cautare

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...