P.S.

asta nu e o metafora; nu e un dialog imaginar cu mine insami. a existat o alta cristina in viata mea... intr-o alta viata. si niste hartii uitate pe fundul unei cutii au readus-o in prezent de parca ar fi fost ieri...

nu stiu, zau! uneori as vrea sa nu fiu atat de perfectionista, sa nu incerc atat de tare sa fac lucrurile 'cum trebuie'; poate anumite lucruri merita ingropate, si uitate. Poate e bine sa ai niste scheleti undeva pe fundul unei cutii; poate uneori e mai bine sa renunti pur si simplu; sa o lasi balta.

anumite relatii pur si simplu nu merg; nu conteaza ce faci, sau ce nu faci, nu conteaza cine si cat iubeste, uraste, raneste, inseala, tradeaza… uneori, sentimentul ala de conexiune magica cu un altul e doar o capcana – iti promite uniunea perfecta (apropiere, intimitate, … whatever), si te trezesti zbatandu-te intr-o gramada de cacat (care pana sa zici ‘shit!’ devine Viata Ta).

Si pe urma, ai de ales: faci dus si pretinzi ca “nu s-a intamplat nimic” sau “lupti” - incerci sa intelegi ce s-a intamplat… unde s-a gresit… ce poti face ca “sa fie bine”.

as vrea sa pot lupta petru mine asa cum lupt pentru altii; altii care nici macar nu stiu cum de-au devenit atat de importanti.

as vrea sa pot renunta la sentimentele mele pentru ceilalti asa cum renunt la visele mele, la dorintele si nevoile mele… cum? cand? devine un strain mai important de cat mine insami?

Shut Up And Fuck Me!

Alexandru Bizighescu - Come to me

Here’s a little something you don’t hear everyday... some of you, will never have the pleasure…but be weary! When it comes, you’ll better hope that you are ready. Make no mistake: when this happens, you either play or get the hell out of there!

"Luck favors the brave".

Women are strange animals, but animals none the less. Truth be told, manners and brains are nice-haves, but your sense-of-humor and career-prospects will only take you so far. Your so-called 'fears' are as ridiculous as they are wishful thinking. Before you can even flirt with the idea of little ‘you-s’ spurring out of me, you’ll have to prove yourself trust-worthy.

What a woman really wants is a chance to be a woman and keep her dignity in the process. Thus the painstaking sorting by ‘tall, dark and handsome’ and ‘smart and funny’, mere tags for the unspeakable, the unnamed quality of being a source of guilt-free pleasure. ‘Supportive’, ‘tender’, ‘affectionate’, ‘romantic’, or ‘dependable’, ‘responsible’ must-haves come later. Many of you never get to that level.

Yet you hide yourself behind the comfort of your fears of ‘commitment’, and you project them onto me as if I don’t already have enough problems to deal with. You tell yourself that our naked bodies’ thrusting against each other is enough intimacy for one lifetime. And you tell everybody else that I want too much from you – as if my whole existence could ever actually depend solely on you.

Your freedom may be at stake, but only if you gamble it; I’m not interested in winning that particular game. I have my own freedom to worry about. I don’t want to have to carry you around for the rest of my life.

While being smart, or spiritual is even nowadays (sadly) an accomplishment for a woman, being a desirable object for your pleasure is (almost like) a given. Deny me either one, and you reduce me to nothing.

And there is nothing more hurtful, more humiliating for a woman than to be broken into pieces: either brain, or body, lady or whore, mistress or wife, lover or mother.


The basis of our culture establishes as a ‘simple fact of life’ (yet patronizing and sexist, and also against human rights; but hey! we’re not really human) that women were made purely for pleasure. Your pleasure. I do not have a soul of my own, you see. I am incomplete without you by my side. My womb may be, yet my brain is not able to sustain a life. They say I need a man inside of me in order to be complete. They say I need you. Be honest: don’t you like that?


But the irony of life is that while the whole world puts me down as an 'object of pleasure', deep down, I long to be just that. And while proving worthy of any mental abilities is an ongoing battle, deep down I wish I’ll never have to fight it. "Love" is the story you've told me to put me to bed. You belittle me as being ‘easy’, yet in your world, you are to me my simplest solution: you are my one chance of truce, and tranquility; my ray of hope, my savior, my hero.


You who know me by heart.
You, who do not ask of me to betray or hide my animal side, nor do you, hold it against me.
You who recognize my desires and passions in their own right, not as reflections of yours.
You who don’t ask of me to reason my way in or out of your life.
You who embrace my mind along with my body, and never question one against the other.
You who do not project your fears onto mine and so allow me my own
– For you see, I fear needing you even more than you do! That's why I need you to be brave – so I can battle my own demons and not worry about you.



Stop reasoning your way into my body. I’m not an ‘issue’.
I’m just like you: half beast, half fairy.
Now... shut up and fuck me! We’ll talk later …

Coldest Day Of The Year

Yap, here it is, ladies and gentlemen, the Moment I’ve been anxiously awaiting for some time now… well, the actual moment will never be known for certain (note to parents: pay attention, damn it! what else have you got to do?!?)… My mum had been swearing for ages it was around 8 in the morning, until we discovered the Lost Notebook containing critically important data, among which the Actual Time of My Coming.

Somewhere around 10 a.m. sharp, if you must know.
My mum was safely asleep, as the Nice Mr. Doctor cut her tummy up, and pulled me out.

They say birth is a very traumatic experience (for the Baby! hello!!); so you just try to imagine what it must have been like for me…

I must have been swimming around, in my nice, comfy, warm puddle, minding my own business, making air-bubbles out of my ... err… special bubble-machine, when …
Wham! Bam!
Cold, rubber hands jerking me out! Out! Into the BIG COLD NASTY world.
Damn it!
My temper – now do you understand?!?

Do you suppose they pinched me or something? Did they pinch you? No? So… why did you scream? Weeeelll, I mean… You knew what was happening… you probably packed your bags and were ready to go when the Big Wave carried you down-stream gently…

Me… I wasn’t prepared, man! I didn’t know! I was still dealing with some New Year’s Eve hangover… I wasn’t ready! I needed more time!
What do you mean ‘for what’?
To prepare. To plan things out. You can’t expect me to undertake a whole new LIFE and improvise, can you?

Welll, anyways… what’s done, it’s done. There was nobody there to protect My Interests, you see. Mum was overwhelmed by the huge tummy and restrained to bed, and they must’ve put her to sleep before she could say anything. Poor thing. I guess it was better for her as she must’ve been scared to death. (having something alive growing inside of you … c’mon! haven’t you seen Alien?!? Did it seem like fun to you??)


Anyways… it was very cold that day - January the 5th is in fact known as the coldest day of the year – which is probably why I’m always cold. (it took me a while, but I've got it all figured out). The city was covered in snow, and unexpectedly, on the morning I was born, the sun shined brightly, as it did all day long. Or so the legend goes.

I can imagine the Good Mr. Doctor waking up that morning, seeing the colorful sun-rise on his way to work and saying to himself: “Today – is a good day – for science!!”


Despite my attempts to teach them any better, the White Ladies squeezed me into these white sheets, like I was a darn cocoon. Very uncomfortable, as I’m sure you all remember (well, if anything, you must remember that! You couldn’t move your legs or anything, and that thing was getting in between my bums…). Rather disconcerting, my tiny body was only able to sustain a bit of a fight, and my scientific and detailed explanations sounded more like raging baby-crying. Of course they lied to my poor parents and told them that I was ‘very quiet’ and ‘slept all day, like a baby’… I guess they didn’t know any better.


All in all, after a couple of nice meals (mum made my milk just the way I wanted it, not too cold, not too warm) and some nice massage around my … private parts, I was satisfied with their attempts to make amends, and I accepted what seemed to be their sincere apologies. There’s no point in holding the grudge for a rough start, is there?


The sun was shining, the snow sparkled in what seemed like millions of shiny diamonds, I felt nice and warm, and this darn world seemed like it was going to be a nice place afterall. So I decided to give it a chance.



Oh, a man they called ‘dad’ showed up like a couple of days later; he must’ve felt kinda guilty about missing the whole thing so he brought along this black box that made tiny copies of me and my mum, to remind him of that day. My mum keeps one of those in a frame, by the mirror, in out living room. She missed the whole thing too, I guess.

Come to think of it - I was by myself, with a bunch of strangers helping me out. That must've set the tone for the years to come.

Don’t know exactly what that was, but it seemed like an electric current going from mum to dad, like they had some sort of special connection. When one smiled, the other smiled too, instantly, like they were wired together. Good thing, too. I wouldn’t have recognized him otherwise. He felt like a complete stranger to me. I even tried to tell them that I wasn’t comfortable around him – but they seemed rather happy about my fussing about: ‘look, honey, she’s happy to see you!’ (Gosh, grown-ups are such losers sometimes!)

Dad? Oh, he had been miles away to a land they call China. Yeah. Big Business or something. Very important. World-saving enterprise. Power-puff Girls didn’t pick up the red-phone, so he HAD to go. Can’t say ‘no’ to saving the world, can you?

Well, I know that his one and (as it turned out) only child was about to be born, BUT…as a man, being there for the actual birth is overrated, really. The woman’s doing all the work, the kid is but a ball of tissue and … errr … blood… can’t even tell it’s human or not… chances are you’ll either faint (terribly embarrassing) or stay in the hallway anyway. So, if it’s either China (and saving the world, don’t forget!) or the off-white, hospital hallway… My dad was too smart for his own good; very responsible, too. He HAD to go. I understand.


You know, he turned out to be a welcome addition to my life. If it was for my mum alone, I would’ve never learnt anything. Everytime I reached for something, she screamed “no, pumpkin, don’t touch that!”; but he was cool about it. He let me play with his … arrr.. tools, and then, when I managed to take apart the tape-recorder into like a thousand pieces, while my mum was screaming in despair, he was smiling calmly – don’t know what the *uck he was so calm about. We never managed to put them all back IN afterwards…

But he was a lot of fun… we laughed a lot together, and he taught me many things. They say I get my cranky sense of humor from him. I couldn’t say. By the time I was old enough to understand his jokes, he was gone.

Yeah. Big Business or something. Very important. World-saving enterprise. Power-puff Girls didn’t pick up the red-phone again, so he HAD to go. Can’t say ‘no’ to saving the world, can you? I understand.


So, anyways… looks like there’ll be snow for my birthday, and my dad is missing it again. Hope there’ll be sun-shine too! I’m probably going to be busy the next couple of days (that’s code name for hiding in the darkest corner, crying in the pillow, feeling sorry for myself) and I wanted to share my memories with you all. It’s been 29 years…

Yeah, I remember everything – just like I’ve told you.



P.S. Should you forget to or deem as unimportant to say 'happy birthday' to me, all hell will brake lose and you'll be very, very sorry!