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în Biserica Albă am oprit să mâncăm
(mădularul lui Hercule și
cartofi plutitori în ulei ca iisus pe apă)

ieșind din sat, pe marginea drumului, un copil cu mască
ne-a făcut cu mâna
am zis „copilul a fost real sau doar ni l-am imaginat?”

mi s-a părut că sunt pe o monedă străină pe care am găsit-o într-o haină second
de import
în sacii ăia imenși în care scormoneam după comori
23 de dinari fac cât un leu
dar leul nu mă mai duce cu gândul la 99, 2000
pe terasa cofetăriei, în spatele blocului, pe stadion
pe malul someșului cu o pătură și

dacă Ada Kaleh ar mai fi existat, noi am fi fost acolo
cu celălalt trup și suflet rulând țigări din tutun aromat
cine știe pe ce limbă ne-am fi sărutat și cum ne-am fi negociat viețile
cât de triști am fi fost și câte lucruri am fi adunat
cum am fi mirosit a iasomie, a fructe coapte, a zahăr
și petale de trandafiri

dacă până și Hercule ar fi încercat să cucerească insula de pe Dunăre

Ada-Kaleh

 

Suntem varză?

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.

Aici:         Suntem varză și e în regulă

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Heartbrunch

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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!

31 and reading (#bookdate)

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oh how I love a good bookshop! you know you’re in the right place (and the right moment) when you accidentally stumble upon one of the two novels that J.K Toole has written in a past lifetime.

John Kennedy Toole was 31 when he died.

I feel like there’s no better time to re-read A Confederacy of Dunces – that reached publication in the 80’s, eleven years after his death – and dive into The neon Bible, something that he’s written at age 16 for a literary contest.

I’ve only read The Confederacy in French, and at that time (like 7 years ago) it was part of a course on l’idiotie. I almost remember, having to read Dostoievski in French was not fun at all. But I was overwhelmed with joy to meet J.K. Toole’s genius and it changed me for-eveeer. I wish he’d written loads more.

“I mingle with my peers or no one, and since I have no peers, I mingle with no one.”
John Kennedy Toole, A Confederacy of Dunces

 

*chapter 6, where I remember

Why am I here – that’s a good question, well because
I remember that morning like it was yesterday you slept for two hours maybe then I came into your room I was looking for that hug again longing for it craving it knowing its all wrong but knowing its the only thing I need maybe you touched my left arm then you left for work and I knew I had to leave too
I remember that morning like it was yesterday because of the rain and the silence of its drops on the rooftops and the park was all green and fresh mixing up our breaths in the air going back to our homes with a strange question mark above our heads
will I ever see that room again

two weeks later I was back I remember that day asking myself wtf is love after all it’s like going back to school; the hibbie jibbies feeling; the under the covers when it’s dark and raining outside and there are homeless people out there for fuck’s sake and it’s like colouring a book outside the lines and from time to time thinking of how lucky you are but still the only thing that makes me feel like que ça colle it’s writing

ça colle

i remember that morning like it was yesterday you slept for two hours maybe then i came into your room I was looking for that hug again longing for it craving for it knowing its all wrong but knowing its the only thing i need 

maybe you touched my left arm then you left for work and i knew i had to leave too

i remember that morning like it was yesterday 

the park was all green and fresh mixing up our alcohol breaths in the air going back to our homes with a strange question mark above our heads 

will i ever see that room again

   two weeks later i was back i remember that day

“you need to find a career didi that’s what you need” I can’t I belong to so many places so many things and so many times in history 

I belong to Bach’s rhythms forms and textures 

I belong to the hippie jeans of the 70s I belong to Warsaw after the war

I grieve 

for being small particles of dust spread all over the universe and the only thing that makes me feel like que ça colle it’s writing