Approve ce vreau, căci ce-mi convine. La urma urmei, îmi convine, evident, ce mi-i favorabil. Doar nu ce nu mi-e ne. Favorabil. Adică nefavorabil. Adică despre ce vorbim noi aici? Cine, noi?! Care noi?

Parazitând, contra lui “cine nu-i cu noi e împotriva noastră”. Să fie. Primit.

Nu ştiu pe ce – dar pe ceva acolo, de tip Divertis – se baza o părere mai veche şi mai plăcută despre Ioan T. Morar. Deh. O ţeapă similară mi-am luat cu Academia, aşa ca n-aş putea spune că dezamăgirea-i mare sau surpriza cruntă.

Ia citiţi ce zice presa rusă despre Geoană, zice domnul Morar pe blogul domniei sale (presa rusă exprimându-se către nefavorabil despre Mircea Geoană). Tocmai ce îmi tropăisem regulamentar goagăl reader-ul şi am simţit cumva firesc nevoia să mă destrăbălez, pornografic, cu un articol imperialist care mă trăsese de mânecă pe BBC.

Când greşesc, greşesc şi, deşi îmi vine greu, recunosc că se mai întâmplă: acum am făcut-o. Înţeleg suspect de bine de ce nu a trecut jegul ăla de BBC de moderarea dlui Morar şi-mi cer scuze, n-o să se mai întîmple: nici să calc prin zonă, nici să încerc să las urme în spaţii d-astea. La urma urmei, ca să discuţi, tre’ să ai cu cine, or aici se vede că nu e cazul.

Am scris aici, nici eu nu ştiu de ce, dând prea multă importanţă: poate pentru că nici comentariul Cristinei (la fel de deviant) nu apare, poate pentru că m-am săturat, poate pentru că ar trebui să o fac mai des.

LXVIII Dead Birds are Merely Children in Offices

Death makes angels of us all

When stumbling
in mornings, across howling suns,
I touch her inner thigh, ideal feast
for the velvet labourers:
peachy, give the autumn
the muscle of your green skirt.

Sisters are Orthodox birds, lost and retrieved
under the blind beast,
blanked out nights.
Then,

I can still hear you
recite the credits to my lines
as I wish tongues could reach
as much
when they are stretched
equally to pretentious soldiers,
red as my red shirt.
So,

I would allow the feather
of an unpromising mourning,
raw and petrified, and wonder more:
yet

if I cannot forget
how to die
peacefully and young,
then I’m afraid I don’t wonder at all,
not at why they died,
nor at what they died for.
On

bleeding chairs, we used to believe
in kindness and sham;
it may be the time for
the greater south of your beam,
and
I think it’s enough;

I have no desert
to call and abandon,
but – hey listen! –
I can show you
from where
to where
to send the fax.

(Might be like your
first time
within some hunger for
life.)

13/11/2009

Fresh, true and bold instant messaging.

The One: we hereby confirm that i am working for a personal project for next month… which aims to find out… who i want to fuck
The Counsellor: we can only agree with its implementation and we wish you the best of luck!
The One: thank you
The Counsellor: also please keep us informed about its developments
The Nosy: :))
The Nosy: i would also like to be on this project’s mailing list
The Nosy: is there a way i could subscribe?
The One: yes of course
The Nosy: does this thing come with a fancy membership card?
The Nosy: can i blog it?
The One: yes
The Nosy: thanks
The One: don’t forget to include my e-mail address

Did I forget anything?! Hmm…

Drum

Street skin

Iartă-mi pielea
întinsă
pe stradă
la milogit de ploaie;
nu ştie să doarmă
noaptea;
şi
noaptea
doare ca

o
sută de
şireturi ascuţite,
în care te legi
încet,
închis,
fiecare noapte,
stins,
ca

o
dimineaţă
devreme.

06/11/2009

LXXVII Jesus Runs on Rechargeable Batteries

II sometimes occlude light

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Herbal girls are
twisted petals,
imbued chants,
so
nothing II should say
from September to
December could be related
to falls;

while a street walked
as a he here,
there the sky lit up
and spread its legs
last night;
(on news,
I saw people going
wild,
running,
and stealing
and stuff);

if I were there too,
II would have thought it was
just
the time
to wake up
although it’s never
time
to wake up;

I had twelve
good days in a row,
now
the old record was
three in 1997,

when I took pictures of gothic buildings
all alone
for a whole week, on day four
I came to being fine,
until I talked me into
new and
bitter views.

(He bought us a camel and
said
we should not forget sleep;
then it’s never
time to wake
up.)

II am we:
two perpetually joint average tragicomic
heroines;
II cannot be fragmented into so
many parts so
as to be a
herbal|
human|kind.

06/11/2009

Fumes

 

Structures

Please come in, circle, and get yourself globular in a series of dime shaped morning ideas: there’s no mist in the dissolute resonance of the lookalikes. So clip your nails and please come in – it looks like summer, yet it’s not.

 

El

Light

M-a rugat de dimineaţă
să deschid măcar
un ochi aseptic.
Am plâns,
desigur,
degeaba.

20/10/09

Berlin – two days ago

Of a funny fashion, I feel as if my luggage were again lost somewhere in Paris, within a non-stop flight from Berlin to Bucharest that has not happened yet: tomorrow.

It’s way past midnight, and my back is perversely supported by a couple of pillows in this no-wi-fi hotel room in Berlin.

It’s the stunned night of an appalling evening. To say the least, I was shocked. But heh, life goes on, lessons learnt (if that is ever possible), even if it has stopped for a few fleeting days. Just like my text message – which may have or may have not reached my summer city – probably said a couple of days ago, no man’s land (smile) feels fine at times. And still, as too often lately, my texture is lost, desiccated: a wasteland of dehydrated thoughts.

Things have a way of appearing as incapable to return to a normal ok now. I may be tired (yet, is this months old exhaustion?), I may be still sad, I may be still dreaming – I may still have a twinge in my stomach when going past some Holocaust monument. It could be even that any failure – and mostly any inner failure – reminds me of the last time I failed so thoroughly, that I don’t in fact need any reminders at all, since almost everything is, at the end of the day, a token.

It’s way past midnight, yes, but it could, just as easy, be 7pm. Or the Bangladeshi time zone, the one where we wake up together, late, forgetful, happy.

18/10/2009

Streets

Broadway with people

On Thursday, when crossing the street in the City Centre, all of a sudden I remembered the New York pace. At that time, I thought it was fairly amusing how he always hurried and – inevitably – was late every time.

To me, this is the Bucharest pace.

Through New York – I strolled.

***

It’s gotten cold, so brusquely. Yesterday, when I stayed home with Alexandra who had a fever, it was still sunny and warm. Today, I woke up with a rain and wind sensation. It feels like the outside is slowly freezing, slowly dying.

***

It’s not about people, just the street.

Spent some violence ago

I need a bit of October, a tad of nothingness to make time go faster, less of a breath by breath.