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November 30, 2010

Knocking on MY December’s Door …

 

Dancing bears/Painted wings/Things I almost remember,/And a song someone sings/once upon a December …



I wish for a white December. From all the months of the year, December is for me the most magical, the most holly, the most sacred. If snowflakes could accomplish me a wish, I would catch one and whisper to it: I wish for my December ...


­I tightly close my eyes and when I open them again, I am in my mountain house. Outside everything is white and I am looking at the fireplace. In this month, I am running on the hills, building snowmen, fortresses, playing with my dogs and my friends. I am dancing on the ice, faster, and faster and faster and when I am too tired, I lay in the snow, looking at the sky. December nights … I like to lay down on the snow, looking at the stairs from the above, and at the stairs around me … there is peace, silence, beauty and a warmth coldness. Yes, you see, I miss warmth ...


Someone holds me safe and warm”… there is a Christmas, there is a New Eve … and here things stay a little bit different than in my city … no one is busy with cooking, shopping or cleaning, no one “respects the tradition” and forgets the people around him/her. I am looking at the gorgeous Christmas-tree, too excited to open the gifts because I already know what Santa brought me, because I know these things shall be present ONLY here, in my December …


I wish for Peace. And all that I must do is to take the green box and open it up. I wish for Silence. Not the Silence that kills, but the Silence that hugs, that gives warmth, which brings everlasting Peace. I wish for Warmth. Gentle, like a kiss on the forehead. I wish for Forgiveness, towards me, towards all of you. I wish for Snowflakes all this month. All my life I have been looking for these things, all my life I have been demanding them, and now, under a Christmas tree, they lay in boxes, waiting for me to open … cleaning up the pain, charging me with Hope …


But you see, before I can feel them, I again close my eyes and see that the tiny snowflake that I caught has melted away. I am alone, somewhere at the middle of a frozen water, and the snow hits me strongly. I take off my pagan human being-clothes and my naked soul kneels down. The coldness hits me strongly, rushing through my veins, whispering in my ears … You already knew that. You already felt it last year. You are the fool that dared to believe … I wish for this voice to shut up. I wish for human beings to be here. I wish I were God just once and turn back the time. And IT HURTS so much that I'm starting to cry. On a frozen water, full of snow ... December. Full of snow, of thoughts and memories, where things remain the same. You never receive anything, you must give up your foolish dreams ... December that cuts into wounds, December that is the same with one last December, December that is the opposite of my December, December that I want to go away.


 .

November 20, 2010

LAST WORDS ...

"It is better to lose your pride with someone you love rather than to lose that someone you love with your useless pride."


LAST WORDS… aren’t always the words that you feel and mean. We scream, we cry, we let our pride rule our actions, not taking into account our hearts. Because in the name of pride, we forget about clocks, saying that for the rest we shall have Time. Even You forgot this, even You forgot me. So dear Pride, let me tell you some things in the name of myself, in the name of souls and hearts.


You’re a fool. This is my beginning. It is said that you never forget, but this time, you forgot so many things! And you ignored, you forgot me. You let your angriness swallow everything that mattered, you attacked your own God, you broke rules. And it is said that you’re fond of rules, isn’t it?


You’re afraid. The more you love, the more you’re afraid; the more afraid you are, the more you attack. It wasn’t nice. You felt angriness from the bottom of our pride; now you feel remorse from the bottom of your heart. Feel ME deep, under your skin. Remember? It’s your own wish, and if you’re so self-destructive, why don’t you let the others LIVE and BE HAPPY? So, let’s die a little, just a little, let’s feel it in order to think of last words, love, friendship and pride. What do you choose now?


You want to apologize, but you can’t. Because you said too much, because you’re aware of this. You want to say the real things now, the things that matter, the things that you value, the things that you worship. But you’re afraid that all your words will be seen as hypocrisy now. This is the worst thing that hurt us, isn’t it? Doubt towards you. Doubt towards soul. Doubt of your friendship. And in reality, things are a little different, aren’t they? She’s not the one who owns you anything; YOU are the one that in all your lifetime, can’t thank her enough. Lots to say here, isn't it? Too complicated, right? And you weren’t angry towards the present, ‘cause you’re always controlled by your own past, ‘cause you don’t feel this wound, that yes, it’s a shit, but you feel the other one, that hollowed your soul.


What about now? Dear sweetie, only Death teaches you to live. Why don’t you see Life, why don’t you learn from it? She was so damn right, isn’t she? And she touched again that wound. Cry now, hear me next to you and yes, you can’t do quite anything to stop me, hear the tocks on your walls, on your TIME, on your last words. Feel and Think. In the name of soul.



November 14, 2010

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love ? ...

“You guys,” Terri said. “Stop that now. You’re making me sick. You’re still on the honeymoon, for God’s sake. You’re still gaga, for crying out loud. Just wait. How long have you been together now? How long has it been? A year? Longer than a year?”


“Going on a year and a half, ” Laura said, flushed and smiling.


“Oh, now,” Terri said. “Wait awhile.”


She held her drink and gazed at Laura.


“I’m only kidding,” Terri said.


Raymond Carver


Today I’ve talked with a child. I have no idea from where to start, how to explain to him the things that I know, how to save his soul. When I was listening to him, I was thinking of Carver’s lines, from What We Talk about When We Talk about Love. Love. How can I explain to him what love is all about?


I am a Carver thinker. Reality emptied of lyrical stuff, reality naked of sentimentalism, of dreams, of forever fairytales. And this reality is being made more powerful, much more stronger, ironically, by its nakedness. Few weeks ago I talked with a friend about marriage and children. She doesn’t want to hear about them right now, but she agreed with me.  Although marriage is a piece of paper and the real marriage is about real feelings, build up in TIME, I advised her to wait. How much time do you need to really know a person, to really know yourself? Beginnings are always nice, sweet, and beautiful. And when I talk about beginnings, I’m not talking about the first months of a relationship, the first butterflies, when you cannot see or talk with anyone else, because your mind is set only on your love, but I’m talking about the first years. Every relation had a beautiful beginning, from those few people who grew older together, to those who divorced, screamed, hit each other, to those people who identify themselves in lines such as “Just gonna stand there/And watch me burn, But that’s alright/Because I like the way it hurts/Just gonna stand there/And hear me cry/Because that’s alright/Because I love the way you lie.” Are these people sane or insane to love PAIN?


So yes, I really disagree with people that talk about marriage after they know each other for a year and a half. I told her that if I were her, I would wait for at least three years, because this is me, and REASON should take control a little bit for such a huge step. Think of the people around you. You think that you’re the only one who felt like this, but ALL the persons – from parents, grandparents to friends – felt the same as you. Because we are all human beings and because for all of them, LOVE had promised a better life and not destruction. Destruction of souls, homes, and bodies. And because in time, for all your love, for all your feelings and for your lack of cold thinking, someone else would suffer. And now I’m talking about that child that I met this morning … how can I explain to him that fairytales does not exist, that people change and are too busy to see, to understand him? How can I make him feel better, not guilty, for all the things that he sees?


I wanted to hug him, but he didn’t let me, as he never lets anyone around him do this. I wanted to soothe him, to make him cry, but all that I could do was to feel his rage. I tried to teach him to give warmth to people that he loves, but when he finally did this, he received coldness, ironic, from those people who scolded him for being too frozen … I don’t want to know what’s inside his soul. And it’s just a child … how fair is the world? How can we judge people being good and bad, when WE create other human beings?! Us, not God. This child should repeat the things that he saw, never understanding his angriness. If he is strong enough, he would take the other road, but what is the price he must pay inside of him for such a decision? And really, honey, I don't think I'm able to handle him on my own.


People are selfish. Too selfish. People feel before they think. And what is worst, they first feel themselves, are thirsty of happiness and blinded by it. Why they just can’t feel the things they do not know, why should things happen to them in order to understand them? We’ve got everything, every feeling, every thought, good and bad, inside ourselves. Why can’t they see, touch this part of their souls? Yes, I think that if we knew each other from the beginning, the Earth would be a Paradise. Meantime, because we’re running after happiness without thinking a little bit of the future, without seeing the people around us, and when we reach this future, we’re too weak to act, to cut the evil, to take life and start over again, to protect our children, the world is just another paradise lost.  


So yes, taking him into account, LISTENING and paying attention to this song, staying in front of such a child, DO tell me how can I tell him that the world is full of colours when he only sees gray, how could I make him smile when he feels the way he feels, how can I teach him to feel LOVE, any kind of love, when he has never received it ... DO tell me, what can I answer when he asks me:" What we talk about when we talk about love?!"



November 8, 2010

Tara de Carton si Vata

Şsst! E calm aici. O ţară fără soare, fără clădiri, fără oameni. Ca un peron al lui Paler. Şi aici nisipul încă mai e ud de valurile unui potop. Mă joc în nisip şi zâmbesc. Eu ZAMBESC. Mă joc în nisip şi construiesc castele din nisip, o mască, un nou început, construiesc un soare pentru ţara mea. Să-l înalţ sus de tot pe cerul mov. E mov pentru că aşa vreau eu, iar maine daca vreau, va fi verde. O poveste mă gâdilă-n gând, dar sunt prea încăpăţânată, prea ocupată cu nisipul de aici. Si povestea mea e incapatanata si mă gâdilă mai tare: în somn, în tramvaie, pe stradă. Un vânticel rece îmi şopteşte că toată vremea de dincolo, toată toamna asta caldă e liniştea dinaintea furtunii a iernii pe care o iubeşti. Şi zâmbesc din nou.

Mă atingi pe umăr şi-mi zâmbeşti. Şi fără cuvinte, îţi spun să te aşezi în dreapta mea şi să te joci cu mine, să mă asculţi. Pe mine, nu pe ele. Dar am uitat limbajul tău şi nu înţelegi ce zic, aşa că te ascult eu pe tine. Îmi arăţi marea din faţa mea, uriaşă, liniştită, şi rosteşti cuvintele magice care o trezesc. Ma uit la tine si nu intelegi ca sunt mic si nu pot intelege tot, ca nu pot sa cred tot, ca-mi este teama. Aş vrea să plâng şi să m-ascund, dar … şi toate fantomele şi toate măştile fac cerc în jurul meu pentru a mă adăposti de TOT. Aleg să le alung si sa stau aici, să privesc valurile care vin, care trec, aleg să-mi construiesc o lună şi-un soare, un eu şi o identitate, un ego şi o viaţă. Mă joc aici, construiesc incet şi e calm. Şsst!  Te rog, nu mă trezi.


Ţara de carton şi vata

 Eugen Ionesco

În ţara ceea nu deosebeşti piatra
de pasăre sau duh:
sunt de vată şi carton. 

Cine vrea îşi scoate sufletul,
îl pune alături
şi-l priveşte ca pe o fiinţă streină:
am zărit duhuri de pomi, de păsări, de oameni.

Oamenii-păpuşi cântă rugăciune mută:
Dumnezeul lor are barbă albă.
Oameni păpuşi şi duhuri de vată!
Zâmbete de pastă!
Pomi de cauciuc!

Ochi candizi şi ficşi!
Culorile sunt palide, nu ţipă.
Spaţiul are doi metri cubi.

Focul e o cârpă roşie şi îl iei cu mâna.

Ţara asta a mâzgălit-o, pe carton, un copil.
Copilul visează: nu-l trezi.



November 6, 2010

That I Would Be Good ...

Timpul e o fiara care are nesfarsita rabdare de a inghiti totul.


 octavian paler


Si uite ca sunt si astfel de zile … zile in care cazi ca un Humpty Dumpty si renunti la tot ceea ce tii pentru a simti cealalta parte din tine … cum e daca te-as asculta mai bine? Si o simti cum te patrunde si-ti controleaza vointa, gandurile si pasii … daca mai esti in stare sa faci un pas. Cedezi in fata durerii si o asculti – e parte acum din tine. Te supui cuminte, adormind fiecare particica vie din tine si simti cum cazi in cateva secunde, cum renunti la tot, cum vrei sa tipi, dar ceva din interior te opreste … e tristetea care te loveste, care-ti ridica propriile bariere si ziduri, e tristetea nascuta de ciocnirea dintre mine si tine.


Vreau sa fiu lasata singura in intuneric, sa nu fiu vazuta de nimeni si sa le arat ca pot sa fiu si rea. JUDECA-MA acum, pentru ca acum sunt ceea ce urasc, ceea ce critic, ceea ce detest. Sunt partea pe care o vrei protejata, iar eu o lovesc mereu. Si in acelasi timp, vreau sa fiu strigata, sa urlu si sa dau afara tot din mine, sa spun cat de nedrept e totul, sa lovesc, sa plang si sa cad pentru a respira din nou. Te simti rece, fara sentimente, egoista … durerea e egoista mereu, nu? Iti simti sufletul adormit si gandesti acum ca un animal salbatic, prins intr-o capcana din care nu mai poate sa iasa. Si nu e nimeni aici care sa te trezeasca, sa te scuture, sa te inteleaga, sa-ti dea un pumn si sa ma elibereze pe mine din stransoarea ta, sa-mi spuna “va fi ok”. Cand, cum?


Aici nu sunt eu. Nu ma recunosc, desi ma simt, nu traiesc, desi multi spun ca trebuie sa apas pe frana pentru a simti … ce? Surviving does not mean living. I feel bitterness, ignorance to the other people, I feel dead inside and I see only boundaries: don’t do that, don’t drink that, don’t work too much, DON’T …  si as vrea sa tip si sa lovesc si sa traiesc. Sa inchid ochii, sa te ignor din nou si sa cadem amandoua in TIMP … tinandu-ne strans de mana, lovindu-ne mereu una pe alta, distrugandu-ne cand mai incet, cand mai repede, patinand cu viteza spre ... oare spre ce



    

November 2, 2010

Alte glasuri, aceleasi incaperi ...



Sunt atatea lucruri care ne scapa in fiecare zi. Oameni pe langa care trecem, care ar putea fi ca noi sau de la care am avea atatea de invatat, copaci goi de toamna tarzie, crengi pline de culori, parcuri pustii, linistite, in care epifaniile continua sa apara. Trecem pe langa pasari, vant, toamna si de ce nu, trecem pe langa noi insine, uitand, mereu uitand, sa privim adanc in jur.


Lumea e ca un puzzle, format din miliarde de piese de nisip. Lumea e formata din detalii. E de ajuns sa pierdem o astfel de piesa si lucrurile ar capata o alta nuanta, un alt limbaj. Privesc oamenii din jurul meu si le completez un puzzle - ceea ce le place, ceea ce nu, ceea ce vor sa arate si ceea ce nu, cuvintele prin care isi exprima afectiunea, prin care se ascund si prin care se apara.  Ma privesc pe mine si mai pun, mai dau o piesa ; s-ar putea sa o prinzi, s-ar putea sa o lasi sa zboare-n vant.


Suntem prea ocupati, prea obositi, mereu fugind dupa … dupa ce? Uitam ATATEA lucuri – sa privim, sa intelegem, sa iubim, sa ne amintim – ne uitam pe noi si-n acelasi timp ii uitam pe ei. Ieri tanjeam dupa o ciocolata calda si o amintire cand am inceput sa privesc aceleasi lucruri pe care le-am privit singura acum cateva luni; ieri copacii, ciorile, fosnetul frunzelor erau o alta parte din gandurile pe care nu pot sa le opresc. Stiu ca sunt ultimele zile din toamna si e toamna pe care o iubesc – fara ploi, cu un soare palid, cu fosnete. Si e noiembrie, si va fi decembrie … un alt decembrie. Aici e o alta parte din mine, mai intima, mai apropiata, mai sincera, fara timp, in care amintirile, toate amintirile sunt vii. Am uitat si sa socotesc pe bancile acestea, dar cui ii mai pasa acum de lumea de dinafara ?


Iubesc lumea in care m-am nascut, dar nu o simt parte din mine. Prin faptul ca inot mereu impotriva valurilor, ma face sa ma simt “gresita”. Pe de o parte, imi aminteam ce am citit in urma cu cateva luni si care m-a speriat. In loc sa ma opresc, mi-e sete de ceea ce iubesc, de Viata. E terifiant sa stii ce te asteapta si tu, in loc sa apesi pe frana, apesi pe acceleratie, constienta de tot.


Stiu cum e – si cred ca cu totii stim – sa muncesti si sa nu-ti fie respectata munca, parte rupta din tine. Asa ca as vrea ca macar eu sa le respect munca celorlalti, mai ales atunci cand ei ma ajuta pe mine. E usor a profita, e mai greu sa respectam, e poate imposibil sa fim mereu umani. Si in lumea secolului XXI, ne vindem timpul, energia si propria persoana pentru bani. Tell you a secret … niciodata nu vor fi de ajuns. Sunt efemeri si e atat de TRIST sa pierdem momente unice, sacre, din cauza lor, sa le vindem amintirile care ciocanesc in imaginatia, in fantezia noastra si care vor sa intre in realitate. Nu-ti vei aminti niciodata banii pe care i-ai castigat din reduceri, din promotii, din favorurile facute de colegi, cat ai dat pe o bluza, pe un bibelou, pe un album, pe o amintire. Dar iti vei aminti mereu zambetele pe care le-ai castigat prin a fi AICI in momentele eterne din viata noastra ...


Ma simt “gresita” pentru ca scriu mereu si nu ma pot opri, pentru ceea ce astept pe literatura, pentru ca mereu critic aici, si pentru ca mereu vreau mai mult. Si-n mai putin de o luna, voi parea fie prea rece, prea ‘’intepata’’, fie prea tacuta, acceptand totul, mereu izolata. Ma simt ‘’gresita’’ pentru felul in care privesc lumea, fara pragmatism, fara o religie, doar prin ceea ce mereu am simtit inauntru, prin ceea ce critic la toti, prin intimitatea pe care o iubesc. Din nou, secolul XXI ne-a oferit libertate … de exprimare, de a fi noi. Dar e de ajuns sa privim lumea de langa noi, de ajuns de-ai asculta pentru a stii lucrurile care nu se arata, care nu se spun ; e de ajuns sa scriem pe Google un nume si sa aflam cu ajutorul Hi-5-ul sau a Facebook-ului mult prea multe despre persoana respectiva ... un simplu exemplu, cine nu-si arunca acum toate pozele, de la cele mai hazlii pana la cele mai intime, pe care le iubim, pe astfel de site-uri ? E intimtatea care se pierde, pe care desi e a noastra si e parte din noi, e acum in vazul tuturor. Si ironic, inca se mai numeste intimitate.


Ma simt ‘gresita’ pentru acest conservatorism, pentru cat tin la unele amintiri, pentru ca nu pot sa tac atunci cand scriu, pentru ca simt cum timpul trece si am ceva de zis acum. Si nu pot si nu stiu sa cer o zi. Pentru ca nu vreau sa ma opresc si e ATAT, atat de ironic ca nu cei din jurul tau te vor opri, ci tu insati si e hybris-ul cu care dansezi in fiecare zi. Eu sau Tu? Azi, maine, poimaine, peste un an, sau un deceniu ...? Dar e toamna, e frig, e vant, sunt crengi pline de culori ruginii si verzi si e un soare palid, bland … fara ploi, fara ganduri, fara zgomote … aici, intr-un parc demult, aici, in mine.


(http://raysithaca.blog.com/2010/03/16/sleep/)


 

Bird set free

„Every time I find the meaning of life, they change it.” (Daniel Klein) You see, I’ve had a design, and I don’t know where I did wrong. ...