Two ideas, in the end
May 13th, 2012
Sometimes life takes you by surprise and gives you all the things you imagined you’d have, takes you to places where you’d always wanted to go, makes you do things that you always wanted to do, gives you huge opportunities to meet amazing people with which you will experiment things you never did before. You think you are lucky, you belong somewhere, you actually have something. But in the end it’s just an illusion. After all the alcohol got out of your system, after all the music stopped, after you wake up from the so called life changing experience, you realize that you are still the same, it’s just your mind which is fucked up. And it’s just something else than blood pumping through your veins.
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Trust
April 10th, 2012
Today I was thinking to talk about trust. About how hard it is to earn it and to give it back and then how easy it’s to lose it. And when you lose your trust in someone no matter what that someone can’t earn it back. It’s like two people standing next to each other, having nothing to say. Just standing there, thinking what are they doing, where are they going to ? Failure ?
When someone breaks your heart and then steps on it over and over again, until it remains nothing out of it, what can you do more ? You feel lost, confused and… lost again. You don’t get it why… it’s not a game about who wins or not. It’s not a race about who’s better and who’s not. It’s not a competition about who’s smarter and who’s not. And it should for sure not be a struggle for surviving. There should be no winner and there should be no looser. If it is like this, then what’s the point ?
And if someone has the urge to punish the other by making him believe he’s dead… what’s the point of going on ? What’s the importance of feelings in front of the actions in this case ? Just for the fun of the game ? Guess what ! I’m not a game !
Dormeau adânc sicriele de plumb,
Si flori de plumb si funerar vestmint –
Stam singur în cavou… si era vint…
Si scirtiiau coroanele de plumb.
Dormea întors amorul meu de plumb
Pe flori de plumb, si-am inceput să-l strig –
Stam singur lângă mort… si era frig…
Si-i atirnau aripile de plumb.
(G. Bacovia - Plumb)
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Like the one that lives inside me
March 25th, 2012
It’s that feeling of overcoming and you don’t know from where, from who, how or why. You just feel it way deep inside, like something is going to happen, like a volcano is on the point of blowing out. Makes you cry for no reason, makes you feel small and observe every single detail of every single detail. It’s like I just need to hold the pen tight into my hand and let it draw letters on the paper. It’s all there, not in my hand but in the hands that are holding my hand. Not in my brain but in the brain that lives inside my brain. That controls it. Like nonsense and coherence put together in a one hundred percent real novel. Or life ? Or in between ? Who knows… what’s there to know anyhow ?
Drinking a cup of Italian coffee, on the couch, with my legs under me, with the laptop in my lap. Writing. Deleting. Writing again. Deleting again. For who do I write ? And for what ? I’ve started reading my favorite book for the 7th time. Helps me concentrate on other stories and forget about the one that wants me to write it. The one that lays at the ball point of every pen I hold into my hands. Feeling hopeless even if I have everything to hope for.
1st of April is coming soon… there are dates I wish to skip over… what will I tell her when I’ll go to see her ? You think that this things go away but they never do. And even if you don’t think all the time anymore, when you do it breaks your heart and it hurts twice as before. Even if she lives inside my heart… because everything is about her. And if I do lose the fight with the hands that hold my hands I will die. I can’t go that deep, I can’t loose my mind inside that piece of paper again.
I’ve been there, I know how it is. I know how time flies away, how you see images and not letters, how you feel surrounded by you own imagination when in fact you’re more alone that the loneliest. But every person is crazy, right ? Or, at least, every person that lives (not every person that is alive !). I can’t measure every step I make. I can’t think three times before I talk. I can’t act every time as I should. And I mustn’t be obliged to pay for that. I’ve payed enough and I can still see the scars. Scars that will never go away. I’ve been at the edge of life and death, I’ve felt the blood flowing out of my body, taking my life with it. The last breath, the dizziness, the confusion and the warmness of knowing that that’s the end. I’ve felt the shock of foreign substances taking over, making everything white, the fogginess, the eyelids falling heavy letting the shivering taking control over my body. And not to forget about the water invading my lungs, stealing the last breath of air, suffocating me in a sweet fight with the panic that should have had make me raise my head over the water’s level. I died every single time. I’ve felt it and I still can feel it when I think about it. I died many times inside my mind, inside my soul and inside my heart. Every time it felt real, so real… not like a dream, because dreaming is a different life. These are things lived by the brain that lives inside my brain. As simple as that.
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Boxes
July 6th, 2011
I love that place. It’s in the middle of the city, an old, fancy building, with big windows and a theater downstairs. I like to get there early and watch the people passing by, from above. I like to watch the building in front, see every balcony, discover different life styles. I’ve noticed the man living on the second floor, making his bed in his underwear. I’ve noticed the old lady at the third floor who comes to the window every day at the same hour. I’ve noticed the old blankets in the house near hear and the old things belonging to an elderly couple, I guess. I’ve noticed the abandoned apartment from the corner, with dead plants in the pots and dusty blinds at the windows.
It’s quiet and I feel away from everything…
And also the people who pass by on the tiny street. I see them too. And I see how the seller from the clothes store comes out, to smoke her cigarette. And how the clerk from the cheese store sits on the car in front of the shop. I see how people fight, how they smile, how they talk on their phones, how they eat kebabs or how they ride their bikes. And I imagine a story for every single one of them.
Today I just closed my eyes and listed to the city, from that window. And actually its rumors were not that bad.
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Moonlight
April 18th, 2011
I was thinking that no matter how big your dreams are and no matter how far you’d go for them it means nothing if you do it by yourself. It’s same as the promises that you hope for until the last minute, and even after they are broken. It’s similar with the feeling of not being special anymore, like you aren’t able to touch the skies anymore. Yeah, it’s great to be on top of the world but it also feels like nothing if you aren’t able to drag that someone else with you.
And there are millions of questions, millions of ideas, of sleepless nights with moist eyes and shaky hands. Like waking up at five am after a nightmare and staring at the ceiling, with the gentle moonlight covering your face. Like you’d wanna touch it, feeling that blue light, covering your sweaty body like a perfect suit. At that time of the dawns, when the day fights the night again, you feel how everything is possible, even the fact that the winner is the dark. And you close your eyes comforted by the idea that everything is true. And all of a sudden, you are back dreaming on top of the world, keeping his hand tight and never letting it fall or get lost again.
But when the day comes and the sun is up on the sky, you realize that you’re just an ant, unable to rise itself from the dirty ground. And all you’re left with are tears and broken promises. And long waiting lines, thinking when your turn will come and when you’ll be able to really hold that hand in your hand. And after getting your five minutes of glory, go back at the end of the line, waiting again to feel special…. even for 5 minutes.
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