Control Locus /

nu știu să fac nimic. nu știu ce înseamnă cuvintele. nu știu să vorbesc despre politică sau control locus.

odată, am auzit la știri că s-au vândut cinci sute de bilete de tren, într-un singur vagon. călătorii au stat în picioare de la iași la bucurești, în timp ce una din cinci școli sătești, nu are o baie în clădire. Noaptea, când eram mică și mai petreceam zile de vacanță la bunici, la sat, trebuia să merg la veceu afară, în curte. pe întuneric, pentru că nu mă vedea nimeni, mă opream la jumătatea drumului și mă pișam pe primul petec de iarbă pe care puneam piciorul.

Locus of control is one of the four dimensions of core self-evaluations along with neuroticism, self-efficacy and self-esteem

neuroticism: my vagina doesn’t heal people, they all die inside of me
self-esteem: I don’t have a lot of memories.
I don’t remember hiking through villages in search of special rocks, encountering dangers (- – snakes). I do remember some dreams and travels, but I don’t know if they were real or I invented them.

Inventatorilor de vise. Adunătorilor de amintiri – – boabele alea de cafea pe care nu le mai poți scoate de după frigider, și care stau cu anii, ascunse, construindu-și cercuri concentrice (din afară înspre înauntru: oraș cu 11 mii de locuitori, bloc cu 4 etaje, încăperi fără lumină și închise cu cheia, o cameră care dă în alta – sau doar mi-am imaginat – un pat sau două sau trei, o lingură de vin de casă și eu, privind tavanul, la 2 ani e prea devreme să fii certată cu dumnezeu, te cerți pe la 16, când cineva ți-a furat fusta gen camuflaj din uscătorul de la etajul 1)

so why should I

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 ? the body knows what to do, so why should ?

The dandelions

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

the dandelions

(varianta RO aici)

glimpses of being whole

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

a joke

I’m not perfect.

No one is, as a matter of fact. Sometimes, I find it hard to come back to myself and sometimes – I have no recollection of what happened yesterday. Like today, for example.

I woke up from another life, having no idea whatsoever about where I’ve been or what have I been doing yesterday. I was probably trying to escape Timberlake’s river but whatever I did, it was still there; so I let it all out. I let it out on the tube, and afterwards stepping outside into an early evening, in the quietness of the City. I let it out on the street and then alongside Thames, listening to buskers, I let it out as the sun set on Southbank. I let it out on the way back home and brought it back into the room. I took it in bed with me and let it out while falling asleep.

I feel now as if it never happened.

I feel like it was all a joke. It was a joke, right? That didn’t happen and it will never happen.

But then I checked my camera and apparently, in my unconscious state of justin timberlake I took a lot of pictures.


I’ve always been scared of crowded places, but when he told me that we have separate lives now, my world crashed.

You know when you’re standing in the middle of the street and have absolutely no clue whether to turn left or right. You know you can’t go back, but you also know you can’t go further. So you freeze.

Nothing really goes through your mind, except everything.

random train thoughts

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all skies look east except this one above looking right back at me
at me cleaning my footsteps and my thoughts from this universe
out of this dark tunnel on a train to brighton hoping that the sea has some answers
there’s grass and naked trees until the sea and yellow brownish landscapes
and it is getting greyer and greyer

shit by the time I get there it’s already time to go back