Privea fix spre obiectul fixat in perete. Simplu. Dintr-o data totul devenise prea simplu.
- Uite, iti vine sa crezi cat mi-a luat sa-mi dau seama cum s-opresc pendula ceasului? E..mult.
- Nu-i nimic. Acum stii cum s-opresti timpul in pendula ceasului.
- Simplu.
miercuri, 29 aprilie 2009
luni, 27 aprilie 2009
Une quelque chose
Bratara de la tine s-a plimbat mult, chiar si ca simpla bratara. A mers dupa incheietura mainii mele, mi-a urmarit parfumul. A facut cunostinta cu mine, a fost analizata, ingrijita, nu a fost uitata. A vazut Macedonia, tara ciudata, s-a gandit sa treaca prin Bucuresti apoi. A fost obiect de repros in drumul spre casa. A ajuns inapoi la tine, dar nu s-a mai simtit ca acasa. Incheietura mainii ii devenise loc de refugiu. In fiecare zi trece prin centrul orasului, se plimba odata cu mine. Cateodata sta linistita intr-o cutie de lemn. A fost data cu parfum din greseala. Are un miros dimmed de chanson d'or, e recunoscuta printre bratarile cele mai purtate,astazi le pare putin mai uzata,mai aproape de mine.
- De ce porti aceiasi bratara tot timpul?
- Pentru ca vine dupa mine. Like his silent reproach.
- De ce porti aceiasi bratara tot timpul?
- Pentru ca vine dupa mine. Like his silent reproach.
marți, 21 aprilie 2009
Two bits
"I once asked my grandfather if dust is what makes people sneeze and he said 'Yes, but it's also what makes us see the sunset'. I don't think a day went by that my grandfather didn't say something I knew I'd always remember..."
Pacino e la fel de genial chiar si cand joaca pentru a-i face o favoare regizorului. Rezulta : TWO BITS deserves attention...:D
Pacino e la fel de genial chiar si cand joaca pentru a-i face o favoare regizorului. Rezulta : TWO BITS deserves attention...:D
chef de proza 2
'Is it our turn yet?', he asked.
She did not answer but they knew best stories were told last, as well as they knew that the best story would not be shared at all. They stopped for a moment trying to predict what was there to be told. For a point of objection, however eloquent, they paused, offering themselves something to give any sensitive person, and particularly close to their feelings, a simple pause.
'Imagine the perfect child. With blond curls and green eyes, with hands not larger than a tea cup, with teeth that were just grown and with sparkling eyes that could only enjoy walks and leaves and flowers, the mother's hair, or rain. Though not aware of how many dangers a world without questions might hide, though never being left unprotected by dust of time or wind, she could be aware of change. She simply wondered through flowerbeds, starting her glance through the grandparent's lavender garden. The reward was close. The main goal was to reach the roses and happily return with a flower for grandma. Then, being satisfied with grandma's smile she would ask for every day's reward: the embrace that usually offers protection, care and the mind with all the most incredible stories with most unusual characters. For that, grandpa existed.'
to be continued...
She did not answer but they knew best stories were told last, as well as they knew that the best story would not be shared at all. They stopped for a moment trying to predict what was there to be told. For a point of objection, however eloquent, they paused, offering themselves something to give any sensitive person, and particularly close to their feelings, a simple pause.
'Imagine the perfect child. With blond curls and green eyes, with hands not larger than a tea cup, with teeth that were just grown and with sparkling eyes that could only enjoy walks and leaves and flowers, the mother's hair, or rain. Though not aware of how many dangers a world without questions might hide, though never being left unprotected by dust of time or wind, she could be aware of change. She simply wondered through flowerbeds, starting her glance through the grandparent's lavender garden. The reward was close. The main goal was to reach the roses and happily return with a flower for grandma. Then, being satisfied with grandma's smile she would ask for every day's reward: the embrace that usually offers protection, care and the mind with all the most incredible stories with most unusual characters. For that, grandpa existed.'
to be continued...
chef de proza
'We could begin that story.'
'But this is not the proper audience', she nodded.
He simply smiled, sensing the irony. 'Pride, my dear, is a very common failing I believe. By all that we have ever heard and read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed, that human nature is particularly prone to it. It is true that vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. You agreed that a person may be proud without being vain. And why is that? Because we could present that story anyway. And why again? Because your pride relates more to your opinion about yourself, while vanity – vanity, my dear, is what you believe others will think of us.'
Eliza felt anxious when receiving the remark. Even though ironic, it was his words that always got to her, concluding by a session of endless arguments in her favor. He, on the other hand knew. He knew she will eventually understand and more than that, he knew that she will probably forget. There was the doubt that ever made him be reticent. After a moment of pause, they decided not to join the group laying besides the fire. The evening's purpose was for them to share thoughts, laughs, friendship. This changed of course after a couple of beers. Looking at them, they would see how everything about the two was the symbiosis of contradictions. They simply sat down as if nothing in the world would make more sense. Together, they looked like reason and dream, like spring and autumn, like black and white. Together they turned gray.
The facts at hand presumably speak for themselves, just a bit more open, to be suspected, than facts usually do. As a counterbalance, then, they began with the ever fresh and exciting odium: their own personal discussion. The one he had in mind was not only wordy and earnest beyond his wildest dreams but was, to boot, rather excruciatingly personal. Hers, with the right kind of setting, just grew before her eyes, being comparable in effect to a compulsory guided tour through her imagination - with herself, as guide.
to be continued...
'But this is not the proper audience', she nodded.
He simply smiled, sensing the irony. 'Pride, my dear, is a very common failing I believe. By all that we have ever heard and read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed, that human nature is particularly prone to it. It is true that vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. You agreed that a person may be proud without being vain. And why is that? Because we could present that story anyway. And why again? Because your pride relates more to your opinion about yourself, while vanity – vanity, my dear, is what you believe others will think of us.'
Eliza felt anxious when receiving the remark. Even though ironic, it was his words that always got to her, concluding by a session of endless arguments in her favor. He, on the other hand knew. He knew she will eventually understand and more than that, he knew that she will probably forget. There was the doubt that ever made him be reticent. After a moment of pause, they decided not to join the group laying besides the fire. The evening's purpose was for them to share thoughts, laughs, friendship. This changed of course after a couple of beers. Looking at them, they would see how everything about the two was the symbiosis of contradictions. They simply sat down as if nothing in the world would make more sense. Together, they looked like reason and dream, like spring and autumn, like black and white. Together they turned gray.
The facts at hand presumably speak for themselves, just a bit more open, to be suspected, than facts usually do. As a counterbalance, then, they began with the ever fresh and exciting odium: their own personal discussion. The one he had in mind was not only wordy and earnest beyond his wildest dreams but was, to boot, rather excruciatingly personal. Hers, with the right kind of setting, just grew before her eyes, being comparable in effect to a compulsory guided tour through her imagination - with herself, as guide.
to be continued...
luni, 6 aprilie 2009
Un fel de if only
Marea loveste digul pe care in seara aceea n-am avut curajul sa mergem pana la capat. Piatra uda aluneca si, la un pas de noi, era rupta. Daca eram neatenti ne puteam prabusi in apa ce fierbea dedesubt. Dar am fost atenti. Ca intotdeauna. Atat de atenti incat intr-o zi vom renunta sa mai patrundem pe dig. Ne vom multumi sa ne aducem aminte de el, apoi ne vom aduce aminde mai rar si apoi il vom uita in cele din urma, vom uita ca-ntr-o seara eram poate hotarati sa mergem la capat. Acum chiar daca as merge pe dig, nu mai pot s-o fac decat singura. Pot aluneca sau pot inainta curajos. E totuna. Si-as vrea sa uit in ce zi ma aflu, in ce an si unde, sa ascult marea lovindu-se intruna de dig, sa ma intreb cine sint, ce varsta am si ce caut aici.
De ce m-am oprit in fata acestui dig ca si cum l-as cunoaste?
De ce m-am oprit in fata acestui dig ca si cum l-as cunoaste?
joi, 2 aprilie 2009
Mersul pe bicicleta
Imi imaginez ca viata trebuie sa fie ca mersul pe bicicleta. Eu habar nu am cum sa merg pe bicicleta dar asa trebuie sa fie si viata, inconstienta de roti, ghidon sau reguli de circulatie. Mi-ar place sa stiu ca alea doua cercuri au destula forta ca sa ma care peste tot si practic oriunde. Nu cred ca bicicleta stie unde-i nordul sau sudul si practic nu asta conteaza. E nevoie de asfalt pentru un drum lin dar rotile plang dupa drumuri pavate cu piatra sau campuri arse de soare. Prea multe ploi n'or sa fie pentru ca nimanui nu-i trebuie rugina, daca e rugina incercam eventual o spalare cu spuma de mare. Stiu ca sunt momente in care rotile refuza sa se opreasca, se invart mereu intr-un 'perpetuum mobilae'. Acum ma intreb...de ce n-ar face asta?
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