Șarpele-pasăre Quetzalcoalt cel din povestea originii muzicii simbol al morții și al învierii simbol al planetei Venus. Povești în jurul soarelui în momentul apusului asfințitului crepusculului cu atâția L. Nostalgia unui nume sau a unei porecle pe care mi-am însușit-o inconștient din trei litere de care tocmai mi-am amintit. Trei litere din pântecul cărora mi-am scos capetele mâinile și visele acum când în același loc în care pe la zece ani mă jucam de-a educatoarea învățând-o pe mica andreea să citească acum când fratele ei atunci nenăscut mă pândește cu o țigaretă în mână îmi aduc aminte de unde vin. Diu. Diu e probabil primul băiat de care mi-a plăcut vreodată și nici măcar nu știu dacă a existat cu adevărat pentru că nu-mi aduc aminte să-l fi văzut. Dar porțile astea uriașe de lemn în spatele cărora se întind grădini imense. d i u așa i se spunea prin sat nu mai știu cum arăta sau de ce am furat identitatea cuiva care nu există. Sunt curgătoare ca o vale scad și cresc și uneori când sunt limpede poți să vezi pești posaci prin piele. Îmi plăcea să merg prin vale ca prin mine cu pantalonii suflecați până la genunchi în susul și în josul apei. O Hatshepsut reîncarnată care se teme de anonimitate mai degrabă decât de moarte.
dorul e dens ca o ceață de sfârșit de noiembrie cu ace mici ochi de melc și coarne de rinocer bestiar mitologic între patru coperte suflate cu aur particule invizibile iepurilor cu blana rece și albastră fără buline e dens asta e senzația care îți cuprinde stomacul într-un singur pumn acolo unde se oprește respirația și începe numărătoarea inversă decembrie noiembrie octombrie z y x până ajungi la ultima silabă din numele tuturor lucrurilor
When I came back to my old life, where the roots of my ancestors – as far as I know – have always grown, the first thing I noticed was the smell. The streets of Bucharest were covered in an ethereal but very familiar scent of fried onions, chicken soup, and mouldy walls, with a few notes I couldn’t exactly name, but part of the entire bouquet. The end of March had freezing weather with snowstorms, something unusual for that time of year. Still, the smell was following me on every street I walked on, like a very annoying clock alarm telling me to wake up. It was almost time to meet my parents, my childhood, after just a few therapy sessions where I discovered I had serious issues because of that time. Abandonment issues, my counsellor said, but they’re not that rare. You have an anxious attachment style, Mel, and it’s good that we discovered it now so you can read all about it and see how you can work with it. Well, ms counsellor, I doubt that I could ever work with it, as it’s been two years since I moved back and I feel like I’ve got nowhere near resolving the issues. If anything, it’s been worse since then. I moved city and thought that I wouldn’t feel that smell again, but it’s all over the place. It’s like smelling time, not onions, or chicken, or mould.
Am să ies în fața căminului în pantalonii de pijama și geaca de iarnă cu blană, fumând, după ce ți-am trimis mesaj că te vreau cu pofta cu care la prima brumă de iarnă calc pe iarba înghețată Și scârțâie.
Treptele căminului pe care urcă zeci, sute de mii de suflete Cu țigarete aprinse ca niște torțe
vor fi calea gândurilor murdare din care nu ies petele duse la terapie, ca un student crescut în occident, Neînfricat în fața psihologului.
(un tub de vopsea de păr oxidată, jumătate de molid pe malul begheiului cu vârfurile înghețate)
Revăd căsuța pentru cărți în care am crezut ca-n dumnezeu și în care-am băgat mâinile până la coate, gâdilând îngerii sub aripa dreaptă ca să cerșesc – îmi spun – să cerșesc e ceva ce știu să fac destul de bine, sau nu bine deloc;
cred că 34, dar cine-i mai numără. de câte ori am plâns după orgasm, ca și când aș ieși pe prispă și ar bate vântul cu frunze uscate în mine. lacul de unghii de culoarea vinului, dar cu sclipici în timp ce răsfoiesc o revistă și mă gândesc la cum intră și ies oamenii din viața unuia în viața altuia ping pongul care seamănă cu săritura cu coarda elastică în gol până când la un momentdat rămâne suspendată în aer și plutește.
când eram mică visam că plutesc deasupra caselor, fără vreo direcție anume, dar uneori credeam că fac roata, cum o făceam cu bicicleta pe străzile vecine
Cândva, am scris despre o chestie pe care n-o prea înțelegeam. Ei, m-am pus acum să fac exact opusul, să scriu despre lucrurile pe care le înțeleg.
M-am oprit o clipă din tastat, pentru că mi s-a părut că sunetul degetelor mele pe tastatură e chiar ok, mi s-a părut că simplul fapt de a tasta, de a compune din litere, cuvinte, e o chestie extraordinară, prin care-mi las dâra de melc pe pământul acesta. Ca un sunet fain pe care-l face motorul mașinii ăleia foarte faine, de care nu te mai poți despărți.
Nu demult, m-am gândit să caut câteva etimologii despre care aveam bănuiala că mi-ar putea da niște subiecte bune de scris, dar le-am uitat.
Acesta. Singurul cuvânt care-mi vine în minte e acesta. E frumos, el, așa, dar nu contenește din a-mi spune nu forța nota. Back off. Și deja e primul lucru pe azi, pe care-l înțeleg. Atunci când am scris, spre exemplu, despre omida de fier, nu cred că înțelegeam.
Până la urmă nu-i așa greu să tastezi. E chiar fain. Ar trebui să fac asta mai des.
si el trăgând de sub scaun un carton pe care scrie life
ești aici.
daca vrei să citești în continuare aprinde lumina de deasupra scaunului
life vest under your seat
ai supraviețuit.
(ca și când, a supra-viețui devine sinonim cu absurda-viețui, o meta realitate din care încerci anxios să te trezești, să fii prezentă cum zice Tolle, să respiri)
șirul de luminițe în intunericul verde
își deschise vesta și-mi spuse, nu recunoști pe nimeni, nu, nu?
(sunt încărcată emoțional până la refuz, oare dacă nu sunt cerc ce sunt)
zumzetele astea ace sparg timpane prin care ies rotocoale de fum scrise în limba vieții pe care, uite, n-o mai înțeleg; te iubesc vreau să nu fiu corpul ăsta fără viață sunt fericit te iubesc
până când oamenii și casele și străzile nu mi se vor mai părea închise între pereții intestinelor mele subțiri, o valvă prolapsând la temperaturi scăzute,
un iepure cu cochilie de melc înăuntrul căreia te port ca-ntr-o rulotă în jurul lumii
There’s a few hundred thoughts passing by in my head, just like old, outdated cars on a country road trying to avoid long forgotten holes in the pavement. They’re driven by no one, going towards nowhere. Slowing down when they get in front of me and right before disappearing, I notice some details from the interior ( – and I remembered the word “etamine”, I know it’s some kind of fabric but this isn’t what I had in mind; anyway, I’m letting the word come through, as it would be silly to not write it down, since it appeared so crisp just a moment ago). And some of these cars’ interiors are detailed paintings of eastern european rugs, crucified on walls above a bed where people made love, back in the day.
I wonder if this is normal; if I am acting normal or I am acting unnatural around you; but I mean, we constantly change. we adapt to our environment, to the people around us, we evolve, we develop, we transform. We change our cells. We change ourselves.
And I wonder if this is right, if what I’m living is my truth or the real me, because I feel like I have secrets. By changing the way I step forward or backwards when I’m in your presence, in your present time (or the lack of it, for that matter, when you’re in your head and I’m tip toeing) there are things I haven’t told you; so I don’t feel transparent.
I like being transparent. It is perhaps my only wish. To become transparent. There are things I want to ask you but I’m afraid of doing it. There are things I didn’t tell you but I know there are things you did not show me. And they still are part of us. These are the dark corners of our living room, where the iRobot can’t reach.
Nu știu ce m-a apucat ieri seară, că în timp ce lucram la 23 de lucruri odată, am deschis unul din blogurile mele vechi, cel mai vechi, defapt. Ăla, fubuki, pe ablog.ro. Varză! Varză! Varză! strigam în mine, ca și când aș cere ajutor. :))
Dar mai bine vă las o pagină de lectură de pe Heartbrunch, să înțelegeți despre ce vorbesc, fiindcă Iulia zice mai bine ca oricine.
Că iar mă plimb dintr-un blog în altul, asta nu mai e o noutate. Dar că am re-început, cu chiu, cu vai, să scriu în grai românesc, cel puțin pentru mine e. Mă urnesc din loc ca melcul, dar mă urnesc. Sper să vă placă #paparadeganduri pe care o pregătim la foc mic. Pe Heartbrunch.
“Se spune că e bine să ai un spațiu de refugiu, în caz de pericol. Un adăpost în caz de intemperii. Să ai unde să te aperi de vreme rea. De ce nu am avea, atunci, și un loc ferit de stres și energie negativă, un loc pe harta geografică a lumii și în același timp, un loc imaginar.” (….) Citește continuarea aici !
… is looking so good! I cannot wait to release the beast into the www and feel so proud of what Iulia & I have gathered together for a glorious end of the year.
… arata bestial! Abia astept sa-i dam drumul in lumea larga si sunt mandra de tot ce-am adunat impreuna cu Iulia pentru sfarsitul asta glorios de an.
See you Sunday, people!
Ne vedem duminica!
and don’t forget to fill in the blank on the link below
Nu uitati sa completati in casuta din linkul de mai jos:
While I was away from my beloved failed diaries, there was something cooking in the oven. Together with a talented friend & writer, we decided to take a next step in our journey here on earth. After 3 months of brainstorming, networking and writing, the WEBSITE IS HERE! 🍳https://www.heartbrunch.com
This is a space for exploring mental & spiritual health with a dash of goofiness and honest rant. Don’t hesitate to jump in the conversation and share what’s in your cookbook. And subscribe to our newsletter !
A big thank you to Ana Rusu and Andrei Tabacaru for investing time and talent in the looks of Heartbrunch!
there’s a big spider on the other side of my window. it might be a sign from the universe that if i look at myself in the mirror i can see something else. i can see someone else; a change that hasn’t been there; maybe it wasn’t supposed to be there or maybe it was; it’s windy and the spider is hanging onto its web, just stays there; it doesn’t move right or left, i don’t know what it’s going to do next; i can’t move.
so i’m just going to be a cat. cats don’t give a fuck. so why should I ? the body knows what to do, so why should I ?
a noise in the silence and the unbearable lightness of being i am here, with all the fears and thoughts and emotions and the wind blowing them all in my face
that’s a lot for a tiny person
a smell of roasted peppers and silence filled with noise like swishing leaves
except that they aren’t leaves; they’re people trying to knock down a door locked from the inside
trying to get in with a screwdriver and a hammer
—————
and how do you know you made the right choice? you don’t. and you did. because all the steps that got you here are every step you took so far
de ieri mi s-a deschis pieptul, acum e o cutie transparentă prin care
se vede inima, o bulă de aer
în jurul ei gravitează păpădii, e bine, a trecut prea mult de când nu am mai scris
dar acum văd înăuntrul cutiei transparente căprioare, cerbi, frunze
umed și verde închis, pădure
cum mai e un poem, ce mai e la modă? mi-e atât de ușor să respir acum că s-au aliniat
In the British Isles alone, 234 micro species of dandelion are recognized
to gravitate around the moon
since yesterday my chest has opened and it looks like a glass box
transparent and you can see my heart inside
an air bubble
around it dandelions lined up like planets: it’s good, I feel like I haven’t written in a long
long time but I can see inside the box now
deer and stags, leaves, humidity and deep green, a forest
I have forgotten how it’s like to write a poem but it’s easy to breathe now that they’re all lined up
How did I not know about this place, basically the most beautiful bookshop in London? Hidden away a ten minutes walk from King’s Cross, on Regent’s canal, this boat is full packed of books (and if you have good books, bring them in, they’re always collecting) and music. Even before getting close to the boat you can hear a sound wave of relaxing jazz and blues.
And then you step inside and find two cats, a hot stove, some cosy chairs and pillows to sit on and, of course, loads of books.
I know now where I’m going to make my open mic debut and even if they don’t do such events, I’ll make sure they will. This is the place. It’s called Word on the Water and it’s open every day 12 – 7pm.
This is really embarrassing*, but (as a passionate blogger) it’s not going to stop me from posting. Commitment. Just do it.
So proud of myself for this little recipe I came up with today, I think the Universe was like: “hold on, you really are going to take pictures and THEN eat, even though you’re starving??”
Well cheers, Universe, now I’ve lost my appetite.
I was going to, but then I slipped and fell. Hey, at least I was holding on two plates and none of them broke. But I don’t want to bore you with details, so I’m going to write down this easy-peasy recipe for a great wholesome lunch.
Fallen Pasta salad
You need:
cooked pasta, of course
lots of ripe avocados
lemons
salt & pepper & chilli flakes
white sesame seeds
nutritional yeast
cooked beetroot (if it’s a bit spicy, even better)
kalamata olives
olive oil
and if you fancy, feta cheese
It’s really simple, once you have the pasta and the beets. Just pretend you’re doing a guacamole: smash the avos with lots of lemon juice, salt, pepper, chilli flakes, nutritional yeast and sesame seeds. Then, add the olives, the beets, a bit of olive oil and you’re done: pour it over the pasta. Sprinkle extra seeds, fresh basil and feta. Ta- daaa!
bobby is smoking his cigarette outside the shop he’s got
tattoos from god knows what ancient time what is your dream?
I could live anywhere in a big city in a small farm in the countryside in the mountains at the seaside I really don’t care I could travel to your dream place bobby has his name tattooed on his neck
bobby has these insecurities like dodgy off-licence shops
in bethnal green which is la great area lovely atmosphere
you came to me whispering I heard you wrote some poems like a drug dealer would ask you want some dope? my hands were shaking I said sure anytime you want but then I realized what if you don’t what if I’m still waiting
your laugh was so genuine I haven’t heard anyone laugh like that in a very long time
bobby doesn’t have a car
he used to drive when he was younger now he’s taking the train
where is your soul? it is (in) my whole body, like a circle in a poem
or a song
“where you heading, little lamb?” my grandpa used to sing
you’re in this circle; what’s it made of? what do you see?
I can’t see anything but emptiness and silence and it’s not me, it’s me at 12 years old
and I can’t see my face but you can
I’m alone with the circle right in the middle of it; it’s drawn on a wooden floor, maybe walnut
and it gravitates like a planet around the sun, this floor floats in space like I used to float in my dreams above the houses
my face is my soul my whole body and in this circle there’s just a tiny figure that I imagine being me
When summer hits you in the face, hit it back with a cold, comforting gazpacho. I made mine in less than 5 minutes, randomly adding green stuff in the blender: half of a ripe, healthy avo, a quarter of a fresh cucumber, mint leaves, half of a green pepper, lots of lemon juice and a splash of olive oil, two tiny garlic cloves and a quarter of red onion, salt & pepper & chilli flakes, cashew milk+ water. The result was beyond my expectations. So I treated myself with a raw lunch in the garden.
My 5 year young niece made this for me the other day and I was a bit surprised. I’ve never told her how I feel, yet she knew my heart is divided, as it is my home. Home is London but it’s also Cluj. I am me but also my self. Realising now the empathy of a 5 year old is stronger than any therapist’s. They don’t even ask questions, they just feel you.
*it’s been an incredible journey through such inspiring stories. Can’t wait for the next one!!!
A 14 year old reindeer-breading Sámi girl exposed to racism in the ’30. A realistic (yet beautiful) view on the Romanian – British relationship as seen when falling in love. A lost watch. Teenage boys and their journey into adulthood and a movie I really wanted to see but missed. A local competition. A modern Oedipus complex and an interactive film. But first things first.
Although it might seem a bit predictable, Sami Blood awakens emotions that are, in fairness, long gone. At first, I wanted to call it “the Swedish Titanic”, the structure resembles a tiny bit – the old lady returning to a place filled with (her own) history, and memories unleash. But it’s surprisingly delicate, touches not only racism issues but feminism and an educational system completely different from how we know it now, in a Nordic country. Personally, it reminded me of everything I knew about being close to your siblings: love, trust, forgiveness.
And somehow, I don’t quite understand why this wasn’t part of the competition, but the next one – Heart stone – was. Not that it’s bad, but it’s not that good. Or is it?
Hjartasteinn (Heart stone, Denmark, Iceland 2016)
Yes, it actually is. I was speechless. We’re not (yet) an educated public, as much as we’d like to pride ourselves with. We’re not quite there yet. And the response the movie had was – including from my side, after the screening – that it was a bit too romantic. Truth is, we should give it a second chance. We might not see it now, but there is a magic twist and bits and bobs of authentic being.
God’s own country (UK, 2017)
“…until the arrival of a Romanian migrant worker for lambing season ignites an intense relationship that sets Johnny on a new path”. Well, I think it’s much more than that. After its premiere at the UK Edinburgh Film Festival in May, some people named it the British Brokeback Mountain, which I wont say it’s not, but as a Romanian myself, I saw things a bit differently aka the making of sheep cheese, Gheorghe’s resistance to insults and xenophobia when he’s being called a “dirty gypsy”. Funny thing, Francis Lee – the director and the Romanian casting director both agreed that it was way easier to find an actor for one of the main roles in Romania than it was in the UK.
Zeus (Mexico, 2016)
A curious story based on Oedipus complex and falconry. Curious, weird, awkward, strange, authentic and unapologetic. I can’t say it was my favourite, but it certainly has a special place on my list. Miguel Calderón uses photography, video and novel writing to create his stories and his work was featured in Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tenenbaums.
Slava (Glory, Bulgaria, Greece 2016)
This Bulgarian tale of corruption and bureaucracy couldn’t have had a better public! It might seem odd and out of time for a Westerner, but the sad truth is that we’re still living it. When Tsanko Petrov, a railroad worker, finds millions of leva on the train tracks, he decides to turn the entire amount over to the police. Unfortunately, his luck changes (not in a good way) and everything falls in a desperate search for the here and now, as Tsanko’s two new watches skip time. Looks a bit like a contemporary poem.
Late Shift (UK, 2016)
Late Shift is the world’s first cinematic interactive movie and I’m super happy I got to see/ make it happen. I have to be honest, I was a little sceptic when I saw everyone with their phones in hand, ready to change (almost) every step and a little worried that it would be gaming, not watching a feature film. Now that I saw the trailer, it doesn’t look a bit like the the Late Shift on the screen!
Fixeur (The Fixer, Romania, 2016)
Toronto 2016, Tokyo 2016, Les Arcs 2016, Stockholm 2016, Vilnius 2017, BAFICI 2017 and now TIFF. Would have been difficult to watch if not for the specific (black) humour of the Romanian creativity. Loved it. Would watch it again and again.
I’m going to start off with this magic quote from the latest film I’ve seen. Like, half an hour ago.
I have to say, I’ve always been a huge fan of Polish cinema (at some point a bit obsessed) but this one is beyond my expectations. I fell in love every minute giving into the story and graphics that would, eventually, absorb my pain. Surrender.
Ostatnia Rodzina (The last family) is a first (!!!) feature film directed by a young guy named Jan Matuszynski (b. 1984).
The film is actually based on reality; there was a real Zdzislaw Beksinski and he was a painter and photographer. But we don’t really know this until it’s too late. Until the whole story that was rolling under our eyes through funny yet unexpected events gets to a final point (it’s a 2h film) that
leaves me with no words to continue. Sorry. You’ll just have to see it for yourselves.
Transylvania International Film Festival (TIFF) 2017 is not surprising at all, not at all. I actually had high expectations and I’m always thrilled for the repertoire of the festival. Every. Single. Year. Without even knowing what it would look like, I have that feeling.
That feeling of living a surreal life through movies.
And on to the next one, so far, Polina (2016), a film that brings me back my all time girl crush, Juliette Binoche. God I love that woman. And I also love the theme of the movie – dance! This time, coming from Bolshoi and travelling all the way to France and Belgium, in search of the perfect way to express one’s body. And what could be more beautiful than watching improv and contemporary dance to ease your pain? If I close my eyes, I can imagine myself doing it.
Inferno (2014), on the other hand, is way closer to the reality of capitalism gone wrong. Both Slovenian director and writer work in theatre and the actors were, as well, theatre actors. What do you do in an impossible situation? How do you surrender, (mr. Eckhart Tolle) ? Awareness, consciousness or unconsciousness, extreme fear, despair, going from extreme suffering to (maybe) some kind of enlightenment? Unfortunately, this one story is everyone’s story. And I think our minds are not that open to accept and surrender to it. There were even people laughing during the movie. What twats! I wanted to say, but then I realised – this is the only way to respond, maybe. Or maybe not.
Well, at least Frantz (2016) was like a breath of fresh air. Playing with colour and black and white to mark emotions and being in the moment was definitely the part I loved the most. Being grounded, falling in love and failing in love and the plot twist absolutely unbelievable. My intuition failed me this time (and it never does). This time, “it’s not what you think” worked too good.
That being said, I already missed a movie because the previous one was way longer than I expected, but it’s alright. There are 7 days left and a lot to see.
When I first fell in love with the Pink Floyd it was through Wish you were here. Highly curious and instantly attracted by the playful notes, in the adolescent era of rage and rejection (my top 3 were Metallica, Marilyn Manson and a Romanian indie band called OCS) the little song reached my softer side (I also liked folk) and I knew I wanted more.
The second time I fell in love with Pink Floyd was when I bought The dark side of the moon. I was 18.
Year after year their music, whether made by one or all of them, grew on me. Funny thing, it was never in my head, on my mind but let itself listened to when I most needed it.
Third time I fell in love with the Pink Floyd I was 21 and a half and just discovered the Division Bell. I found myself in a situation that suited perfectly every song of the album and I was obsessively playing it.
Eventually over time I got to discover all the other albums and singles and films and tours but now it’s all about Learning to fly. Today, 13 years later.
It was about damn time.
*photos taken at the Pink Floyd exhibition: Their mortal remains, @ Victoria&Albert Museum, London
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