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

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

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

Memories from a second night.

(You Look Like Rain - Morphine)

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look like rain, you look like rain…

You look like rain...

Photo © Haleh Bryan - "Midnight Take"

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

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

:

(Chopin mood.)

It smells like flowers, wild flowers.
And I don’t know what I want.
But, as usual, I know what I don’t want.
I feel solitary. This didn’t change. It stayed the same.
Rock and… what am I?
I am water.
What kind of water? Salty? Sweet water? Sweet and salty water. Is that possible?
I’m a selfish water. Hidden in a summer night’s dream.
Hiding…
Showing Narcissus’ reflection.
Patience will be rewarded.
I’m looking for a book. A rare book...
I feel as dry as I was.

.

Cosmonomie.
.

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.

The plan wasn’t much of a plan… I just started walking…

And maybe nothing really ends…

- Esti urata… i-a spus.
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…?
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.
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…
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.

And I sailed away with him. And I let what would have been to be. It seems such a distant sea now.

"Da, imi place sa ma uit la mine."
"Hm." pufni cu un zambet aproape arogant si dispretuitor.
"Da! Pentru ca in poze sunt asa cum as vrea sa fiu."
"Si de ce n-ai fi in realitate asa cum ai vrea sa fii?"
"... O intrebare buna."

Vorbeste cu mine. Zi-mi ceva, orice...

N-ai ce sa-mi zici. Pentru ca nu existi. Eu te-am creat asa cum am creat atatia altii.

Vreau sa pleci.

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!
Ca un plug-in in cerebel... Nici nu mi-am dat seama...
Cum se poate sa nu te vezi decat pe tine? Si cum se poate sa construiesti inchisori din pareri?
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.
Sa te iert ca sa pot fi eu.

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.

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.
Can you give me sanctuary, I must find a place to hide, a place for me to hide…
Yeah, that’s it, baby… hurt me…
Successful hills are here to stay, everything must be this way…
But it's getting harder…
You gotta meet me…

Astazi sunt frumoasa.
Azi ar fi trebuit sa ma vezi.
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.
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.
As vrea sa ma ploua pe fata. Si pe umeri. Si sa-mi ude parul. Si sa fie soare. Si racoare.
As vrea sa-mi bata vantul prin par si sa ma uit la tine.

Am o floare.
- Ia uite, floarea asta iar s-a pleostit.
- Pai, da. Ca n-are cine sa-i puna apa. Asteapta sa-i pui tu. Depinde de tine ea.
Dialog cu mine.
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.

Devenim defensivi cand vine vorba de preferintele noastre, de gusturile noastre? De ce? Ne identificam cu parerile celorlalti despre lucrurile care ne plac?
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?...
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).
Cred ca nu mai e vorba de pareri diferite pur si simplu…

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.
End of “Note to self”.

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.
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.
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?!
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”.
O sa ma scuzati, va rog, daca o sa refuz sa ma supun.