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sâmbătă, 31 decembrie 2011

For You

I listen to your words when you’re asleep.
You speak to me from within.
You resemble my universe.
An
Incredible
Panorama.
Peace.
I love you when you’re gone.
You’re pacing slowly through the bright hallway of my dreams
Dreams that used to be,
Dreams that are,
Dreams that will be.
The world needs to hear that you dream of me.
I need to...
Maybe you’re dreaming of Heaven.
I don’t want to know.
I have to stop listening to you.
I’m never going to speak to you again,
Not when you’re awake.
When you’re breathing, your chest almost touches my hand,
Like the ocean almost touches my feet sometimes,
When I have infinity in my eyes.
Your sealed lips whisper in my tiny ear.
You talk of angels.
You talk of fireworks
And music.
You talk of the softness of my skin.
I like that.
I smile.
My hand almost touches your face.
Your air is now me.
I would like it to stay this way.
Forever.
You smile.
Forever is now, you say.
Forever is us, I reply.
Forever is never again.
Take this second, my love,
Take it and hold it tight.
Now pull it in your dream.
I’ll do the same.
We’ll make a world.
Enclosed.
We’ll live forever.
Asleep.

vineri, 30 decembrie 2011

Face Lines and other Intimations of Morality*

It was late afternoon. Some people might call this time of day early evening. It’s always related to the activities one initiates. She thought about waking her sister up when she heard the bedroom door opening and she saw her sister coming out.
Tina and Andrea were twins. Identical twins. They resembled so well that most of the time people couldn’t tell which one was Tina and which one was Andrea. And they always played with people’ minds. That’s what identical twins do; it’s their way of making fun of the world, just like the world made fun of them, creating them identical. Almost.
‘Coffee?’ asked Andrea, happy that Tina finally decided to wake up.
‘Yes, please.’ answered Tina, her voice hoarse.
‘Party hard last night, eh?’
‘So hard I couldn’t tell you what had happened even if I wanted to.’
‘What do you mean? What happened?’
Tine burst into laughter. She shrugged as she moved her head side to side. ‘No idea, I’m telling you. I guess someone slipped something into my wine glass.’
‘What? Like a drug?’ asked Andrea, her eyes wide open.
‘I guess. I can’t really remember anything that happened after I got there. I don’t know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I have good news for you.’
Andrea stood silent, waiting for Tine to take a sip of the freshly made coffee.
‘You’re back together with James.’ said Tina casually.
‘I don’t think I am. We haven’t been talking since yesterday morning. He’s the biggest arse and I don’t want to see him again. Ever.’
‘Too bad, Andrea, because you were with him last night; no, I was with him, but he doesn’t know that.’
‘What?’
‘And you had sex. I guess. My knickers were not on me this morning and I think I left with James. Not sure, but I think so.’
‘What?’ said Andrea again, almost without actually saying the word.
‘Don’t give me that look, I did it for you. I knew how much you wanted him back and I thought that it would be a pity for an opportunity like the one I had last night to just vanish in the darkness. So, there, you’re back together.’
‘And he believed you were me?’
‘Yup. Hand me a cigarette, would you?’ said Tina, her eyes searching for the cigarette-case. ‘He promised me he will call you today. You know what, thank God he came, I was French-kissing this really boring bloke from south.’
‘And he thought you were me, you say?’
‘Totally, he didn’t have a doubt. I mean he took me from the sofa and started asking me questions with that demanding tone of his. I can’t really stand him, you know. Look what a sister does for her twin, isn’t this nice?’
Andrea didn’t say anything. She stood tall on the stool, her gaze down in her mug.
‘Isn’t it?’ asked Tina, louder.
‘No, not really.’
Tina came round the table and faced her sister. ‘I did it for you, dummy, why the long face?’ Andrea lifted her gaze and the girls looked at each-other; identical hair-cut, identical pyjamas, identical red fringe covering identical pairs of green eyes. Andrea’s eyes widened as she checked her sister face, observing her nostrils movement, her eyeliners, her half-opened mouth.
‘What is it?’ asked Tina, exasperation in her tone.
‘Wait!’
‘What now?’ asked Tina again, trying to shift away from Andrea’s intimidating look.
‘What are you not telling me, Tina? What are you hiding? It’s all over your face. I can tell you’re hiding something.’
‘I just told you I can’t really remember anything, so if I’m hiding something, I’m hiding it from both of us.’
‘I see...’ answered Andrea irritated. ‘He knows it was you.’
‘Who?’
‘James, you stupid slut. James knows it was you.’
Tina stood there, erect, taking in the first insult she had ever heard from her sister. Slut. They weren’t even really two different persons, they were so similar, and feeling each-other’s moods and all that twin stuff; she had called her slut? Her voice turned into a whisper. ‘But how could he know?’
‘I taught him, alright?’
‘But...’
‘I know. I just couldn’t bear the thought that he was never sure who I was.’
‘But it was our pact...’
‘Oh, shut up, sleeping around with James just because you knew that would forever ruin what we had.’
Tina put the mug on the table with a strong hand. Coffee spilled around. She opened her mouth to say something but Andrea was faster. ‘I don’t want to hear it. You and your lame excuses. It’s all lies. And let me tell you why. Because I can see on your face that something had changed.’
‘Oh, really? What had changed, Andrea? Am I not the easy one anymore? I am not the evil twin? Am I not a party animal? What had changed? Am I not exactly how you always say I am; a bit too superficial, a bit too outgoing and easy? Aren’t these your words, sister? I’ve just done what you always tell me it’s in my nature, aren’t you happy you were right, and I’m the bad twin?’
Andrea stormed out without a word, leaving Tina and her late hangover behind. Tina wanted to shout after her, to remind her that she was in her pyjamas, but it was too late.
***
The phone was ringing for a while now.
‘Are you going to get that?’ asked Tina.
Andrea slowly lifted her head from the tedious work she was doing at her desk. ‘No, please, you take it, it must be for you.’
‘Maybe it’s James.’
‘Exactly, Tina; maybe it’s James, and that would make the phone-call for you. So stop bothering me, I’m working.’
‘Fine.’ by the time Tina reached the phone, the ringing had stopped. ‘Great...’
‘Relax, he will call again. He’s calling like a maniac for the last two weeks.’
The phone started ringing again.
‘Hello?’ answered Tina.
‘Who’s there? Is that Andrea? I’m James.’
‘I bet you are. It’s Tina, Andrea is not home.’ said Tina, scrutinizing her sister’s face for approval. Andrea continued to keep her head buried in books.
‘Good, ’ said James, ‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘With me? What is it?’
Andrea left her seat and without looking at her sister pressed the speaker button on the machine. It was her right, Tina though.
‘I need you to help me. She won’t talk to me, I left like a hundred voicemails, I went to her office, they told me she’s home sick, I’ve came to your place, no-one answers the door, what is going on? ’
Tina took a deep breath and released it with an imperceptible hum. Andrea was at her desk again, her gaze in books.
‘James, Andre won’t talk to you because we had sex at that party.’
Andrea stopped breathing. Her eyes were blocked on one line and couldn’t focus on reading any longer.
‘You had sex at a party?!?!’ shouted James, the echo of his voice transcending time and space. Andrea lifted her head, searching for her sister’s gaze. Tina frowned.
‘Not me and her, James.’
‘Who then? What is going on Tina?’
It was a pause. The twins spoke without words. Then Tina asked, ‘Were you at that party, James, two weeks ago, on Saturday, were you at the house party at Tim’s?’
‘No, I was not. I called you guys, you didn’t answer and I left a message saying I can’t make it. Why?’
‘Then who the fuck did I slept with, James?’
‘You?!? How on earth should I know?’
Andrea smiled.
‘I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, I promise, I have to go now. ’ Tina said nothing for a while. Neither did Andrea.
‘It wasn’t him.’
‘I know,’ said Andrea, ‘I got his message.’
‘Then why...?’
‘For my own amusement. And because I was sick and tired of people putting us into the good twin-bad twin categories.’
‘But... That’s not a joke, you fucking hurt people.’
‘I know. It was really fun. Want a coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’ Said Tina, still bemused by her evil twin.

*The title is a line from P. Zoline.

marți, 27 decembrie 2011

Nothing really... But then again...

He woke up today with a plan. He was going to be different. As his eyelids let the sun invade the slow growing platform of his conscience, he realised that his body hurt. The curtains hung freely, not covering the rays that escaped the dark clouds. That's the thing about London, he thought. You can get disturbed by the sun one second and find yourself literary covered in dark, heavy clouds the next.
His jogging outfit lay on the armchair, next to his running watch and his headphones. He even worked out the right music for this first day of his new life. If only his body would stop hurting so badly. He felt like he had been bitten up by a gang of angry revolutionist. Bollocks. But didn't he put his mind to not letting reality mess up his plan? Was he thinking it was going to be an easy one? Because it wasn't. He uncovered his naked body and didn't like the sight. It wasn't only about running, no, but it was a first step. It was also about healthy eating, smiling more, taking regular baths and put goals on paper for him to achieve. He would start progressively. One day he would run, watch a good news channel, read for a while and eat steamed vegetables with fish.
He stood in front of the small mirror in his room and tried to smile. He stretched his facial muscles and he let two lines of white healthy teeth show. But his eyes were observant, concerned with understanding the changes on his face while he made great efforts to smile. That was not a smile. That was pilates for the face. Not necessaries what he wanted for this morning. Then he remembered what his doctor had said about the list. He had to make a list of things that bring him joy. You see that in a documentary and you think it's shit. Your doctor tells you exactly the same thing and you take it as it's the only thing that can save your life... So he rushed to his desk and read the first word on the line. Stewie. He burst into laughters and went back to the mirror. His face was taking the same shape, he had a beautiful smile, indubitably, but his eyes were warmer, his eyelids heavier as the images spring from within himself. He enjoyed that. He went back to the list. Puppies walking backwards. His laughter had a voice now, his morning hoarse voice was replaced by a crystalline laughter that make him laugh even more. Who gave a damn about the clouds, the pain in his muscles was slowly easing and the jogging outfit made him think about him galloping like a thoroughbred horse on open fields. Oh, he was going to do this.
He opened the window and let the cold air invade his longs. That was cold air, alright. He jumped into his jogging suit and stretched his arms. He went out.

joi, 10 noiembrie 2011

Discutie in unu

Se invartea prin camera ca un leu in cusca. Ar fi vrut sa faca ceva. Insa, ce? Sa bea o bere? Sa manance resturile de pizza de la pranz? Sa raspunda la mailuri. Ce sa faca? Ce sa faca mai intai. S-a oprit si s-a privit in oglinda. 'Am imbatranit'. Nu obisnuia sa se priveasca prea des in oglinda. I s-a parut intotdeauna redundant. Unii oameni imbratiseaza narcisismul fara sa se intrebe daca e penibil. Iar el nu-si ingaduia nici macar sa se analizeze. Doar o clipa. Doar atat cat gandul sa-l atentioneze. Greg, prietene, nu e nicio cale inapoi. Inainte. Si basta.
Greg a crezut intotdeauna despre el ca este un ratat. E mult spus, poate. Un caz pierdut... suna mai bine. La scoala a fost un elev medioctru, cu asteptari inalte. Genul ala de individ care se intoarce foarte afectat de la scoala, incovoiat - intr-un mod demn, insa - de suma cunostintelor acumulate. Ha. Greg a stiu mereu ca nu valoreaza doi bani. Insa a stiut cu mestesug, cum ar zice bunica, cu demnitate si chiar cu pret. 'Nu valorez doi bani, insa o fac cu pret', ar fi zis Greg.
Nici mare amant nu a fost. Prima prietena a avut-o la 19 ani. O relatie unilaterala. Greg a avut nevoie de 8 luni sa isi faca curaj sa o invite in oras, timp pe care l-a calculat ca 'relatie', daca e sa-l intrebi; apoi au iesit impreuna, doua saptamani. Apoi el a suferit dupa ea, rotund, un an jumate. Greg iti va spune ca a trait o poveste de dragoste cu Anna timp de doi ani, doua luni si doua saptamani. Intelegi? Intelegi??? Apoi si-a continuat viata in solitudine si masturbare continua si lamentabila. La 25 de ani a cunoscut-o pe Aneta. S-au casatorit. Si gata. Nefericire instanta si de durata. Ca-n reclame.
Jobul. Ca si cum nu v-am plictisit suficient... Da, atat de mediocru.
Un ins caruia ar trebui sa-i stiu numele spunea ca unele povesti trebuie pastrate. Neimpartasite. Pentru ca sunt atat de plictisitoare.
Greg a facut doi pasi inapoi si s-a asezat, ofensiv, in fata oglinzii. Ofensiv il privea si individul de dincolo. Da, indubitabil imbatranit. Si parca sprincenele si-au pierdut din castaniu. Si parul. Sa fie lumina? A aprins veioza si lustra. Nu... Si-a pirdut din culoare... Si buzele, odata pline si vii, atarna acum, purtand pe ele canale subtiri si fine. Dar Greg a incetat sa dea atentie trasaturilor fetei cand s-a prins in ochii lui. Al celuilalt. S-a uitat fix in ochii lui, iar celalt l-a privit cu impertinenta, zeflemitor chiar. Cine te crezi, sa vii sa ma interoghezi asa, dupa atatia ani? Nu mi-ai acordat niciodata mai mult decat un pieptanat, iar acum cauti raspunsuri la mine? Dar Greg n-a renuntat. A stat acolo, nemiscat, in soarele dupa-amiezei, si s-a holbat la el insusi cateva ore. Intai l-a facut pe celalt sa cedeze. Cu stoicismul lui. Celalalt a capitulat ca o femeie care simte pentru prima data o clipa prelungita de atentie de la barbatul dorit. Waw. A cedat si si-a coborat sprincenele. S-au privit asa o vreme, ce vrei, ma, de la mine? Pana cand unul dintre ei n-a mai rezistat si a inceput sa rada. Celalalt a ridicat sprincenele a uimire, dar n-a mai avut timp, a fost prins in reflectia unui hahait sanatos. Esti idiot, si-a spus, dupa ce toata isteria/terapia cu rasu' a luat sfarsit. Apoi colturile gurii au cazut, nemultumite, si s-a uitat la el mijit, printre gene.
Nu s-a considerat niciodata un copil/adolescent/barbat frumos. A avut maica-sa grija de asta, de mic. 'Esti frumos ca un castravete murat si dulce ca gemul de coacaze'. Bucatareasa. Numai Anna i-a spus odata ca are un zambet frumos. Asta a fost singura data cand cineva a pus ceva de-al lui Greg langa cuvantul frumos. Cand se mai cearta cu Aneta, ea are grija sa-i reaminteasca 'Haide, pleaca, cine te mai ia, frumos asa cum esti!' Greg crede ca frumos e ironic spus, acolo. 'Aneta nu m-a placut niciodata', isi zice, in timp ce se uita, in continuare in ochii celuilalt, insa departe in ei, in adancul pustiu al capruiului. Dar tu... iar eu nu te-am luat deloc in calcul. Niciodata. Cat timp a pierdut? Sa o luam de la capat? 'Buna, eu sunt Greg.' Greg. Greg. A rasunat, in camera goala. Vreau si eu sa fiu, a spus celalt. Greg si-a descretit fruntea si si-a asortat zambetul la ochii aproape inchisi. Bine.
Apoi a stiut ce trebuie sa faca. Si-a pus o bucata de pizza pe farfurie. S-a uitat la ceas. Sase fara zece. S-a asezat pe canapea. Si s-a dus.

luni, 3 octombrie 2011

You think English is easy?

I got this email, the funniest thing, briliant!

Enjoy


I think a retired English teacher might have been bored.

(That's what first came to me, but I now beg to disagree!
This was one very creative teacher that took the time
to show kids instead of just telling them!)

Please do read to the very end.
This took a lot of work to put together!




So you think English is easy??


1) The bandage was wound around the wound.

2) The farm was used to produce produce.

3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.

4) We must polish the Polish furniture.

5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.

6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.

7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time
to present the present.

8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.

9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.

10) I did not object to the object.

11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.

12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.

13) They were too close to the door to close it.

14) The buck does funny things when the does are present..

15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.

16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.

18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear..

19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?



Let's face it - English is a crazy language.
There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor
pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in
England or French fries in France . Sweetmeats are candies
while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take
English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we
find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square
and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig..

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't
fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If
the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of
booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One
index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can
make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds
and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you
call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a
vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be
committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what
language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run
and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a
wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at
the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn
up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling
it out and in which an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it
reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course,
is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out,
they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are
invisible.

PS. - Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick' ?


You lovers of the English language might enjoy this ...

There is a two-letter word that perhaps has more meanings
than any other two-letter word, and that is 'UP.'

It's easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list,
but when we awaken in the morning why do we wake UP ?
At a meeting, why does a topic come UP?
Why do we speak UP and why are the officers UP for
election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report?
We call UP our friends.
And we use it to brighten UP a room, polish UP the silver;
we warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen.
We lock UP the house and some guys fix UP the old car.
At other times the little word has real special meaning.
People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an
appetite, and think UP excuses.
To be dressed is one thing, but to be dressed UP is special.
A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP.
We open UP a store in the morning but we close it UP at night.

We seem to be pretty mixed UP about UP!
To be knowledgeable about the proper uses
of UP, look the word UP in the dictionary.
In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes UP almost 1/4th of the page
and can add UP to about thirty definitions.
If you are UP to it, you might try building UP a
list of the many ways UP is used.
It will take UP a lot of your time, but if you don't
give UP, you may wind UP with a hundred or more.
When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding UP.
When the sun comes out we say it is clearing UP.
When it rains, it wets the earth and often messes things UP.
When it doesn't rain for awhile, things dry UP.

One could go on and on, but I'll wrap it UP,
for now my time is UP, so.........it
is time to shut UP!

duminică, 18 septembrie 2011

The Bird and The Tree

One day a bird-girl fell in love with an old tree and it's dark, deep, protective shade. She sang anthems for it every morning and rested on it's strong branches at noon, played in-between it's leaves at sunset and hid from the dangerous storms at night. Isn't it the perfect union, the bird and it's tree. Or is it the tree and it's bird?
Wouldn't it have been a happy ending if the bird needn't have to fly and if the branches wouldn't have been so strong, the shade so dense and the sky so further up?

marți, 6 septembrie 2011

Mister Twittelgaz and Other Friends

Characters

Tudor 16
Olympus 16
Helen 32
Helene Angel1 32
Helen Angel2 32

The three Helen’s are the same character shifting from reality into Tudor’s imaginary world.
Olympus is Tudor’s imaginary friend; no other character can see, hear or feel him.

The scene is set in a hospital room. An old hospital bed is covered in white sheets, with a cupboard on the left and a small children’s chair on the right hand side of the bed. Tudor lays in bed, his legs swinging to the rhythm of the song Olympus sings (a children song – director’s choice). Helen enters the stage and they stop. She wears a white hospital gown.

Helen: Good evening, Tudor! How are you feeling today?

Silence

Helen: Tudor? Tudor, can you hear me?

Silence

Helen: (with patience) Tudor, I would like you to answer if you can hear me.

Olympus: (snaps) I just can’t stand her. Who does she think she is? Really! I mean, we are both here, all the time, and she knows it... Why is she only talking to you? This is driving me insane...

Helen: Tudor, stop playing, I know you can hear me. Come on, stop being so stubborn. You’re not doing anybody any favour. (Tudor is ignoring her) Hey, Tudor, what’s wrong, we used to be friends. You and me...

Olympus: This is in-fucking-credible! You and him, ha? Ha. Not me and him? Not me and him, and you trying to destroy our friendship?

Helen: Alright. We’ll do it your way. Just listen. Doctor Winters read the results of your periodic consultation this morning. I don’t know how much you really understood out of it. I am here now because I want to explain everything one more time, alright?

Helen sits on the bed and reads through his diagnosis sheets.

Helen: Ok, nothing that you didn’t know about... You haven’t improved at all... (looking at Tudor) I know you can hear me... Are you upset? Did I do something to upset you?

Olympus: No! Don’t worry about it. Coming here every single day, giving us drugs to make us dizzy is why we love you! (to Tudor) Let’s play a game!

Tudor: Let’s!

Helen: Let’s what?

Olympus: (to Helen) How about if you just shut up, huh? We don’t care about your feelings. We don’t need your help. And we surely have no intention in listening to you. (shouts in her ear) You’re driving us crazy!

Tudor: (to Olympus) Hey, behave, would you? We’re not supposed to use that kind of vocabulary, remember?

Olympus: Oh, give me a break!

Helen: What kind of words, Tudor?

Tudor: Crazy, nuts, insane, lunatic, these kind of words.

Olympus: (nettled) Hey, don’t talk to her! I thought we decided we wouldn’t...

Helen: Yes, that’s true. We are not allowed to use them.

Olympus: (to himself) We aren’t allowed to use a knife either, and I have no idea why. It’s uplifting to be forbidden things without actually knowing why! (to Tudor) Anyway, this rule applies when we are outside our room. And stop talking to her.

Tudor: (to Olympus) Well, you provoked me!

Olympus: No, I didn’t!

Helen: (quietly) No, I didn’t...

Pause. Helen starts reading Tudor’s report again.

Helen: Ok. I’m just going to explain everything one more time. I want things to make sense for you.

Olympus: Why?

Helen: I want you to get better, my darling. I really do! (to herself) And I will make it happen!

Olympus: Someone has to take action. (to Helen) Are you going to cuddle him now and sing a song? You’re fucking annoying! (to Tudor) Tell her to leave us alone.

Helen: Ok... Here we go... (reading through his sheets) What the doctor really said here is that, well, you know the name of your disease, we don’t have to talk about it again... ok... interesting...

Olympus: What is she talking about? Can you please tell her to go away?

Helen: Eight months back. That’s quite a regression. The thing is... What the doctor said is that... you made a considerable progress... by admitting that you have this... problem and, you know, asking for help... (to Tudor, smiling) You were very brave, my dear. But then... (still reading) but then you just refused to interact... because you got... scared? (to Tudor) Did you get scared? That’s the doctor’s presumption but maybe you could tell me more about what had happen?

Olympus: Boring! Boring! Boring! (moves closer to her and whispers in her ear) Can you please get the fuck out of our room?

Tudor: Olympus!

Silence

Helen: I thought so...

Olympus: Great! Please excuse my frankness, but isn’t Tudor the new word for stupid? Idiot! Why can’t you keep your big mouth shut?!

Tudor: I’m sorry!

Helen: I know you are. It’s ok!

Olympus: (to Helen) No, is not ok! (to Tudor) Why don’t you just strip naked, tie some bells around your willy and run around this nut-house screaming my name?

Tudor: I said I am sorry!

Olympus: Because of your big mouth they will keep us locked in here forever. (shouting) And we will never see Ma’ again! Neeever!

Tudor: I said I’m sorry! What do you want? WHAT DO YOU WANT? It’s hard enough to hide YOU from everyone, to pretend you’re not here, when you just keep babbling in my ear. Tudor this! Tudor that! Go ahead, shout! But you know that you aren’t making things easier for me! ...You know it!

Helen: (looking around) He’s here, isn’t he?

Silence

Helen: Tudor, is he here?

Olympus: (bitter) Oh, no! He’s talking to an imaginary friend.

Tudor: Yes.

Olympus: Great!

Helen: (trying to hold him) Oh, dear you!

Tudor: Leave me alone.

Olympus: Me?

Helen: Me?

Tudor: Yes, both of you. Just leave me alone! Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to continuously drag an imaginary fastidious friend after me and to be closely supervised by an obsessed nurse? I’m sick and tired of this...

Helen: Ok. Ok, that was enough for now. I’ll let you rest. Today is a big day for you. I’ll come back in (she checks her watch) one hour, to bring you your four o’clock pills... Call me if... anything, alright?

Helen leaves. Tudor and Olympus rest in silence for some time.

Tudor: And we don’t use fuck either.

Olympus: Why not?

Tudor: Why not??? Because!

Olympus: Because? Because of what?

Tudor: Because I say so! Isn’t that reason enough?

Olympus: What... are you God now? Was I converted to some weird religion or something? Why do I have to stop using one of my favourite words? Because YOU said so? Why can’t I say fuck?

Tudor: Because it’s bad, Olympus, and secondly, because we don’t even know what this word means.

Olympus: Sure. Let’s not use words that we don’t understand because they are BAD. That doesn’t make sense, my friend. Fuck is not bad; it’s just something we never did. But we do understand what it means. Don’t we?

Tudor: What?

Olympus: We do know what it means...

Tudor: Do we? I mean... I don’t.

Olympus: Yes you do.

Tudor: No I don’t. Please let’s end this conversation here. It makes me feel awkward.

Olympus: (moves closer to Tudor) Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. (pause) Fuck!

Tudor: (angry) It’s your fault. Everything is your fault. You’re the reason why I’m locked in here. (silence) I should let them help me.

Olympus: So why don’t you? Why don’t you, tiny willy? Why don’t you, you stupid fuck? Why don’t you, little poor Tudor? Asshole!

Silence

Tudor: Because I care about you.

Olympus: You care about yourself.

Tudor: Yes, I care for me too. But I care for you, regardless of myself.

Olympus: Now I don’t want to insult you...

Tudor: Why not? You love to.

Olympus: But... There is no such thing as regardless or yourself. I am you!

Tudor: No, you’re not!

Olympus: Yes, I am!

Tudor: No, you’re not.

Olympus: Yes, I am!

Tudor: If you are me, how come we have different thoughts and opinion? How come we argue? All. The. Time.

Olympus: People have arguments with themselves all the time. They argue in their minds. They think about a conversation they should have with somebody and you can see their faces on the bus, distorted by contradictory thoughts. I tell you, they do it all the time!

Tudor: On the bus?! You’ve never been on a bus, you liar! What do you know about people? Really! You have the impertinence to talk about people, to say fuck and everything? Where did you get the courage to behave like that? You weren’t supposed to be so bold.

Olympus: You were not supposed to talk with me when people were around.

Tudor: I. Said. I. Am. Sorry.

Olympus: Fine! I’m sorry too!

Tudor: Oh, please! No, you’re not.

Olympus: How would you know?

Tudor: I know you. Just stop it.

Olympus: You think you’re so privileged because we’re in this position. But let me break it down to you: you’re shit!

Tudor: Language! What position?

Olympus: This... thing... we’re in. You have an identity, you have a ‚body’, you have a real life.... this... everything.

Tudor: (giggling) I was thinking, I have an identity but you’re the one that usually has the identity crises.

Olympus: Because I don’t really have one.

Tudor: Yeah, but it’s still funny! (thinking) No. I mean, I can have a headache because I have a head. But I can’t have an artificial heart attack because I don’t have an artificial heart! Does that make sense?

Olympus: Not at all. An artificial heart attack doesn’t exist, an identity crises does. What part of what you just said should lure me into a conversation?

Pause

Tudor: If they eventually cure me of you, will I be inferior to what I am now? (Olympus seems confused) Will I be stupid?

Olympus: Isn’t this just perfect? Isn’t this heavenly? Isn’t this ‘magnifique’? How can you think of me as a disease! You know what, my friend? Being in your head is the worst thing someone can experience.

Tudor: I strongly agree! But you’re not someone. You’re not somebody. You’re not a person.

Olympus: When the fuck did you become so carpingly?

Tudor: I learnt from the best.

Olympus: (disgusted) Children shouldn’t be allowed to watch soap opera. Come on, come out with some nice lines, would you? Such a cliché! You learnt from the best... You can do better... (silence) Did you mean that?

Tudor: Yes.

Olympus: Oh, thank you.

Tudor: You’re welcome.

Silence

Olympus: Want to play a game?

Tudor: Let’s.

Olympus: Phobias?

Tudor: Will do!

Olympus: Achluophobia. You have it! (Olympus imitates Tudor) Oh, I’m so scared! Put the light on, the dark is going to ravage my soul or something, oh, oh!

Tudor: No. Not funny. But I accept the word.

Olympus: One big fat point for me.

Tudor: Hm... (thinking) Aphenphosmphobia.

Olympus: What is that?

Tudor: Fear of being touched.

Olympus: I don’t know... No. It doesn’t count. I’m not scared of being touched because it’s practically impossible for someone to touch me. Another one, please.

Tudor: Hm... Ah! Athelophobia! Fear of imperfection. That’s totally you!

Olympus: I accept that one. One-one! I have another one for you. Autophobia.

Tudor: I’m not scared of being alone! I used to be, but not anymore.

Olympus: (laughing) Yes, because you’re never alone anymore. But think about it, would you be scared if I would just disappear? (their gazes meet) Two - one.

Tudor: Apeirophobia.

Olympus: Never heard of it!

Tudor: Fear of infinity.

Olympus: Oh, come on, this is too poetic for me.

Tudor: You do love poetry.

There’s a knock at the door.

Olympus: Come in!

Knock again.

Olympus: Say something. Maybe it’s Mother.

Tudor: It’s been a while since Mother came to visit. Why isn’t she visiting us anymore?

Knock again.

Olympus: Come on, say something!

Tudor: (in a whisper) Something. (out loud) Come in!

Helen Angel1 enters the stage. Her steps are as delicate as her moves. She wears a long white dress. She appears more like an angel than the nurse she was before.

Helen Angel1: Hello Tudor.

Olympus: You again...

Helen Angel1: I came! Mister Twittelgaz, are you in here too?

Tudor’s face lights up with joy.

Helen Angel1: That’s right. You never thought I would come back, did you?

Tudor: Emma! You came...

Olympus: Hey! Hey! What’s happening? You are not supposed to talk to her.

Tudor: (apart, to Olympus) She is not her. She is Her! Remember I told you about Her?

Olympus: No, she is not Her, she is her!

Tudor: No, she isn’t! Watch me! (to Helen Angel1) Come sit next to me.

Helen Angel1: (looking around) What is this place?

Tudor: My home.

Helen Angel1: I remember your home as being more colourful.

Tudor: It used to be. Not anymore.

Olympus: Not anymore.

Helen Angel1: So... What have you been up to, Tudor?

Tudor: Games.

Olympus: He’s the best at losing!

Helen Angel1: Do you remember the first time I came to your house? We had moved into the neighbourhood a few days before and my mother had an emergency at the hospital. So your mother had to look after us both. How is your mother?

Olympus: Is she Her?

Tudor: (to Olympus, in a whisper) She is! (to Helen Angel1) Not too bad, I guess...

Helen Angel1: (giggling) And we had ragout for dinner.

Tudor: I remember.

Helen Angel1: The meat wasn’t well cooked and I instantly got sick. I was so pale that your mother wanted to take me to the hospital. But she thought people would say it was her fault. She didn’t know what to do!

Tudor: She took you in her arms and you two went to my room. You were in my bed and there I was, kneeling next to you.

Helen Angel1: Yes...

Olympus: And then we fucked!

Tudor: Olympus!!!

Helen Angel1: What?

Olympus: Stupid.

Tudor: Ah... Olympus was the name of my favourite toy, those days.

Helen Angel1: Was it? I thought Mr. Twittelgaz was...

Olympus: Was I? And what was your favourite toy then, your brain?

Tudor: (to Olympus) You are not my brain!

Olympus: Very clever, keep talking to your imaginary friend while she is in here. That will remind her all the reasons why she left in the first place. Stupid fucking lunatic...

Tudor: (to Helen) You don’t know.

Helen Angel1: What?

Tudor: You have no idea! How do you even have the nerves to come in here after all this time? You just left me there. You were my only friend. You knew everything about me, all my secrets, and we used to have so much fun together. Do you have any idea what you did?

Helen Angel1: I was a child, Tudor, I couldn’t do anything about it.

Tudor: So you just left me there. Me and Mr. Twittelgaz were waiting for you! One day! Two days. One week. Two weeks... I had to ask Mother why you stopped coming to play with me. You just moved out, without a notice, without saying goodbye. Not even to Mr. Twittelgaz?! Why? How could you?

Helen Angel1: The time I spent with you was the best time of my life!

Tudor: It wasn’t fun after you left.

Helen Angel1: I didn’t want to. They forced me!

Tudor: Oh, give me a break! Why are you telling me this after so much time? Why did you even come here?

Helen Angel1: I wanted you to understand. And I wanted to see you. I needed to see you. I have never missed anyone as much as I’ve missed you.

Olympus: Please...

Tudor: (to Helen Angel 1) I don’t need you anymore!

Helen Angel1: Tudor...

Olympus: He doesn’t need you anymore! Helen of Toy...

Tudor: There is somebody else.

Olympus: What are you doing?

Helen Angel1: I thought there might be. I didn’t expect you to wait for me. I just wanted you to understand... I really missed you and I wanted to say I’m sorry! I really am.

Tudor: You don’t tell people things and then disappear. You don’t do that! It’s not fair. I imagined that I did something wrong, that you wanted to punish me for something. I was waiting for you. (tensed) I was waiting for you every day! Mother was worried about by well-being. I didn’t want to play anymore.

Helen Angel1: I’m sorry...

Tudor: (shouting, having a crisis) I didn’t want to eat. I put Mr. Twittelgaz in a box and I buried him in the garden. I felt nothing. I wanted you!

Olympus: Hey, ok... Tudor. This is not... This is enough... You should relax now... You shouldn’t get so hot about it...

Tudor: (to Helen Angel1) I don’t like what I feel when I remember. This is not fun. I want you to leave. You don’t tell people ‘See you tomorrow!’ and never come back. You don’t! Get out of my room.

Helen Angel1: At four o’clock my bag with toys and plastic pieces to build Mister Twittelgaz a home, was ready. So was I. Then I heard the door slam. My parents started shouting at each other. (the discussion can be on tape, along with projected images)
‘You whore!’
‘Don’t you dare call me a whore after all you’ve done!’
‘What have I done?! What have I done? I made love to a woman who actually wanted me! Is that a crime?’ then she slapped him.
His face turned red and he just started punching her and he wouldn’t stop. (she cries) He just wouldn’t stop!
‘Father! Father! Stop! You’re hurting Mother! Father...’
I never saw him after that day.

Silence

Tudor: You never saw me after that day either.

Helen Angel1: But I’m here now.

Olympus: He doesn’t want you now!

Tudor: (to Olympus) You know what, you’re right! (to Helen Angel1) I don’t want you now. Please leave.

Helen Angel1: I will. But first I want you to forgive me. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to hurt you, Tudor.

Olympus: I don’t know... I’ll think about it. Now go!

Helen Angel1: I loved you. So much...

Helen Angel1 leaves. As she closes the door we can see Helens gown and shoes hanging on the hallway rack.

Olympus: ‘B’. Belonephobia.

Silence

Tudor: (distracted) What is that?

Olympus: Fear of pins and needles.

Tudor: (still thinking of Helen Angel1) I have that in my pocket.

Olympus: What do you mean?

Tudor: What?

Olympus: You have what in your pocket?

Tudor: (exhausted) It’s a way of saying you got that one right.

Olympus: Maybe in a different context.

Tudor: Oh, shut up!

Silence

Olympus: Your turn.

Tudor: Oh... Let me think. ‘B’?

Olympus: If you have any in mind. Or ‘C’.

Tudor: ‘C’ is perfect. Cynophobia.

Olympus: (to himself) Fear of drugs.

Tudor: You have it!

Olympus: I do have it but its nature is not psychotic. Sometimes drugs make me disappear, if you would make the effort to remember.

Tudor: Yes, but at least is not the case of disappearing for good. I can still hear your voice or know your thoughts.

Olympus: How low can I go? To be an invisible imaginary friend is degrading. It’s frightening, today you can’t see me, tomorrow you won’t be able to hear me and the next day, poof! I’m gone!

Tudor: Hearing you is enough of a torture.

Olympus: You’re too kind. What’s the score?

Tudor: What time is it?

Olympus: Five to four. She’ll come at five, huh?

Tudor: I guess. It’s your turn.

Olympus: Coulrophobia.

Tudor: Not really. I hate clowns because they make me apprehensive. But I wouldn’t call it a phobia.

Olympus: You’re a fucking schizophrenic. Everything you’re apprehensive about is a phobia.

Tudor: (sick and tired of telling Olympus over and over again) Language... This works both ways.

Olympus: My way and ‘moi’ way? You never told me about Mister Twittelgaz.

Tudor: He’s dead and buried; nothing to talk about.

Olympus: So I’ve heard.

There’s a knock at the door. Helen enters the stage.

Helen: How are you, Tudor? It’s four o’clock.

Tudor: (to Olympus) Does mother come at five?

Olympus: Most definitely.

Tudor: Really? That’s awesome! That’s awesome!

Helen: Your mother? She may come soon... Come on, take these.

Helen gives Tudor two coloured pills and a half full plastic cup.

Olympus: What did she give you?

Tudor analyses the two pills with care.

Tudor: Ziprazidone and Olanzapine.

Olympus: Bitch!

Helen: Come on, Tudor, swallow it!

Olympus: Don’t take it. Tudor, stop it! You don’t have to! They can’t make you! They can’t make you!

Helen: I don’t have to tell you twice, you already know you sleep better after taking them.

Olympus: (to Helen) Shut up, you... (to Tudor) Don’t!

Tudor takes the pills and throws the plastic cup on the floor.

Tudor: (to Helen) Will my mother come to see me today?

Helen: (hesitating, then forcing herself to smile) Hm... Well, I don’t know. We shall all have to wait and see. I’ll let you rest now.

Olympus: Yes, leave! Coming here with your white gown and pretending you know shit just to get us medicated. Go, I said! Leave!

Helen exits.

Tudor: I would like her to come.

Olympus: (reciting) My mental illness is like a snake
Sometimes it swallows me whole
Its bite is poisonous with faces.
Confusion. Psychotic breaks. Depression.
Anxiety. Paranoia. And other things.

Silence

Tudor: Dysmorphobia.

Olympus: Dystychiphobia.

Tudor: Do you blame me?

Olympus: No...

Tudor: Some things you can never forget.

Olympus: Some things you can never remember.

Tudor: Dystychiphobia. I’ve always been scared, terrified of accidents.

Olympus: Not always.

Tudor: Always.

Olympus: Not always.

There is a knock at the door.

Olympus: What now?

Tudor: Wait.

Knock again.

Olympus: (in a whisper) What?

Tudor: It’s not her. Wait.

Knock again.

Tudor: Come in.

Helen Angel 2 comes into stage. She is identical to Helen Angel 1.

Helen Angel2: (examining Tudor) Oh, Tudor, you grew up so big. Oh, my baby!

Tudor: Mother?

Olympus: Mother?

Tudor: Mother, you came! Did you bring me some apple cake?

Helen Angel2: I did, I finally came. Are you happy to see me?

Tudor: Yes! Where is Father?

Helen Angel2: He is... he is not here.

Tudor: But you are!

Helen Angel2: I am.

Olympus: (to himself) Mother looks a lot like her. And Her.

Tudor: (to Helen Angel2) Will you stay?

Helen Angel2: I will stay, if you want me to.

Tudor: Will you stay forever?

Helen Angel2: I will.

Olympus: She said that before...

Tudor: You said that before. But you didn’t. You lied to me. Why would you lie to your own child?

Helen Angel2: It wasn’t my decision to make. I would never choose to leave you, but no one gave me the choice.

Tudor: I totally understand. I knew someone had forced you to leave me. I bet you were crying and screaming but these nasty armed men were dragging you out of your own house! That’s what happened. Isn’t it so? Isn’t it?

Helen Angel2: Tudor... Let me hold you.

Tudor: But Mother...

Helen Angel2: Tudor...

Tudor starts to weep.

Tudor: I’ve missed you so much, so much, Mother. I’ve been so lost. I’ve been lost. And scared... (he cries) So scared! And the dark night was getting darker, and I was scared, and I wanted to put the lights on but I couldn’t reach the switch. And I was (crying) screaming and screaming... and no one there... No one. I was so alone... and the world... and I... Oh, Mother... Mother... Don’t ever do that again... Mother...

Helen Angel2 sits on the bed. Tudor and Olympus next to her, both rest their heads in her lap.

Helen Angel2: The little boy woke up. The nanny was gone and the evening sun was searching for the dark corners of the room. They had been late before. So he took his favourite toy, Mister Twittelgaz and started rehearsing the song he had prepared for his parents. (Olympus sings the same song he sang in the beginning) He was there, in his room, all by himself, for hours. He didn’t see the night creeping on him. He was singing, dancing and imagining Mother’s reaction when she would hear the song. By the time he finished playing, the dark night was already grinning its yellow teeth from behind the window. Silence. He waited. Silence. He waited. Silence. He waited.
But his parents didn’t come. He tried to put the light on, but he was too scared to move. He tried to scream but he had no voice. He tried to run. But his legs couldn’t move. He tried to...

A car crash sound makes them shudder; police sirens, ambulance siren; the voice of a reporter, a TV news report: ‘There was an accident on E39 High Street. No one survived.

Tudor: (shouting) Mother! Father! Mooother!

Helen Angel2: I am sorry, Tudor! I never wanted to leave you alone. It was never my choice to make...

Silence

Olympus: And there I was, next to your bed. Singing the song you prepared so well. And I crept under the blanket and we sang together. And we turned tears into laugher and dark into light.

Tudor: I remember. (to Helen Angel2) You were not there but he was.

Helen Angel2: Who?

Tudor: (like having an epiphany) He was there! (to Olympus) You were there. You helped me. You saved me! You came and you saved me!

Olympus: I didn’t come.

Tudor: Yes you did.

Olympus: I didn’t come. I was there all along.

Tudor: Mother, I want you to meet Olympus.

Olympus: What?

Olympus looks around for a place to hide. He takes a few steps backwards.

Tudor: He... You can’t see him, because he is... invisible... he is not invisible... he doesn’t exist.

Olympus kicks Tudor in his knee.

Olympus: How does this feel, from someone that doesn’t exist?

Tudor: Ouch! Stop it!

Helen Angel2: (her voice sounding less angelic and more human) Tell me more.

While Tudor is talking, Helen turns her dress in a gown, pulling some strips. She rearranges her hair, now looking more like the nurse than like an angelic character.

Tudor: He is my best friend. Well, we argue quite a lot but who wouldn’t when you spend all your time together. I mean... he hears my thoughts, can you imagine, but he doesn’t always listen to them. He is protective and truly hates everyone that tries to harm me. He’s been with me ever since... ever since that night. He’s here. Come, I want you to meet him. Olympus!

The light fades in the left corner - where Olympus was hiding- while Tudor was talking. Olympus is gone.
Helen Angel 2 is now Helen.
The lights are bright on the stage.

Helen: Tudor?

Tudor: Where did he go? (panicked, almost crying) Where did he go? (screaming) Where did he go???

Helen: (takes him into her arms) It’s ok, darling! It’s ok, we did it! We did it together. You remembered. Tudor, do you realise? You remembered!

Tudor: I don’t care. I fucking don’t care. Where is he? I want him back! I don’t want to be alone! I want him back! Fuck! No!!!

Helen: Calm down, shhh, calm down! We did it! I’m so happy, Tudor. Is he really gone? I can’t believe it! I made you remember, I never really believed that this was going to work. But it did, Tudor, and we made him disappear.

Tudor: (crying in her arms) I want him back... I can’t do it again. Why is it that always someone has to go? First it was Emma, then Mother, now him. I can’t do it anymore! I can’t...

Helen: But I am here... Do you know who I am?

Tudor cries.

Helen: Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.

Tudor: What?

Helen: Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.

Tudor: (through tears) What is this?

Helen: (smiling) Fear of long words.


The End

marți, 16 august 2011

O altfel de noapte




S-a asezat pe pat. Era destul de tarziu, insa, de cum a pasit spre pat, a stiut ca nu avea sa doarma. Cum sa doarma? Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum. O sa-si asculte inima toata noaptea si o sa numere secundele. Nu i-a iesit niciodata trucul ala cu oile. Plus ca i s-a parut penibil. Oi? De ce oi? De ce nu capre sau cape negre, sau gazele? Gazelele sunt destul de gratioase cand sar peste un obstacol, nu?
S-a intins pe pat, s-a intins perfect. S-a invelit si si-a asezat mainile dezgolite peste cearsaful care invelea o patura rosie, orientala.
Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum. A inchis ochii. S-a fortat sa ii tina inchisi pentru o vreme, dupa care - cu un plescait de buze - i-a deschis si a privit inspre fereastra. Luna plina.
'De aceea!' si-a zis 'E ca un felinar, sta rotunda si luminoasa si se uita la mine. Parca nu stie ca nu pot sa dorm cu niciun fel de lumina. Fie ea artificiala sau naturala!'
In camera luminata de luna se mai auzea inca ecoul vorbelor lui. L-a ascultat, apoi chipul i s-a transormat intr-un templu - mai degraba o biserica saracacioasa de la tara - a mirarii. 'Oi? N-am intalnit pe nimeni care sa-mi marturiseasca ciudatenia asta, ca numara oi in scopul...'
A aprins lumina si s-a asezat pe scaunul albastru din fata biroului. Si-a deschis calculatorul si i-a ascultat huruitul. 'Oare cata energie consuma dracia asta?', s-a gandit.
Din strada s-a auzit un tipat. A alergat spre fereastra dar nu a putut vedea nimic, asa ca a deschis, cu zgomot nepotrivit pentru ora tarzie din noapte, fereastra cu o miscare rapida. Felinarele luminau placut strada. Din departare se vedea o persoana alergand inspre casa lui. Si-a luat ochelarii de langa pat si a inchis lumina cu un zambet care-l facea complice cu sine insusi pentru tertipul pe care, involuntar, l-a jucat somnului lui.
Parea a fi un copil imbracat cu un trenci prea mare pentru umerii lui ingusti. Insa alerga ca si cum muschii tineri de puiet de caprioara nu ar fi putut sustine atata vointa de a nu mai fi aproape de persoana de care fugea. Poate. Si ce striga?
Si-a pus coatele pe pervaz si a asteptat, cuminte, ca tanarul sa se apropie, pentru a-l putea examina cu atentie.
Era o femeie. Sau o fata, nu-i putea spune inca varsta, insa trenciul cu siguranta nu era al ei. Nu mai alerga acum. Mergea repede si isi intorcea intr-una privirea, lasand sa i se intrevada spaima pe chip.
'Pst...' a lasat el sa-i scape, mirandu-se imediat de reactie. Fata a ridicat privirea si a mijit ochii catre fereastra deschisa de la primul etaj. El a tras repede de coltul cearsafului care-i acoperea patul si l-a lasat sa cada peste fereastra. 'Asta o s-o atentioneze ca nu sunt periculos!', s-a gandit.
'E cineva acolo?' a soptit fata, insa coltul cearsafului alb a continuat sa atarne inert din deschizatura ferestrei.
'Daca e cineva acolo, te rog sa misti usor cearsaful. Insa nu prea usor, nu as vrea sa ma las pacalita de vant. Iar daca nu este nimeni, iar eu vorbesc ca o nebuna, cu un cearsaf, sa stii ca e vina ta, Doamne, pentru ca nu meritam sa fiu lasata...' dar cearsaful s-a miscat, numai putin mai mult decat daca ar fi fost miscat de vant, in adierea lui racoroasa.
'Ei, ce mai astepti? Sper sa nu fii un copil, pentru ca atunci toata intarzierea asta ar fi de prisos. Haide odata!'
Si-a simtit muschii de la picioare incordandu-se, in timp ce isi impingea capul pe fereastra. Nu era tocmai un copil. Nu la prima impresie, cel putin. Capul cu par lung si barba nearanjata nu-l ajutau sa para un individ de incredere.
'Ce vrei?' a spus fata, dezamagita, stiind ca si un barbat la cinzeci de ani care urmareste femei pe fereastra si care foloseste cearsaful ca replica de agatat, nu ar fi de niciun ajutor intr-o seara ca asta.
'Te-am auzit strigand si ma gandeam ca esti in pericol... Plus ca nu puteam sa dorm. E din cauza lunii. E luna plina in seara asta. Stiintific, exista anumiti oameni care pur si simplu nu pot dormi cand e luna plina. Am citit undeva. Nu am participat in nicio cercetare cu scopul...'
'Si cum m-ai putea ajuta... dumneata?'
'Ah, eu sunt Tom. Am o camera libera, adica nu o camera, ba da, si o camera, insa am o baie si... vreau sa zic ca ai putea sa te cureti si... Si apoi am si o camera, daca iti e teama sa o iei iarasi la pas pe strazile astea... Sau niste bani de taxi... daca... As putea sa te ajut, cred.'
'Si de ce ai face dumneata asta? Poate ca sunt o hoata, o fugara, poate ca sunt una dintre femeile alea care...'
'Nu sunt un om prea bogat... ai putea sa-mi furi ceva mobila, insa. Nu era in obiceiul mamei mele sa arunce nimic, si dupa ce a murit, nu m-a mai lasat inima sa arunc nimic, merem mi-am imaginat ca are sa o deranjeze...'
Fata a facut un pas inapoi ca sa poata privi cladirea mai bine, apoi i-a facut semn din cap, sa o intalneasca la intrarea.
A sarit de la geam intr-o clipa, si-a agata halatul cu o mana ramasa in urma, in timp ce el a zbughit-o pe usa, catre scarile spre living. A aprins toate luminile in drumul lui si a deschis larg usa de la intrare. De sub fotoliul tocit de vreme si de prea multe tabieturi a tasnit un motan gri, durduliu.
'Eu sunt Tom', a spus el vesel, in timp ce inchidea usa in urma ei.
'Eu sunt Barney.' a murmurat fata, in timp ce ochii ii jucau peste toate tablourile, cartile, operele de arta si... cartile din living. 'Ai spus ca nu esti bogat...'
'Ha, cartile astea nu valoreaza doi bani. De ce crezi ca hotii prefera sa jefuiasca magazine alimentare si nu anticariate? Pentru ca astazi cartile nu mai valoreaza doi bani.'
'Vorbesti cu oaresce doza de ranchiuna pentru cineva care detine atat de multe carti.'
'Glumesc,' spuse Tom, 'cartile astea valoreaza totul pentru mine, si o suma frumusica pentru restul, insa nu despre asta trebuie sa discutam. Nici nu cred ca trebuie sa discutam altceva in afara de ce ti s-a intamplat. Asta dupa ce te cureti. Sa-ti pregatesc ceva de baut?'
'Un whisky, daca esti amabil. Unde imi... pudrez nasul?'
'Pe hol, in dreapta. Barney, Barney, nu?'
'Da, ma cheama Elena de fapt - ce nume cretin - insa cand eram mica semanam cu Barney, din Fred si Barney, ii stii, desenele animate?'
'Nu cred ca...'
'In fine, si acum toata lumea imi spune Barney. Iar daca imi vei spune vreodata Elena, vei infrunta o moarte lenta si dureroasa.'
Tom a ramas in picioare pentru cateva secunde, apoi a inceput sa vorbeasca ca si cum nici nu ar fi auzit vorbele lui Barney. 'Eu sunt Tom... pentru ca, pana la opt ani nu voiam sa adorm decat ascultand-o pe mama cum imi citeste Tom Degetel. Ma cheama D... Dante Petrescu. Ai prosop in dulapul alb, de langa masina de spalat.'
'De ce nu te barbieresti?'
'N-am unde sa ma duc. Nu am prea multi prieteni. De fapt nu prea am prieteni. Munca mea nu necesita parasitea apartamentului. N-am de ce.'
'Ma intorc in cateva minute. Sau fug pe geam cu toate sampoanele si rufele tale murdare.'
'Rufele murdare se gasesc in spalatorie, pentru cei interesati. Masina de spalat nu functioneaza, e unul din lucrurile acelea...'
Ea a grabit pasul catre hol iar el s-a indreptat catre bar. A scos intai un pahar, apoi a dat din cap, cu un zambet sugubet si a mai luat inca un pahar. 'Talharule!' si-a spus. Mai, mai ca s-ar fi dus sa-si ia un trabuc, asa isi simtea sufletul de plin de victorie. Dar s-a gandit mai bine, poate fata avea sa ii povesteasca un episod dramatic din viata ei si ar fi fost elegant sa arate ceva compasiune. Si-a lasat mintea sa ii umble printre intrebari despre impresiea pe care si-ar fi putut-o face ea despre el, apoi s-a surprins inclestandu-si pumbii de placere. In sfarsit, ceva se intampla in viata lui, ceva dincolo de mintea lui, ceva ce sa rupa monotonia fiecarei zile care incepe la opt si se termina - fie ca putea sa doarma sau nu - maxim la miezul noptii.
'Fratele meu datora bani unor indivizi si au venit sa ii recupereze. Nu aveam niciun ban in casa asa ca au luat tot ce au putut. Au luat tot. Hainele mele. Posterele de pe pereti, canapeaua... Tot.'
'Imi pare rau' a soptit Tom, in timp ce i-a intins paharl cu whisky.
'Suntem orfani. Locuiesc cu fratele meu. Uneori... uneori nu face numai lucruri bune ca sa aduca bani. Eu... eu termin facultatea anul asta. Si o sa fiu traducator. Ai tigari?'
Top s-a ridicat, apoi s-a intors catre ea. 'N-ar trebui sa fumezi. Sa stii ca ti-as fi dat cel putin douazeci si cinci de ani.'
'Adica ai, insa te gandesti ca n-ar trebui sa fumez. Stii ceva? Nu esti tatal meu...'
Tom a luat o carte din biblioteca si i-a intins-o. Ceea ce parea a fi o carte s-a dovedit a fi o tabachera destul de sofisticata, care continea tot felul de tigari, de la cele subtiri si albe, mentolate, pentru femei, la trabucuri groase si maronii, pe care cu greu ti le-ai putea imagina infipte intre buzele unei alte fiinte umane.
'E randul tau' a spus fata intr-un glas gajait, in timp ce primul fum ii umplea plamanii si ii transorma paloarea intr-un alb ceros.
'Eu sunt un scriitor trist care a trait toata viata cu mama lui, pana anul trecut. Nu am fost casatorit niciodata. Pentru ca sunt prea tipicar, cred. Si pentru ca oamenii din jurul meu sunt ignoranti. Si pentru ca nu mai am ce sa vorbesc cu nimeni, in jurul meu. Toti cred ca stiu, toti au o parere despre cate ceva, fiecare poate vorbi despre razboaie, poluare, politica, marile orase ale lumii, insa s-a pierdut comunicarea, iar mie imi place sa comunic, iar daca ar fi sa fie o femeie care sa-mi fie pereche, ar trebui sa fie ca mine, sa iubeasca sa comunice, sa putem sa comunicam impreuna, vreau sa zic.'
'Asta ar fi aproape imposibil, pentru ca vorbesti mult si fara pauze, asa ca orice forma de dialog isi prinde picioarele in menchina ta nelubrifiata.'
S-au privit. Aproape ca a spus ceva nepoliticos. Insa adevarat. Destul de adevarat... Tom a inceput sa rada, iar Barney, luand asta ca pe un semn bun, i s-a alaturat.
'Nepoliticos, zic, sa inviti o tinara, in miezul noptii, la tine in casa, si sa o tii cu paharul gol.'
Tom a sarit ca picat cu ceara si a adus sticla mai aproape de locul pe care si l-au revendicat, ca tabara pentru noapte.
Soarele isi intindea razele peste coama pamantului cand Tom a incercat sa se ridice. 'Gata!' ar fi vrut el sa spuna, insa bautura tare i-a inmuiat muschii, iar articulatiile au incetat - de multa vreme - sa il asculte. 'Poate ca nu e tocmai o idee buna, as putea sa mai raman aici.'
'Eu o sa dorm... asta ca sa stii. As putea sa-mi dau jos... eh... maine.' a spus Barney, si chipul i s-a relaxat iar respiratia a inceput sa i se scurga usor, in si dinspre plamani.
A privit-o o vreme. Era o tanara frumoasa. Copila? Femeie? Tom o privea printre genele grele si nu reusea sa se decisa cum sa o priveasca... Ar fi vrut sa indrazneasca sa isi imagineze ca... Nu! Dar asta facea, isi imagina, asta facea in fiecare zi, in fiecare carte sau mica povestire. De ce sa nu ia acest personaj real, o tanara care obisnuia sa arate ca un personaj de desene animate cand era un copil, si sa o iubeasca in gand, tainic. Dar parca nu se simtea bine, parca isi insela realitatea cu imaginatia. Parca fata asta frumoasa care dormea in casa lui nu putea fi inselata cu proiectia ei in mintea lui. Ochii i-au alunecat catre chipul ei in timp ce ea respira adanc, dand semne fie ca se va trezi curand, fie ca pozitia in care dormea nu era foarte comfortabila. A deschis ochii.
'Sa te duc in dormitor?' a intrebat Tom intr-un mod atat de natural incat raspunsul ei afirmativ, cu o miscare a pleoapelor, nu a venit ca o surpriza. A luat-o in brate si a urcat scarile. I se intampla ceva magic. Stia asta. Si stia ca - daca in clipa asta ar fi fost sa se termine - s-a intamplat ceva magic, inexplicabil. A asezat-o in patul ravasit de frenezia cu care a tras de cearsaf cu cateva ore in urma, apoi a realizat ca - din obisnuinta - a dus-o la el in dormitor. A simtit un fior de panica la gandul ca el nu va putea sa doarma in nicio alta incapere din casa aceea plina de fantome, apoi a ridicat din umeri. A invelit-o si s-a indreptat inspre iesire.
'Unde pleci?' vocea fetei a taiat aerul diminetei ca o sabie rece.
'Ah... Sa ma intind, in... alta camera.'
Nu, ramai cu mine, intinde-te langa mine.'
'Nu cred ca e... potrivit.'
'Nu, fireste ca nu e. Nimic nu e potrivit in seara asta. Ce conteaza. Vino.'
S-a indreptat catre pat si si-a impins papucii de casa din picioare, in timp ce pipaia marginea patului cu varfurile degetelor. S-a intins langa ea si a auzit din nou. Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum. 'Nu pot sa dorm aici!', s-a gandit. Insa fata s-a intors si si-a strecurat mana pe sub patura, peste halatul lui. L-a luat in brate si si-a lasat respiratia usoara sa-i suiere in ureche. A adormit.
Intins, perfect intins, cu ea incolacita in jurul lui, a mijit ochii si a privit tavanul luminat de razele diminetii. Si atunci, in momentul acela, le-a vazut. O oaie. Doua oi, Trei oi. Patru oi. Cinci oi...

Picture: http://www.flickr.com/photos/84784982@N00/

joi, 21 iulie 2011

Emma c'est toi!



Madame Bovary is one of the most important French novels of the 19Th century. It is vastly regarded as Flaubert's most important work, and is also considered socially relevant because it inadvertently served to inspire, if not signal the dawn of feminism. Flaubert's adulterous heroine, the author's alter-ego of sorts, was happy in her transgressions, her actions seemingly justified by her dull and lifeless marriage.
...
But getting back to our main "raison d'être", let us whet your appetite as to the novel we have chosen to feature on our website:

Madame Bovary is the story of Emma Bovary, an unhappily married woman who seeks escape through forbidden relationships with other men. The book could be viewed as an expose of the situation of women in the 19Th century; women who had not yet been emancipated and were expected to obey their husbands, to stay in their homes while the men went to work, or left for months on end to fight in wars. Emma Bovary also serves as a voice for Flaubert, who patterned the character's personality after his own. Emma Bovary's "rebellious" attitude against the accepted ideas of the day, reflects Flaubert's views of the bourgeoisie. Ultimately, Madame Bovary's indiscretions and her obsession with Romance lead to her downfall, which not only appeases the guardians of morality, but shows us Flaubert's view of the world wasn't one of naive optimism.


http://www.madamebovary.com/

It is not without purpose that Flaubert asserted (and billions of other people, after him) 'Madame Bovary s'est moi'. He manages to capture real, thinkable thoughts that every humane being can have at a certain time. But why do so many people identify themselves with this colorful and picturesque character, Emma? Is it because she's frail, vulnerably delicate and incredible beautiful - how one would imagine being, as a character in a book (yes, I am pointing mostly at the feminine part of the 'cast'). Or is it because Emma is what we like to call a dreamer - unhappy, but hopping... Or maybe because every single soul is longing for everlasting love, and that eagerness excuses her for everything?

She is a horrible woman, without a doubt. The way she treats her baby, her husband, her mother-in-law, the way she has no sympathy for the poor, the needy, the helpless around her, the way she spends her time and money on egocentric rubble, makes Emma a despicable woman. But! We can't help loving her, understanding her, appreciating what she stands for. And there is a pretty good reason for that. She was created perfect. Not as a humane being, but as a character. She is a perfect character. We understand her! That's why we love her. Because we understand. And when she lets her feelings free and dares to fantasise about the Vicomte, we too aspire for that fantasy to come true, to apprehend that everlasting love trapped in a smile, that heart-skipping line, that soft, barely noticeable touch. And again, we understood her love for Leon, too, as there is a pure feeling, a real intense struggle that needs gazing and poetry. We understand the despair and the need of poison, the need to give up all the consequences of all the bad decision she took.
Is just... Somehow it's not fair, because we - the readers - were next to her when she took all her decisions (let me be!) and we supported her, we too smiled shyly when she was pacing on forbidden paths - because we too were thrilled by having the courage or the insanity to act that way. So I find it unfair. Full Stop. I find the ending unfair because she dies and I got to learn about the apothecary's affairs... The rightness of my reading experience has to press a red light and to admit that I would have been overexcited if something had happened to me too. If I would have died with her - the end. - or if her death would have driven Charles to be a less mediocre person.
Some people might consider her type of character doomed to an unhappy life. I rather consider her brave for not giving up the desire to live more, to feel more, to love more, be it for her own unhappiness.

Damn hard to write on such a delicate topic in english, I'll quit for now and start again after I've finished reading my one thousand book. Grrr...

Picture from: http://www.toutlecine.com/images/film/0006/00061890-madame-bovary.html

miercuri, 20 iulie 2011

Fragment 2. - Madame Linda



'Have I ever told you how I ended up living here?'
Madame Linda was in a good mood that morning. Usually she doesn't talk to anybody, not until she has breakfast and tea. She sits there, alone, looking through the window. I can't imagine what she has to stare at, the view hasn't changed for the last fifteen years. Yes, maybe the trees have grown older, thicker and their shade has become darker, but there are still the same trees...
I turned and faced her. 'You haven't.' Then I waited. Would she tell me? Would I have to ask her? She was not looking as if she was thinking of ways to start the story. We all knew that she was not like all of us, just old and sick, we knew there was more to Madame Linda, but no one ever got to hear her story. No one was interested in it, after fifteen years, because no one really believed that she would ever tell it. And then she just hit me with this question. And why would she pick me, from all the people living here? We were not good friends and I was ten years younger than her. Not to mention I was 'in the wrong gang', as Mister Johnson used to say, 'don't befriend the nurses, they are in the opposite gang', he used to say. He is dead now. But that doesn't get me down, as I know that he's in a better place.
'Do you want me to tell you?' madame Linda asked, awaking me from my daydreaming.
'If you wish...'
'I just need you to do me a favour.'
'OK', I said reluctantly, knowing that this favour could be anything, from a sip of cold water to a key to help her escape.
'I need a cigarette', she said quietly, with to much emphasis on 'need'. My eyes widened as her lips, curled upwards, told me that there still was a spoiled child inside Madame Linda, one that wouldn't speak unless she received what she demanded.
'You know that it is against the rules, in here...' I said, standing up.
'I know, I know', she said dismissively, 'now go get me one!'
I walked towards the building. As soon as the wind touched me with its spring fresh breeze, an idea crossed my mind. What if this one little cigarette would get me fired? But a burning red little devil on my shoulder whispered in my ear. 'What if this one little cigarette would make her speak?!' I had to try it...
I reached into my purse and looked for my cigarettes. I took one out and put it into my pocket. Then I rushed back into the garden.
On my way back I bumped into Madame Tania, the householder.
'What's the rush?' she asked me, gazing over her tiny glasses.
'Nothing, I just need some fresh air...'
'You'll get some fresh air when you'll finish your duties. Now, please, if you would be so sweet to check on Mr. Edward, he needs assistance with his aerobic classes.'
'Yes, M-am.'
'Where are you going, the sport hall is in the other side.'
'Oh, he was in the garden just a minute ago. I'll go there first and if he's still out I'll help him to the hall.'
Was it obvious I was lying? Did she just let me go because she didn't want to bother arguing with me? I don't know. I rushed into the garden to find... an empty bench. All the other benches, lining up in a semi circle, had people sitting, but Madame Linda was nowhere to be found. I had to ask around but apparently no one had seen her all morning. That was strange, as I remember seeing the same old people just five minutes ago, while sharing the same bench with Madame Linda. I burst into laughing as I remembered that I actually believed what a bunch of old crazy people were saying to me. I decided to look for Madame Linda, when I saw Madame Tania and two other nurses that I did not know coming in my direction.
'Stay right there, Linda.' Madame Tania almost shouted.
Was she talking to me? I stopped and watch them approaching.
'Hi, Linda. I thought you were going to help...'
'Look, she holds it in her hand', said one of the nurses, pointing towards my cigarette. She snatched it and looked at it closely. 'It's mine, I told you!'
Madame Tania took in a deep breath and looked at me questionably. 'Where did you got this cigarette, Linda?'
'From my purse, in the office.'
'That was my purse!' said the nurse.
'How many time should I say this to you, Linda, patients have no business in the office. Not even the patients who do voluntary work around here...'

picture from: http://www.impactphotos.com/Preview/PreviewPage.aspx?id=1267451&licenseType=RM&from=search&back=1267451&orntn=1

marți, 19 iulie 2011

Fragment 1.

Just for the pleasure (more pain though...) of exercising writing in English, I decided to write whatever crosses my mind, for a number of days. Do forgive my inevitable mistakes, I am still learning this game...

***

I found you standing on the cliff edge, facing the sunrise. I crept closer to you and held your hand. You didn't object in any way, you just stood there, as if my presence couldn't do anything to change your mood or your thoughts. The sun was slowly rising, making you're pale face look colourful. I felt trapped in my own body as the stillness hid some sort of living creature that I had feared. How long did we stay like that? A minute? An hour? A day? I can't remember. I just stood there, frozen in the moment, observing you're expression, as you were wandering around contemplating the infinite.
Then you turned to me. 'Let's go, it's time', you said, and the spell broke. 'We have a warm body waiting in the car.'
'I don't know about it's warmth', I said, trying to cut the strains of that stressful morning, and let it fly free, out of our heads, out of our memories. 'Have you thought what you wanna do with it?'
Oh, your mischievous dark eyes! How you love to trick me into stepping over my sanity line... 'We have to eat it, and we have to eat it all, no proof must remain after our feast'. Something inside me woke up and started screaming. It was me, inside of myself, naked and scared, struggling to discover if that was still love or was it insanity by now? 'Wait', I said, feeling my blood boiling under my skin, 'really, you want us to EAT it?'. You were heading towards the car. You turned your head and let a smile lit your face. 'Unless you are a vegetarian and you don't want to ruin your habits for this silly situation we've created', and you pointed towards the back of the car. 'No, but... It has to be other way. It has to be another way out!'
'I have barbecue sauce...' but you met my silence. 'Do you trust me?' you continued. 'You really chose your moment right here.' But your intense gaze told me that I would need to answer. Oh, how silly was I? 'I do...'
'Then jump in the car and let's dump this garbage in the closest river.'

We drove for half an hour, through some sort of arid lands that I never saw before. 'Where are we?' I asked. 'Not safe, yet.' Then I heard a noise from the back of the car. 'What was that?' You're face shown concern as you pulled the car and took your gun from under my chair. 'Wait here', you said. My heart started pounding faster and an distressing sound echoed in my head. I could not stay in the car. I could not bare the thought that I was not witnessing the last important moment of this... adventure. You opened the trunk and a contorted, bloody body appeared. The pungent odor made my eyes sting. 'Give me a hand, while you're here. Grab his legs and let's dump it here.' I did as required. You nodded you're head and we both lifted the body, then dumped in on the road. 'Now move the car a few steps ahead.' I mechanically took the key from you and started the engine. As the gunshot made my heart skip a beat, I saw you in the mirror, bend over the body, blood spreading all over your clothes and face. 'Now let's go!' I guess I looked terrified as you jumped in you seat and left the body standing there, inert. We drove another half an hour in silence. Neither of us had anything to say. I had a million questions pounding in my head but didn't have the courage to open my mouth. I was not afraid, I was not afraid of you but of what could have happened to us if... 'At leas we did not have to eat it', you said with a crooked smile. 'You were joking, right?' I asked, my eyes still on the empty road.
'Yes.'
'Now, where to?'
'Home.'

***

vineri, 24 iunie 2011

Antena cu ciori

Eram la Bacau, acum foarte multi ani. Pe vremea cand incercam sa-mi explic cum functioneaza televiziunea prin cablu. Sigur nu eram singura in casa matusei mele, trebuie sa mai fi fost si alti oameni acolo, insa eu nu mi-i amintesc. Imi amintesc ca televizorul era lasat pe Antena 1 si ca rula un film cu ciori. Sa fi fost chiar filmul cu ciori sau un alt film cu ciori, nici asta nu mai stiu, stiu doar ca imi era frica de ciorile alea malefice care zburau in televizor si printre temerile mele. O frica puternica, se pare, dat fiind ca au trecut zeci de ani de atunci si ca eu inca nu pot uita.
Astazi m-am trezit cu o pofta teribila de Antena. Nu 1, ci 3, Antena 3, pentru ca m-am trezit in multe dimineti cu matinalul lor. Am deschis un life streaming si am privit, pentru mai bine de jumatate de ora, stirile. Fara ciori si fata Bacaul varatic al matusii mele. Insa rucsacul meu burdusit cu amintit nu a mai putut cara atata greutate, asa ca frica aia inghesuita intr-un buzunarel mic s-a imprastiat pe covorul albastru si proaspat aspirat. Ca atunci, m-am intrebat daca oamenii astia chiar exista, daca ei traiesc dincolo de emisiunea pe care o realizeaza.... daca ei realizeaza macar ce fac acolo... 35 de grade, ziceau, si ca romanii trebuie sa se unga cu creme cu proitectie uv chiar daca merg imbracati corespunzator si se protejeaza de soare cu umbrele. Razele uv trec prin tot! Un fel de ciori, ce mai... Cum, sub nicio forma, nimeni nu trebuie sa iasa pe strada intre anumite ore si cum batranii pot muri, daca incearca... Frica. Panica. Teroare. Chiar asa sa se tina poporul asta la foc continuu? Chiar sa se uite ca asa a fost de... de cand ma stiu? Ah, si - fireste - o doamna doctor care a condus intr-o stare avansata de ebrietate si pe care politia competenta nu a reusit sa o dea jos din masina cu care o carau, ca pe un butoi cu vin, la centrul de recoltare. Adica nimic. Nimic, cu iz dramatic. Nimic, cu iz de profesionalism jurnalistic. As putea sa jur ca ieri s-a intamplat si altceva, ceva mai interesant decat ca e vara din nou si ca oamenii consuma alcool. Ciorile dracului...

joi, 2 iunie 2011

Alexandrii

Tudor l-a lasat sa plece. Se mai certasera ei de cateva ori inainte, insa niciodata atat de tare. Plus ca nu s-au certat niciodata de la ceva atat de... feminin. Victor a trantit usa cu putere si a iesit in strada. A cautat prin buzunare pachetul cu tigari, cand, deodata, ceva mic, alb, cale schelalaia jenant, i-a atras atentia. Ar fi putut fi la fel de bine un caine sau o pisica. Sunetele ar fi putut deopotriva fi latraturi sau mieunaturi. Cu privirea la animal, s-a pleznit violent peste zonele unde ar fi putut avea buzunare, cautand in continuare pachetul cu tigari. Apoi si-a amintit. El s-a lasat de fumat de cativa ani buni...
A traversat strada si s-a apropiat de catelul in miniatura, legat de un fier negru, care sprijinea o pancarda publicitara.
'Ce latri, ma balaure, ca o femeie?'
Catelusul l-a privit pentru o clipa, tremurand din tot corpul, apoi a reinceput sa latre. La el. Victor a incercat sa-l ia in brate si sa-l mangaie, fara niciun motiv. Nu i-au placut niciodata animalele prea mult, insa prietenul lui reusise sa ii excite nervii la asa un nivel, incat Victor ar fi incercat orice sa se linisteasca. S-a asezat pe vine si a intins o mana catre ghemotocul de blana.
'Cum te cheama, fiara? A cui esti tu?'
L-a incercat un zambet in timpul in care cuvintele i s-au rostogolit rotunde si s-au pierdut in aerul cald de iunie. Cand era mic, parintii il paraseau cate trei luni la bunici, in vacantele de vara. Pe atunci primea intrebarea asta de zeci de ori, de la toate babele din sat. A lu' Moise...
'A cui esti tu, mami? A cui, iubire? A cui esti tu ma, scumpetea lu' mama!' s-a auzit o voce, din spatele lui. Victor s-a intors si abia a apucat sa-si intinda un zambet pe fata cand Alex i-a bagat mana dreapta, cu unghiile lungi si rosii, sub nas.
'Buna, eu sunt Alex iar tigrul din bratele tale e Alex.'
'Ai acelasi nume cu... ea?'
Alex a inceput sa rada sacadat, strident si zgomotos. 'Nu, prostutule! Eu sunt Alexandra. EL e Alexandru.'
Victor nu s-a putut abtine. 'Ce coincidenta. Si pe mine tot Alexandru ma cheama!'
Alex si-a deschis randurile de gene false intr-un fel de surprindere exagerata, iar Victor a putut sa observe o pereche de ochi albastri, clari, frumosi, sinceri si nu foarte adanci.
'Daca nu ar fi asa un cliseu faptul ca m-am imprietenit cu cainele tau inainte de a te cunoaste, te-as invita la... o cafea?'
Alex l-a luat pe Alex in brate si si-a lipit nasul de nasucul lui mic, negru si umed. 'Ce zici, mami, mergem sa bem o cafea cu baiatul asta dragut? Ha?' Cainele a inceput sa dea din coada, probabil din cu totul alt motiv, iar cei doi cuvantatori au luat-o ca pe un raspuns afirmativ.
Din casa in care locuia impreuna cu Tudor, Victor putea auzi muzica. Pentru o clipa i-a parut rau pentru toate lucrurile urate pe care le-a spus, insa doi prieteni nu trebuie sa se certe niciodata de la o... femeie. E, intr-un mod bizar, o scena atat de nemasculina. Apoi i-a venit ideea. Daca ar invita-o pe Alex la el, la ei, Tudor ar vedea ca Victor nu are niciun interes in prietena lui, si toata povestea asta cu iz de telenovela s-ar opri.
'Alex, e cel putin dubios ceea ce o sa-ti spun, dar... in casa asta, aici, locuiesc eu.'
'De unde se aude muzica asta ingrozitoare?'
'Da. Erm... Vrei sa bem o cafea la mine?'
'Ce zici...' Dar nu a mai avut timp sa-si intrebe guru canin. 'Serios, Alex, lasa catelul in pace. Decide tu de data asta...'
Fara sa spuna nimic, Alex a urcat scarile si a inceput sa sune insistent la usa.
'Ce faci?' a intrebat Victor, luat pe nepregatite.
'Beau o cafea la tine. Adica nu fac asta chiar acum, acum incerc sa intru mai repede in casa si sa opresc muzica asta infernala. Tu?'
'Ma gandeam sa luam ceva vin, inainte.'
Alex l-a privit ca si cum ar fi fost inadmisibil sa nu aiba deja vin in casa cand invita o fata la cafea. 'Du-te tu. Eu o sa rezolv cu muzica, intre timp.' si a continuat sa sune la usa. 'Ok, numai ca... erm... colegul meu de apartament imi spune Victor, i se pare lui ca mi se potriveste. Zic sa stii... ca sa...'
'Am un caine mic si alb, cu care mai vorbesc uneori. Asta nu inseamna ca-s proasta.'
'Foarte!'
'Poftim?' aproape ca a tipat Alex.
'Foarte mic si foarte alb.' a spus Victor, ridicand din sprincene.

to be or not to be continued :D

miercuri, 4 mai 2011

Elogiu pentru cand n-o sa mai fiu mica

Am pierdut mult. Atat de mult incat simt ca nu mai am nimic. As fi putut sa am amintiri. Insa n-am.
Zilele trecute incercam sa-mi amintesc ce garderoba aveam in primul an de facultate. Mi-e greu sa cred ca am aveam numai o pereche de pantaloni (cam excentrici), o bluza alba de matase si o batista mov, legata cu ate la spate, cu care imi acopeream nurii tineresti.

Am pierdut carti. Nici nu indraznesc sa aduc asta in discutie, in fatza maica-mi, dintr-un motiv cat se poate de terestru. M-ar arunca pe Saturn. Cartile tineretii ei. Cartile copilariei mele. Cartile pe care dintr-o vanitate idioata am considerat ca trebuie sa le am cu mine in Bucuresti.

Am pierdut plapuma cusuta de bunica. Ma intreaba daca o mai am. 'O am'. N-o am. L-am visat pe Bubu, tragand dintr-o tigara, in usa casei. Bunicul meu sunt eu. A recunoscut-o si el - nu bunicul - inainte de a-mi aminti, pentru a mia oara ca 'nu uita si nu iarta'. M-am trezit cu o dorinta arzatoare sa plang. Nu m-am prins din prima. Am mai stat o vreme in pat si m-am uitat la lustra. Apoi m-a lovit. Bubu a murit.

Am pierdut prieteni. Multi si dragi. Din mandrie (si prejudecata). Si, odata cu ei, amintirile mele, pe care le pazeau. Le-or pazi, poate, si acum, dar pentru ce? Si cu ce rost?

Am pierdut timp. Si voi mai pierde. Gandindu-ma la cartile mele, plapuma mea, prietenii mei si timpul pe care l-am pierdut.

N-am castigat nimic. Si-incep sa inteleg. Pentru ca totul, exact de cand incepe, incepe sa se piarda.

miercuri, 30 martie 2011

Grey

I decided not to leave. I decided to stay. And make his life a living hell. A hell to live in his afterlife. I can. I know I can. Don’t take it the wrong way. I am not a bad person. But he made me scratch my skin off and let him drop tears of fire on my flash. I don’t like what I just wrote. It sounds very… not me. I’m a cheerful person. I am a cheerful killer. I kill tomorrow every day.
He will have a nice juicy steak for dinner. Black. Black coffee. I don’t understand why he always has coffee with his dinner. He sleeps like a pig anyway. Black. Black pepper. He hates it. I don’t care. I always use black pepper in his dinner. Only in his. It’s fun. Black. White powder. For him and his short life.
I can hear his car. He is home. My love is home, I’m so happy! Let me put my smile on. Ok. Great. You came. My beautiful lover. How was your day, baby? Grey? Such a pity. I have some black coffee ready for you. And a kiss. Do you want a kiss? You don’t. Why not? You had a fucking hard day? Oh. Have some coffee then. Black. For your grey day. I’ll be in the kitchen mixing the powder. Sorry? You didn’t understand? It’s ok. It’s going to be ok. Tomorrow.
He shouts from the dinner table. Too much salt on the stake. It’s not too much. He never drinks water during daytime. I deliberately put more salt. White. He should stop shouting. He gets on my nerves. I will kill him. Nobody believes me but I will. Mixing white with black. Grey.
He should have some dessert. This will calm him down for a life or two.

marți, 15 martie 2011

P(utere)A(lui)C(are)T(ace)

Am uitat cine sunt. Fumez. Nu mai fumez. Nu imi pasa. Apoi ma doboara o dorinta de a-mi imbratisa oamenii. Imi pasa. Sunt desavarsita cand scriu. Pacat. Nu stiu sa scriu. Sunt frumoasa. Nu sunt, atat timp cat nu mi se spune. Des. In fiecare zi. Sunt proasta. De destepti e plina lumea. Lumea. Eu inca ma lupt cu notiunea de tara. Ce stiu eu de lume? Nu stiu.
Ce stiu?
D. Cumva cea mai semnificativa litera din alfabet. Dumnezeu, poate. Dar eu nu cu dumne... Dracu se scrie cu d mic. Degeaba. Dinamita. Da-o ma-n... Da-o! Ca e tot cu d.
E. Ecluza ma trimite mereu cu gandu la Zale. Era o vreme cand emanam altceva. Existam altcumva. Elefantul a disparut. De atunci il iubesc pe Murakami.
P. Mircea Badea este un pamflet. Nu el. Asa vine. Putere. Putoare. Punere in scena. Scena puterii pute. Este pentru prima data cand scriu cuvantul asta. Partz.
R. Tara mea. Rabdare. Razbunarea e arma prostului. Vreau sa fiu proasta. Nu mi-a iesit sa fiu desteapta. Dar nici nu pot sa ma razbun. Ca o gaina. Cu aripi dar fara functionalitate in sensul tuturor drumurilor care duc la Roma... Romania.
E. Din nou. Nimic mai mult. Nimic mai putin. Doar. Emilia.
S. Saru-mana soare pentru samanta semanata pe sexul lui. Ha. Serpuite curg apele de pe Muntele Negru pana in fata blocului la mine. Intre Micro 21 si Micro 19 e doar o strada. Siret.
I. Bre! Iubirea e invechita. D-aia nu ne mai plac magazinele de fitze. Vrem la second. Azi mi-am luat o geanta la cinci lire. Dintr-unu'. Iubire n-aveau acolo.
E. Eram in clasa a doua cand am inceput sa invat engleza. Am cautat o dupa-amiaza intreaga intelesul lui 'the'. Cu mama. Nu l-am gasit. Asa ca, daca nu-l stiu, nu exista. Daca nu exista, nu doare. Daca nu doare, poola mea, aia e. Uneori imi amintesc. E. N. D.

marți, 1 martie 2011

Fara martisor anu' asta (ba se pare ca 'CU')

La Londra nu sunt martisoare. Nici martisori. Nici ghiocei la metrou. Nici 8 martie. Nu m-am hiper-incalzit niciodata la gandul ca vine martie, cu inceputul de primavara rece si imbulzeala sacaitoare la cateva guri de metrou (masuta langa masuta, hippie langa tiganci, martisoare manufacturate langa masinute din lemn, flori artificiale, buburuze colorate si restul tampeniilor care se vand pe la noi) insa nu inteleg cum sa nu le ai si aici... (Curios cum nu iti place ceva dar te trezesti ca ii simti lipsa).
Am vazut abtipilduri la metrou, cum ca poti vorbi cu un p pe minut in cateva tari (cu numarul cel mai mare de indivizi exportati, printre care Nigeria, Polonia, Romania si inca cateva locuri teribile) asa ca, dat fiind numarul mare de NOI, nici nu mi-am pus problema sa nu primesc un martisor anu' asta. Eh, voila, ma uita la telefon si ma gandesc ca intr-o saptamana e ziua (de femeie, nu de nume sau de-adevaratelea) mamei mele si eu n-am de unde sa ii cumpar un cadou corespunzator ocaziei.
Si in timp ce scriu asta, ochii imi fug pe folia mea de Amoxicilina. :))) Nu cred! ALB cu ROSU. :)) aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! :)) Nimic nu e intamplator!!! Pana si infectiile la ureche se intampla cu un scop, iar scopul - de data asta - a fost sa-mi aminteasca ca martisorul exista, oriunde m-as duce eu. Cat de tare!...
They are both here, looking at each other. She moves one hand. She moves one hand too. She smiles. She smiles too. She looks deep in the other’s eyes. The other does the same. They are two but each of them feels so alone, like playing a game of chess all by yourself. It can be fun for a while but afterwards you get sick of the predictability and you move your chair next to the window. At least watching people passing by your window is not something you can control. They just pass. You can observe them, but you can’t do anything. If you think of doing something to one of them, well, you can, but again, what about the rest?
And then the rain starts tapping on the window. You can let yourself win or you can beat yourself in a game of chess but you can’t do shit when rain starts tapping, except for feeling miserable. Such a wonderful feeling, isn’t it? And you’re no longer God; you’re not even a saint or something. You’re nothing else but another... monkey, as the other monkeys say on a YouTube video.
Then you wonder if you did it wrong; if you should do it right? Or quit? Should you quit? What about your queen, so close to your other-self’s king. Should the queen attach? Should my uncle have given me a break when I was a little ugly girl? Should I ever tell him I have chess nightmares ever since? Should I fucking stop asking myself all these questions and go to bed? Too bad...
I guess I should...

vineri, 11 februarie 2011

Right...

'Ok, I'm done asking myself all sort of questions. I have to make a decision. It just have to be yes or no.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Don't pretend you don't know... I'm talking about the subject we're been avoiding for the last... what was it? the last year?'
'Now you've really lost me!'
'Of course I have. I always do! I lost you before actually saying ok, right?'
'What?'
'What is your problem?'
'No. No way! This is my question to ask. What is your problem?'
'Us.'
'I didn't think we had a problem. But again, who am I to think...'
'Exactly!'
'Exactly? What is that suppose to mean?'
'That you don't take any responsibilities regarding this thing we have. That you don't play any role in this cheap movie we're in.'
'But nothing's changed. I've been like this since forever...'
'True! But I'm not ok with it any more.'
'Well, that's not my problem, is it?'
'It will be as soon as I'm gonna say what I want to say.'
'So you have something to tell me.'
'Only if you want to listen. I don't wanna make you do anything.'
'But that's you, that's what you do! You always make me do things.'
'Not any more!'
'Why?'
'Because I decided to change.'
'Right. Can I ask what made you take this decision?'
'No.'
'Right. Are you going to tell me without me asking?'
'No.'
'Right. It seems to me that we just reached a critical situation here. Have you decided upon the next step, since I still haven't got the slightest idea what's going on?'
'No.'
'Right. So, wanna watch a movie?'
'No.'
'We have Star Wars!'
'Do we?'
'Yes, we do!'
'Fine.'
'Great!'
'But after that, I'm dumping you.'

miercuri, 26 ianuarie 2011

This is going to be a blog in english language

Asa mi-a strafulgerat acum cateva zile, cand mi-am dat seama ca toate 'tampeniile' pe care colegii mei le-au scris, le pot (cu usurinta) aduce la scoala si posta ca 'work'. Eu nu, pentru ca tampeniile mele sunt scrise intr-o limba pe care profesoara s-ar putea sa nu o inteleaga... Ca sa nu mai zic ca's singura persoana din clasa pentru care engleza nu e prima limba. I.E.I.
Dar apoi, cum sa scriu 'strafulgera' in engleza?
Sunt eu frustrata sau ce?
Oricum, mi-am propus asta. Asa ca, daca o sa-mi iasa (desi am gradul meu ridicat de indoiala) va deveni un blog destul de idiot, arid si bajbait, cel putin pentru urmatorul an. Dupa care, poate...

Anyway, o sa incep cu experienta de la primul curs. Iar acum, gandul ca tre' sa scriu in engleza m-a transpirat. Again. Se pare ca nu sunt inca decisa daca sunt pregatita sa fac masterul asta sau nu. Putin cam tarziu, trebuie sa recunosc, dupa ce mi-am platit taxa si am primit cardul de student (cu o poza destul de dubioasa). Here we go!

As everything starts on Monday, this Monday I had my first class. And as I still don't know the deal with trains between London and Cambridge, but I have to make this trip twice a week, I've arrived in Cambridge way too early. I bought a coffee, visited my favourite shops around, but I still had enough time left to spend. So I went to the university cafeteria, looking for a free hidden table, to sit and read some more. I kinda have a lotta books to read... The place was crowded, but I managed to see a table almost empty. Well, almost, as there was this guy reading the same book I had in my purse. It was Sam, one of my colleagues, one of the first two colleagues I met in the opening day. I said 'hi' and joined him. We sit there reading the same book, without actually talking for about 45 minutes, till our class started.
Novel.

The room was a small but nice one and me and Sam were the last two to arrive. I looked around and saw all kind of faces, friendly most of all, gathered around our beautiful genuine teacher, Laura.
I never felt more relaxed and less in school. The two-hour class was more of a talk. I didn't write more than three lines in my new notebook, but I found a bunch of people having the same thoughts, ideas, frustration, eager and believes as I do. That was the first time to experience something close to what could have been a meeting with future writers and it made me feel that I - somehow - belong.
The main discussion was about what is a novel and how can u tell a novel from anything else. Of course, the talk went on and on on different topics, the opinion each of us had was different but somehow reached to the others's somewhere on the path. Two hours flew in an instant and that made me believe that I made the right decision choosing a master in creative writing and not in drama.
Now I'm searching in all hidden little corners of my brain for the plot for my first novel, and though I have some ideas, I still didn't decide the subject of my freaking (or should I say bloody) first book. But I certainly know is going to be the first and not the only. That for sure.

Hm, well, I didn't have to use the dictionary to write this tiny thoughts in my mind, but again, don't we all know they have no salt and pepper?
It doesn't matter, I don't really expect for anyone to read it, as I wouldn't, but if anyone does, just bear with me, it will get better. :D

miercuri, 5 ianuarie 2011

The Room

This is not the future. This certainly is not the past. This is not about time. Time doesn’t exist. Time hasn’t existed since all this started. You would think this is the immediate moment after time stopped. But time never existed. Time has always been a toy invented by humans to be able to relate themselves to something.
Have you ever thought of that? What would you relate to if there were no time? Would you relate yourself to your achievements maybe; or to the number of memories that you have? What about if you have a really bad memory and you can’t memorise the best moment of your life?
What about if there is no time and you (just) are a soul wandering around trying to figure out for yourself what is your past, your future and when does present starts and when does it end?
What about normality? What would normality be, if there is no time? I’m just wandering, because there was a time when killing was a normal thing. And there was a time when slavery was as normal as cell phones were in another time? What about if time wouldn’t exist, what would be normal in that case?
She was waiting for a sign from God or something. She was waiting in this empty room, eating her nails, her fingers and her hands, since... since forever. She was a kid when she entered this room. She can remember precisely. She was ten. She and her sister were playing a game in the basement. One of those games where you have to hide and the other has to find you. She was wearing the same clothes as today, only her hands were small and the skin was white. Now she has no hands, she ate them in time. And her hair wasn’t gray. She used to have dark hair. She had dark hair when she entered the room. She still had dark hair when she realised there was no way out. She still had dark hair when she started to forget her sister’s looks, or if that, their game, was just a dream.
She tried being logical.
‘Where am I? How did I get in here? Let’s take it step by step. It was after lunch. Mother was doing something in the kitchen and she allowed us to play. We wanted to play outside but it was a rainy day. So my sister came up with this idea, to go in the basement, because there was plenty if room for us to play in there. Mother said we could do that, I remember her annoyed figure, she would have allowed us to play in a cemetery, just to let her do her things. If only I could remember her things... Oh, but I do remember her clothes. She was wearing black, a wonderful black silky dress and a hat. Now that I think of it, mother never used to wear a hat in the house. Maybe it was a special day. She wasn’t upset, no, just annoyed. And I don’t remember seeing my father that day. Now I can think that he was dead. Or maybe he just wasn’t at home.’
You had that feeling when you just look at your life and you think this is the end of it. And after two months you smile thinking what a foolish thought you had. Or when you were a teenager and you had interminable fights with your parents, trying to convince them that you love that person. But there was never love. This is what time does to feelings; it amplifies them, to make you believe you live something extraordinary. But you don’t. Nobody has a wonderful life. Nobody knows what wonderful is. Nobody really lives, because everybody is too keen on living. So maybe her father was dead that day, and nobody told her. Why should they? Is not like that would make your life better or worse... no. That would just bring up some strange anxious feelings, nothing else. Knowledge... Knowledge, why have it?
‘My sister put the light on in the basement and I can remember the smell... the smell of time standing still. I thought that if I would breathe I would inhale it all. HIDE AND SEEK – that was the name of the game, I’m sure of it because I remember. My sister told me I wasn’t, but there was no time left in the room. No spare time for me... Can I blame my sister, please, can I? I’m not angry because I have no idea what had happened but sometimes I wish I could just see the bad guy in this picture.’
When a child is killed in a car crash parents need justice to be done and the murderer to be punished. But time? How can you blame time or the lack of it? What about if you are the victim and you have no one to blame? How would that sort it?
She looked at her shoulders and then she looked at the empty space where her hands used to be. What is space if there is no time? Her hands used to be there in the past. And now there are not there anymore. She ate them. That does tell that there was a past. And her memories tell the same thing. So, will there be a future? She looked at her legs. She touched one leg with the other. Her legs existed then, in that time. Was that a sad thing?
‘If I will start eating my legs in the future and then my legs wouldn’t exist, would time pass? I guess it would! Would that make a difference to me or to anyone else?’
Then, out of nowhere, she heard a sound. Like an old woman choking with some dry cookie. She was so afraid to look back that she didn’t. She started looking at her right leg with hunger. Not that hunger that you would imagine, no, a hunger of knowledge.
‘Can I have a glass of water?’ the voice of the old woman said.
Was she there? Was she there all along and she never thought to turn? It couldn’t have been; she looked in every corner of this room, years ago, when she still had hoped she could escape time.
‘So, can I?’
She turned. It was no one there except her, the black and the time.
‘Stupid girl, you’re just going to let me die here, aren’t u?’
‘But I don’t see you...’
‘Of course you don’t! You would need a pair of eyes to do that, wouldn’t u?’
‘So you are here?’
‘Ever since...’
‘Ever since... what?’
‘I had been here ever since you entered this bloody room. Now stop being a silly girl and bring me a glass of water!’
‘OK!’
‘Hurry up; I don’t have all the time in the world.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘How do you do what?’
‘Bring you a glass of water...’
‘I have no idea. How did you do everything else in here?’
‘I know it’s dark and you can’t see but I have no hands, I couldn’t possibly bring you anything.’
‘Then you’re useless.’
‘Sorry?’
Silence makes time stop. Silence makes time start again. Silence is time, in a world where time doesn’t exist.
‘Hey, are you still here? Well? Now I’m going crazy, I’ve started hearing voices. And it wasn’t even a voice I could remember. So it wasn’t a voice from my past. Maybe it was a voice from the future? That means there will be a voice. That’s great news! That’s first page news!