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Ianuarie 4, 2017

Doi oameni, doua birouri apropiate, acelasi etaj dintr-o veche cladire comunista.

Ea, Lavinia, blonda miniona, imbracata baieteste cu blugi largi si ghete galbene. Ochi negri cristal, zambet scurt dar cuprinzator si buze ce il imbraca pe acel zambet in esente de chilimbar. Bluza larga ce reuseste a astupa circumferinta sanilor generosi si o curea obraznica atarnand pana peste buci. Buci frumoase, as zice. Unghii scurte dar bine ingrijite si intotdeauna vopsite in culori stridente. Nu vorbeste mult, nu comenteza poze de pe facebook in aerul holului si nici nu chicoteste larg prin peretii subtiri. Tacuta si plina de respect imi mai arunca cate un zambet cuminte si cate un ‘buna’ de aceeasi cumintentie cand ma vede ca ma chinui sa nimeresc cheia in usa. Nu pentru ca as fi agitat cand o vad ci pentru ca intotdeauna m-a lasat Dumnezeu si mama neindemanatec. Deh, copil crescut la tara…
El, brunet nerecuperabil, plinut si fara un sens al modei. Cu tenisi in mijlocul iernii si cu aceasi geaca in care as ingheta in septembrie. Degete lungi dar fara talent si un dinte spart in partea stanga. Vorbeste tare de il auzi prin marele zid chinezesc si de o competenta redusa in artele socialului. Bea tone de cafea, nu da buna ziua decat rar, tuseste fara mana la gura si cateodata ii mai auzi cate o injuratura gaurind peretii dinspre biroul meu. Il las, doar e’ it-ist semicompetent si cu siguranta l-a enervat Chan ca sa trezit tarziu si nu a terminat pagina de wordpress pe care i-o daduse vecinul meu s’o faca.
Ea, fumatoare inraita iese din 10 in 10 minute si-si aprinde cate o tigara pe care de fiecare data o iubeste ca pe Desdemona. Mai verifica pagina de facebook si cate un cont pe cate un site pe care nu l-am identificat. Niciodata nu sta picior peste picior dar intodeanua isi joaca elegant degetele intr-un miresmatic joc de’a vati’ascunselea. Nu bea cafea decat dimineata iar in rest te ameteste cu aromele de ceai facut la fierbatorul din birou. Si rar, dar foarte rar, vorbeste cu Miruna, prietena ei din generala cu care nu impartaseste mai nimic decat invitatii cazone la seri ale fetelor.
El, holistic si ciudat, o urmareste. Ii asculta pasii si trantirea usii vechi din lemn si isi face drum inperturbabil prin fata micului loc de fumat. Isi pune telefonul la ureche si mai mult ca sigur se preface ca vorbeste chestii de IT intr-o engleza spurcata printre micii pereti ai holului scorojit. Paseste apasat si intodeauna arunca cate un raset fara contur dupa o fraza de tacere. De poate poate odata ea il va sesiza, il va remarca. Si poate asa, din mica sesizare la care spera mai ceva decat la un ficat curat, se va naste marea lui poveste de iubire ce va fi cantata de trubaduri si disk-jokei de peste o mie de ani. De poate din asta se vor naste dragii lui copii. Doi, un baiat si’ fata, asa cum prin pereti ii povesteste in fiecare vineri cumnatului sau si singurului sau prieten.
Ea nu’l baga in seama. De fapt, nici nu cred ca isi da seama de prezenta sa permanenta si isi vede de linistea iubirii sale cu tigara. Cateodata ma mai intreaba cum mi se pare vremea si daca azi a fost aglomerat in autobuz. Niciodata nu imi asteapta raspunsul. Eu am invatat asta si de ceva timp nu ma mai sinchisesc sa ii raspund. Doar intorc privirea catre el si catre rondurile pasite lung ce il poarta prin zeci de mii de stari, toate aducatoare de transpiratie. Iubirea copilareasca I se citeste pe chip si in glas. De multe ori imi vine sa il iau de cap si sa il dau cu el de peretii catre care vorbeste ca un turbat de fiecare data cand ea iese din micul birou de pe colt; sa il strig pe nume, desi nu stiu cum il cheama, si sa Il oblig sa ii vorbeasca. Sa ii impun sa se aseze langa ea si sa o priveasca in ochi; sa o ia de mana si sa ii povesteasca adoratia lui extrema pentru cureaua jucausa si pentru oja florescenta. Sa ii explic ca nu mai vreau a fi prins in mijlocul acestei impertinente alergaturi dupa iubire.
Dar nu o fac. Trag aer in piept, rascolesc un oftat si de fiecare data si imi dau seama ca nu pot. Ca de cele mai multe ori si eu sunt el. Un ins fara nume In cuplul ‘’Lavinia si ()’’. Ca de zeci de ori si mie mi sa taiat rasuflarea cand am incercat a vorbi cu ea, bruneta teribila ce mi-a invadat granitele noptii si cafeaua diminetii. Au trecut multi ani de atunci, este adevarat, dar sentimentul acela de lasitate fricoasa inca a ramas. Ca un rest a ceea ce a urmat din gratie divina si datorita dezinhibitiilor ei. Dezinhibitii ce au facut’o sa nu ma evite si sa ma ia pe nepregatite cand m-a intrebat daca o iubesc; daca o iubesc si atunci de ce tac…
Lavinia nu este bruneta lui teribila. Dar poate deveni…
(Va urma)

R.
1.
odata erai lumina. clinchetul teribil dupa care stralucirea umplea zarile vietii lui pana atunci de un gri fad si lipsit de certitudini.
tu le aduceai. zambetul tau taietor de respiratii, mireasma privirii tale de ochi albastrii, strungareata plina cu dulciurile romantismului neindoit cu apa, mintea ascutita ca un cutit elvetian taind prin milioane de coli de hartie de scris.
odata erai…

………………

Ești finalul. Apoteotic și mieros. Ești începutul. Univers startat într-o dimineață cu gem de gutui și finalizat într-un orgasm.
Ești ce nu a mai fost. Miracol și depravare îmbrățișate organic în aceeași picătură de vodka.
Ești numai zâmbet. Zambet sculptat metodic și dureros din lacrimi de frustrare. Ești moarte și ești aer. Ești noapte și ești zi.
Ești Angelina pe coperți. Ești viata în desert. Ești tu!
Fii tu! E unic și moral. E dragastos..

………….

vreau sa te fac sa razi; sa iti vad ochii mijindu-se a fericire si buzele incarligandu-se in zambet.
vreau sa am puterea de a iti lua iritarea cu gesticuralitatea unei atingeri si de a o inlocui cu fluturi blazati intru’ fericire; de a trezi din amortire apatia de a nu mai crede in magie. pentru ca magia nu exista de la sine, este construita din vise…
vreau sa iti cumpar un coif imaginar ce te-ar apara de loviturile vietii si ti-ar proteja zambetul perfect de puroiul murdar al actiunilor omenesti.
vreau sa te feresc de lacrimi, sa nu le simti gustul si sa nu le auzi zumzetul dramatic. sa nu le simti umezeala sau imputiciunea durabilitatii.
vreau sa pot fi ceea ce nu am fost pana acum, un mic print blond cu cheia regatului fericirii agatata de cureaua de la pantaloni si cu vointa de a gasi usa, infipta adanc in simtamintele unei inimi odata de gheata…
vreau sa iti fac cadou un regat; un regat plin cu iepuri vorbitori, vulpi dogmatice si vrajitoare fara bagheta rautatii. o noua lume in care vorbele sa aiba valoare si cuvintele sa cantareasca cat muntii inverziti ce te-ar umbri dimineata…
vreau sa iti ofer povesti; povesti lungi si poate sacaitoare despre zambete, cafea calda imbratisati, itinerarii pe decade si importanta unei minciuni nespuse. vreau sa am in tine cel mai avid cititor al unor randuri notate in priviri si in realitatea viitorului. si vreau sa crezi povestile intr-atat incat ele sa devina mai mult decat povesti, sa devina MAINE!
imi dai voie?

…………..

Privea stins cu ochii fixați parca în șuruburi în peretele mare și alb din fata sa. Din când în când câte o adiere infiltrata prin geamul larg deschis ii zbarcea pielea și ii asmuta simțurile aducând cu ea câte un oftat și o întindere mecanica după paharul de vodka lime aproape terminat. Era goala. Cu doar un furou transparent acoperindu-i liniile perverse și sfarcurile idolatrizate în trecut, încă tremura a plăcerea masturbării de cu momente în urma când, strigând din toți rărunchii, rememorase nopți de amor și zâmbetul ștrengar al celui ce deși o părăsise, niciodată nu plecase pentru totdeauna din amalgamul îndobitocit denumit melodramatic,’simțirile sale’.
Gemea. Incet, catodic, ca un reproș divin adus uitării la care nu fusese supusa. Ca un copil după un plânset prelung și plin de lacrimi cacacioase. Ca o curva după un futai de poveste…
Și tăcea. Tăcea neprivind către tabloul neterminat ce ii consumase energiile, inspirația și stocul șubred de reușite profesionale. Nu dorea a-l privi. Nu pentru ca ar fi fost hidos pentru ca nu era ci pentru ca fiecare linie deconstruita, fiecare punct abject de pe șevalet, fiecare nuanță dembela ii aducea aminte de același cuțit înfipt în inima pe care G îl plasase cu convingerea și deliberarea lipsei de iubire…

……………

– i broke out. i lost my minds for a fraction of a second. for a infinitely short moment. for a miliidea. but it seemed so long. so grotesque. and so painfull. so full of broken dreams, shattered plans, blowned up days of futures past. seemed so real. so movie like. filled with a plot, intrigue and a bitter ending. hollywood style interpretation of a blink.
so i left. i wept with a smile and left her there yealling and crying like a intoxicated kid waitting for it’s morning oxycilin shot in the sun infested kitchen. waiting for the pain. i closed my wet eyes and stepped out with a big nuckle in my throat. left her there around the breakfast table. the smell of bacon and eggs still lingers in my heart.
didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to leave or to make her cry. didn’t want to push the forward button once the first tear hit her cheeks. but i had to. that was the best option at that point. the shortest road to a clear rain-free day for her. because love means letting go. because love means loving her more than you love yourself…
I hope…
– have you seen her since?
– i hope i will, someday. but the war broke out and that day seems so far away. i only need a second. to see her smile and try to explain. but not with words. only with a look. she will understand. she will…

………….

I am not evil, i’m just a little ideatical playboy changing mind games, perceptions and interpretations. I am just a brunette addict with a dirty mind ; just a romantic whore of a man dreaming black but smiling white.
And you are dreaming the same…
still painting your sick lines and filling them with grotesque colors as I remember you doing that morning when you sat there, naked and drinking. And crying…
But I am no evil. You think otherwise, I know, but please answer me this : could evil love?

………….

you painted that morning, remember? dipping the brush in the big vodka glass while infiltrations of red mingled between ideas of bubles. you watched the color engulging the alcohol. you smiled sadisticlly and took a sip. you did it again and drank feeling the colors invading you like fucking militants upon a God forsaken country in the middle of the deserts. you smiled again.
then you sang. you watched the canvas take shape and started moving your naked body around it in a pictorial of epic proportions. you felt the cold coming through the open window and you hoped that something else should have sweped inside and bitwin your thighs…
you felt a hand…you hoped for one. but not for one of random phisicality, for his. it was not to be and you did not smile again. you wept this time but dancing non the less. you left the tears go down your brests and upon the thighs on wich touches you aked. upon the long legs where the passion once lived and upon the ribs of sexual servitude. you left them drip and fall and be forgotten. and all of this because a hand and a tongue you craved…
or is this not all?

………….

-Remember when you painted your hair in that grayish infectious color? That strange melancoly color that I hated evan more than your fucked up red dog. Remember I smiled like a deseased Surinamese and said nothing? I couldn’t. Why, you ask?! Because at that point I loved you more than anything in this world and any action you inflicted on me had no result in diminishing my feelings.
Stupid, say it! Common, Say it R, is nothing that is not true; nothing that I do not admit myself. I loved you, what is ugly in that? Ihh? And when we love we are hidiously stupid, childish and suckers with a capital S.
I loved you and you didn’t.
-You wanna know why?
-Neah, I don’t care now. I cared then but I was to self-absobed by your beauty, blue eyes and long legs, artistic perversity and beautifull paintings to realize that I was only a pawn in a singularity game. No duality there.
-You accuse me? You hate me!
-Yes I hate you. But not for then. I hate you for now. I hate you because you love me now when I don’t. I hate you for being late. I hate you for what I loved you, it seems…

………

Deeply complicated and intricately built; Complex and unique, tantalizing, emotional and artistic. Perversial and instinctual. Sensitive and sociable. Brunette with hot eyes and a taste of fresh yellow mint in a winter morning. Smart and catchy you understand only by looking and you approve with short smiles of fkexitude; with deep kisses imbeded in your minds. Beautifull, perfect, equivocal. An example of what totality means for him, his regid soul and wounded hart.
A taste of a world in wich his wishes are meant to fulfill.
You’ re his…but is he yours?

……….

Da, ii placi! Da, simte un mic fior cald în stomac de fiecare data când pășind înăuntru, arunci zâmbetul acela mieros înconjurat de cele doua cuvinte monotone dar atât de interesante venind din partea ta: bună dimineața!
Da, te urmărește de mult și îți gusta de ceva vreme pașii, mișcarea soldurilor tale subțiri și caracterul de femeie trecuta prin multe, cu patosul unui războinic poate speriat de atrocitățile potentialei înfrângeri.
Te privește de departe și tace. Un las poate! Și poate un las nu ai putea iubi. Cine ar putea-o face? Și de ce ar face-o?
Asa se gândește și el și de fiecare data când zeița curajului îl vizitează cu certitudine, un mic înger negru de pe umăr rade batjocoritor și îl oprește din a îți povesti viitorul, de a-ti relata mii de vise și de a-ti sărută penitenta.
Asa ca mimic nu sa schimbat fata de ieri. El te place și te place în tăcere. Tu zâmbești și spui bună dimineața. Lumea își continua mersul ei macabru și ludic lăsând victoriile pentru cei ce nu sunt lași.
Pentru ca un las nu poate fi iubit…

………

”-You are awake…it’s three in the morning. What troubles you, my dear?

-Want to hear a story, Adele? a story of human decay, brutality emancipation of the soul and filth?…lot’s of fucking filth…
A story so sickening and dirty that all the humankind, thousand of years from now shall remember it with the most detectable, ugly and poisoness taste in their mouths…
A story about asimilation of ideas, about dreams of genocide and about the reality of putting it to practice…
You may not, I wouldn’t…

-I still hear their screams, the crying of that small baby that sat in the arms of the mother, the face palpitation of a young undressed women, the tears of a old man. I still see their faces…the horror, the fear, the death. And they seemed so normal. It seemed as those people there, all those 20 000 of them were no different from us. And there, then, I questioned for the first time all those actions that untill then appeared to be so darwinian correct…so Fuhrer wished acceptable. First time I doubted.

-But I didn’t act. I said nothing, I reacted not. I just moved my head and distanced that thought of a fraction of a moment. I came back to my soldiers and helped them continue with the horror. 20 000 we killed that day in that disinterious forrest near Babi Yar. 20 000 we shot in the head and burried in that browned earth of Ukraine. 20 000 souls and each of them haunt me every night, every second when I close my eyes, every moment when I succeed in this incredible fight between me and sleep. And this happens since I knew you…since I kissed you for the first time…since I saw your painting…
And what drives a man to do this? What pushes him towords these deeds without pitty infesting his minds in those moments when he is ready to pull the trigger? Ihh? Is it duty? Is it hatered? Or is it the animalic normality of humanity?

-Why since you knew me?…

-20 000, Adele. 20 000 children, women and men. All jews. All sub-humans, as we were tought and driven. All victims of the Einsatzgruppen…the final solution for the jewish question…But were they? Were they sub-humans, as we knew and thought evan in death? Ihh? You are a jew, Adele…and again, that second when I doubted, came back to me when I felt your lips. Again I felt the disastrous uncertainty of what I have done, when, from nowhere, the creationist mirage of your canvas over-ran my minds…And then I realized…then I started dreaming their faces…
You were normal. No plotting, no higher game, no Godish penetration of reality. No. You are just human…and we almost killed you all.
And now the end is near. The russians will be here next week. In two months in Berlin. And all these genocides will be revealed to the world. But not as a great deed of faith but as a infectious black stain on the face of history. And we shall not be forgotten…

He wondered without a serious grown-up reason the streets of the city but trying to understand the lights that poked him in the eyes.”Annoying little bastard elements” he tought about those little glimpses of sun, subjugated by the human nature and power, inside small translucent rooms in wich they could fulfill their enlighted purpose. A raised eyebrow transformed the feeling inside into a art demonstration in front of millions of uninterested non art critics. ”Stupid” he continued thinking while draging his feet through out millions of ideas in the city center. He smiled. Hidiously looking in the eyes of a beautifull blonde lady that lashed her Vogue body upon a small bench under the park tree. She smoked. Something he wanted to say but only infested words of dirty soul came into his dead mind. He just stopped and watched the flame inside her’s two eyes burning like a desireless haute couture dream. It was like he wanted to absorbe into his mind all the feelings and rememberings of those red flames and soft lips that stalked him in these moments. He couldn’t and just walked away with no more smile upon his face.
The almost beautifull summer night brought with it smells of freedom, cocaine, rejuvination and hatered towords yesterday. Screams of joy welcomed him while he got closer to the center posted lounge.
Young kings of nothing said unimportant jokes in the distance and wannabe divas laughed their often-fucked asses off. No normal reason for that…not for him anyway. ”The future is a dirty and unpleasent place, it seems…”he said to himself and to the new brunette alongside him. She smiled. He didn’t smile back. Why would he?
But who was she and where did she come from? He didn’t know. He just questioned his insanity. Was she a dream? Was she a ghost? Or was she only a projection of his mind’s desires in term of the reality of the future? ”Tough answer”he thought. ”Tougher question!” he replied. He just got caught in this invisible ping-pong game with questions between the two Pinkeltons up there in the attick of his minds. And he was just a spectator.
At one point he wanted to intervene, to say something, to ask…but he couldn’t. The brunette presence near him got in the way and gave him a kiss. No, don’t be fooled, it was only a gentle kiss on the cheek; a kind of forplay for something more. And then she left. She dissapeared in the endless atoms of space and time. She got away.
Without answers, without explenations. And was she the future?…

Erotical Intermezzo…?

Noiembrie 29, 2013

Te-am atins. Te-am tinut in brate si te-am sarutat; goala si fara inhibitii in timp ce ne iubeam ca doi nebuni in mijlocul flacarilor razboiului si sub multitudinea de bombe inflacarate ale incertitudinilor. Te-ai lasat prada degetelor mele lungi, atingerilor sfarcoase si jocurilor preludice in timp ce limba mea ascutita cauta noi carari catre placerile tale ascunse de ochii lumii si ai sortii. Si le-a gasit. Stateai acolo, pe mica canapea rupta in bucati, zambind pervers si strigand infailibil catre sentimente poate de mult uitate, chemand cu degetul mic stereotipii abandonate de dorinta infestata. Gemeai. Incordai bucile moi si spatele finut ca pe niste acordeoane sisifice si un mic tremurat serpos te vizita ca un strain uitat de mult dar care, de fiecare data cand reapare si iti zambeste erotic, trezeste simpatii unanime in muschii zonelor ce te transforma in femeie. Si gafai. Cu senzualitatea unei voci divine. Si plangi. Si vrei sa vrei mai mult cu placerea tumefiata a unei copile ce a redescoperit paradisul papusilor vorbitoare. Si nu zici nimic. Ce ar fi de zis? Doar taci si musti. Preiei cu dintii mica buza crapata de sub cea de sus si o invarti slinos in muscaturi pline de noi. O dezbraci de generalisme si te raportezi doar la ceea ce simti; doar la ceea ce doua degete pline de anvergura, corpurile noastre infierbantate si o limba jucausa si plina de afronturi lingoase pot aduce pe tapetul marginalizat al placerilor trupesti. Nu gandesti. Doar vrei. Doar continui sa te joci cu degetele tale ingrijite prin parul meu negru si sa imi ghidezi capul catre puncte deocheate ale labiilor doritoare si odata secrete pielii mele fine. Si tipi. Si taci si arcuiesti. Si misti si tremuri din toate incheieturile ca un drogat la dezintoxicare desi acest drog acum servit cu buzele si limba nu este un drog haituit si defaimat de umanitate. Nu. Este doar o urma incipienta de placere animalica pe esafodul tempestist al unor obiceiuri mult mai complexe; pe scena socialului si a intelegerii’ntre oameni.
Si vrei, si doresti. Si ma vrei si ma ceri. Ma chemi zambind si ma tragi mai aproape, mai intens si mai deviant. Si gemi din nou. De data asta cu rezonanta si cu patos. Si inchizi ochii…Si iti musti buzele si iti intinzi mana. Si cauti locul, campul de lupta medieval pe care eu purtam o batalie cu propriile mele dorinte. Cu caldura acelui loc, cu foamea de noi…
Si deodata te trezesti si totul se transforma subit intr-o dimineata oarba si plina de funingine. Si eu nu sunt acolo. Disparusem melancolic printre semnalele nervoase ale unui gand ce nu era sinonim cu realitatea. Si m-ai fi vrut…
Si m-ai fi cerut din nou. Si m-ai fi strigat acolo printre asternuturi daca nu cumva vis ar fi fost ceea ce doreai si ireal ceea ce simtisei…
Si oare ma vei chema?

let’s rob a marquise filled with dreams and battle him out untill cries come out like mushroom after a rainy night…
let’s desapear from now and appear yesterday after the sorrow has passed…
let’s not love anymore as no good thing remains unpunished…
let’s hate grey and blue and red eyes as their image in our heads only triggers disastrous consequinces for all human kind…
let us be animals, let us be monsters, let us evoque in our paintings the missjudgements of our actions…
let you hate ex-souls of your nights as only missery and evilness they brought down upon your sleepless moments…
let us not be here anymore, let us crawl under a staircase and dream no more…no good thing ever emarged from that…

Enter title here

Iulie 18, 2013

”Uite-i privirea! sta asezata fara vlaga asupra acelei roscate cu umeri dezgoliti. sta pe ea insa nu se misca, nu gaseste substratul belit ce l-ar face sa o antreneze in jocul dulce atat de cunoscut si drag tie. e seaca; o privire momita de goliciune si extaz perversic dar neimplinita si goala de orice senzatie de dragoste sau ura. o vezi?
o simti?
desi o privesti de departe intersectand-o cu ochii mintii ii simti raceala si intensitatea inexistenta, ii simti aplombul invizibil si dorinta din ea de a regasi acel ceva pierdut de-atata timp…
si il privesti cum priveste. il privesti cum abunda in depresii sperand odata pentru totdeauna sa isi miste ochi si zambetul in aceeasi directie in care era atat de obisnuit…TU!
dar nu o face, privirea nu se misca, ideile mor, sexualitatea se desumfla…

a little burst in the head was what wake him up, a short hit to the forehead was the impulse he needed releiving his eyes from the diabolical closing
to wich they were subjugated by alcohol, naked dreams and stupid angels dancing around his minds. that and morning.
a thin line of light started to bother him while steps made themselves present around his naked body. ”high heels”he mentioned to himself…
he was not sure. sex became fuzzy at those hours…
he opened his eyes to their partially former glory and lifted his head from the wet rumish pillow on wich they fell asleep. everything started to make sense.
she was directing and the movie started without him, for the millionth time in a lifetime…
”-you drank again, G? you wrote again? you died again?”
a moment of pause interluded itself between the words and permitted her to shortly smile like a whore asking for a tip.
”-how much time now, R? 5 days? 69 mouse lives? a eternity?” he answered stabbed being by a headache that almost blackmailed him in giving everything.
he obliged…
”-enough…enough to scare me. enough in making me think that you finally enlisted in the foreign legion and went away to ecuatorial islands so you
could kill somali terrorists and brasilian kid sellers. but no, the dream about a valiant G faded away under the sad reality that he was still plunged
inside the same ungorgeous place, drunk and unfucked, engurgitating his bottles and vomiting his fictional and perversial ideas upon the same white
pieces of paper i so badly knew…”
a nother pause. this time shorter and filled with smoke. cigarettes were lit. I won’t say by whom…Imagine!
”-please make me remember G, the solid and clumsy reason for wich I fell for you? please rephrase to my eyes, the path I followed to those feellings,
a million years ago? please explain the old myself through your present eyes…
please do G, as I watch you now and I cannot realise why humanity left you, why childhood reposesed you…”
he smiled. watched her with half his look and smilled like a depraved killer in the middle of amsterdam.
”-you know why, R…you felt why…”
”-did I? do I?…what, G? tell me! what? what was that insipide taste in my mouth that made me love you…you, a wreck…a solitary death toll on
the altar of sociability. you, a missfit on the world stage, you a dreamer…?
look at you, please look at you, sleeping for 4 straight days on the cold wooden floor, drinking like a depraved group of pirates in Singapore and covered
in sluthe pieces of paper…in ideas, as you once liked to calm me down…”
a nother pause. a longer and prolonged one. a solid pause like those in the tarantino movies when the good guy stands up from the blood infested
floor and starts killing everybody around him. a memnonic casuality between ideas.
he lit up another cigarette and quiet he rested on the balcony. a short sense of sadness reached him; a remembering pinched him and for a second melancholy
envisioned his life.
”-voices, R! voices! that’s wht I loved you. because you were the only soul that could do that, take away the voices inside my head, make them stop,
make them sing. you were, in the midst of your crazyness and filth, the only dose of normality that erased my minds, that was capable of stoping that
perfide game inside my head, that made me feel normal. you were the only creature able to stop my minds saying neverending and slutty stories to my heart…
you constructed normality with the wrecked bricks of I…you could do that…you did!
that’s why you loved me, R. because of the voices; because each time I ran away and you found me here, in the same dirty and ill-lighted place, drunk and
naked, you realised what those damned and Luciferic voices inside your senses, could do to you; what those pieces of inspiration that you, as well as I,
eagerlly searched for, could create inside of your minds and soul and heart. and each time you reasoned in your head the need to go back to the dark
bedroom and throw away, again, that white demonic canvas that aet your nights and your livers…and each time you wept. I know that…each time you
destroyed your paintings you cried tied up in the corner of the room. but you never said nothing. you just watched me and learned…
I was your tragedy,R, I was your example…that’s why you loved me!
that’s why we loved each other…”

evan filthy souls find their filth, you just have to listen to the voices…

filth

Iunie 26, 2013

-sitting here, in the midst of filth,alone and depreciated,only to write and drink and smoke and pledge alliagence to the bad.only to raise your minds to the peaks of insanity,to eat your own minds from inside and depose them of their meaning,to rat your soul to the devil and to wait for him to come and take it…
Unsociable and sick,my love…and there is no question here as I know the answer.It slept with me for years in the bossom of my thoughts,it sat near me when I drunk my coffees or when I painted my visions on that dirty canvas that you hated.Yes,I know the answer,I know the answer and I hate it…so bony and so grotesque this answer is.So foreign of humanity and so far away from the love you showed me ayons ago when you felt and lived and loved and touched…
How much has passed? How much time has aeten inside of you since last time you loved and chereshid eyes and mouth and souls?
Too long I guess. Too long I know. Only two years have passed,only two summers have died since then but like a million of decades
have flone above your actions, seems…

He smiled.He laughed, he echoed. He came near her and gently touched her on the lips. Like a blind wizard he asked those wrinkles about feellings and things of past. He smiled again when answers he received…
-there is unsociability here,R, no sickness and not hatered…no! You just have to open your eyes, to let the feed upon ideas, to let your little wheels start and roll and produce…
Then you’ll see and then, from the filth you taste, new worlds shall emerge…
Then you’ll love more intense and more passionate than ever; then youl’ll wake and see the world in my colours…

Imi vezi privirea si mi-o ocolesti; imi simti respiratia pe pielea fina si alergi sacadat si cu ochii in lacrimi catre usa ce desparte Eu-l de noi. te’ndepartezi. prinzi sfoara invizibila ce te asteapta acolo si zambesti pertinent catre lacrimile ce ti se infasoara pe obraz si catre micul sconcs cu doua capete ce pazeste poarta catre maine. le vrei si nu le vrei in aceeasi miime de secunda faptica; in acelasi mix unic de ieri, maine si niciodata. lacrimile, vreau a spune. aprobi. te si vezi plecata din visul asta si pasind goala si dulce intr-un vis nou, umil si carbonic ca prima zi pe pamant a ursului cu blana diamantata; un vis peren ce niciodata nu se finalizeaza asa cum incepe; o contemplare umanista despre dragostea perfecta, erotism imbaiat in trandafiri si zambete la 50 de ani. uiti…
ma saruti pe nas cu buzele crapate si imi atingi fruntea tacand mieros si nespunand nimic. doar o afectiune sterila descompletata de atata suferinta si atatea reprosuri. iti amintesti momentele de Noi si inghiti in sec asteptand altele. Nu vor mai veni; cel putin nu cu mine. stii asta; de aceea si zambetul…
mizezi atingerea sugubata a degetelor mele lungi si o indepartezi cu o miscare negativa din cap. nu mai e timp, nu e momentul. a fost, s-a dus si s-a ingropat sub un milion de grame de nisip stelar; s-au tocit sub tirul feromonic al sociabilului din oameni, sub mijirea de ochi intrebatori si sub pleiadele seci de intrebari fara raspuns…sub noi.
iti lasi pentru ultima oara sfarcul sa se joace ingurgitabil cu limba mea ascutita doar pentru a pune stop atunci cand mici furnicaturi dubioase incepeau a marsa pe spatele tau subtire; cand fertilizatorul din tine te facu a inghiti in sec si o mica mireasma de dorinta dadu a inflori in acelasi binecunoscut loc intre picioare. refuzi; aceasta ultima urma de senzualitate de noi; aceasta picatura de ce-a fost ce nu ar fi facut altceva decat a cade in galeata goala a ceea ce’a ramas.
si e simplu…e banal. necesita doar o lunga contemplare tampita, doua bale in varful sufletului si un topor urias de Tolkin ce va reteza fara isprava sau resentimente firavul cordon ombilical ce inca te leaga de mine; singura urma de admiratie si pervers ce inca a ramas pe peronul maroniu al unei foste gare. simplist…
asa ca pleci, asa ca nu mai iubesti. apesi micul buton rosu ca sangele si te urci in primul taxiu ce iti zboara in cale. saruti taximetristul si ii aprinzi o tigara de dupa; murdaresti retrovizoarea si o smecleiesti cu puroi, nu te uiti in urma…chiard aca ai incerca, vei vedea numai durere.

asa ca sa nu iubesti din nou; sa nu decazi de pe piedestalul pe care te-am urcat si din varful urii in care te-ai cocotat ca un alpinist cu ani Himalayeni la activ. sa taci si sa zambesti asa cum tu poti; sa daruiesti asa cum nu ai daruit; sa zbieri.
fii fericita! lumea iti va darui vise, tu impatureste-le in maine…