the dark nowhere. She looked around her again, at the serious mountains, at the flat dark nowhere, at the black-bluish sky filled with a swarm of tiny stars and she stepped out of the sphere of light.&lt;br /&gt;– Little train, here I come...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-6830940793566009693?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/6830940793566009693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=6830940793566009693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6830940793566009693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/6830940793566009693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/01/there-was-shut-down-engine-at-end-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116919586459264049</id><published>2007-01-19T10:36:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T22:10:43.924+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The little man bowed and, with his hand pointing to the corridor leading to the back, waited to be followed. He led him through that tight and dark passage for a while. They passed by several doors, some open, some closed, and then he stopped in front of the last one. The man bowed again and waited for him to go in.&lt;br /&gt;There was no one waiting in the poorly illuminated poorly decorated room. The bed looked pretty cosy; it wasn’t made as tidy as he was used to, but someone tried. The two night stands… there was a reading lamp on each, but they were probably broken because on the one on the right of the bed there were two or three candles. That’s where the light came from. On the right side of the room, the darker side, he could distinguish very little, maybe there was a wardrobe. A small round table and a rocking chair were near the window on the far end. This little dark room was really inhabited. He walked across the old carpet and sat on the chair. He was a bit ashamed because he shouldn’t have been so amazed when he saw the book on the table. He started reading some passages.&lt;br /&gt;He almost didn’t hear her come in with her eyes on the ground. There was something strange about her. She was beautiful, there was no doubt, but she didn’t seem to realise it. Still, she had that self confidence that comes from knowing how beautiful you are and how much power you somewhat possess because of this. Her face was impenetrable, petrified. It made him wonder if it ever moved, if it ever made a sound. Her look was so distant, she didn’t seem to know that she wasn’t alone as she walked through the room. But she knew. She looked at him for a mere second and then she lowered her eyes again. That glance left him with no words. She was so dominant and yet so submissive… that was her great power, this is how she could entrap anyone. She could’ve been Yuki-onna herself for all he knew.&lt;br /&gt;She started undoing her kimono, but he sopped her with an almost trembling hand. He didn’t want that. He took her to the bed and lied her down. He took the hairpin out and very slowly spread her long beautiful black hair on the bed. He felt like an artist, he felt like each movement of his hand was like a stroke of a painter’s brush. He was creating a painting, a masterpiece. She was perfect lying on the bed in her kimono with her hair spreading like a mystic net and her eyes…&lt;br /&gt;She felt so soft under his hands…&lt;br /&gt;He got up and slowly moved away from her to get his sketch book. He drew her like he never drew before. You could feel his hands on every curve of that drawing.&lt;br /&gt;She never said a word… and he loved her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021682161494345954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/RbCZUeLJSOI/AAAAAAAAAAM/UnC1K45Q-lE/s320/Sue+Anna+Joe+-+Her+Embrace.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=1504380"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Sue Anna Joe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Her Embrace"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116919586459264049?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116919586459264049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116919586459264049' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116919586459264049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116919586459264049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/01/little-man-bowed-and-with-his-hand.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/RbCZUeLJSOI/AAAAAAAAAAM/UnC1K45Q-lE/s72-c/Sue+Anna+Joe+-+Her+Embrace.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116911800043271184</id><published>2007-01-18T12:34:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T22:06:17.417+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>- What kind would you like, sir? New or used?&lt;br /&gt;- New.&lt;br /&gt;- All right, sir. And the humble little Japanese man bowed and went in the back to get him one.&lt;br /&gt;That’s when he saw her. Little, fragile, so sad... beautiful... crouched near a corner of the room. She was so quiet, she didn’t look anywhere, her eyes stared absently at the floor or maybe at the pattern on her kimono. She just sat there. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7230/3726/1600/945532/Sue%20Anna%20Joe%20-%20Inferiority%20Complex.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7230/3726/320/14788/Sue%20Anna%20Joe%20-%20Inferiority%20Complex.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7230/3726/1600/686095/Sue%20Anna%20Joe%20-%20Inferiority%20Complex.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The little man came back to lead him to the room. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7230/3726/1600/359103/Sue%20Anna%20Joe%20-%20Red%20Lover%20Red.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I want that one.&lt;br /&gt;- Sir, she is not new, she has been used.&lt;br /&gt;- I bet she has been. I want her!&lt;br /&gt;- But, sir...&lt;br /&gt;- I want her!! yelled at the tiny man thrusting his eyes into that humble look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=1504380"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Sue Anna Joe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Inferiority Complex"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116911800043271184?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116911800043271184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116911800043271184' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116911800043271184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116911800043271184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/01/what-kind-would-you-like-sir-new-or.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116801553770313927</id><published>2007-01-05T18:44:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-01-05T18:45:37.716+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>S-a oprit ca fulgerat. Era incapabil sa se miste desi stia ca probabil e putin penibil, el incremenit cu piciorul pe urmatoarea treapta si ochii fixati pe ea. Ce Dumnezeu se intampla? De unde o stie? Si o stia, o cunostea foarte bine. Avea senzatia clara ca abia plecase din patul ei. S-a fortat intr-un tarziu sa continue sa coboare scara. E o prostie, n-o cunoaste, n-a vazut-o in viata lui. A trecut pe langa ea, il fixa in continuare.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116801553770313927?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116801553770313927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116801553770313927' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116801553770313927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116801553770313927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2007/01/s-oprit-ca-fulgerat.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116731553591212958</id><published>2006-12-28T16:17:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-12-28T16:18:55.923+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm a woman. I'm beautiful in so many ways... and shapes... and curves...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116731553591212958?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116731553591212958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116731553591212958' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116731553591212958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116731553591212958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/12/im-woman.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116668922620495409</id><published>2006-12-21T10:15:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-12-21T10:20:26.226+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Requiem for a jerk. Not in the true meaning of the word ("requiem" that is). Nevertheless, a very good song.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116668922620495409?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116668922620495409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116668922620495409' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116668922620495409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116668922620495409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/12/requiem-for-jerk.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116642737094786596</id><published>2006-12-18T09:19:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-12-19T16:43:02.636+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Imperfection creates intimacy.&lt;br /&gt;Like seeing the beauty spots on the skin of a perfect supermodel's back wearing a backless black-greenish velvet dress.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116642737094786596?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116642737094786596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116642737094786596' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116642737094786596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116642737094786596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/12/imperfection-creates-intimacy.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116613400494517793</id><published>2006-12-15T00:06:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-12-15T00:07:34.380+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sunt senina pentru ca simt ca am dat tot ce puteam sa dau. Ti-am dat tie tot. In mare parte dupa ce ne-am despartit. Cred c-a fost o risipa pentru ca n-a ajuns niciodata la tine. E un soi de inocenta senina de inceput. Simt ca reincep si stiu ca nu mai vreau sa dau nimic si asta ma face sa zambesc atat de bleu.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116613400494517793?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116613400494517793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116613400494517793' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116613400494517793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116613400494517793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/12/sunt-senina-pentru-ca-simt-ca-am-dat.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116613193037919115</id><published>2006-12-14T23:30:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T22:01:28.661+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7230/3726/1600/406413/Jean-Sebastien%20Monzani%20-%20A%20German%20Rhapsody.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7230/3726/200/578578/Jean-Sebastien%20Monzani%20-%20A%20German%20Rhapsody.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; E ritorno da te. Who said that? It’s my heart. It’s speaking to you. The shadows caught you in their circle. They are dancing with you. And you can’t hear my scream. You look at me, but you can’t see me. You see a leaf floating around you. And the leaf is green, then yellow, then grey. She’s white. Her tears are dropping on the shadows. It’s burning them. Your sight is clear now. And you can see my soul. So close and yet so distant. And you touch my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7230/3726/1600/416909/Jean-Sebastien%20Monzani%20-%20A%20German%20Rhapsody.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=405463"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Jean-Sébastien Monzani&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "A German Rhapsody"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despre ea si sechelele legate de oamenii care fac cadouri si scot ochii si despre vorbele pe care le scot „prietenii” si despre de ce oare ascultam ce zic altii despre relatiile noastre care de fapt ne privesc doar pe noi. Eu nu cred ca am ascultat vreodata ce-au spus ceilalti despre relatiile mele. Ascult numai de mine cand sunt indragostita, sunt surda la restul lumii.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116613193037919115?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116613193037919115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116613193037919115' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116613193037919115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116613193037919115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/12/e-ritorno-da-te_14.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116482631627809624</id><published>2006-11-29T20:48:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-11-29T20:56:46.836+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lovely baby... and lovely me.&lt;br /&gt;Who would you choose to be?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116482631627809624?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116482631627809624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116482631627809624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116482631627809624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116482631627809624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/11/lovely-baby.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116428596960734988</id><published>2006-11-23T14:43:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-11-23T14:46:09.616+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I don't know what's going on! It seems that all my wounds are again freshly cut. Why?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116428596960734988?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116428596960734988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116428596960734988' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116428596960734988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116428596960734988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/11/i-dont-know-whats-going-on-it-seems.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116375469639291523</id><published>2006-11-17T11:10:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T11:24:09.073+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Trebuia sa ma duc, nu mai tin minte exact pentru ce motiv, pe insula hotelului de 7 stele din Dubai (eram in Dubai). Cred ca ma intorceam acasa. Asa ca m-am urcat in avion si din prima clipa mi s-a parut ca era prea mare, dar m-am gandit ca el, capitanul, trebuia sa stie mai bine decat mine ce face. Era atat de ciudat ca decolau din mijlocul orasului, de pe strada principala, dar oricum era cam haotic si-apoi nu era nici un pericol sa raneasca pe cineva, oprisera circulatia. Bulevardul, de fapt, era foarte larg, mai ramanea foarte mult spatiu pe langa aripile Boeing-ului, cred ca era. Si lumina era foarte ciudata, bej-caramizie, un fel de ceata care acoperea orasul si care se potrivea de minune cu haosul care era acolo dintr-un motiv sau altul.&lt;br /&gt;In timp ce asteptam sa decolam, de fapt capitanul deja pusese avionul in miscare, avea deja viteza mare, nu m-am mai putut abtine si l-am intrebat:&lt;br /&gt;- De ce nu luam jet-ul? Asta nu e prea mare?&lt;br /&gt;L-am pus pe ganduri, chiar daca eram doar o fetita. N-a durat mult :&lt;br /&gt;- Da, ai dreptate, hai sa luam jet-ul. Trebuie doar sa intoarcem.&lt;br /&gt;Erau trei sau patru piloti care stateau pe scaunele din cabina, unul langa altul, si pilotau avionul mult prea mare intr-adevar pentru un singur pasager, eu. Credeam ca n-o sa aiba timp sa opreasca pana sa ajungem la cladirea mare din fata, cred ca era un fel de Arc de triumf, dar era imens, o cladire uriasa. M-am inselat, erau niste piloti experimentati. Exact inainte de impact, si eu in momentul ala parca priveam de-afara tot, au facut avionul sa se ridice perpendicular de la sol si sa se indrepte spre cerul bejuliu-rosiatic paralel cu inaltimea cladirii.&lt;br /&gt;Am ajuns la debarcaderul care era de fapt mai mult o punticica din scanduri, destul de firava, care facea legatura intre tarm si insula. Planul era sa ma duca pana la insula cu jet-ul, dar m-am razgandit. Am luat dintr-un hambar foarte mic, ca un rucsac, o barca rapida cu motor. Mai era cineva cu mine? Nu mai tin minte. Oricum, am ajuns la insula, care era foarte departe in larg, abia daca se mai vedea tarmul. Era mai departe decat crezusem si apa aia multa si verde-albastruie incepuse sa ma sperie. Era foarte multa si valuretele alea perpetue pe care le face marea linistita chipurile prea pareau ca se pregatesc de ceva. Am intrat in hotelul de pe insula care se transformase intr-un yaht si cautam ceva, bineinteles ca nu mai stiu ce. M-a agitat ceva, aveam o senzatie ciudata, asa ca am iesit si stateam pe punticica asteptand si gandindu-ma ca incepuse sa se legene mai tare parca. Ea era deja in barca, o femeie bruneta imbracata in alb pe care o cunosteam si in care aveam incredere. Ma astepta; m-am urcat. Stateam acolo, parca asteptand pe inca cineva. Stiam ca se apropie o catastrofa. Cerul era foarte intunecat aici si nu mai era lumina bej-caramizie din oras, era o lumina foarte sobra, amenintatoare. Parca o forta uriasa ne pandea de foarte aproape… invizibila, dar acolo. Ciudat e ca parca astepta ca noi sa plecam ca sa izbucneasca. Stiam ca nu trebuie sa ne prinda dezastrul acolo, atat de departe pe mare si in barcuta aia atat de vulnerabila si deveneam din ce in ce mai nelinistite, ne apropiam de isterie si trebuia sa ne pastram calmul.&lt;br /&gt;Nu mai stiu ce s-a intamplat dupa aceea…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116375469639291523?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116375469639291523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116375469639291523' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116375469639291523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116375469639291523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/11/trebuia-sa-ma-duc-nu-mai-tin-minte.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116293133268053746</id><published>2006-11-07T22:28:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-11-07T22:28:52.680+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>L-am identificat! „Era frig afara, dar mie-mi era cald.” Asta era sentimentul. Chiar si cand se incalzise vremea, afara tot era frig si eu tot calda eram. Asa ma simteam si asta vreau inapoi. Sau din nou, ma rog. Sa fie frig afara, dar mie sa-mi fie cald inauntru.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116293133268053746?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116293133268053746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116293133268053746' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116293133268053746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116293133268053746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/11/l-am-identificat-era-frig-afara-dar.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116293101184092641</id><published>2006-11-07T22:21:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-11-07T22:23:31.860+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Aveam senzatia ca o sa fie groaznic de greu sa-mi fac ordine in ganduri si sentimente si atitudini fata de oameni si situatii s.a.m.d.. Nu stiam de unde sa incep. Mi se parea ca e prea mult haos. Nu spun ca nu e haos. E. Si inca mult. Dar mi-am dat seama ca pot sa fac ordine. E foarte simplu: trebuie sa le iau pe rand, „cu liniuta de la capat”. Si o sa incep cu oamenii din viata mea. O sa ma gandesc la fiecare in parte, cu cea mai mare sinceritate (sper) si o sa ajung probabil la niste concluzii; pe care o sa li le comunic si lor. It seems only the right thing to do. :) In curand. Si atunci o sa fiu in sfarsit „clara”. :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116293101184092641?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116293101184092641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116293101184092641' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116293101184092641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116293101184092641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/11/aveam-senzatia-ca-o-sa-fie-groaznic-de.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116224803192571880</id><published>2006-10-31T00:38:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T22:29:04.196+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Institui o noua regula:&lt;br /&gt;Nu are nici un sens sa speri si sa astepti sufletul pereche, sa-l cauti pentru ca oricum tu n-ai sa-l gasesti niciodata. O sa te gaseasca el, dintr-o pura intamplare. Si oricum n-o sa ramana cu tine forever and ever. Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De ce trebuie sa sfarami ca sa poti trece peste, ca sa te poti vindeca? De data asta nu vreau s-o fac. Nu vreau! Mi se pare mai important sa-l tin pe el intreg decat sa ma scutesc pe mine de o mica perioada de durere. De ce? Oricum m-a durut, inca putin nu mai conteaza. Dar o sa-l pastrez pe el intreg. Pentru el in primul rand. Si pentru mine dupa aceea. Pentru ca daca el ramane omul pe care eu inca il vad, inseamna ca eu totusi nu m-am inselat atat de tare si n-am fost atat de orbita si n-am fost nici atat de naiva cum obisnuiesc sa fiu de atatea ori. Daca e intr-adevar sigur de el asa cum se arata, ar trebui sa faca fata si chestiei asteia, care e tot o ramasita, tot o parte a sevrajului. Nu e cazul sa decada in ochii mei ca sa trec eu peste el. Daca as fi vrut sa ma vindec asa, as fi putut sa-l fortez sa decada. Dar nu vreau. Pentru ca-l apreciez prea mult ca om si nu cred ca merita sa devina mic si insignifiant nici macar pentru mine. Pentru ca oricat de mica ar putea fi parerea mea pentru el, oricum ar avea o foarte mare importanta. As avea senzatia ca l-am ciobit. Si nu cred deloc ca merita. Si nu, nu ma distrug pe mine lasandu-l pe el intreg. Ma cauterizez. Ma sigilez, asta fac.&lt;br /&gt;Am stat nopti intregi langa el in pat, vorbind. Este un om frumos. Punct.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sweet prince... You are the one... You are the one.&lt;br /&gt;Mi-ar placea sa dansez acum... nu stiu daca intr-adevar cu cineva sau ceva sau cu mine. Mi-ar placea sa plutesc dansand. Ma vad intr-o incapere mare octogonala, intunecata, cu pereti aproape negri care nu se vad, sunt acoperiti de-un soi de ceata nu foarte deasa, poate fum. Lumina vine de sus, cred ca sunt mai multe lumanari aprinse undeva sus pentru ca lumina e calda, insinuanta. O oglinda dreptunghilara pana la podeaua din lemn destul de tocit atarnata pe unul dintre pereti. Aproape de ea sau poate nu, e o masuta rotunda, stiu, pe care e un gramofon. „Me and you, baby... Still flush all the pain away...”&lt;br /&gt;Superba melodie. Si eu dansez, plutesc hipnotic pe ecourile ei... in fusta mea neagra si bluza mea cu funda si maneci bufante... Mmm... Fredonand incet cu mainile intinse ca si cum as pretinde ca dansez cu o camasa, cu sacoul lui, asa cum fac cand mi-e dor de el. Dar nu dansez nici cu o camasa, nici cu un sacou de-ale lui. Incheieturile imi sunt moi si palmele-mi atarna atat de ferm. Am parul strans la spate intr-un coc si par mult mai batrana. Ma invart singura fredonand mereu... Sigur dansez cu cineva. Asa simt. Stiu ca e aici cum sunt si eu. Suntem blocati impreuna in spatiul asta. Nu poate sa-mi faca rau pentru ca nici unul nu poate disparea. E atat de ciudat cum ii simt prezenta... Nu mi-e teama, ma simt aproape protejata... E minunat... O sa mai dansez putin. Nu exista timp aici...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116224803192571880?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116224803192571880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116224803192571880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116224803192571880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116224803192571880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/institui-o-noua-regula-nu-are-nici-un.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116205599514052120</id><published>2006-10-28T20:05:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-11-02T12:37:43.150+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Din perspectiva lui nu putea sa vadă nici mobilierul, nici parchetul din ceva ce nu era lemn. Nu vedea nici fereastra. Găsise in sfârşit unghiul perfect in care nu avea in fata ochilor decât albul umbrit de inserare al pereţilor.&lt;br /&gt;Privea spre îmbinarea intre tavan si doi pereţi. O bordura de rigips ce pornea din tavan ascundea doua din cele patru neoane din camera. O alta bordura – ce mai ramasese din peretele ce cândva separa balconul de camera de zi – paralela cu linia unde se întâlneau pereţii, completa ansamblul de forme din fata ochilor lui. Ar fi trebuit sa fie un Y larg, dar era prea complicat sa reducă atâtea colturi la trei linii. Nimeni, in fond, nu voise sa se vadă o litera acolo. Doar el, in căutarea unui peisaj cat se poate mai simplu, dorea sa-l vadă.&lt;br /&gt;Apartamentul era confort 1 „cu imbunatatiri”. Baie orbitor de alba, ferestre cu termopan si vedere spre parc. Mulţi bani aruncaţi pe fereastra, cu termopan sau fara. Bucătăria era neatinsa de 3 luni de zile. La fel si patul – prefera canapeaua albastra din hol, era oricum in calea lui spre uşa.&lt;br /&gt;Afara abia se oprise ploaia si pavajul pietruit lucea stins. Aburul ce se ridica de peste tot, aproape invizibil, împreuna cu lipsa trecătorilor, construiau o imagine ademenitoare. Cu gândul la roua din parc, apuca sacoul si portofelul si se îndrepta spre uşa de la intrare.&lt;br /&gt;Nimeni pe strada. Trei întâlniri mâine. Prima la ora 11. Cea mai importanta pe saptamana care se încheia. Si-ar fi luat costumul gri metalizat, era perfect pentru întâlniri importante. Ii dădea un aer de „ca scos din cutie”. Cu contractul semnat ar reuşi sa atinga target-ul pe o luna întreaga. Celelalte întâlniri nu însemnau mare lucru oricum. Cu gândurile pentru mâine in minte se îndrepta automat spre centrul vechi al oraşului. Maşini luxoase de ora târzie mergeau încet pe strada.&lt;br /&gt;N-avea chef de pantaloni de in si blonde asortate. Prefera o înghesuiala de necunoscuţi. Muzica ii era indiferenta. Un loc la bar, atat. Fara priviri de salut, fara long drinks.&lt;br /&gt;Un club cu iz adolescentin isi strecura başii in noapte la câteva clădiri departe de el. Numele ii suna cunoscut, dar oricum nu avea nici o importanta. Isi scoase telefonul din buzunar si îl închise. Nici un apel pierdut, nici un mesaj. Ar fi putut sa-l sune pe fostul coleg de camera, dar nu suporta gândul la o noua tirada despre ultimul lui proces sau despre marii lui clienţi sau despre dosarele presante si atat de interesante care-l aşteptau la birou a doua zi. Ii provoca fiori fata lui exaltata de detalii juridice. Nu îl putea întrerupe, nu pentru ca nu avea nimic de spus ci pentru ca nu dorea sa oprească valul de pasiune îndreptat intamplator spre el. Îl durea de fiecare data diferenţa dintre problemele lor. El nu-si întâmpina ziua de mâine cu un rânjet nerăbdător, nici nu avea dorinţa de a-si face un nume. Nu avea nevoie de un nume intre producătorii de conserve si placi ceramice.&lt;br /&gt;Cobora scara îngusta spre nucleul sonor de sub pamant când realiza ca-l fixează o privire din capul scărilor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..........................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my Brand new friend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116205599514052120?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116205599514052120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116205599514052120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116205599514052120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116205599514052120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/din-perspectiva-lui-nu-putea-sa-vad.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116204805353778279</id><published>2006-10-28T18:00:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T18:20:39.770+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Stii cum e cand iti este teama de ceva, cand speri ca acel ceva sa nu ti se intample niciodata pentru ca doar gandul la el te ingrozeste. Si deodata ti se intampla. Nu realizezi atunci, dar, intr-un fel foarte ciudat, momentele in care ti se intampla lucruri ingrozitoare, lucruri de care ti-a fost teama toata viata, momentele alea sunt momente in care simti intr-adevar ca traiesti. Adrenalina? Asta e? Devii dintr-o data extraordinar de constient de absolut tot ce este in jurul tau. Si nici macar nu-ti dai seama decat poate mai tarziu, cand rememorezi. De trotuare, cladiri, copaci, strada, lipsa oamenilor, prezenta raului, pericolului, ideea clara ca trebuie sa faci ceva, sa gasesti o solutie care sa te scoata din situatia asta, si cat mai repede inca, de aer, de deschiderea spatiului in care te afli, de locul exact in care se afla fiecare obiect din jurul tau etc. Realizezi atatea lucruri... Si toate se intampla intr-o fractiune de secunda. Absolut tot in jurul tau devine de o claritate uimitoare. Si nu mai exista frica in secunda aia. Exista inainte si dupa ce se termina tot. Cand ai timp sa constientizezi, sa analizezi tot, sa raportezi tot ce s-a intamplat la ce stii. Asta e adrenalina? Asta e efectul ei?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116204805353778279?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116204805353778279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116204805353778279' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116204805353778279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116204805353778279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/stii-cum-e-cand-iti-este-teama-de-ceva.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116169887862719009</id><published>2006-10-24T17:02:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:57:21.672+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Beauty lays inside you. Beauty embraces you. Why can’t you feel anything? This is me. Run, the sadness is coming! I look around. Emptiness. I’m here. Nothing. The child laughs. He’s not here, he says. You have to look harder. You have to help him find you. Emotions apart. The Crime is not to love. Rise and shine upon my eyes. You watch as the beast devours me. Do something. Speak my name and you can save me. I’m wind. I’m hope. I’m colour. I’m feeling…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/400/Evgeniy%20Shaman%20-%20I%27m%20in%20Your%20Eyes%20V.2.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=998854"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Evgeniy Shaman&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "i`m in your eyes V.2"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..................................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si daca lumea pe care ti-o creezi innebunind nu e chiar asa cum ai vrea sa fie? Daca e gri si inspaimantatoare si haotica? Atunci ce faci? Pentru ca am vaga senzatie ca din momentul in care ai intrat nu e chiar atat de usor sa iesi. Probabil ca e ca un pasaj secret care se inchide in urma ta odata ce ai trecut de el. Si nu mai reusesti sa gasesti usa pentru ca s-a topit in peretele din spatele tau care, ciudat, incepe sa-si schimbe forma… Si culoarea… Exatraordinar, isi intinde bratele albe cu degete groase spre tine si le privesti hipnotizata. Iti ating pielea, sunt atat de reci si aspre si incearca sa te prinda. Abia atunci te intorci si fugi speriata cat mai departe de peretele alb cu brate albe. Acolo era usa odata, unde-o fi oare acum? Ar trebui s-o gasesti si sa iesi totusi de-aici. Intai sa scapi de urmaritorul tau palid. Dar unde sa fugi pe o planeta atat de mica? Daca mai faci cativa pasi, ajungi in urma peretelui. Dar asta nu te opreste din fuga pentru ca nu avansezi deloc, e ca si cum ai alerga pe o banda rulanta. Nici el nu avanseaza. Te opresti, e atat de liniste si poti sa vezi celelalte lumi. Sunt atat de multe si mici in intunericul universului tau, parca ar fi niste luminite atarnate in jurul tau. Numai de-ai putea sa ajungi la una dintre ele… O sa incerci mai tarziu sa gasesti o solutie sa sari vidul care va desparte. Deocamdata poti sa mai stai aici. E atat de liniste pe planeta ta si bate un vant minunat. Si poti sa incerci sa te imprietenesti cu peretele tau, sa-l cunosti mai bine. In fond sunteti singurele personaje pe planeta asta minuscula. Poate are ceva de zis. De ce te urmareste? E o minune totusi ca n-ai picat de pe planeta asta mica. Poate e mai bine ca innebunesti singur. Doi oameni n-ar fi incaput, s-ar fi ingramadit prea tare, iar tie iti place sa ai spatiul tau, sa nu-ti invadeze nimeni intimitatea. Desi… Poate daca ar fi fost el cu tine… Poate nu te-ar fi deranjat atat de tare. Poate ti-ai fi impartit planeta cu el. Si poate si peretele. Cine stie ce-o fi dincolo de el? Unde-o fi vrand sa te duca? Poate o sa-l lasi sa te prinda la un moment dat daca o sa fii suficient de curioasa. Respira-ti aerul…&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116169887862719009?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116169887862719009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116169887862719009' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116169887862719009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116169887862719009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/beauty-lays-inside-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116103383819323362</id><published>2006-10-17T00:21:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-10-17T01:36:01.270+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>She’s smiling with all her heart:&lt;br /&gt;- I love the way you are.&lt;br /&gt;He looks at her amazed.&lt;br /&gt;- Yes, I do, I love the way you are.&lt;br /&gt;- Why? Stop it.&lt;br /&gt;- No. I can’t. And you can’t stop it either. You may choose not to hear it if you don’t want to. But it’s still gonna be there whether you listen to it or not. And you can’t stop it. I mean you can do something to prevent it from continuing. But you cannot stop it from being there now, from existing now. And everywhere. And so palpable.&lt;br /&gt;She smiles again with all of her:&lt;br /&gt;- I love the way you are!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116103383819323362?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116103383819323362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116103383819323362' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116103383819323362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116103383819323362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/shes-smiling-with-all-her-heart-i-love.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116094943137236198</id><published>2006-10-16T00:56:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-10-16T00:57:37.553+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I’m a supergirl and supergirls don’t cry. Supergirls hurt the big, bad boys right back. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116094943137236198?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116094943137236198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116094943137236198' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116094943137236198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116094943137236198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/im-supergirl-and-supergirls-dont-cry.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116091036072626667</id><published>2006-10-15T13:53:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:50:42.969+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Jean-Sebastien%20Monzani%20-%20The%20Night%20Before.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/320/Jean-Sebastien%20Monzani%20-%20The%20Night%20Before.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Substance falling apart all around and inside me. Feeling so empty. Deserted. Stop and watch my universe. My sun is getting older. And everything is ice and warmth. Stop doing that! Can’t you feel the life breaking? A spear of grass is being born from a straw. You feel so free, so peaceful. Did my heart imprison you, my love? Eyes smiling when crying. The truth is crushed under the lie. We got to save the star. She’s fading away. There’s no place like home. He’s waiting…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=405463"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Jean-Sébastien Monzani&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "The night before"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.................................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel so free... Like a bird in the sky. Free to fly as high as i can and as far as I want to in the four corners of the world... And free to always come back.&lt;br /&gt;Ma simt ca un suflet eliberat care poate sa-si continue drumul.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116091036072626667?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116091036072626667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116091036072626667' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116091036072626667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116091036072626667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/substance-falling-apart-all-around-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116078039208684353</id><published>2006-10-14T01:58:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-10-14T01:59:52.096+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Cred ca as fi mers orunde cu el, l-as fi urmat oriunde. Cum esti in stare sa urmezi un om orbeste cand esti indragostita. Ce tampenie cu increderea asta...&lt;br /&gt;Cum e sa simti mana cuiva in mana ta, mica si moale? Cand ii e teama de caini, cum e sa simti cum te strange pe tine de mana, pentru ca are incredere in tine, pentru ca stie ca o sa ai grija de ea, sa nu i se intample nimic rau? Cum te simti? Simti?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116078039208684353?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116078039208684353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116078039208684353' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116078039208684353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116078039208684353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/cred-ca-as-fi-mers-orunde-cu-el-l-as.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116066991577616708</id><published>2006-10-12T19:15:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T19:35:22.390+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ieri, in loc de obisnuitul dus, am hotarat ca am chef sa fac baie. Asa ca am lasat apa fiebinte sa curga, mi-am aprins cateva lumanari si – de ce nu? – si un betisor parfumat. Am intrat in cada si m-am intins; am stat acolo, relaxandu-ma si simtind mirosul de trandafiri, cu gandurile departe. Am stat asa ceva vreme, nu stiu cata. Dupa aceea, mi-am spalat parul si inainte de a iesi am mai facut un “popas”: m-am intins din nou cu aproape tot corpul sub apa, linistita. Doar fata era la suprafata si sanii care ieseau si se scufundau ritmic cand respiram. Ma uitam in tavan si ascultam ceea ce realizasem ca este inima mea, ma gandeam aiurea, la o multime de lucruri. A inceput sa ma doara din nou, pentru ca ma intorsesem, si am inceput sa plang. M-am oprit speriata la un moment dat: nu stiam ce se aude, parca lovea cineva in perete. Am ascultat atenta ca sa-mi dau seama amuzata ca nu erau decat bataile inimii mele; mi se accelerase pulsul.&lt;br /&gt;Eram in continuare intinsa si ma uitam la cum mi se ridicau sanii de sub apa, in drumul lor scurt pana deasupra, luand si spuma din jur cu ei... M-am uitat un timp fascinata la forma aproape perfecta pe care o aveau, la felul in care ii acoperea spuma, la felul in care se scurgea apa, lasand in urma doar un luciu subtil, atat de erotic... Era atat de firbinte apa incat erau aburi care pluteau deasupra mea, ma acopereau, ii inspiram cu gura deschisa. Cred ca ar fi fost o fotografie reusita... Da, femeia este frumoasa.&lt;br /&gt;M-am ridicat si, in timp ce ma clateam de gelul de dus, mi-am dat seama ca miros a iarna. E ciudat, dar e mirosul pe care imi amintesc ca-l simt iarna, pentru ca nu ma spal cu apa atat de fierbinte decat in lunile astea reci. Si, nu stiu de ce, mirosul pielii mele fierbinti, aburinde, mi-a amintit de Craciun, de Sarbatori, de liniste, de calm... O nebunie, da. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116066991577616708?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116066991577616708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116066991577616708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116066991577616708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116066991577616708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/ieri-in-loc-de-obisnuitul-dus-am.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116066869883429260</id><published>2006-10-12T18:37:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:45:54.086+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Daniel%20Bayer%20-%20Horse%20and%20Girl%20Nuzzle.7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/200/Daniel%20Bayer%20-%20Horse%20and%20Girl%20Nuzzle.2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; An old man stopped flying and is looking at me. Which way did the kings go? I ask him. They went after the queen horse you drew yesterday. And he stares at my shoe. The leaf is coming! It can see you everywhere. There is time for everything. And the leaf bounced away through them. Normal hair, please. Do you think? Cleaning lady leaves at six, I have no money. The phone ran into the night. This is not my world. You have to see the bunnies smashing pumpkins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=321228"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Daniel Bayer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Horse and girl nuzzle"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;............................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cred ca pentru o fractiune de secunda, zilele trecute, am reusit sa-mi imaginez cum m-as simti daca as fi un cal. Am ales calul pentru ca e animalul meu preferat; si pentru ca imi amintesc ca ma uitam la o emisiune despre ei. A fost foarte ciudat; si a disparut extraordinar de repede senzatia, n-am putut s-o retin deloc. Da... Ma intreb asta pentru ca femeia care vorbea, spunea despre cal ca are vreo 3 ani. Si ma gandeam ca, daca ar putea sa vorbeasca, el ar sti sa-i spuna exact cati ani are, pentru ca el stie cel mai bine. In secunda urmatoare m-am intrebat: esti sigura ca el stie ce varsta are? Animalele stiu ca au un trecut? Realizeaza ca in spatele lor e viata lor, e varsta lor, e experienta lor? Au amintiri? Sunt lucruri la care se gandesc din cand in cand cu drag, poate, sau cu spaima sau altfel, n-are importanta cum, isi amintesc? Stiu ca au trait pana atunci asa cum stim noi?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116066869883429260?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116066869883429260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116066869883429260' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116066869883429260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116066869883429260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/old-man-stopped-flying-and-is-looking.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116003875212279093</id><published>2006-10-05T11:57:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:38:37.140+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So quiet. The lightning strikes the star. Lovely house, says my guest. I’ll go into the woods. I have to find the beast. She needs the cure. Red starts to fade. The lashes are whispering a strange song. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Lars%20Raun%20-%20Once%20Upon%20a%20Time.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;They are near, but the woods are mine. Search for the bubble. The pink butterflies stole it. Laughter in my soul. I finally hear it so clearly. I found the beast. It’s you. Take the tear. I can feel the green. It’s open and the butterflies play. Let’s run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Lars%20Raun%20-%20Once%20Upon%20a%20Time.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Lars%20Raun%20-%20Once%20Upon%20a%20Time.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/400/Lars%20Raun%20-%20Once%20Upon%20a%20Time.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=628554"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Lars Raun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Once upon a time"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..................................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cum renunti? Cum dai drumul? Fara sa te pierzi pe tine? Aproape am fost deconspirata. Poate chiar am fost. Maybe my secret is out. Si ce? Nu e problema mea. Alta e. Altele sunt. Asta e atat de putin importanta… Si ar fi inca si mai lipsita de greutate, daca nu i-as da eu atata. E cazul sa i-o iau. Pentru ca-mi sta in putere s-o fac. Da, sunt Atotputernicul problemelor mele. Dar aleg cu buna stiinta sa ma ascund de mine.&lt;br /&gt;What a fucking great lie!...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116003875212279093?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116003875212279093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116003875212279093' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116003875212279093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116003875212279093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/so-quiet.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-116003715136021324</id><published>2006-10-05T11:30:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-10-07T17:29:38.816+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Trebuie sa ma conving ca am tot dreptul la ele, ca am tot dreptul sa le iau. Pentru ca altfel ma simt vinovata cand o fac, mi-e teama. Lasa-ma-n pace! Nu te mai vreau. M-ai terorizat! Stiu ca suna urat. Vreau sa fiu singura cu mine! Si cu tine nu pot fi singura cu mine. Nici nu vreau sa fiu singura cu mine cand sunt cu tine. Vreau sa fiu singura cu mine fara tine. Da-mi drumul... Fara sa ma spargi...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-116003715136021324?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/116003715136021324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=116003715136021324' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116003715136021324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/116003715136021324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/10/trebuie-sa-ma-conving-ca-am-tot.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115944760602217931</id><published>2006-09-28T15:25:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-28T16:29:55.796+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Il vreau cu toata puterea inapoi. Simt cum mi se deschide toracele. Din deschizatura ies o multime de ghemotoace albe care se desfasoara incet si calm si trist. Multe firicele subtiri se-ntind spre El ca tentaculele translucide ale unei anemone de mare. La cea mai mica atingere se retrag speriate inapoi in carapace, in siguranta. Lasa-le sa vina, sa se teasa incet in jurul tau. Nici n-ai sa simti cand o sa inceapa sa te traga inapoi, in mine...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:P There. So poetic... So nice... So. Ce faci maine? Te scot la o cafea?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115944760602217931?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115944760602217931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115944760602217931' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115944760602217931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115944760602217931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/il-vreau-cu-toata-puterea-inapoi.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115936074714833250</id><published>2006-09-27T15:37:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-27T15:39:07.173+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Mi-a venit sa-ti spun "Te iubesc!".&lt;br /&gt;Dar nu e asa. O sa mai astept. Pana o sa fie asa. Sau pana n-o sa fie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115936074714833250?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115936074714833250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115936074714833250' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115936074714833250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115936074714833250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/mi-venit-sa-ti-spun-te-iubesc.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115935377905509343</id><published>2006-09-27T13:41:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:30:40.536+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Mg%20Lizi%20-%20Val%20d"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/400/Mg%20Lizi%20-%20Val%20d%27Orcia.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Plums, you say? The wolves love them. When you’re searching them, they hide. You find them later. She brings them to you. You can’t see them no more. You see her. Inside you. Blessed is the water. Bells singing for you. She smiles and you are inside her. Furry land moving to the north. There is the purple flag. Is there no time? The ten dimensions merge to greet you. You won’t go. You have to see the flying daughters. The song is wrote. You can sing now. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=1119395"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Mg Lizi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Val d'Orcia"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;..................................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cred ca sunt libera. Imi dau seama ca nu sunt indragostita - era imposibil - si ca sunt pe cale de a nu mai fi indragostita. E bine. Incep sa ma simt mai libera. Poate o sa ma indragostesc intr-adevar de mine. Ar fi cel mai inteligent. Chiar daca, teoretic, n-ar trebui sa te indragostesti cu mintea, cred ca e cea mai buna "strategie de aparare". Sa te indragostesti inteligent, cu mintea.&lt;br /&gt;Inima e pentru visatori. :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115935377905509343?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115935377905509343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115935377905509343' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115935377905509343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115935377905509343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/plums-you-say-wolves-love-them_27.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115935364603943158</id><published>2006-09-27T13:40:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-27T13:40:46.040+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Get a life! Ce inseamna asta? Nu trebuie sa ma catar pe un munte ca sa simt ca traiesc. Si ce anume le da dreptul unora sa-ti judece existenta? De ce oare nu se gandesc oamenii mai mult la consecinte inainte de a face sau spune ceva? De ce se pripesc?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115935364603943158?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115935364603943158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115935364603943158' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115935364603943158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115935364603943158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/get-life-ce-inseamna-asta-nu-trebuie.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115935358563273569</id><published>2006-09-27T13:38:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-27T13:39:45.633+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>E minunat sa descoperi partea sensibila intr-un om de altfel destul de dur. E uimitor sa constati ca exista. Probabil ca surpriza de-a o gasi o face intr-adevar minunata. Il deseneaza cu totul altfel.&lt;br /&gt;Superb.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115935358563273569?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115935358563273569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115935358563273569' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115935358563273569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115935358563273569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/e-minunat-sa-descoperi-partea.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115935349626778554</id><published>2006-09-27T13:36:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-27T13:38:16.266+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sunt momente cand ma umplu de o bucurie imensa. Stii cum e? Simti cum te umpli de (o sa sune intr-un fel, dar asta e) fericire, de bucurie. Si inspiri ca sa faci mai mult loc. Si zambesti pentru ca nu te poti abtine. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115935349626778554?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115935349626778554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115935349626778554' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115935349626778554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115935349626778554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/sunt-momente-cand-ma-umplu-de-o.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115871092194206121</id><published>2006-09-20T03:07:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-20T03:08:41.953+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Cut me open and tear out my soul...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115871092194206121?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115871092194206121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115871092194206121' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115871092194206121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115871092194206121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/cut-me-open-and-tear-out-my-soul.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115861203832459745</id><published>2006-09-18T21:52:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:12:28.163+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Lars%20Raun%20-%20....jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/320/Lars%20Raun%20-%20....jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The story of us. Is this the end? Draw a circle. Don’t let anyone approach. A thousand little blue eyes are watching us from far. They wait and laugh. You are my pain. The souls are crying. Loving trees around the sea. They can’t see us. And the sea is red. I look at myself. My blood is white. And the sea is white. Then the circle swallows the world. I see you. No longer granite, but diamond. Step inside the castle. It’s no longer guarded. The beasts are gone. The beginning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=628554"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Lars Raun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - " "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;........................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inot intr-o mare ordinara de oameni. Ma simt ca o sirena. Neinteleasa. Ma simt singura. Oamenii nu prea mai vorbesc nimicuri cu mine. Ma linisteste treaba asta, ma bucura. Ma si enerveaza. Nu mai sunt atat de rabdatoare, de toleranta. Ma plictisesc foarte usor. Nu mai pot sa inteleg rostul unor discutii puerile. "Ne distram, ne jucam." Nici macar.&lt;br /&gt;Din cand in cand cate-o oaza. Spre care ma reped ca nebunul insetat in desert. Incerc s-o cuprind cu totul. Sper din tot sufletul ca nu e doar o Morgana. Ma felicit totusi, dintr-un punct de vedere. Ma arunc constienta. Sunt sanse sa ma trezesc inotand in nisip. Cand eu am atata nevoie de apa... Fii apa mea. Fii palmierii mei, fii iarba mea. Fii oaza mea. Fii verdele meu. Fii culoarea mea.&lt;br /&gt;Nu e nevoie. Ma descurc singura, multumesc.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115861203832459745?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115861203832459745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115861203832459745' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115861203832459745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115861203832459745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/story-of-us.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115844641196248798</id><published>2006-09-17T01:37:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:07:02.513+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Kill%20Her.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/200/Kill%20Her.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My tears burned the river of fire and gave birth to the cool water that bathes your soul. You are inside me. Keeping me warm keeps me happy. We are the truth… I see love, I smell desire, I hear your white. I feel! Nothing is black. Everything is light. Wash away my sadness with your eyes. The Universe begins in us. This is my star. I can see yours. The green eye smiles upon us. Taste my love, it’s real. I have found the Mystery, you say to me, it’s you, my love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © Vau de Ville - "Kill Her"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..................................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De fiecare data cand ma gandesc la tine, iau foc. Ard toata. La propriu: ma arde pielea. Nu mi s-a intamplat niciodata. So I guess you really burn me alive. O sa ma mistuie dorinta pentru tine. :)Problema e ca doar eu o sa ma transform in scrum. Pentru tine sunt ca o fantoma care mai rasare din cand in cand din trecut in bratele tale.&lt;br /&gt;Daca as putea sa plang afara din mine tot ce simt... Siroaie de lacrimi mi-ar arde obrajii. Daca as putea sa te rad afara din mintea mea... Dar nu se poate. So I'm waiting for you to fade away.&lt;br /&gt;Poate mai am o speranta: poate sunt un mic phoenix. Poate o sa renasc din cenusa. Cu sufletul ars insa, pentru ca tu ai fost prea puternic pentru mine. Cel putin partea care se ocupa de iubire. Iar daca nu e arsa in intregime, am s-o inchid departe de lumina. Si-am sa uit de ea. O sa-i fie mai bine in intuneric. Iar eu am sa fiu libera. N-o sa-mi mai lege nimeni glezna. O sa fiu libera sa zbor deasupra voastra si sa ma hranesc cu cate suflete vreau fara sa simt nimic...&lt;br /&gt;Deocamdata ard...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the fucking "coincidences"!!!... Incredibil!!!...&lt;br /&gt;So...&lt;br /&gt;So you think you can tell Heaven from Hell... Blue skies from pain...&lt;br /&gt;How I wish...&lt;br /&gt;How I wish you were here... We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, boy... You are gonna be the end of me...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115844641196248798?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115844641196248798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115844641196248798' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115844641196248798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115844641196248798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/my-tears-burned-river-of-fire-and-gave_17.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115834413143847867</id><published>2006-09-15T21:06:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-16T00:21:23.473+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My self-confidence feeds on others. People are my fuel. And I devour every last bit of what is given to me. Sometimes I don't even wait to be given something. I'm like a beast that can see the blood pulsating deep down inside and goes for it. I just take what I need. And I enjoy it even more if it’s stolen, taken without the consent of the one who delays giving it to me. Or, better, who doesn’t want to give into me. I take it!... All… Everything. I let it penetrate and run through my veins. Until I’m hungry again… For more…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115834413143847867?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115834413143847867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115834413143847867' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115834413143847867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115834413143847867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/my-self-confidence-feeds-on-others.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115834208705390211</id><published>2006-09-15T20:41:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-27T13:33:58.396+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Limitari peste limitari. Pentru ca nu se face.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115834208705390211?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115834208705390211/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115834208705390211' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115834208705390211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115834208705390211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/limitari-peste-limitari.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115817038116034359</id><published>2006-09-13T20:58:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T20:56:48.707+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Water the roots of the round flower. It needs fire to move. And I’ve drawn the pink mountain in the south. Begin to scatter my fears. Stop and think for a while. Do you wish to hear the lines in the wind? Follow the path in the north and you’ll find the wind. He’s waiting. Where is the clock running to? They have to find it. Slash. Why? Is that necessary? The Dalmatians are here. All 101. This is too much for the vampires. They are going to kill themselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/400/Jarek%20Kubicki%20-%20Triptych..jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=1496903"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Jarek Kubicki&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Triptych."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;................................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aproape ca pot sa gust asteptarea. Abia astept sa vii. Sa vorbim, sa fii acolo. Ce dor imi e de tine. Ce pacat ca nu pot sa-ti spun. In schimb trebuie sa ma abtin, sa nu devin exuberanta de fiecare data cand te vad. As vrea sa te gandesti la mine cum cred ca o faceai inainte. N-ar trebui sa fie asa. Si nu stiu ce se intampla, de ce se intampla, de ce simt ce simt. As vrea sa-ti pot spune...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115817038116034359?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115817038116034359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115817038116034359' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115817038116034359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115817038116034359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/water-roots-of-round-flower.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115813729775777933</id><published>2006-09-13T11:47:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-13T11:56:00.926+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Fericiti sunt cei care sunt cine vor sa fie si curajosi sunt cei care sunt cine sunt...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115813729775777933?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115813729775777933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115813729775777933' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115813729775777933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115813729775777933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/fericiti-sunt-cei-care-sunt-cine-vor.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115801028475200363</id><published>2006-09-12T00:30:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T20:52:33.785+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Lars%20Raun%20-%20Even%20Angels%20Have%20to....jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/200/Lars%20Raun%20-%20Even%20Angels%20Have%20to....jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Alec%20Ee%20-%20Natural%20Design.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Alec%20Ee%20-%20Natural%20Design.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yellow bees around the flying cake. Do you smell them? Gather the troops! They are here, my Lord. I order you to laugh! This is it. You are water. It’s wet and cloudy. Strange. The things you see are close to her. The tree you live in is growing. It reaches the sky. The cats laugh at the dogs. Faster!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=628554"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Lars Raun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "Even Angels have to.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;........................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Incerc sa ma dezobisnuiesc de cerut atatea scuze, de atatea pareri de rau pentru fiecare idee pe care o scot pe gura. Fuckin' deal with it, people! And they might just do that. Dar sunt eu pregatita sa accept reactiile pe care le pot avea ei? Asta e: nu mai am curaj sa fiu cine cred ca sunt in momentul asta. Si sa-i las pe ceilalti sa se impace cu situatia. Nu stiu de ce, am senzatia ca trebuie sa-i menajez, sa-i feresc intr-o oarecare masura de cine sunt inauntru. Asta ce inseamna? Ca eu pe mine nu ma plac? Si ca mi se pare normal si logic ca nici ceilalti sa n-o faca? Vreau sa am curajul sa refuz sa ma mulez daca nu vreau. Vreau sa fac ce vreau sa fac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115801028475200363?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115801028475200363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115801028475200363' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115801028475200363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115801028475200363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/yellow-bees-around-flying-cake.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115790613914282466</id><published>2006-09-10T19:35:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:41:56.592+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Tanya%20Gramatikova%20-%20A%20Child-witch...%20An%20Enchanting%20Smile.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/200/Tanya%20Gramatikova%20-%20A%20Child-witch...%20An%20Enchanting%20Smile.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your hand is growing and you already can touch the grass. It’s taller then them. Rubber? Why? They can’t feel the orange. Is this the end? the prophet asks me. Stop and hear the whisper of the green horses. The moon and the sun watch you. Crystal clear is the laughter of the little girl next to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=2105885"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Tanya Gramatikova&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "A child -witch...an enchanting smile..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;..............................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exista o teorie care spune asa: ca noi de fapt suntem niste entitati care salasluiesc nu stiu exact pe unde prin vazduhuri. Si ca din cand in cand cate o entitate dintre astea se hotaraste sa vina pe Pamant, sa se nasca, avand un scop precis. Se mai spune ca entitatea isi alege parintii in functie de cat de mult pot s-o ajute ei in atingerea scopului. Ei, odata ajunsa pe Pamant, nascuta, entitatea isi uita scopul si trebuie sa incerce sa si-l aminteasca. Cele ramase deasupra o ajuta: coincidentele nu sunt coincidente; sunt de fapt semne care ne ajuta sa ne amintim de ce suntem aici si ce avem de facut. Oamenii pe care-i intalnim pe parcursul vietii nu sunt cunostinte intamplatoare; ii intalnim tocmani pentru ca ei, intr-un fel sau altul, ne pot ajuta sa ajungem acolo unde trebuie.&lt;br /&gt;Si, Doamne, daca intr-adevar coincidentele nu sunt coincidente, iar oamenii pe care i-am intalnit nu sunt "intamplatori"... Sunt pierduta...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115790613914282466?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115790613914282466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115790613914282466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115790613914282466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115790613914282466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/your-hand-is-growing-and-you-already.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115784064279819636</id><published>2006-09-10T01:13:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-10T01:24:02.806+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And if you're a fucking copy, who the fuck are you then?&lt;br /&gt;Daca toti "imprumutam" de la oamenii pe care-i cunoastem la un moment dat ceva...&lt;br /&gt;Daca toti dam la randul nostru "imprumut" oamenilor pe care-i cunoastem la un moment dat ceva din noi...&lt;br /&gt;Daca toti ne insusim oarecum ceva-urile odata "imprumutate"...&lt;br /&gt;Se poate spune ca intr-un colt din lumea asta, intr-un om pe care nu l-am vazut niciodata exista o bucatica din ce sunt sau am fost vreodata eu?&lt;br /&gt;Si eu? Cate bucatele de oameni am in mine? Si cat sunt eu?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115784064279819636?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115784064279819636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115784064279819636' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115784064279819636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115784064279819636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/and-if-youre-fucking-copy-who-fuck-are.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115779335658178405</id><published>2006-09-09T12:14:00.012+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T20:44:42.013+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Simon%20Lyutakov%20-%20The%20Desert.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/200/Simon%20Lyutakov%20-%20The%20Desert.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Far away in the desert. There are the shadows. Smell their thin tracks in the air. You can reach them with your hair. Leaf in the wind. Come to me, my lover…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beauty just passed you. I felt it so deep. My tears burned the river of fire and gave birth to the cool water that bathes your soul. Light dropping blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=1042421"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Simon Lyutakov&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "The Desert"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;................................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E minunat sa ai incredere in oameni!... I love it! I do. I love trusting people!...&lt;br /&gt;Pana data viitoare cand ramai cu imaginea celui in care aveai atata incredere intr-o mie de bucatele. Te uiti la ele cum stau multe si mici si imprastiate in palmele tale. Trebuie sa recalculezi omul. Sa refaci bucatelele intr-o alta persoana. Pentru ca odata sparta imaginea nu mai poate fi refacuta in acelasi fel. Si trebuie sa accepti faptul ca e doar un portret spart si carpit, pe langa care treci, la care te uiti curios, dar mergi mai departe.&lt;br /&gt;Ce bine ca macar cateodata nu se intampla asa, nu ti se umplu palmele de bucatele marunte de imagini ale unor oameni pe care trebuie sa-i recalculezi. Ce bine! I love trusting people!...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115779335658178405?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115779335658178405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115779335658178405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115779335658178405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115779335658178405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/far-away-in-desert.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115772769701890961</id><published>2006-09-08T18:00:00.007+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T20:43:19.815+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Fili%20-%20The%20Everblooming.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/320/Fili%20-%20The%20Everblooming.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Fili%20-%20The%20Everblooming.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Fili%20-%20The%20Everblooming.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you look at me all limits collapse. And the ring bearer asks me: Where is the truth, my Lord? I realise: I lost it. It’s deep within the purple clouds of your eyes. Hearts drone to each other. The Master is working good. Spell the feeling! How does it smell? White around dropping inside you. Maybe… Realise the pain and put it into the cage. It doesn’t hurt. Then break free into the cosmic tree. Green. He looks at you. He sees you. It’s him. It’s you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=624543"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;fili .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "the everblooming"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;........................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want my points back! I want you back, the way you were! I think I want back...&lt;br /&gt;I hate you! And I really, really miss you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Hey, ce faci?&lt;br /&gt;- Diverse.&lt;br /&gt;- Si in rest?...&lt;br /&gt;- De ce m-ai sunat?&lt;br /&gt;- N-aveam cu cine sa-mi consum minutele...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stii ca e o minciuna. Stiu ca stii. Si ma astept sa fii si tu constient de faptul ca stiu ca stii treaba asta. De fapt din cauza asta nici nu mai e o minciuna. Devine o gluma intre doi prieteni care stiu despre ce vorbesc. Si ma bazez pe inteligenta ta sa te ajute sa-ti dai seama ca de fapt prin "minciuna" asta iti spun adevarul: vroiam sa te aud...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115772769701890961?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115772769701890961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115772769701890961' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115772769701890961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115772769701890961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/when-you-look-at-me-all-limits.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115764858516321303</id><published>2006-09-07T20:00:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T00:27:17.694+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Man%20on%20Squares.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/200/Man%20on%20Squares.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Red%20Clouds%201.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Squares all around you. Which one is it? The truth will touch you. It sees you. Lovely eyes. Hot air. Hot wheels. Feeling good is the answer?...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=624543"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;fili .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "*"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...............................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cat de ciudat alearga oamenii! In doua picioare. Hm... Suntem una dintre putinele specii bipede. Daca majoritatea defineste normalitatea, atunci oamenii sunt anormali. Pentru ca aproape toate celelalte specii de animale alearga cu toate cele patru membre. Cat de ciudata trebuie sa-i para unui animal aparitia unui om care sta in doua "labe". Daca as fi alta specie, oare cat de ciudati mi s-ar parea oamenii? Si daca ar fi fost doar putin altfel conditiile pe Pamant, ne-am fi dezvoltat altfel? Cum?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115764858516321303?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115764858516321303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115764858516321303' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115764858516321303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115764858516321303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/squares-all-around-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115755950297095663</id><published>2006-09-06T18:56:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-06T21:04:05.560+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Shade%20of%20Raven%20-%20Lying.1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/200/Shade%20of%20Raven%20-%20Lying.png" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Shade%20of%20Raven%20-%20Lying.0.png"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Shade%20of%20Raven%20-%20Lying.png"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beauty is like you. We are part of every thing that sees. It hurts to be lying to them. Something lives somewhere in happy lands. Forever in peaceful hearts…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flavour in your mouth. Love is near. Touch it with your smile. It shines in the dark. The life you are living is not the end. Crying brings you honour…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lacrimile aduc inca si mai multe lacrimi. Si mai multa durere. Pana simti ca-ti face implozie sufletul. E incredibila durerea asta. Pana la urma cand spui ca te doare sufletul ce te doare de fapt? Pentru ca este o durere fizica. N-am nici un dubiu. Poate daca i-ai gasi sursa fizica, "generatorul", poate ai putea gasi si un remediu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si pana la urma de ce ai vrea s-o inlaturi. Daca e atat de intensa inseamna ca e singurul lucru care ti-a ramas. Singurul care te face sa simti ca traiesti putin mai mult. Singura familiaritate care ti-a ramas. Si pe care o accepti, desi e greu de indurat, pentru ca te aduce mai aproape de El. Pentru ca nu vrei sa se termine. Asa ca faci un compromis cu tine... Cu durerea ta... Si il vezi din nou, printre lacrimi, asa cum era cu tine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115755950297095663?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115755950297095663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115755950297095663' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115755950297095663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115755950297095663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/beauty-is-like-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115755312195335068</id><published>2006-09-06T17:20:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-06T21:16:11.643+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Niciodata n-am inteles ce-nseamna "Lupta pentru dragostea ta!" sau "Trebuie sa lupti pentru cel pe care-l iubesti! Nu trebuie sa renunti!".&lt;br /&gt;Ce-nseamna chestia asta? Sa te apuci sa hartuiesti omul? Sa-l urmaresti? Sa-l asezi la masa si sa incepi sa-i explici ca de fapt formati un cuplu minunat si ca i-ar fi mai bine cu tine? Sa-i explici de ce crezi cu atata convingere ca trebuie sa fiti impreuna?&lt;br /&gt;Pe bune. Daca omul e decis ca nu poate si nu vrea sa fie cu tine, toata "lupta" asta a ta nu e cumva inutila? Nu poti sa-i explici de ce trebuie sa realizeze ca te iubeste.&lt;br /&gt;Si presupunand ca cedeaza explicatiilor tale, o relatie de genul asta chiar dureaza? Si daca dureaza, ce fel dureaza?&lt;br /&gt;Oribil, I say.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115755312195335068?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115755312195335068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115755312195335068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115755312195335068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115755312195335068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/niciodata-n-am-inteles-ce-nseamna.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115754922668049577</id><published>2006-09-06T16:24:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-06T21:08:22.990+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Bittersweet. You can't hate it. You can't love it. But you can become addicted to it. And want to taste it over and over again. Just to see which taste is stronger. Which is more?...&lt;br /&gt;And then, after a while... Just acceptance, happiness and sadness all together. You just resign yourself to that sort of peaceful state of mind that it can bring you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate bittersweet!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115754922668049577?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115754922668049577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115754922668049577' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115754922668049577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115754922668049577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/bittersweet.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115753667185745396</id><published>2006-09-06T12:55:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-06T13:20:19.800+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hello, I love you... Won't you tell me your name?&lt;br /&gt;Hello, I love you... Let me jump in your game...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esti atat de frumos cand esti indragostit... Intr-o zi o sa faci pe cineva foarte fericita... Exact cum m-ai facut pe mine...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115753667185745396?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115753667185745396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115753667185745396' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115753667185745396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115753667185745396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/hello-i-love-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115748165877079302</id><published>2006-09-05T21:36:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-06T21:18:41.116+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Formuleaza idei!&lt;br /&gt;Mintea mea e fragmentata... E ca un puzzle. Da, sunt o multime de piese dintr-un puzzle pe care trebuie sa le lipesc impreuna ca sa aiba logica.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115748165877079302?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115748165877079302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115748165877079302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115748165877079302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115748165877079302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/formuleaza-idei-mintea-mea-e.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33896056.post-115747556747415574</id><published>2006-09-05T19:40:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T00:20:07.527+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/1600/Ciprian%20Vizitiu%20-%201.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7230/3726/200/Ciprian%20Vizitiu%20-%201.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;The weather is changing and it’s changing us. Our souls. When’ll you be ready to face her. Your fears are your capitol. The path is opened. Take your time. Free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We must end the flight. Get real. Telepathic when we are the kings of us. There is more to all of the world. When they dance clouds are smiling. Truth’s.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo © &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photo.net/photodb/user?user_id=1506417"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Ciprian Vizitiu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; - "1"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me being me. That's what I miss. It's been so long... I almost lost myself. Si, daca nu incep sa ma caut mai repede, probabil ca o sa ma pierd pe bune si pentru totdeauna.&lt;br /&gt;Problema e ca-mi vajaie gandurile in cap. Si nu stiu de unde sa incep.&lt;br /&gt;Am nevoie de liniste. Cine-ar fi crezut ca un lucru atat de simplu se poate dovedi atat de greu de obtinut?&lt;br /&gt;One way... Or another... I'm gonna get you, get you, get you, get you... :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33896056-115747556747415574?l=franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/feeds/115747556747415574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33896056&amp;postID=115747556747415574' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115747556747415574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33896056/posts/default/115747556747415574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://franturiimprastiate.blogspot.com/2006/09/weather-is-changing-and-its-changing.html' title=''/><author><name>Noe Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05961967893451370724</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IL4Y1FFaObo/SPbzb7YdnTI/AAAAAAAAADU/dN6GOtX0Jxs/S220/zboara+puile,+zboara!.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
