S. O. S.

Of course God will forgive me, that's his business!

2011-10-26T15:39:00.017+03:00

H.Heine

In mod ironic si absolut neintamplator, pentru mine, toate se reduc invariabil la asta: Dumnezeu fie ma uraste si ma chinuie, fie nu exista. Eu alta solutie nu vad.

Asta e mecanismul meu de a face fata vietii, de a-mi procesa sentimentele si emotiile - o lunga, infinita conversatie cu Dumnezeu. Era o vreme cand simteam ca imi raspunde, dar de la un moment dat incolo, am imbatranit, sau mi-a crescut prea mult IQ-ul, sau poate pur si simplu Dumnezeu s-a suparat si nu mai vrea sa vorbeasca cu mine.

Fac asta de atata timp, ca nici nu mi-am dat seama ca o fac. Parca m-am nascut facand asta. Am inteles intr-o noapte, cand barbatul pe care-l iubeam, un barbat eminamente rational si rece, mi-a aratat un om furios pe un Dumnezeu care l-a tradat, luandu-i ceva important. De atunci, el nu mai crede, si nu mai iubeste. Se simte mai in siguranta asa.

Oare si eu fac la fel?

Tind sa cred ca oamenii care nu cred in nimic traiesc doar cu o jumatate de creier. Cei care doar-cred, traiesc doar cu cealalta. Omul intreg crede si cerceteaza, dar crede in continuare - lucrurile in care are nevoie sa creada.

Cred ca suntem toti si toate facuti din aceeasi materie, si ca ea vibreaza la unison, oriunde in univers s-ar afla. Si vibratia asta e "vocea" lui Dumenezeu. Asta daca tinem mortis sa ne legam de detalii despre cum "Cuvantul" a creat viata. Viata e vibratie.

Si de aici incolo, e simplu - aceleasi reguli, aceleasi principii, acelasi ritm.

Nu ma pot hotara totusi daca Vointa poate cu adevarat schimba ceva sau in ce masura isi contine o samantza propriul ei viitor - in totalitate, in detaliu. Poate constiinta mea sa se ridice dincolo sau pe langa propriul ei proiect?

O prietena, psihoterapeut, e furioasa pe mine ca refuz sa-mi "rezolv" problemele prin singura solutie posibila - psihoterapie. Furia ei camufleaza frica si neputinta in fata lucrurilor care "ti se intampla". Ca orice psihoterapeut, lupta pt a sustine iluzia puterii ei - asupra problemelor, fricilor, altor oameni. Se simte mai in siguranta asa.
Oare si eu fac la fel?

Nevoia mea de sens ascunde cumva teama de Intamplare? Am nevoie sa existe reguli si principii in Univers, pentru ca atunci exista o Logica, Echilibru. Tot ce mi se intampla are un sens, vine din ceva si duce undeva anume, si mai ales, are o legatura specifica cu mine.
Ma simt mai in siguranta asa?

Frica da sens vietii - suntem ce face frica din noi: atei, psihoterapeuti, magicieni...

Este viata mea propria mea creatie? Sau este ceva independent de mine, ceva ce ma creeaza pe mine pe masura ce se desfasoara. Sunt un om care se teme sa-si asume responsabilitatea propriei vieti, sau un om care se teme sa-si asume propria neputinta?

Nu ma tem de nefericire. Nu ma tem de suferinta. Ma tem de non-sens. Sensul face si nefericirea, si suferinta, suportabile.
Nu ma tem de neputinta. Ma tem ca nu cumva sensul sa fie doar o biata constructie a mintii mele, un "mecasnism de reducere a tensiunii intrapsihice". Ma tem de mine, de orgoliul meu de creator, de puterea mea de a crea sens - sensuri false, justificative.
Am nevoie ca Sensul sa existe independent de mine si de vointa mea. Si imi place ca oamenii pe care ii iubesc si viata mea sunt propria mea reflectie. Asta ma face pe mine sa ma simt in siguranta.

Oare ce fac deja pentru asta?

Imi pare rau ca l-am lasat pe recenzor sa ma treaca "ateu". Sper ca Dumnezeu stie cine sunt eu, chiar daca oamenii par mereu sa inteleaga gresit. Nu pot fi furioasa pe Dumnezeu si in acelasi timp sa nu cred in el.

Daca ar vorbi iar cu mine, poate l-as ierta. Dar mie mi s-ar ierta aroganta?

Nu de catre Dumnezeu, ci de catre oameni...

“Sad are only those who understand”

2011-09-12T21:35:00.000+03:00

Proverb arab

Do I love you because you're beautiful

2011-06-29T12:21:00.011+03:00

or are you beautiful because I love you?

~Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, Cinderella

E una din zilele alea cand ma simt cea mai ghinionista fata din lume; cand ma indoiesc de tot si toate, dar cel mai mult de mine, pt ca eu sunt parca singura care 'nu face sens' in poveste.

Ce ghinion sa-l iubesc tocmai pe el. De ce mi s-a intamplat mie tocmai asta? De ce? Ce-am facut sa merit o asa povara? Chiar sa nu existe un El pentru mine in toata lumea asta? Unu care chiar sa vrea sa fie cu mine, sa nu-mi reflecte inapoi la nesfarsit propriile mele indoieli. Unu care sa fie capabil de un gest atat de lipsit de egoim cum este ala de a iubi pe cineva - altul decat tine insuti.

Il vad ca se straduie; ii inteleg intentiile; dar nu va fi niciodata un baietel adevarat in felul asta; o sa ramana un Pinochio, gata sa minta frumos ca sa pastreze o imagine. Nu, nu ca sa nu ma supar eu - i se rupe lui de ce simt eu. Minte ca lucrurile sa para frumoase in continuare. Ce sunt ele, nu conteaza.

Cum naiba am ajuns eu in mizeria asta de poveste?

Reflecta asta propria mea incertitudine interioara? propria mea dificultate de accepta un comittment? Propria mea frica de intimitate si dependenta emotionala de altul?

Da, m-am indoit de el in secunda doi. In secunda unu m-a lovit ca un fulger, am simtit ca se invarte pamantul cu mine. Timpul s-a oprit in loc. Pentru o clipa l-am iubit fara sa ma gandesc la nimic, fara sa ma tem, fara sa sper. Doar pentru o clipa.
Apoi imediat mi s-a strans stomacul, presimtind deja avalansa de probleme si complicatii pe care le cara cu el oriune merge. Uhuu! Am avut dreptate. Mama, ce tare sunt!

Pentru cineva care fuge atata de obligatii, mi-am gasit o puscarie tare frumoasa: sa ma invart mereu in jurul cozii - il iubesc, nu-l iubesc, il iubesc, nu-l iubesc.
Nu vreau sa-l iubesc. Doamne, de ce el? De ce e tocmai el perfect petru mine?

Ce bine de el - el e in siguranta; el nu simte nimic in carcasa lui acoperita cu platose. Trece prin viata ca gasca prin apa, nu se uda niciodata. "traieste clipa". Face ce pare cool la momentul respectiv, isi regizeaza momente memorabile. Un adevarat colectionar de experiente. Nu, nimic nu conteaza dincolo de 'acum'. Nu, nimic n-a contat, n-a insemnat nimic. Las' ca e mai bine sa nu am incredere in el, zice.
Normal ca e mai bine - pentru el. Zero responabilitate pentru orice zice, orice face. Ca doar mi-a zis....

Cum de-l pot iubi? Cum de mi se pare atat de frumos si de perfect cand sunt cu el? Ce sunt eu daca sunt in stare sa-l iubesc pe el - o minciuna?

Sa ma rog sa minta si de data asta? Poate se da mare, poate i se pare lui cool sa nu-i pese de nimeni si de nimic. Poate-i e frica sa nu-l ranesc si d'aia face ce face el cand ii e frica... Ce frumos ar fi. Wishful thinking. Cine pe cine minte pana la urma?

Cine e omul pe care-l iubesc eu de atatia ani?

Ce putem noi construi impreuna fara ca eu sa am incredere in el, in sentimentele lui pentru mine, in loialitatea lui fata de mine... fata de noi. Cum sa-mi pun eu viata in mainile unui om care se joaca mereu cu ea?

Sunt toate astea simple naivitati? E cumva o relatie intre doi oameni maturi altceva decat m-am obisnuit eu sa cred? Asta e viitorul: fiecare pentru el? Fiecare pe drumul lui, fiecare protejandu-si interesele. Sunt sentimentele o chestie demodata? Intr-o lume plina de atractii si "oferte speciale", sunt alegerile univoce o chestie perimata? Omul sofisticat nu mai iubeste?

Generalizez degeaba incapacitatea unui om de a ma iubi pe mine. Asta e tot ce e. Nici mai mult, nici mai putin.

Da, toata rabdarea din lume - rabdarea mea - poate 'construi' o relatie. A mai facut-o o data, odata de mult. Rabdare, strans din dinti si ambitie cat cuprinde: reteta succesului. Reteta 'relatiei perfecte' in ochii tuturor, mai putini ai mei.
Ce-am invatat eu atunci, la sfarsitul celor 9 ani de "relatie"? Ca nu se merita. Ca asa cum era la inceput, asa o sa tot fie. Ca vointa unuia nu tine loc de dragoste cat pentru doi. Ca daca n-o simti, probabil nu este; si daca trebuie sa lupti pentru ea, in final platesti mai mult decat face si gustul ala amar nu se duce prea usor.

E oare posibil pentru mine o poveste 'adevarata'? Vad ca repet aceleasi teme - iar, si iar. Minciuni, ambitii, promisiuni desarte. Sunt eu un om atat de puternic sa fiu mereu atrasa de oameni atat de slabi? Mint eu oare cand iubesc, e propria mea lasitate reflectata inapoi catre mine de barbatul care nu ma poate iubi, si nu ma poate alege? Ma tem eu atat de mult de ceea ce sustin ca vreau, cat sa manaresc mereu calea catre situatii imposibile?

Nu vreau sa repet greselile trecutului. Nu vreau sa-l 'salvez' iar pe el de propriile lui temeri si indoieli. Nu vreau sa fac eu iar toata munca, doar pentru ca eu vreau, si pot, si inteleg ca o 'relatie' inseamna de fapt multa munca. Nu vreau sa-mi petrec tot restul vietii intrebandu-ma ce simte el de fapt pentru mine. Daca nu cumva e langa mine pentru ca eu am facut ca lucrurile sa fie usoare si comode, si la indemana.

O prietena imi spune ca 'asa sunt barbatii': mereu manati de impuls, niciodata constienti de ceea ce simt, fara sa simta de fapt altceva decat dorinta de moment. Mereu rationalizand post-factum. Poate, cine stie. Asta sustine si el. Barbatul meu frumos si perfect, care nu e de fapt al meu, nici frumos, nici perfect. Si probabil nu va fi niciodata altfel decat in mintea mea. Mintea mea nebuna.

E totul prea greu, prea urat, prea meschin. O sa-l pot oare privi vreodata in ochi fara teama ca o sa ma pierd in intuneric? O sa ma poata oare vreodata privi in ochi simtind ca ma iubeste si ma vrea doar pe mine? Nu in ciuda fricilor si indoielilor lui, ci tocmai pentru ca ele exista.

O sa-i pot vreodata spune cat il iubesc fara sa-mi fie rusine de asta? Fara sa simt ca asta ma anuleaza si ma umileste, ma reduce la o gramada de carne fara minte, manata de sentimente stupide, fara fond.

Nu vreau doar o relatie. Vreau dragoste.
Dragoste nemanjita de interese de moment, nepatata de suferinte, si minciuni, si indoieli. Din aia care dureaza toata viata.

Se poate?

“Prove yourself
brave, truthful and unselfish
and someday
you will be a real boy“.

Why waste time reliving the past when there is so much to worry about the future?

2011-04-20T12:16:00.044+03:00

De cate ori n-am auzit o femeie suspinand cu speranta la gandul ca el se va intoarce! De cate ori nu mi-am spus, cu vocea aia aspra si ferma a lui taica-miu, "nu fi proasta!". Nu fi! Lucrurile astea nu se intampla decat in telenovele. Nu vreau sa fiu femeia asta! Vreau sa fiu puternica, si independenta, si... si in control.

Mare iluzie si controlul asta. Nu exista control, aproape niciodata. Da, ce-i drept, viata recreaza iar si iar aceleasi drame si povesti - incat avem mereu senzatia aia placuta de 'aha!'. Are sens. Inca o femeie care asteapta ca el sa se schimbe. Ca el sa se trezeasca intr-o dimineata si sa realizeze ca pe ea o vrea. Cate sunt oare in momentul asta? Sute? Mii? Milioane? Femei proaste

Uneori ma gandesc ca pretutindeni in lume, chiar si in colturile aparent cele mai fericite si mai implinite, sunt femei care suspina dupa altul. Care "cred" in sinea lor ca lui totusi ii pasa; ca e ceva, o forta a Raului care il opreste, ii sadeste indoiala in suflet, ii topeste curajul propriilor lui sentimente, si-l tenteaza cu valoarea (de altfel atat de volatila) a deciziilor si alegerilor rationale.

Asa ca eu am decis inca de mult, de cand eram copil, ca eu nu voi fi asa. Mintea mea rece si lucida a inteles, a vazut, a tras concluziile. Concluziile neputintei, umilintei, subordonarii tacite fata de decizia altuia. Mintea mea androgina a decis: eu nu voi depinde niciodata de un altul. Cum o sa fac asta? O sa fug. O sa lupt. N-o sa-mi pese. Sunt atat de desteapta: o sa gasesc eu o solutie.

Singuratatea nu mi se parea un pret prea mare. Am fost dintotdeauna singura si m-am descurcat. La urma-urmei, nu exista cu adevarat o lipsa a singuratatii in doi, nu-i asa? E doar o iluzie de moment. O fantasma a mintii noastre feminine. Mintea slaba care nu-si poate contine emotiile si se lasa invadata de ele. Eu - am decis eu - eu nu voi fi asa.

Si anii au trecut. Asa cum trec ei. Din cand in cand imi rasuna iar in urechi amintirea femeii ciudate, isterice i-as zice eu acum, despre care mama imi spusese atunci ca era la a 7-a casnicie. Eram sub 1 m, si am privit silueta corpolenta cu respect si admiratie. Veneratie chiar. 7 mi s-a parut intotdeauna un nr magic. M-a ignorat cu seninatate mult timp cat a vorbit cu mama. Nu ascultam ce isi zic - foste colege de facultate sau ceva. Whatever. Prostii. Eram prinsa: nu mai vazusem pe nimeni niciodata atat de fascinant. Si dintr-o data, minunea s-a aplecat spre mine si mi-a prins barbia in mainile ei:

- Sa nu te mariti niciodata cu ala pe care-l iubesti tu! mi-a zis ea cu fermitatea convingerii interioare. Daca vrei sa fii fericita, marita-te cu ala care te iubeste el pe tine.

Apoi ea a disparut. A ramas amintirea acordului meu intern. Daca vrei sa fii fericita... Avea sens ce zicea ea. Chiar avea.

Asa voi face.

Decizii, decizii... unde se duc ele cand mor? Oare se duc la cer? Se duc in iad? Decizii uitate. Decizii nerostite. Ce ne-am face fara ele? Ce as fi fost eu fara decizia asta care mi-a ghidat mereu, nestiuta, nesimtita, asteptarile...

Fara sa stiu, fara sa realizez, intreg universul meu intern s-a reorganizat atunci. A fost infiintata o Organizatie Secreta Pentru Asigurarea Fericirii. Sentimentele mele, abia nascute, erau luate pe sus de Agenti Secreti invizibili si dispareau in temnite nestiute de nimeni. Glasul lor cerand indurare nu trebuia sa fie auzit, nu trebuia sa-si exercite puterea magica asupra puterii mele de decizie. Numai asa puteam ramane rece, si lucida. Numai asa aveam puterea de a discerne daca el ma iubea pe mine, daca el era sansa ca eu sa fericita..

Reguli si legi aspre s-au nascut pentru a intari si sustine noul Regim. Nu cere ce vrei. Nu lasa sa se vada. Nu fa primul pas. Nu vorbi despre ceea ce simti. Nu-i privi in ochi. Nu simti. Fii rece. Fii desteapta. Fii puternica. Nu te atasa. Nu lasa de la tine. Nu negocia cu teroristii. Nu iubi. Nu iubi tu prima.

Cel caruia ii pasa mai putin detine controlul.

Dar in strafunduri, o miscare revolutionara s-a pus in miscare. Scopul ei: sa destabilizeze Sistemul. Sa readuca Sentimentele la putere. Sa le elibereze din temnite, sa le dea mana libera. Sa calce in picioare regulile.

Si uite-asa, in momente strategic alese pentru maxim de impact, sistemul era zguduit din temelii, legile lui puse la indoiala, mecanismele de protectie faceau scurt-circuit in lant, si groaza se infiltra la toate nivelurile. Am pierdut Controlul! Totul se prabuseste! E Sfarsitul. Lupte de strada, rauri de sange si lacrimi, confuzie, dezordine, haos.

Binele si Raul luptau pe viata si pe moarte, cand de-o parte, cand de cealalta. Totul pentru o cauza nobila: fericirea mea.

Dar viata produce cand te astepti mai putin o lebada neagra. Nu stii cum, poti inventa orice 'de ce'. O poti privi ca pe o curiozitate, sau ca pe o confirmare. Poti cauta in sinea ta motive - interiorul creeaza exteriorul.

Imi privesc in tacere prietena si nu stiu ce sa-i spun. Nu stiu cum am facut. Nu stiu care e secretul. Nu stiu daca El-al ei se va intoarce, se va razgandi si el. Stiu ca se uita la mine si vede speranta. Uite ca se poate, isi zice ea. Si spera. Speranta aia ce doare, speranta aia plina de indoieli.

Din afara, eu stiu: ca el-al ei n-o iubeste. N-o merita. Ca nu se potrivesc de nici un fel. Ca n-ar fi fericita cu el.

Stiu pentru ca cineva mi-a spus asta, si eu am crezut.

Cat despre mine?
Imi par mai mult ca oricand o curiozitate a naturii. Exceptia care confirma regula, zice ea. Zambesc trist. Nu mi-a priit niciodata sa fiu o exceptie.

Eu, in mine, dau din colt in colt. Nu stiu ce sa cred. Ce sa fac. Mintea mea rece si lucida e intrigata. Vocea a amutit. I-am inchis eu gura. Imi baga strambe, si i-am spus sa se duca naibii.

E atat de ingrozitor de usor sa-ti doresti ceva. Ceva intangibil, ceva care-ti mangaie orgoliul, ceva pe care usor-usor il definesti ca special, cel mai special dintre speciali. Singurul. De neinlocuit. De nepierdut. Ambitia ia locul dorintei, si El devine un scop in sine. Scop care-ti reconfigureaza viata. Spatiul tau interior devine camp de lupta in numele iubirii - intre Ambitie si Ratiune. Imi privesc prietena si stiu exact ce-i trece prin minte. Ma recunosc. Nu fi proasta! vs Ce proasta esti!

M-am trezit intr-o zi simtindu-ma ca un caine care, dupa ce a alergat ani de zile dupa o roata, a prins-o. Now what?

Sigur ca am sperat. Dar n-am crezut niciodata cu adevarat. Sunt o fata desteapta. Fata lu' tata.

Dupa ani de regim dictatorial, prizonierii eliberati vad in sfarsit lumina. Au visat-o, si-au inchipuit-o in nenumarate feluri. Au scris si regizat sute si mii de povesti despre cum ar fi. Si acum o privesc in fata, nedumeriti, stangaci. E... altfel.

Si frica se strecoara usor in sufletele lor. Un tip nou de frica, paralizanta. Frica de libertate. Ii tenteaza sa se intoarca in celule. Acolo macar se simteau in siguranta.
Aici afara, totul e posibil.

S-a intamplat pe neasteptate, intr-o dimineata sa realizez ca atunci, in momentul ala eram fericita. Iar el, el nu facea nimic. El dormea. Un sms a imortalizat momentul. Dovada de egoism si speranta in acealsi timp. Un sms catre o prietena singura si trista, care vroia sa stie cum sunt. Si-a imaginat momentul de atatea ori. Speranta din aia care doare, plina de indoieli.

speak well of death

2010-09-22T11:29:00.040+03:00

I woke up on Sunday very early, as I do nowadays. I'm probably old by now, I just haven't realized it. Old people do this sort of thing. I went into the kitchen for my coffee, but when I got there, I froze. Baby was obviously ill, barely standing on his tiny feet.

I never cried so hard in my life, not even when my dad died.

Baby is a blue parrot. And I usually don't pay that much thought to him. In the mornings, we talk a bit while I wait for my coffee to boil, and over the years, I often suspected him of forgetting who I was from one day to the next. At some point, I was angry with him for beating up the smaller birds. I pointed my finger at him in warning. He stopped hurting the others, but he was upset with me for weeks and he pretended not to see me when I greeted him in the morning. He doesn't know my name, but he knows what "don't!" means.

He's smaller than my fist, and I have really small hands. And I don't really care for him, he's my mom's bird. He's just... there.

About a month ago, his girlfriend died. Suddenly. I was shocked. I didn't see it coming, and I see everything. I blamed my mom for being selfish and careless. I cried, then I cried some more, reminded of my own possible death. Then I moved on. Just like everyone. She was green.

Then my mom wanted to buy a new one, because Baby was lonely and depressed. I became involved again, urging her not to buy an identical one to the one that died. It seemed ungracious and plain sick to replace her like that. And then she bought two, very young ones, and I spent a week angry at her for being cheap, and selfish.

and then the new girl died about a week ago, despite my taking her to the doctor and putting my faith in him; the treatment didn't work. and I started having nightmares about being dead too, with tiny, skinny, birds legs. and my mom wouldn't really care about my wishes, just like she does in real life, I thought.

But now Baby is dying and I can't stand it. When the hell did I start caring for this little guy? 3 years is a long time, but he's just there. what do I care?

I spent this whole Sunday away from home, terrified of coming back and finding him dead, like I found the other ones. Maybe 3 in a row is too much. Maybe his being a rebel touched a cord inside of me and we became alike. Maybe it's because he's blue, or maybe because I'm afraid of dying myself. Or maybe it's because I was too young to mourn my father, and I was never aloud to cry over him - cos I'm expected to be perfect and strong. and now I cry for all of them, me included.

and I wish I was angry at the two doctors that don't seem to know what they're doing. Or angry at my mom, for whatever. Anger makes you feel strong, and mighty. But all I feel is dread.
Maybe I am identified with the poor bird. We're both blue, we're both helpless, we both don't understand what the heck is going on.

and there are moments when I can't stand the tension anymore. I want him to die already! He's gonna die anyway, right? why wait. he's having a miserable life. he can't eat the stuff he likes; I terrify him to death 3 times a day when I have to catch him and shove disgusting medicine down his throat. and the damned thing's not working. and he's getting worse. and I'm a horrible person for wanting him to die faster, die on my own terms, so I could only cry once. not 3 times a day, for a week.

and maybe I brought this on. I've been reading this book - about death, and dying, and the primal anxiety that we all feel about it. as I read through, I felt superior in my understanding. such arrogance! yeah, so what if all problems start here? the man who can't chose one woman, the friend who can't be alone, the other who throws himself in pointless, numerous affairs, even my mom who won't let me grow up, and my refusing any sort of responsibility or commitment - we're all terrified of running out of endless possibilities, afraid that the voice inside is just waiting for a chance to whisper: you're going to die too!

but who cares?

and we don't speak of death. we never speak of it.
we speak of sex, and politics, and football. about our hopes and dreams, and our stupid, shallow ambitions. but we never speak of Death.
nobody wanted to talk about what I feel these days. I tell them my parrot died today. And they're pretending not to hear. I'm heartbroken. My whole world collapsed in a second bc some stupid bird that doesn't even know who I am is dying. you hear? I'm dying inside.

and I'm terrified.

and I went straight to bargaining on Sunday morning. as if my worthless life could actually be a bargaining chip. as if god would actually manifest itself at my will. as if he/she couldn't see right through my selfish offer.
I wasn't really trying to save him. I was only trying to save my sorry ass from living through losing him. and god knows this, as he saw the same stupid movies as I did. sacrifice must be honest to work my ass. that's a fairytale. you can't negotiate your way around death. it knows every trick in the book.

and I know all about death. I know about grief. and anger. I watched my 80 years old grandmother die in my arms, and I didn't even blink. I know that all things come to an end at some point, and I get it why it must be so. but this is personal. this is my death somehow - it belongs to me. and all the knowledge in the world won't help me - I need to control this.
not him. I won't have it. I won't let him go. I'll shove all that yellow stuff down his throat, I'll go to every damned doctor in this country, someone's got to know how to fight this, how to stop this. this must stop. now.I couldn't save the other two, but I will save him. this time, I won't lose. I can't! I can't...

but the crazy part?
it's that all this is about me.
Not even his death belongs to him. I stepped in and I made it personal. It belongs to me now, it's between me and my god. and god doesn't seem to care about what I want. god minds his own business.

and Baby will die, regardless

Sa-mi plang de mila...

2010-09-08T16:08:00.024+03:00

am fost la mare, o zi si un pic.
o dorinta nerostita, indeplinita pe neasteptate.

m-am simtit ingrozitor de singura, atat de singura ca intr-un moment de disperare, mi-am facut si bagajul, hotarata sa infrunt 2 autobuze si un tren sa ajung ACUM! inapoi acasa.

apoi a rasarit soarele, norii s-au imprastiat, m-am mutat din camera aia portocalie si odioasa, pe plaja, si m-am linistit. mi-am cumparat niste foi si am inceput sa vorbesc cu mine. nu stiu de ce, dar propria mea voce ma linisteste - cand vorbesc suficient de lent ca sa ma ascult, si mana, lenta saraca, imi permite asta.

am luptat in secret cu un sentiment de rusine care ma prindea pe la colturi, cand ii vedeam pe ceilalti cum se uitau la mine. o femeie singura pare intotdeauna penibila, cumva, nu? de parca e defecta. daca mai si scrie de zor, parca prea cauta sa se dea interesanta. saraca. doar-doar, o baga-o si pe cineva in seama...

cand a fost sa pun cortul pe plaja, am gandit indelung unde sa-l pun. cat de aproape de celelalte, putine? aproape de cine? n-as vrea ca baietii aia sa creada ca mi-o caut cu lumanarea daca ma pun langa ei.
am ales instant sa-l pun la apus, ca sa nu bat la ochi. noua fauna de vama a ratacit pe drum vechile reguli de conduita. vamaiotu postmodern nu se simte libercugetator decat daca urla noaptea la 3 in capul muritorilor de rand care dorm in prostia lor. n-aveam chef de glume.

daca nu stau pe plaja parca n-am fost la mare. oricum comfortul unui dus in tara asta se imbina gretos cu lucrurile ieftine si de prost gust cu care sunt placate camerele 'de hotel', invariabil portocalii! (de ce? de ce? de ce?) Am devenit mai sensibila, mai mofturoasa. Uratul imi face rau fizic. O noapte in camera aia si m-am trezit cu greata. Am dormit ghemuita in sacul meu, cu teama de a ma apropia de cearsafurile alea mirosind a portocaliu ieftin.

Pe plaja, ritmul marii ma linisteste. Am dormit bustean, in ciuda idiotului care punea muzica in Stuff cu bassul la maxim si boxe de calculator. la 6, am deschis vag un ochi interior cand am auzit iar bolero-ul. excelent, mi-am zis, inca fac asta. n-am avut putere sa vad rasaritul, mi-am inchis la loc ochiul si m-am culcusit in cei doi saci de dormit pe care-i mixasem: e si mai frig cand esti singur. n-am dormit de mult asa bine.

dimineata, o vreme absolut superba m-a facut sa ma indoiesc de amintirile recente cu ploaie si frig. bine,... dincolo de spatiul gol pe plaja care o lumineaza, vama e deprimanta cand vezi toate gheretele si barurile alea parasite, distruse. mancare proasta, pt ca n-am indraznit sa mananc singura la un restaurant. poate sunt eu de moda veche, dar si in bucuresti se uita lumea la mine ca la circ daca ma asez singura la o masa. nu pot sa mananc in tensiune, sunt si eu om.

aveam bani in plus (aia pe care nu i-am mai dat camerei portocalii), asa ca mi-a luat rapid o carte si niste magneti de frigider. sunt un monstru de egoism, stiu: n-am luat nimic, nimanui. doar mie. ultimii ani au adunat in mine multa nemultumire si tristete: ma simt extrem de neapreciata, si folosita, si nevalidata. asa ca nu mai pot da, nimic, nimanui. nu mai am de unde.

stiu, tre sa invat sa cer; dar in ciuda a ce stiu despre injonctiuni, as prefera mai degraba oameni care ofera alora care doar iau. asa sunt eu, naiva. problema e ca nu stiu de unde sa-i iau. fac io ce fac si toate relatiile mele se denatureaza rapid. par prea sfanta, prea perfecta, prea critica, prea naiba-sa-ma-ia-ca-zau-nu-sunt. fiecare vede ce-i convine. sunt ca o oglinda in care se reflecta Frica. De ce, nu stiu. Poate mi-am decis eu, la un moment dat, sa-i tin pe toti la distanta. oare de ce? ptr ca erau superficiali si energofagi nerecunoscatori? ar fi o idee.

imi vine sa urlu. la mine, sa ma trezesc.
la cer, sa ma scuteasca o data!
e funny cum calitatile se transforma miraculos in defecte cand nu primesti ceea ce vrei.

e al naibii de usor sa-mi reprosezi ca sunt "prea" orice. n-as putea fi 'calduta' nici daca as vrea. e posibil sa dispretuesc asta pt ca nu pot fi. asta e singurul lucru care a ramas constant in viata mea, inca de cand eram in scoala primara: vreau sa fiu si eu ca ceilalti. sa blend in.si Vocea care intervine si zice: nu fii proasta!
as vrea eu!

cand eram printr-a 5-a, era o gasca al naibii de cool. visam sa fiu de-a lor. imi imaginam tot felul de chestii cool pe care le faceau, si cum aveam eu sa-i cuceresc cu eforturi supraomenesti prin care sa ma dau drept cool. printr-a 8-a, nu mai stiu cum, m-am trezit printre ei. am aflat ca ei ma credeau pe mine cool, ca le-a fost frica tot timpul ala sa vorbeasca cu mine sa nu le dau flit, si ca erau ingrozitor de boring. bine, faptul ca ma credeau pe mine speciala e de'ajuns sa-i descalifice, I know. si sunt realista, nu modesta.

ceea ce vreau eu e sa nu mai gandesc. deloc. ok, sa stiu cat rest am de primit la paine, ca sa nu ma mai uit tamp la femeia aia cand imi cauta aprobarea din priviri. da, asta ar fi grozav: sa ma pot concentra pe paine. capul meu de mate saracu :-))) d'aia n-am facut eu liceul de arta, sa nu se piarda geniul lu taicamiu. HA! ce oameni prosti (mama si profu de mate). ce oameni prosti. uita-te la mine: cat naiba face 5x8?

MOR de plictiseala. nici asta nu s-a schimbat. cand eram foarte mica si ma pocnea plistiseala, ma puneam in cap. si stateam asa ore intregi. ciudat, dar si acum gasesc pozitia xtrem de relaxanta. poate putin prea ... sexuala, perversa, dar whatever. proiectez :-))

ce frumos era la mare. ce caut io aici, in lumea asta gri in care nu-mi gasesc deloc locul?

nu vreau sa zic lma niciunei marii. nu vreau! sunt deja prea multe complezente. n-a mai ramas urma de 'verde', numa' plastic cat vezi cu ochii. nu vreau, frate. nu vreau sa ma "integrez". nici lu' mama nu-i zic. asa de puternica e credinta mea :-) dc as avea si nitica ambitie, ce frumoasa ar fi viata...

un nene, pe plaja, vine si-mi aduce o carte. "v-am vazut scriind mai devreme". zic 'da' cu inima stransa. sunt extrem de nesociabila. n-am chef niciodata sa dau explicatii, mai ales cand mi se aplica etichete pe frunte.
cartea n-a fost, cum ma temeam, ceva care sa ma aduca pe calea cea buna si sfanta. ci niste dialoguri, purtate de oameni necunoscuti mie, despre chestii care de altfel ma intereseaza. dumnezeu, viata, logica lor, bine si rau... d'astea. nimic, dar absolut nimic nou.
am citit, dezamagita, la intamplare, intrebandu-ma de ce trebuia sa ajunga la mine cartea aia. de ce atunci. cat de nedrept ca suferisem o zi intreaga singura, si azi aveam deja doua carti!

abia dupa ce omu si-a recuperat cartea si m-a amenintat "pe dupa-amiaza!", abia atunci am inteles: nu era nimic nou in carte, dar in mine, Vocea nu se auzise nicio secunda. niciun comentariu. nicio rautate. nici pic de dispret. doar dezamagire, ca asa e ea, pretentioasa. ii plac surprizele.
dar mesajul dintre randuri era "ai dreptate".

nu, nu era bucata despre genii; n-am de gand sa ma las complexata de unu ca Leonardo daVinci. nici faza despre Dumnezeu ca dublare energetica a orice. stim si noi cate ceva. Nici bucata despre Liberul Arbitru, ca necesitate in a invata singuri despre Bine si Rau ca optiuni interioare, nu obligatii exterioare. ok, oamenii aia nu ziceau chiar asa, dar eu nu retin cuvinte si nu pot cita. erau de acord cu mine, si asta e tot ce conteaza.
dar a fost un detaliu, aproape trecut cu vederea, cum ca Voltaire l-a criticat pe Dumnezeu ca e prea tolerant cu oamenii. Nu stiu mai nimic despre Voltaire-omu, nu stiu cum a sfarsit-o, dar sper ca si-a invatat lectia. Ceea ce mi-o doresc si mie de altfel, cu indoiala de rigoare.

Acum vreau sa stiu daca Dumnezeu s-a suparat pe el, sau dimpotriva, a fost intelegator...

We had it all, I gave it up, I wanted more

2010-07-27T11:50:00.029+03:00

I have this friend. She’s beautiful, and has like a million friends, and everything in her life went easy. Always. She always gets her way, and she can see the sense in that. She never doubts it, for a second. Her right to the things she wants.

There is no rejection in her life. No telling her 'no'. There's no way she cannot have it all - all that she wants. And she cannot stand pain. Any, no matter how small. She doesn't see how it can make sense in getting something she wants. She doesn’t understand suffering for the sake of a greater good. I do.

Now why is that?

It doesn’t make me wiser, just more compliant. It doesn’t mean that I understand more about life, or whatever. My karma theories only help cover the feeling of discontent and helplessness with how my life always seem to lead to some sort of suffering, or letting go of things I cannot have. I need to give it some sort of sense, and it helps me to think that all things worth having are worth paying for. But what it all comes down to – do I end up paying more for the things others get for free?

And did I learn not to bother wanting things to cover for not having them? Did I learn being wise as a way to cope with rejection?

All the things I know now, all the things that make me look so wise and knowledgeable I had to figure them out because things seldom turn out the way I want them to. I'm often left with wondering what the hell went wrong, or why the hell can’t I have what I want, just for once? What it must be life for those who always get the best before they even move a neuron! I never get what I want, ever. Unless I can give it to myself, unless I can make it happen -and that usually means ‘things’ – because I have this innate fear of playing with people’s lives. It’s like… if I make someone do something, it’s not real. It’s manipulation, it’s fake, it’s not their free choice and it won’t last. Hence, it means nothing.

Yes, I do believe people can make people do things and bypass free choice. Not because I’m better or more powerful than others, not bc of some magical thinking on my part, but bc people often do give away their responsibility and fake participation and don’t own up to the things they do. I have tons of examples – friends, people who have confided in me over the years I’ve heard so many men wine about how they didn’t really want to get married and have kids, someone else made them do it – that I never dare tell a man “stay with me, I’m the best option for you”. Heck, what the hell do I know? I’m not the best anything. What would I do with a prisoner?

All my friends are (happily?) married. Half of them have children, quite nice ones I’d say. The other half desperately want some. And I feel caught in the middle of all this, the blank screen for everyone's projections. Often unsure of how I stand on these issues. I was the first of them to get drunk, have a serious rel, talk freely about sex, use drugs, or whatever. I still am the one who’s had the longest rel, longer than their marriages. The cleanest breakup. The more interesting life, I should say. I can usually face up to their criticism and pushing. About what I do, or don't - with my life. But now my ex has a baby, and I can’t help feeling like the looser.

Was there a competition I wasn’t aware of?

It feels like all my dreams and wants only managed to make a mess of things. No, I didn’t want to get married then. And probably not to him, as he was then. Didn’t like him that much actually. had stopped loving him at some point. Although I did love him - so much - it got lost on the way. I know it started with him sitting in next to the taxi driver and not me coming home from the hospital. I felt lonely then. And that woke me somehow to whom he really was and had been all along: a stranger. Someone looking at me from a distance, but never holding my hand.

But I listen to him to him now and he’s different. He’s alive, he’s real, he’s perceptive, for the first time ever he notices my feelings, talks about them, pays them respect. How is this possible? Is it he’s growing older? Is it the baby, and being a father – something I didn’t use to think would work that well for him? Or is it her – the woman we never really talk about. Did she change him? Is this her influence? And further, and more important – was it me, back then? Was I the one who “made” him so cold, and distant, and unresponsive.

How can my feelings matter now, when they never mattered then, for the whole 9 years we were together? Now that I don’t matter anymore...

Am I the secret, unrecognized architect behind my failures? Is it that despite my bestest efforts not to control others, my very refusal fuels their participation in the process and becomes their motivation?
Or is that by refusing to control them, I also refuse to control my own life - thus declining my responsibility for the whole damn thing that eventually becomes my life?
Is it too much to want the other to bear the responsibility of choosing me?

So I can’t stop feeling like I lost. All the way. I traded him for the one that didn’t really love me after all. The one that never even acknowledged me - nor my feelings, or his; the one that pretended that nothing ever happened and I didn’t matter at all. The one I could never look in the eyes and tell "choose me!".
The one that wouldn’t even allow me the right to mourn his loss, as how could I have lost something that never happened? How my behavior could had been appropriate, how could my anger be just, when I never existed in the first place? Or maybe he never existed, I’m... I don't know anymore. I remember someone making me feel special, and loved. Someone encouraging me to do what’s right for me, someone who’s eyes kept smiling when looking at me. Someone who loved touching me. But I never got to have all that. It just went poof! the second I tried to touch it back. And I was left wondering.

Now why is that?

Why do I understand suffering as a just price to pay for the things I want?
Now I know I have a lot of nice things; but that's just not the point. Why do I never get what I want, even though I keep wanting less and less over the years?
Do we really ever get to choose what we get?

I know it looks like we had it all. Maybe we did, but I didn’t.

I wanted love.
And I never really got that either, did I? Now why is that?

Riddle Me This, Riddle Me That

2010-07-17T16:45:00.010+03:00

E d'abia iulie, dar am senzatia ca a trecut o vesnicie. Anul asta ma prinde mereu pe picior gresit. Scap mereu bile din mana - nu sunt un jongler bun. Nu-mi place de mine asa imprastiata. Faci un lucru, si bun, asta sunt eu. Dar nu anul asta.

Ma simt de parca le-am scos pe toate si le-am intins pe masa, sa le vad in sfarsit, sa le stiu care sunt. Dar nu apuc. Nu ma mai apuc.
Si sunt extrem de nemultumita de mine - fac greseli, prea multe. Nimic nu mai e perfect si-mi vine sa urlu. (sa nu se trezeasca vreunu sa-mi reproseze iar ca's prea perfectiunista ca'i fut una peste bot de nu se vede! Mediocrii n-au ce cauta aici: mars! Si-asa sunteti prea multi si-mi respirati mie aerul. Degeaba.

Deci. Ce naiba se intampla cu mine?
Anu' trecut am facut un film. Ma rog, unii au crezut ca o sa fac filmu' lor (cu banii si munca mea, d'oh), si a iesit cu scantei. Vina mea ca n-am folosit italicele si boldurile cand am scris "vrei sa scrii ceva pentru mine?". Poate am zis atunci "impreuna" - intre timp m-am desteptat. In domeniul asta, cand e vb de scriitori - regizor - producator - actori, nu exista impreuna. Fiecare isi face propria opera, ceilalti il incurca. Sunt recunoscatoare pt aportu altora, dar zau ca viziunea tre sa fie unitara - a UNUIA - ca altfel se duce dracului totu. Si cand lucrezi cu mine, ala sunt EU. Nu pt ca sunt mai desteapta, ci pt eu am pus bolovanu in miscare. Urci sau te dai din drum.

L-am revazut de curand: e ok, dar are nevoie sa fie editat de cinevga care chiar stie (ie nu de mine; sorry Cati, pe tine nu te bag in oala). S-a ales prafu de el, oricum. Daca l-au inteles unii, aia's putini. Prea putini. Poate e prea complicat. Mult prea complicat. Si eu mi-am prins urechile cand am aranjat itele. Am incercat sa le arat altora cum vad eu lumea - cu toate dedesubturile scoase la iveala. Si s-au pierdut printre ele. Le-am dat de ales unde sa se uite, si s-au blocat. Le-am dat de ales ce sa vrea, si mi-au reprosat ca eu nu stiu. Shit. Prea multa libertate strica la cap. La unele capete. Ok, nu stiu de fapt cat de coerent e. Nu stiu daca... ba stiu. Pt ca sunt oameni carora nu le-am zis un cuvant inainte, si au inteles. Au simtit, ca asta era ideea.

Anyways... dupa asta m-am dus la fund. Ce sens are, nu sunt in stare, de ce aia, de nu aia, cat de proasta sunt de fapt, blah-blah. D'aia stau oamenii in patucurile lor caldute - ca sa nu-si chinuie neuronii cu intrebari din astea ecou.

Din senin, intr-o zi, am decis sa-mi iau casa - garsoniera, deh. Vreau caine, deci tre sa ma mut de aici. NU pentru ca prietenele mele gospodine provinciale si psihologi de buzunar cred ca TREBUIE aia si aia. Tare as vrea sa le strig cat de incuiate sunt. Doamne, urasc pe toata lumea azi. O frigida care crede ca io's obsedata pt ca pot vorbi despre sex fara sa ma fac rosie/verde la fata. Si implicit, probabil ca mi-e frica sa fac copii, din moment ce m-am indragostit de un timid. FUCK! Atata ipocrizie ma sufoca. Alte 2 care s-au maritat cu al doilea barbat care le-a zis buna inapoi (primu a fost Marea Dragoste Neimpartasita, un Neinteles fascinant si hiper orginal, of course [ie Looser], si acum imi dau mie lectii Despre Viata. Inelu' si hartia le-a marit si IQ-ul, si experienta de viata. In capu' lor sec. Doar bunu' simt, common sense-ul englezesc le-a scapat printre degete. Alea de la picioarele pe care si le-au bagat in el. Per ansamblu, sunt sigur deprimata pt ca LOR le e frica sa fie singure, pt ca n-am chef sa vorbesc despre problemele mele la comanda, si pt ca nu retin ca un automat toate detaliile [IRELEVANTE] ale unor discutii pedante [circulare] despre nimic.

Deci astea sunt prietenele mele. Trist, foarte trist.
Ei, ma alint. Mai sunt si altii. Altii ok. Cu care ma vad mai rar, care nu-si baga aiurea nasu', care nu ma suna doar cand au nevoie de mine (sau macar de urechile mele, banii mei, etc).
Ma infurie neputinta mea - de a-i trimite pe toti, bulk, la dracu. Sau macar pe fiecare in parte, cand o cere. Cine dracu m-a invatat sa ma simt vinovata sa fac pe desteapta?!?

Deci, revenind. Mi-am luat o garsoniera - nu stiu de ce pe aia. Nu stiu de ce atunci. la un moment dat renuntasem, ca nu gaseam ce vroiam. Asa a trebuit sa fie. Din mai multe motive.
Din altele, stupide, am cheltuit o avere sa o renovez. Asta a fost o tampenie incredibila din partea mea. Bagati la cap ce va zic: NU va mai cumparati case nearanjate; nu se merita efortul, timpul, banii pe care ii mai cheltui dupa aia. Nu mai zic ca e posibil si sa nu iasa bine si sa te sinucizi din cauza asta. Serios acuma: cel mai bine e sa cumperi ceva ce-ti place, e in forma, mai schimbi un robinet, un bec si o culoare de perete, si gata. Stii exact cat te costa, cum arata produsul final, si efortul tau va fi sa numeri banii si sa dai cu subsemnatu. Renovatu e un cosmar. Inca ma trec fiori pe sina spinarii. Si inca nu e gata :-((

Bani nu mai am asa multi. Nu cat mi-ar placea mie, oricum. Cainele ala al naibii costa o avere. Acasa asta nou e de fapt un balaur cu 12 capete care inghite bani. Tre sa ma intorc in campu' muncii, si nu sunt pregatita pt asta. Ce naiba a fost in capul meu, frate? Imi era asa bine. Cati pantofi, cate genti, cate farduri imi cumparam de banii aia. alea probleme, ce aveam io. Fir-ar!

ok, nu asta e problema - ci ca ma simt eu asa... confuza. Cand am plecat din Connex, stiam exact ce vreau sa fac. Aveam un vision. Un vis. L-am implinit. Nemaipomenit. Now, what? Siguru lucru pe care stiu ca-l vreau e catelu. Si pe el inapoi, sort of. Ca sa n-o iau de la capat ca nu mai am chef sa-mi prostituiez sentimetele. Si sa decid o data naibii ce culoare fac peretii aia, sa termin cu renovatu. Parca as vrea sa mai fac un film, mai mult de mila pt aia 40 de milioane pe care i-am dat nenorocitilor alora de la facultate - sa primesc ceva de ei.

Dar ce sa fac cu mine, cu viata mea. Incotro. Mi-e sila sa ma apuc de altceva. S-o iau iar de la capat. Dar nu prea vad optiuni. Mi-e sila de mine ca ma plictisesc de chestii sigure, ca-mi plac chestiile care se platesc prost si ca nu's in stare sa accept asta. Sunt al dracului de materialista. Am lucrat un an pe 75 lei ziua. Ziua inceputa la 2 noaptea, sau la 5, terminata 20-22 de ore later, pe 50 de grade sau -20. Si m-am simit nemaipomenit. Ca un peste in apa. Eu care ma tarasc din pat cel devreme la 10, saream plina de energie cand suna tel la 1:30. Asta vreau, pricepi. Pentru tot restu vietii, asta vreau. Dar nu-mi place iaurtul, si in ciuda siluetei mele, mananc mult, si-mi plac o gramada de bunatati. Si catelul, saracu, o sa vrea si el o jucarie, ceva. Niste pernite din alea cu stuff inside, o tocanita. Un vaccin. Cum sa-i sacrific lui binele pt fericirea mea stupida? Ce stiu eu? Nu-mi era naibii bine cu 1000+ euro pe luna, deh. Ce frumos ar fi putut fi in cladirile alea gri, daca inchideam si eu un pic ochii...

M-am gandit, am intors-o pe toate fetele. Sunt intr-un impas. Am incercat sa vorbesc cu oameni, mai mult ma enervez. Ar treb sa port o placuta de gat: "M-am gandit deja la asta." Imi rasuna in cap vorbele Irinei: Dar tu ai putea face orice. De parca asta ar putea fi o solutie.

Ma rog. Poate o sa-mi vina. De obicei asa e - le las asa, si-mi vine. Sunt doar obosita. Am alergat cam mult anii astia. Am asteptat cam mult. ... "sa se intample ceva minunat". LOL Ce prostie. Singurele lucruri care s-au "intamplat", le-am creat io, cu mainile mele. Ok, El s-a intamplat. A picat din cer - dar mi-a picat in cap, si am si acum ditai cucuiu. Si bine am facut ca n-am crezut, ca prea stralucea numa pe-o parte. Era rugina pe la incheieturi. Cel mai frumos lucru care mi s-a intamplat e si cel mai trist. O neintelegere clar, dar nu a mea, ca io am inteles din prima. In momente din alea e al dracului de neconvenabil sa fii destept. Si poate si mai neconvenabil sa decizi sa-ti tii gura. Cand am decis oare asta? Unii inca ma stiu de frica. De ce-oi fi decis tocmai atunci? N-am gasit ceva mai bun de facut din dragoste? Din dragoste pt cine? Pe cine am iubit eu mai mult in povestea asta? Pe "mama", probabil - adica pe cealalta femeie. Aia singura, si batrana, si speriata de singuratate, si competitie. LOL. Flatant ca a crezut asta. Eu renuntasem deja, din prima. Sperand ca macar ea o sa ma iubeasca. Guess what? Nici n-a observat.

Am cam supracompensat, vad. Daca sunt asa desteapta, cum de nu ma prind? Cum de fac greseli stupide? Cum de vreau chestii imposibile? Ma simt nesigura, pacat de neiertat in lumea mea. Nesigura pe mine.
Ma indoiesc ca 'totu va fi bine', pt ca ma simt epuizata - si dc nu eu, atunci cine o sa faca totul sa fie bine, eh?

E atat de complicat sa fiu eu. As vrea sa fiu altcineva. Cineva care nu s-a gandit niciodata cine o sa fie maine. Cineva care e mereu la fel, care vede toate casele patrate si acoperisurile triungiulare. Era mult mai simplu cand nu stiam cine sunt.
As fi putut fi oricine.

Care e numele meu? Care e al Tatalui meu nume? Cine sunt eu, calator azi prin lume?

2009-09-17T13:30:00.035+03:00

10 of Wands, Rider Waite Tarot

“Undeva, intr-un tinut indepartat, traia o printesa pe nume Turandot, fiica regelui Turan. ("dokht" -> dokhtar (daughter) si Turan – cu sensul peiorativ de primitiv, barbar).

Un blestem teribil se abatuse asupra printesei – orice print care vroia sa se insoare cu ea, trebuia sa raspunda correct la 3 ghicitori. Daca nu stia raspunsul, isi pierdea capul.

In ziua aceea, multimea insetata de sange aclama executia Printului Persiei care tocmai esuase sa raspunda la cele 3 ghicitori ale printesei Turandot. In mijlocul acestei multimi, un tanar calator isi intalneste tatal pe care-l credea pierdut. Acesta este printul Calaf, fiul regelui Timur, exilat din Tartaria cucerita. Impreuna cu regele e si o servitoare, Liu, singura care i-a mai ramas credinciaosa batranului rege. Liu ii marturiseste lui Calaf ca loialitatea i-a fost castigata cu un zambet pe care Printul il aruncase cu mult timp in urma.

Multimea cere extaziata ca executia sa aiba loc, si Printesa Turandot refuza inca o data sa-i salveze viata printului invins. Nici nu s-a rostogolit capul printului ucis, ca necunoscutul inca Print Calaf, indragostit pe loc de Turandot, anunta ca vrea sa fie supus incercarii celor 3 ghicitori – batand de 3 ori gongul si strigand numele printesei de 3 ori. Nimic nu-l poate face pe print sa se razgandeasca.

Inainte de a-i spune noului pretendent ghicitorile, Turandot ii explica sursa blestemului: Lou-Ling, o printesa care condusese singura cu success multi ani imparatia fusese brutal cucerita de catre un Print, care pusese astfel capat prosperitatii Imparatiei. Ca raspuns, Lou-Ling jurase ca niciodata, niciun barbat nu o va mai poseda nici pe ea, nici Imparatia ei.

Turandot ii pune lui Calaf cele 3 ghicitori, si Calaf raspunde correct la fiecare dintre ele:
1.Ce se naste in fiecare noapte si moare in zori? Speranta.
2.Ce luceste rosu si cald, dar nu e foc? Sangele.
3.Ce e rece ca ghiata, dar arde ca focul? Turandot.

Desi ghicitorile au fost rezolvate correct, Turandot isi roaga tatal sa n-o abadoneze strainului. Miscat de spaima printesei, Calaf ii face o propunere surprinzatoare: daca reuseste sa-I afle numele pana a doua zi in zori, isi va pierde si el viata ca toti ceilalti printi inaintea lui, si printesa Turandot nu va mai trebui sa se marite cu el.

In tot orasul, nimeni nu doarme in noaptea aceea. In timp ce multimea insetata de sange incearca sa-I smulga lui Calaf secretul numelui sau, Turandot ii tortureaza pe batranul rege si pe servitoarea lui. Anuntand ca doar ea singura cunoaste secretul printului, Liu se sinucide in numele dragostei ei pt Calaf.

Fata in fata cu Turandot, Calaf ii fura un sarut, apoi ii sopteste printesei la ureche cum il cheama, punandu-si soarta in mainile ei. Spre nemultumirea multimii, Turandot esueaza in incercarea ei de a scapa de maritisul cu Printul, spunand ca numele lui este Dragoste. “

Ce avem noi aici?

O poveste despre puterea Numelui asupra celui pe care il numeste, il identifica.

Multe mituri si povesti reiau aceiasi tema. Lucrurile numite sunt aduse la viata - se insufletesc (capata un suflet). A sti numele cuiva iti da puterea de posesiune asupra lui, si – ca toate lucrurile care iti apartin pe drept, ii poti decide viata sau moartea. Motiv pt care, vrajitorii puternici aveau grija sa-si tina secret adevaratul nume, pastrandu-si puterea de autodeterminare intacta. Numele secret al lui Dumnezeu deschide multe usi si pecetluieste multe secrete.

Printii isi pierd capul nu pt ca nu stiu ca-l foloseasca, ci pt ca cele 3 ghicitori sunt extrem de subiective si personale. Ceea ce le lipseste pentru a raspunde corect este aceasta conexiune personala cu ‘fiica barbarului’ (anima). Prin cele 3 ghicitori, printesa alta data luata cu forta, nu cere o cunoaste obiectiva a lumii, ci ii cere pretendentului sa o cuoasca pe ea, viata ei interioara.

Simplist, povestea celor 3 ghicitori pt care barbatii isi pierd capul/viata ar putea fi redusa la atat de mediatizatul mister
“ce vor femeile?”
Ce ar putea fi mai clar decat faptul ca barbatii cad pe capete tocmai ptr ca si le folosesc exagerat, chiar si cand nu e nevoie de ele – pt ca se identifica cu ele in detrimentul celorlalte laturi care le raman in umbra.

Multe lucruri mor noaptea si renasc in zori. Pentru Turandot, raspunsul corect era Speranta. Si numai jumatatea ei de drept, barbatul care privind-o pe ea, se vede pe sine in oglinda, poate sti raspunsul corect. Noaptea Printesa merge la culcare deznadajduita: inca un barbat care pretindea ca o iubeste nu reuseste sa vada dincolo de aparente, nu reuseste sa o vada cu adevarat pe Ea: rece ca ghiata in aparenta, arzand ca focul dincolo de privirile iscoditoare ale neavenitilor.

Printii mincinosi trebuie sa moara, pt ca identitatea lor este una falsa - iar adevarata lor indentitate a murit nefiind recunoscuta si imbratisata ca atare, inlocuita cu minciuna. Pt ca s-au identificat cu o minciuna care a fost descoperita – nu stiau raspunsul corect, nu iubeau cu adevarat. Din acelasi motiv Liu isi pune singura capat vietii, ducand cu sine secretul numelui celui pe care il iubeste, dar care n-o iubeste la randul lui. Numele lui a ucis-o pe ea, la fel de bine cum l-ar fi putut ucide pe el. Cine nu-si recunoaste imaginea reflectata in oglinda, isi gaseste moartea in ea. Si Liu s-a identificat gresit, s-a privit in alta oglinda si a cazut in ea.

Care e numele meu? Care e al Tatalui meu nume? Cine sunt eu, calator azi prin lume?

Calaf se descopera pe sine in Turandot, motiv pt care – o data ce are aceasta revelatie – ii ofera printesei o dilema in oglinda: eu stiu cine esti tu cu adevarat, tu stii cine sunt eu? Problema reciprocitatii care o ucide pe Liu i se ridica si lui Calaf. Unitatea dintre Yin si Yang are la baza faptul ca fiecare il recunoaste pe celalalt ca fiind sine, in oglinda, si impreuna, acelasi unu.

Numele Tatalui poarta in sine puterea misterului, pt ca numele Mamei este de obicei bine cunoscut. Mama, elementul Pamant, material, corporal, ne este intodeauna mai la indemana, cumva. O recunoastem cu usurinta – si recunoscand-o, ne identificam cu ea.

Dar fiecare dintre noi existam la 3 niveluri de energie: fizic (corp), emotional (suflet) si spiritual (spirit). Aceleasi 3 niveluri le regasim In Numele Tatalui, al Fiului si al Sfantului Duh – pe care gresit le identificam a fi masculine.

Daca Tatal reprezinta aspectul activ al naturii lucrurilor, Fiul o reprezinta de fapt pe Mama – principiul pasiv-receptiv, in aspectul fecunditatii ei, potentialului ei datator de viata - activat doar prin uniunea cu Tatal, principiul activ. Transformarea Mamei in Fiu reprezinta de fapt uniunea dintre Mama – fizic, corp, pamant, si Tata – spirit, cuvant, aer.

Apa, care fecundeaza pamantul asa cum Sf Duh a fecundat-o pe Maria, este elementul emotie, suflet – si numele ei este Dragoste, asa cum corect o identifica si Turandot. Legatura secreta dintre Mama si Tata, care da nastere uniunii in care se regasesc amandoi, si prin care in acelasi timp se pierd si mor, lasand loc noului, Fiului, sau Fiicei (dupa chipul si asemanarea lor).

Am devenit atat de orbi incat nu ne mai vedem pe noi insine in oglinda. Orbirea in sine opreste accesul la lumea exterioara, fortand o concentrare a atentiei in interior. Daca nu te mai vezi in afara, unde in alta parte sa te cauti?

Problemele de vedere reflecta intotdeauna o legatura sufocanta cu o mama dominatoare, intrusiva, care isi vrea copilul numai pt ea (care refuza sa se dea la o parte, refuza sa moara pt a face loc vietii noi). Elementul Pamant/material fiind deja in exces, accesul la mai mult este taiat, pentru a fi facilitat accesul la elementul lipsa, Spiritul – tatal absent.

Sa porti ochelari iti da iluzia ca ai recapatat ceea ce pierdusei - cand, in realitate, te indeparteaza si mai mult de adevarata solutie – iti ofera o carja sa mergi, dar in directia gresita.

Ce mi-a venit?
Well, intr-o zi cu soare, cam acum o luna, m-am trezit ca nu mai pot merge. As zice brusc, dar ar fi nedrept fata de multele dureri de genunchi peste care am trecut cu prea multa usurinta. Ca intotdeauna, am cedat presiunilor oamenilor de bine si am mers sa caut o explicatie la oamenii in alb (mai nou in verde, roz, bleu, dupa preferinte). Diagnosticul nu are nicio relevanta, asa cum solutia nu face decat sa ma ingrozeasca si mai tare – am lasat deja de prea multe ori strainii sa taie bucati din mine, bucati pe care nu i-a interesat sa le inteleaga inainte de a le inlatura.

Dupa ce mi-am linistit copilul adaptat din mine facand ceea ce un om ‘civilizat’ face (ignorandu-si natura complexa, reducandu-se pe sine la o halca de carne, ignorand absurditatea explicatiilor cauzale in universul post Eistenin si Bell), am facut ceea ce fac eu cel mai bine: mi-am pus intrebari de bun simt

De ce acum? De asta?
Apoi au venit de la sine: la ce ma obliga? De la ce ma opreste?
Si cumva, urmand firul rosu (firul sangelui, al orginii, al apartenentei ereditare), am ajuns la singura intrebare care conteaza: cine sunt eu? de unde vin si incotro ma indrept? de ce intr-acolo? Si vechea poveste a copilariei mele mi-a revenit in minte – “… calator azi prin lume”. Povestea printului ratacitor care se regaseste cu riscul de a-si pierde viata.

Nu cred ca o sa mor din asta, dar toata viata mi-a trecut prin fata ochilor. Ai dintr-o data al naibii de mult timp la dispozitie cand esti fortat sa stai cuminte in pat, saptamani la rand, fara sa te poti misca.

Cred ca viata iti trece prin fata ochilor in momentul dinaintea mortii ca o balanta, o trecere in revista a trecutului in fata unui moment de trecere inspre viitor, in fata unei Porti. In tarot, Moartea se mai cheama si Marea Trecere sau Marea Transformare. Ceva trebuie sa moara, ca restul sa mearga inainte, si dupa principiul vaselor comunicante, daca nu moare ceva spiritual sau emotional, moare ceva fizic. Dar ceva trebuie sa moara, ca sa faca loc, sa elibereze energia prizoniera (enegia legata).

Dar de ce nu-mi mai pot indoi deloc genunchii?
In primele 2 saptamni de teroare, si sa-mi tin picioarele drepte, intinse, era atat de dureros ca-mi provoca greata. Puteam sta pe burta, apasandu-mi stomacul care se revolta, dar nu pentru mult timp (in stomac, sunt procesate emotiile, mai ales furia si frica). Ca un compromis, am reusit sa supravietuiesc tinandu-mi artificial, cu multe perne, picioatele intr-o pozitie semi-indoita.

Indoirea genunchilor are fara indoiala o legatura directa cu tema umilinta. Omul ingenunchiat e omul supus, tributar, care cere su primeste ceva pe degeaba, care cerseste sau primeste – indurare, ajutor, recunoastere.

In mers, articulatia genunchlor cu complicatele ei parghii permite o flexibilitate in lupta impotriva gravitatiei, ne permite sa stam, intre cer si pamant, sa ne mentinem pozitia, sa stam drept sustinand-o, sa inaintam pe drumul nostru, ne amortizeaza caderile, ne sustine in sarituri – peste obstacolele ridicate de mama-pamant, si salturi - aspirational, catre spiritul-tata.

Imi lipsise oare aceasta flexibilitate? Ma apropiasem prea mult de pamant, intr-o inacceptabila si continua umilinta? Chiar si acum, cand pot iar sa merg, singura pozitie care imi e permisa e una de mijloc. Daca indoi prea mult genunchiul, durerea aia sfasietoare, care-mi strapunge parca intreaga fiinta, revine cu toata puterea nestirbita.

Ruediger Dahlke, in “Boala ca sansa”, imi spune ca “orice boala e expresia unei idei scufundate in corp, a unui model care lipseste din constiinta”. Citindu-I cartea in cautare de solutii pt inexplicabila mea problema, modelul vaselor comunicante nu m-a parasit nicio clipa. Daca energia e respinsa din constiinta, ea va creste in corp, pt ca niciodata nu se pierde.

Mai spune si ca fiecare boala are o cauza materiala, identificabila de obicei in trecut, dar si model de dezvoltare specific care se indreapta catre un scop viitor, un sens.

Tarotul imi ofera propria lui interpretare pt dilema mea: 10 of Wands. Imaginea omului care duce prea mult, singur. Omul infrant, ingenunchiat de greutatea care il apasa - sau care il treage in jos. Sigur, o imagine superba si impresionanta prin potrivire (din 72 de carti, sansa putea alege orice altceva).

Wands/Bate reprezinta elementul Foc – Inspiratie, Intuitie, Energie - si ne apar sub forma unor bate - alea cu care lupti, sau in care te sprijini. Si nu ma mira deloc ca personajul meu duce 10 bete, 10 carje pentru un efort "supraomenesc".

(in limbaj psihologic, un conflict psihic solicita din ce in ce mai multa energie, pe care o deturneaza de la alte activitati, pana cand intreaga energie disponibila e blocata la acest nivel)

Mergeam oare in directia gresita? Ma incapatanam sa urnesc muntii din loc, ca un om neintelept ce sunt? (daca muntele te recunoaste drept stapan - daca-i cunosti numele - vine el la tine)

In ziua in care n-am mai putut sa merg, trebuia sa ma apuc de treaba. Era totul planificat, decis. Vacanta mea, oficial, incheiata, impachetata, pusa deoparte. Si apoi asta, care m-a fortat, ad-literam, sa ma opresc, sa stau. Vroiam sa merg mai departe, si corpul meu a strigat ingrozit:
– Nu acum! (Nu intr-acolo?) Trebuie mai intai sa ne gandim.

La ce?

If I Love You, What Business Is It of Yours?

2009-08-10T19:04:00.015+03:00

(Goethe)

Am o prietena (care n-o sa citeasca niciodata blogul asta) care de fiecare daca cand ii spun de o problema, incepe prin a-mi sublinia ce am gresit si cum as fi putut sa fac altfel, ca sa nu ajung aici.

Si totusi, daca o intrebi direct, ar jura ca sunt unul dintre cei mai inteligenti oameni pe care ii cunoaste. Hmm… poate tocmai de aceea! Oamenii foarte inteligenti nu fac greseli…

Mama n-are puteri magice, dar cand deschide gura vad automat rosu in fata ochilor si mi se infunda urechile. “Ce vrea sa manance copilul meu?”, “A venit copilul meu acasa?”, “Ce sa-i faca mama de mancare copilului?”

Copilul deja s-a saturat, i-a ajuns pana peste urechi, nu-i mai trebuie nimic/Nu stiu, n-am vazut niciun copil pe aici: cum arata? / Niste piure, ca tot nu-i place.

I-am privit amuzata de mai multe ori privirea perplexa, neintelegand in ruptul capului de ce naiba il iubesc tocmai pe el?

si fara inima e vai de picioare, nu doar fara cap. / capul e limitat la ce poate sti aici si acum. /viitorul e intotdeauna o aberatie statistica. /oamenii nu regreta niciodata ce au facut din dragoste, ci doar ca si-au pierdut capul.

Chestiile astea pe care le stii, dar nu le-ai verificat niciodata. Chestiile astea pe care iti pariezi viata zi de zi, care formeaza insasi fundatia lumii tale – axiomele. Intangibile. Imuabile. Nemuritoare.

Daca ai o problema, inseamna ca ai facut ceva gresit. (faci totul corect/perfect, n-ai probleme; daca ai fi facut totul bine, nu ajungeai aici)

Hrana inseamna iubire. Ca sa ma iubesti tre sa te hranesc.
Hrana inseamna mancare.
Daca-ti dau ceva de care ai nevoie, o sa ai nevoie de mine.Daca ai nevoie de mine, ma iubesti.

Daca accept ca tu nu mai esti un copil, trebuie sa accept ca eu am imbatranit si o sa mor mai curand decat sunt eu pregatita.
Cand imbatranesti mori.
Daca esti pregatit, poti sa faci fata la orice.
Nu putem fi egali, sau adulti in acelasi timp.

Daca eu nu accept ceva, nu exista.

Toate au o logica, inclusiv iubirea.
Toate trebuie sa aiba o logica.
Nu poti iubi pe cineva fara motiv, si ala trebuie sa fie rational (cu cap).
Iubesti numai atunci si pe aceia care se justifica rational. Altfel, e o prostie. O greseala. Sau nu exista (vezi mai sus).
Daca iubesti pe cineva nepotrivit, e o prostie. Potrivirea e o chestiune rationala.
Ce nu e rational, e o prostie. Sau o greseala. Sau nu exista.

Pot sa controlez numai ce inteleg.
Ceea ce inteleg, controlez.
Ceea ce controlez, nu ma raneste.
Si nu ma controleaza la randu-i.
Totul va fi ok, daca e sub controlul meu.
Trebuie sa controlez totul. Cu orice pret.
Daca nu controlez ceva, totul e pierdut, si sunt un prost.
Daca sufar sunt un prost.

asteptarile:
binenteles ca… e de la sine inteles ca…toata lumea… normal ca… doar n-o sa… stim cu totii ca… evident ca… bine ca… doamne ajuta!

frustrarea:
ti-am spus de o mie de ori! Cine naiba ti-a spus ca…?! Ce bou! Ce idiot! tu n-ai vazut ca…? Cine naiba te crezi?! ? trebuia sa…! Unde ti-a stat capul? Asta gandeste cu picoarele! Sper ca nu te astepti ca…Tu n-ai vazaut ca… Nu gandesti? Pai asa se face…? Data viitoare…De fiecare data…

la baza umanitatii noastre, sta increderea mea in axiomele tale, si invers.
ce ne facem?

Death explains it at the end.

2009-05-14T12:10:00.008+03:00

gapingvoid.com

De cand a inceput anul, am inceput sa am atacuri de panica. Mai ales noaptea - cand trebuie sa las inca o zi sa treaca, fara urme consistente in viata mea - si nu ma indur. Inca 10 min, inca 30 - poate vor reusi sa-mi justifice umbra pe pamant.

Nu pot trai pur si simplu: trebuie sa merit asta; sa-mi castig dreptul.
Cum? Sincer nu-mi e clar.
Nu reusesc sa-mi explicitez propriile axiome - cantaresc automat consistenta si valoarea lucrurilor, persistenta lor in timp - si, din pacate, rare ori ma insel. Stiu exact cat o sa dureze o decizie - daca maine, sau peste 10 ani o sa o judec drept buna sau ingrozitor de proasta. De fapt, asta e sita prin care le trec pe toate.

Toate au o explicatie - dar asta nu valoreaza absolut nimic. Sa stii 'de ce' - atunci cand stii - nu te ajuta. Unii cred ca iti ofera argumente sa combati, sa controlezi, sa te impui. Asta e o iluzie. 31 de ani de observat lumea imi spun ca singura explicatie, la baza a absolut tot ce exista, e necesitatea - in forma cea mai basic, cea mai primara. Ceea ce se intampla e necesar sa fie fix asa, si nu altfel. Daca putea sa fie si altfel, ar fi fost.

Oamenii care judeca stramb, schimba contextul si nici macar nu observa. Judeca decizii trecute in contextul a ceea ce sunt si stiu in prezent; ii judeca pe altii, in propriul lor context, nu al alora. E absurd - si obositor pt mine sa tot observ asta si sa caut modalitati dragute de a le spune, sau a tacea.

Anyways... Am senzatia ca s-a inchis un cerc. Am strabatut un drum, si m-am intors intr-un punct in care am mai fost, de mult, cand eram mica. Si acum trebuie sa o iau de la capat. Si d'aia mi-e frica. Intre timp, mi-am pierdut increderea nezdruncinata in mine. Mi-am pierdut naivitatea. Am pierdut o gramada de timp.

De ce? Ce am luat cu mine? Si ce rol joaca?

Am adunat un soi de umilinta combinata cu vinovatie. Fac misto de mama cand lasa apa curgand aiurea - ca sunt copii in Africa care nu au ce bea. Ea rade, dar eu ma simt vinovata pe bune. Am vazut o femeie la vreo 30 de ani dand inapoi cand rujul pe care il vroia era 3 lei, nu 2 cat crezuse. Am inghetat instant. Cu ce sunt eu mai buna ca ea? Ce-am facut eu sa merit sa fiu aici unde sunt azi? Nu-mi vine nimic in minte.

Nu sunt vreo altruista. E pur si simplu spaima - de a nu controla absolut nimic din ce sunt si ce am eu azi. M-am nascut asa. Parintii mei, pur si simplu, au avut chestii. Am primit chestii pt ca sunt ceea ce sunt.

Ma gandesc uneori ca tot ceea ce sunt eu e in cap. In capul meu - la propriu. Daca as avea un accident, daca mi-as praji creierul, daca n-as mai avea ideile pe care le am, daca n-as mai putea sa comunic asa cum o fac - n-ar mai ramane nimic din mine. Personalitatea mea, dintotdeauna, s-a bazat pe faptul ca sunt desteapta - mai desteapta ca altii; mai rapida; mai... nimic. Atat.

Ii ajut pe altii - pentru ca inteleg prin ce trec. Preiau conducerea atunci cand inteleg situatia si stiu o solutie. Le spun altora lucruri pt ca le stiu, stiu ce stiu, si stiu ce nu stiu altii. Imi recunosc limitele pt ca stiu ce poate fi si ce nu. Totul se reduce la asta.

Si acum mi-e frica, pt ca trebuie sa fac ceva. Si pt prima oara in viata mea - tre sa fac ceva ce nu stiu ca pot face bine. E un gamble. Si mai rau - ii implica pe altii, ii afecteaza.
Si nimeni nu poate sti ce-i in capul meu, daca vreau sa iasa bine.
Trebuie sa fac ce fac eu atat de bine de atata timp - sa fac pe desteapta; sa par ca am toate raspunsurile, ca stiu exact ce fac - doar ca de data asta trebuie sa o fac eu, cu buna stiinta. Si sa fiu recunoscatoare ca ceilalti cred. Toata datile alea cand ma revoltam ca se asteapta prea mult de la mine, nerezonabil de mult... Ha! It's pay-back time! Trebuia sa ma multumesc cu ceea ce am, cu ceea ce primeam.

Si pt un om care se lauda cu stiinta lui, e ironic sa descopar ca certitudinile ma inspaimanta. Ca de fapt, nu vreau sa stiu.
Vreau sa ramana totul o impresie, un potential.

Viata mea e exact asa cum trebuia sa fie - plina de incertitudini. Si eu o traiesc pretinzand ca incerc sa le lamuresc. Ca toata lumea.

Daca visezi sa castigi la loterie, CUMPARA-TI BILET!

2009-05-08T20:57:00.005+03:00

Asta e pentru toti actorii tineri care se miorlaie ca 'stau pe bara'.

Uite: eu, fac un film. Scurmetraj. Sunt o fata desteapta - cine stie? Ar putea iesi ceva bun.

Dar de unde naiba te iau?
Cum dau de tine?
Sigur ai un numar de telefon, o adresa de email macar. Ce faci cu ele: le-ai pus la naftalina? Astepti sa faca pui? La ce-ti folosesc daca le stii doar tu, mama ta si prietenii tai apropriati?

De ce sa muncesc eu zeci de ore numai ca sa vad ca existi, sa-ti vad mutra, si alte zeci de ore ca sa gasesc pe cineva care te stie sau stie de unde sa te iau?

Cum pana mea esti tu actor si n-ai 2 poze undeva, sa stie lumea cum arati. Nu zic sa ai mai multe, ca deja exagerez. 2 poze si date de contact. Nu-i asta jobul tau? Nu asta ti-ai ales tu sa fii? Sau crezi ca o sa intervina Dumnezeu personal ca sa joci tu intr-un filmulet? Ei bine, nu! Dumnezeu are lucruri mai bune de facut. Mor aia in Africa de foame, stii?

Si, intre noi, e de cacat sa deranjez regizori, si alti actori, si directori de teatre ca sa dau de nr tau de telefon. E si mai de cacat sa ma uit ore intregi la poze in baza de date a unei agentii, de ma usturau ochii si-mi amortise mana pe mouse, ca sa descopar la sfarsit ca pozele sunt din 2007 si tu arati cu 2 ani si 10 kile mai batran.

Daca vroiam sa ma fac detectiv, ma faceam!

Si pentru D-zeu - nu mai zice niciodata: "n-am poze". Fa-ti!
Da dovada de un minim de profesionalism.
Si asta nu inseamna ca tre sa arati ca in playboy: nu toate filmele sunt cu curve. Mi se rupe cat de sexi poti sa fii - poti sa arati ca un om normal? Mi se rupe cati muschi ai - ai vazut vreun Rambo facut de romani? Chiar crezi ca o sa facem curand? Ok, atunci fa-ti o poza cu muschi, just in case. Pentru restul cazurilor, incearca niste poze in care sa te gandesti la ceva pe bune. Privirile goale si tampe gen buletin nu te recomanda. (doar daca vrei sa joci rolul de cadavru in vreun CSI, atunci, da! excelenta idee!)

Am gasit o baza de date excelenta la Casandra. Guess what: niciun nr de contact, niciun email. La ce v-ati mai pus acolo CV-urile? Sa-mi faceti in ciuda?

V-a iesit beton. Mor de ciuda.

Everything will be fine in the end. If it’s not fine, it’s not the end.

2009-01-31T17:20:00.039+02:00

DOUGLAS BIZZARO & ELIZABETH MOSS - USA- the spider awards.com

Am 31 de ani si sunt un looser.
Ratat nu suna la fel de bine. Si nu pentru ca mi-au spalat creierul filmele americane (n-am vazut chiar asa multe); Ci pentru ca ratezi numai cand faci chestii; ca sa ratezi un penalty, tre sa fii deja in careu, singur, fata’n fata cu portarul. Ai parcurs un drum care te-a dus acolo. Ratezi o calificare pentru ca altii sunt mai buni ca tine sau tu nu esti sufficient de bun, dar la un moement dat, erai printre ei, erai ‘in carti’. Nu nimeresti, dar esti pe aproape. Esti viu. Nu suficient de bun, dar viu.

Nu – ceea ce tot pierd eu este ‘viata’. Orice context artificial creat are niste reguli clare, si mai ales logice. Stiu exact ce trebuie sa fac – ca sa castig. De trait nu-mi dau seama cum se face.
Viata n-are niciun sens. Nu pricep o iota.

Cand eram mica eram grozava; si al naibii de curajoasa. Intotdeauna am facut ce-am vrut, dar in secret respectam logica regulilor. Ordinea lucrurilor. Si faceam, in felul meu, ceea ce se astepta de la mine.

A fost o surpriza neplacuta sa ma trezesc intr- zi – teribil de nefericita.
Avem un job, castigam foarte bine, imi admiram sefa, ma intelegeam grozav cu colegii, aveam niste prieteni beton, un barbat superb si al dracului de intelegator, o relatie invidiata de toti, absolvisem un master cu 10 pe linie, si-mi statea bine blonda (cel putin barbatii pareau sa creada asta).

Asta era acum 4,5 ani, si m-am descurcat cum m-am priceput mai bine. Toate astea trebuiau sa se termine.

I-am dat papucii omului care avea rabdare cu crizele si depresiile mele, e drept ignorandu-le. Pentru ca eram ‘perfecta’ si-mi ieseau toate ‘perfect’, el avusese bunul simt sa se simta complexat si nervos in preajma mea. Enervandu-ma nesiguranta lui, i-o accentuam. Ma infuriau minciunile cu care incerca sa se scoata, de care ma prindeam greu si cu putin noroc. Era superb, dar ma saturasem sa admir, de 9 ani, o statuie. El nu era niciodata langa mine.Gandurile lui umblau aiurea si oricat ma zbateam sa-l prind, imi scapa mereu printre degete. (Sexul era bestial; si eu, proasta, am crezut ca asa e peste tot.)

Asa ca m-am indragostit de un mitocan mincinos, care ma trata ca pe-o servitoare si pe-o proasta; care ma mintea in fata si care ma bloca prin sinceritatea debordanta cu care ma calca in picioare, cu aroganta si indreptatirea unei mari increderi in sine, necunoscuta mie pana atunci – dar atat de fascinanta.

Nu mai fusesem niciodata umilita in felul asta, nu simtisem niciodata ca sunt atat de nepriceputa, de stangace, ca mai am atatea de invatat. Nu intelesesem niciodata cat de greu era sa ascult vorbe goale, sa ma supun, sa tac, sa mint. O fascinatie morbida a pus stapanire pe mine. O situatie noua, incitanta; orice secunda de relaxare ea dusmanul meu. Am invatat sa-mi fie frica, si sa stau mereu incordata, sa multumesc pentru fiecare lovitura sub centura, sa fiu recunoscatoare pentru fiecare firmitura pe care o lingeam de pe jos.

De cealalta parte, era placerea pe care o savurez in secret de fiecare data, de a-i surprinde pe ceilalti. De a-i soca, de a lupta contra curentului, si cea mai fascintanta dintre toate - de a lupta cu mine insami – de a ma convinge pe mine si pe toti cei care-mi 'vroiau binele', ca monstrul ala egoist merita sa fie iubit, si admirat. El era un scump, ei nu vedeau asta. Ca umilintele imi dovedeau slabiciunile, si incapacitatea mea de a face fata. Eram o biata tarancuta luptandu-ma sa inteleg si recunoscatoare da a fi acceptata intr-o lume sofisticata si atat de superioara.

Si pentru prima data in viata ma simteam mica, si vulnerabila, si incapabila, si-mi era rusine cu mine insami.

Dar aveam in sfarsit ceva in care sa cred, si pentru care sa lupt.
Cum ce?
Dragostea noastra.

Recunoscand in nefericirea mea rodul compromisurilor de o viata, am decis sa fac, pentru prima data, ceea ce vroiam cu adevarat.
Si pentru ca nu mai stiam de mult asta, m-am intors in timp, am cautat prin amintiri, lucrurile pe care le pierdusem.

Era insa prea tarziu sa-mi continui studiile de balet, iar dansatul prin baruri pe cand aveam 15-16 ani m-a convins pentru totdeauna ca privirile lipite de fundul meu au un effect nedorit asupra stomacului; mi-l intorc pe dos. Pianul – am senzatia ca nu mi-a placut de fapt niciodata. Mi-a placut pianina pe care a vrut mama s-o cumpere, pentru broderiile ei minutios sculptate si materialele pretentioase. Admiram obiectul, nu functia lui.
In facultate decisesem cu dezamagire ca marele meu talent de a copia fidel orice desen, picture, poza - nu era cu adevarat arta, si nici nu avea sa fie vreodata. Imi lipsea cu desavarsire inspiratia, si fiecare minut de rabdare si concentrare ma omora cu zile. Nu era niciun mare pictor ascuns in mine, aveam doar o nefericita coordonare perfecta intre ochi si mana.

Nefericita pentru ca si azi ma simt vinovata ca n-am facut nimic cu toate lucrurile care mi-au fost date.

Le-am irosit.

N-o sa fiu niciodata frumoasa. E timpul sa accept asta. Sa fii slaba nu e mare chestie - cand esti. Cine sunt eu ii tine pe unii la distanta. Cine sunt ei ii tine pe ceilalti. As fi putut arata oricum.

Sunt desteapta degeaba. Capacitatea mea de a procesa cantitati mari de informatie complexa, repede, si de a intelege sisteme complexe e egala cu zero. N-o sa fac niciodata ‘avere’, si nici imprumut la banca, n-o sa am o ‘cariera’ si nici ‘succes’. Mi-ar placea uneori, dar imi place mai mult sa ma simt libera, in orice moment, de orice obligatii.

Capacitatea mea de a intelege oamenii e nula si neavenita – si un pericol social, atat vreme cat oamenii isi gandesc vietile pentru a ascunde si falsifica ceea ce sunt. Ei valorizeaza jocul, mai precis jocul de-a, si minciunile pretioase care-l ridica la rang de arta si religie. Mie mi se pare o prostie, si o pierdere de timp si energie. Pierderea mea, dupa ultimele calcule – sunt ‘pe rosu’.

N-am niciun fel de ambitie de cucerire. Niciun plan.
Vreau sa fiu iubita, dar nu pentru ceea ce fac – nu vreau sa castig asta.
Vreau sa fiu acceptata, dar nu pentru ceea ce sunt.
Vreau sa fiu iubita si acceptata in ciuda a ceea ce fac sau a ceea ce sunt. Se ofera cineva?

M-as distra, dar in baruri e fum si discutii pretioase purtate de oameni care n-au nici cea mai vaga idee cine sunt, dar stiu exact ce vor si cum sa ajunga acolo.

Oameni care sunt adjective sau verbe, si adverbe - oameni cool, oameni creativi, liberi, noncomformisti, ambitiosi, interesanti, oameni care vor sa fie bogati si celebri.
Oameni care iubesc provocarea.
Oameni care-si iubesc aproapele, fizic, si la propriu – indifferenti la cine sau ce e.
Oameni care iubesc petrecerile si distractia, care traiesc clipa, dar ignora timpul, si lasa lucrurile importante pentru maine.
Oameni care iubesc cu tot sufletul – iar, si iar, si iar.
Oameni care nu mai cred in Dumnezeu, cred in ei insisi.
Oameni care nu se mai tem de nimic – pentru ca Dumnezeu iarta.
Oameni care au prieteni si relatii, dar nu asculta niciodata si se evita cu succes pe ei insisi.
Oameni care urasc Minciuna, dar sunt sociabili, si comunicativi.
Oameni care cer Adevarul, dar cred chestii.
Oameni carora le pare sincer rau cand gresesc, dar nu schimba nimic.
Oameni care nu se schimba pentru ca ‘nu poti invata un caine batran trucuri noi’. Toata lumea stie asta.
Oameni care dispretuiesc ceea ce e al lor by default – si scoala, si job-ul, si familia, si tara, si limba.
Oamenii care-si regasesc sufletul in supa de pui.

Am esuat.

Nu pot sa salvez sufletul nimanui; mi-e rusine acum ca am indraznit sa cred ca am dreptul sa o fac - si al meu se stinge vazand cu ochii.

Mi-am pierdut speranta, nu pentru ca ceea ce am inceput sa fac nu avea sanse sa-mi reuseasca; ci pentru ca ar fi trist daca mi-ar reusi.

Barbatul pe care il iubesc, meseria pe care mi-am ales-o, obsesia mea cu frumusetea si perfectiunea – pe toate le dispretuiesc - si am muncit din greu pentru ele. Toate s-au dovedit a fi prostii iremediabile. Cine sunt eu sa va spun voua ce sa faceti?!

Sunt ca un peste pe uscat.
Mi se pare o prostie sa zaci pe nisip la soare toata ziua, dar ma simt un looser pentru ca nu fac plaja 'ca toata lumea'. Pentru ca ma sufoc. Pentru ca din nou, sunt al dracului de nefericita.

Si de data asta, nu mai e nimic de facut.

You Will Still Be Here Tomorrow, But Your Dreams May Not

2009-01-24T00:49:00.013+02:00

Subject: Re: Your Contribution to Emotional Suicide
Date: 21.01.2009 at 23:12 [UT+2]

Hello Cris: Thank you for such an insightful note. [...]

Your PM was certainly one of the more vivid notes you've sent to me. I sincerely appreciate your honesty and your generosity in sharing yourself with me in this way. You are a wonderful person and I delight in my good fortune at being in touch with you when you have time and interest. Learning about you, gaining by your insights from your experiences, is a joy for me.
Please take the best of care.
Be well and be safe, Cris.
Randy

Subject: Re:
Date: Today at 00:07 [UT+2]

I don't know what to say. :D

I somehow feared you may be put off by the 'intensity'. Some ppl take it like it's against them, when it's just my way of expressing things I care about. I'm relieved I don't scare you.
[...]
yesterday, yet another friend asked me IF I want a relationship. I'm beginning to ask myself that.
what if I don't?
what do I do for a happy ending?
what do I do with all my fantasies about it?

I dreamed of a wedding dress that turns black when I put it on, then into pants. Is that who I am - and I've just let others fool me into thinking I want a princess off-white dress, with the prince that goes with it?
or am I just giving up?

(1/21/2009 8:28:45 PM):
auzi
ma gandeam sa te intreb ceva, sper sa nu te superi
Cris: pai nu stiu dinainte :D
Probabil ca nu …mda
Cris :D
daca te intereseaza sa ai o relatie …de cuplu, evident
Cris:
Cris: mah, in principiu, da
in principiu?
Cris: in realitate, nu neaparat

Cris: vreau, daca pot avea ceva altfel decat am avut
eeehhheeeiiii
Cris: ma rog, fix cum cred eu ca ar fi bine
fix? ;;)
Cris: Adica... am ajuns eu la niste concluzii, ce chestii nu merg, desi par super in teorie
daca nu se poate fara, atunci nu
ce? ca sunt curioasa; daca vrei sa-mi zici, bineinteles
Cris: vreau, doar ca e dificil

Cris:… nu mai vreau sa fac concesii stupide …ma rog...:) complicat
da, foarte
Cris: e genul de lucru pe care il recunosti cand il vezi
si care si dureaza?
Cris: pai, m-am gandit eu - ca daca eu sunt asa, si relatiile mele dureaza… deci e posibil
si...astepti?
Cris: nu neaparat :)

Cris: mie mi-a placut de cand eram mica sa fiu indragostita de cineva; asta e singurul lucru pe care il caut cu adevarat; restul - e o chestie de noroc, banuiesc
ma gandeam daca faci ceva concret; in sensul asta
Cris: nu, si imi displace si ideea;
cand cauti ceva esti limitat de ceea ce stii si crezi ca stii; dar realitatea intotdeauna depaseste experienta ta. si solutia poate fi in afara a ceea ce as sti si deci as cauta eu
nu sunt de acord
pentru ca poti sa cauti ceva anume si realitatea sa vina peste tine cu ceva total neasteptat insa potrivit
Cris: pai tocmai; excelent. sa faca asta :D

Cris: mi-am verificat teoria asta de n ori
daca 'incerci' chestii, poate sa-ti placa si lucruri pe care stii ca NU le vrei
si din diferite motive, sa ramai cu ele.
daca probezi cizme cu un nr mai mare, sigur iti vin
nu esti constient ca alea nr tau ti-ar veni la fix
i-am zis ioanei sa nu vada ap la et 10 ca e posibil sa-i placa unul. :D
sincer, mi-e greu sa inteleg cum ai putea sa intelegi la inceput ca omul ala e ceea ce-ti trebuie; asta-i buna
Cris: pai; din experienta, stiu ca la etajele 9 -10 nu e apa, nu e caldura, si se strica mereu liftul; daca ma duc sa vizitez ap o data, de doua ori, e posibil ca in ziua aia sa fie si apa si caldura si lift; si sa-mi placa la nebunie
mda
Cris: dupa ce il iau, ma lovesc fix de problemele de care stiam

Cris: mda…asa e mereu… nici nu ne dam seama cate concesii facem
eu cred totusi in surprize placute
Cris: pai d'aia imi tot cumpar eu reviste glossy pt femei ;)
mai ales cand au rujuri cadou
:) anunta-ma cand ai noutati
Cris: ok :D

Evident.

2008-02-25T19:49:00.004+02:00

Evident, ca peste tot si de fiecare data, eu eram singura, singura. Cel putin de data asta, n-a mai comentat nimeni, nimic. Aveam deja raspunsul pregatit : de-aia.

Intre noi fie vorba, m-am gandit ca – realist vorbind – trebuie sa ma obsinuiesc cu ideea. Sunt cine sunt, si asta are cumva un efect direct asupra situatiei – si se zice ca daca te zbati, te duci mai repede la fund. Deci, ok, nu ma mai zbat.

Dar nici sa ma gandesc n-am voie ? Trebuie sa ma gandesc. E ceva in neregula, si nu poate fi decat cu mine, pt ca lumea se descurca de minune. Deci doar eu, nu. E vina mea. Ceva ce fac; sau ceva ce nu fac. Dar ce ? Ce ?

Nu-mi vine nimic. Habar n-am. O sa raman singura pentru tot restul vietii. Ce zic eu? Pentru totdeauna. Pentru ca e ceva in neregula cu mine si nu stiu ce.

Stai putin. Asta-i gandire din aia nashpa, totul-sau-nimic. Deci, nu. Si daca e ‘numai vina mea’, tot nu e bine – cine ma cred? adica cum? Eu ii controlez pe toti? Normal ca nu. Deci as vrea sa-i controlez. Nu, n-as vrea, ai innebunit? N-as mai avea timp sa merg la buda. Adica noi vorbim chestii serioase, si tu tot la cacat te gandesti. Nu, mah, stai un pic…

Deci.

Nu rade ca nu-i nimic de ras in chestia asta. O femeie la 30 de ani nu-si permite sa fie singura, pricepi ? N u – s i p e r m i t e.

Aoleu, nu trebuia sa zici asta. De ce naiba ai zis asta ? Pai tu nu stii cu cine vorbesti ? Cum adica nu-mi permit ? Io imi permit orice vreau, auzi. Cine-mi zice mie ce sa fac ? Nu zice nimeni, doar ca… nu se face. Cine, mah ? Care ? Adu-l aici sa-l vad si io. Sa se uite’n ochii mei si sa-mi zica : n-ai voie sa faci asta. Ba ai voie, n-a zis nimeni ca n-ai. Doar ca… Auzi. Tu chiar nu vrei pe nimeni ?

Bai, ma lasi ? De unde naiba veniti toti cu ideile astea ? Aha ! Deci ai mai auzit asta. Da, sigur, prostiile se invata repede. De ce sa fie prostie ? Daca nu vrei, e ok, e treaba ta. Pai parca ziceai ca nu e treaba mea. Ok, gata, am inteles, deci nu vrei. Pai zi asa. Pai zic, da’ ma intreaba pe mine cineva?!? Toti ma intrebati ‘cand - auzi ‘cand am de gand sa …’ de parca e cu programari. In martie, la 16:22. Intr-o miercuri, e bine?

Daca faci misto, n-are sens.

Altfel, are? Daca sunt serioasa, si iau lucrurile astea in serios, are sens? Care-i ala, daca nu te superi, ca vad ca te pricepi.

"Inconsequential”

2008-02-13T23:48:00.001+02:00

Cuvantul asta imposibil de pronuntat e cea mai recenta contributie a Universului la educatia mea, inca o piatra de temelie pt initierea mea in arta sarcasmului desavarsit. De care numai Universul poate fi in stare – si noi, diletantii, ne minunam.

Daca sunteti ca si mine, o sa va displaca sa aflati – daca o sa aflati – ca momentele de “ironie a sortii” nu sunt, in niciun fel, vreo dovada a existentei vreunui Sens in Univers. Dimpotriva. Sunt o dovadaa capacitatii noastre infinite de autoamagire si justificare a lipsei de sens, a dezordinii. Adica, exceptia nu demonstreaza regula.

“Inconsequential” este chintesenta oricarei forme de viata de pe terra – viata constienta, dotata cu ratiune si pretentii.

“Inconsequential” este Secretul Fericirii, al Sublimului, al somnului linistit de la 10 la 8, al fripturii cu cartofi prajiti + Cola.

“Inconsequential” este legatura mistico-magica dintre “tu” si “mine”, oricine am fi noi, in oricare “acum” – asta-i frumusetea si perfectiunea lui – e singur mai presus de spatiu si timp, fie ele si subiective.

“Inconsequential” raspunsul eternei lupte intre obiectiv si subiectiv, intre empiric si stiintific, formal si informal, legal si ilegal, frumos si urat. Oricare ar fi intrebarea, “Inconsequential” e raspunsul, sensul, fundamentul si implicatiile conexe.

“Inconsequential” se defineste prin el insusi, si renaste de fiecare data cand moare, din propria lui cenusa. “Inconsequential” e dovada perfectiunii creatiei – ochiul care se vede pe sine, gandul care se gandeste pe sine, emotia care se consuma pe sine.

“Inconsequential” e destinul omului.

PS asta e filmul pe care l-am facut anul trecut, de valentine, in bucuresti, pt examenul de 'reportaj'. p'ala de mai jos l-am facut tot anu' trecut, in sesiunea din vara, pt alt examen.

My intuition almost compensates for my lack of self-understanding

2007-12-24T17:15:00.000+02:00

Almost.

"Life Is An Unacceptable Outcome" (gapingvoid)

2007-10-30T01:25:00.000+02:00

Profu de mate mi-a spus fiu atenta, sa nu ma indragostesc. Trebuia sa intru la liceu. Aveam lucruri imp de facut. Era un tip destept si rabdator, si avea multa experienta cu copiii. Cum naiba nu stia ca e o idee proasta sa-i interzici ceva unui adolescent?

Evident, am plecat de la meditatii cautand, cu ochii in patru. Nu-mi pusesem niciodata problema pana atunci, dar parea fascinant. Periculos. Fascinant. Well … aveam de ales intre asta si probleme de geometrie in spatiu, la care oricum ma pricepeam. Dar asta… asta ce naiba era? Cum de nu ma gandisem eu singura la asta, inainte?

Si’asa a inceput. Cautarea. Vanatoarea. De senzatii, nu de baieti.

Aveam 3 ani cand m-am indragostit. Mama inca nu l-a uitat – inca ma intreaba de el. Eu da, de tot, si foarte repede. Nu era ‘el’. Cred ca am stiut foarte repede asta. Pentru o vreme insa, a fost ok sa fiu indragostita de el. Era ingrozitor de plictisitor la gradinita. Aveam nevoie de un motiv sa ma duc in fiecare zi. Laurentiu-1 a fost primul meu motiv.

Un an mai tarziu, in vacanta -un student la medicina, si chelner la hotelul in care am stat noi. Cred ca era dragut. Tatei i s-a parut ingrozitor de amuzant, si e posibil ca asta sa fi fost tot. Cred ca laurentiu-2 a fost inventia alor mei – motivatie pt mine, sa mananc in cantina aia infecta. Am rezistat eroic – inclusiv in ziua in care dupa ce au laudat-o, s-au imbolnavit toti de la tocanita. Mama inca n-a uitat. Eu da. Imi amintesc perfect tocanita si sentimentul ala difuz, inexplicabil de “nu, nu vreau” – dar cum i-am convins pe ai mei sa nu manance nici ei, nu mai stiu. Sau poate tot concediul a fost teribil de plictisitor –cu exceptia meselor, desigur.

In alt concediu, am incercat sa-i conving sa-l infiem pe … george? Asa isi aminteste mama, anyways. Eu stiu ca era foarte roscat si plin de pistrui. E suspect ca nu-mi amintesc sa-l fi vrut eu. Nu s-a putut, ceva probleme legale. Nu i-am spus mamei niciodata, dar cred ca pe George ea l-a vrut. Si tata? Tata avea deja un baiat.

Apoi au fost cei doi adrian de la gradinita din bucuresti – nr.189. Dap, imi amintesc perfect numele lor de familie, si cum aratau, si multe dintre bataile noastre. Nu m-am putut hotara niciodata pe care il vroiam mai mult, asa ca-i bateam pe amandoi la fel. Nici mama n-a putut sa aleaga.

Apoi au fost un fotbalist, un sebastian, alt fotbalist, un vecin de bloc, undeva printre ei – ochii albastri ai unui var cu care dormeam in fan si ma uitam la stele. Nope, mama nu stie nimic de astia.

Ma plictisisem deja de jocul asta: parea lipsit de substanta si nu-mi oferea mai mult decat o motivatie sa merg undeva sau sa stau intr-un loc plictisitor (de ex, la scoala; intotdeauna dintr-o alta clasa, ca sa evit supradoza din timpul orelor).

Apoi a aparut domnu dumitru cu sfatul lui lipsit de inspiratie, ca o reclama de sapun. Si m-am tinut tare o vreme. Tare, dar cu ochii larg deschisi. Aveam deja tone de experienta. Asta nu, asta nu, nici asta…

Aveam 14 ani si el era rocker, si avea cei mai ireali ochi albastri pe care i-am vazut vreodata. Dar nu m-am indragostit. Il ascultam vorbind cu pasiune despre muzica lui, si in sinea mea eram ingrozitor de plictisita. Asteptam pericolul promis. Eram dezamagita. Era un tip de treaba, dar nu era ‘el’.

El a aparut la timp, intr-o zi de 22 iulie. Asta e singura tema pe care am facut-o eu pt profu de mate: am asteptat sa intru la liceu, si pe urma m-am indragostit. Avea ochii negri, si parul la fel si lung, si era un fustangiu. Am simtit pericolul de la distanta – si m-am indragostit. N-o sa pot pleda niciodata pt inconstienta. Am stiut exact ce fac. Fusesem prevenita. Vedeam, cu mintea limpede, fiecare bucatica de zahar care ma atagea in capcana, dar nu m-am oprit.

Viata mea era total lipsita de sens, si el avea sa faca asta pentru mine. Sa-mi dea un motiv sa respir, sa cant, sa plang, sa sufar, sa astept, sa sper.

Pana la el, toate melodiile alea triste, superbe, nu avusesera nici un sens. Le ascultam rece, detasata, impasibila. “One more try, I didn’t know how much I love you…” Nu rasuna in mine nimic, nici o coarda. Ma temeam ca eram insensibila si pierduta pt societate. Apoi a aparut el, am zambit in sinea mea la replica lui ieftina de agatat, l-am privit superior ‘stiu exact ce faci’ si am stiut ca versurile melodiei aleia vor deveni importante pt mine. “Don’t you cry tonite, I still love you baby”.

Ok, poate am vrut eu sa devina, nu stiu. Eram in fata a 2 saptamani pe un platou de munte plin cu fete. Borrring! Ce era sa fac? Avea un tricou albastru, moale, care flutura fin in bataia vantului. Un alt fotbalist. Faptul ca parea ingrozitor de indragostit (n.r. de mine), ca toata ziua jucasem carti si taiasem numai juveti, ca invata la liceul unde vrusesm eu sa dau si nu m-au lasat… toate astea erau coincidente cu sens. Iar sensul era ca el era “el”, si viata mea trebuia sa se schimbe. In sfarsit!

Mama a stiut automat ce se intamplase cand am venit acasa de la munte si am izbucnit in plans. Sigur, m-a dat de gol si faptul ca nu mai plansesem niciodata pana atunci in fata ei (sau in public).

Nu mai stiu ce pozitie a adoptat mama fata de alex-1, dar 2.5 ani mai tarziu l-a urat din suflet pe alex-2. Sentiment impartasit din plin de mama lui – fata de mine, desigur. S-au urat si una pe alta, fara indoiala. Cum s-a intamplat ca 9 ani mai tarziu eram apropiate, si tineam una la alta - n-am nici cea mai vaga idee. Probabil sunt totusi o fiinta adorabila. Dupa ce ajungi sa ma cunosti macar un pic.

Pe primul nu stiu daca l-am iubit cu adevarat, dar pe al doilea l-am adorat. O vreme. Undeva intre lunile in care am plans ca l-am gasit cu una la mare si alea in care am aflat ce egoist insensibil era. Nici mama lui, nici a mea nu stiu nimic de asta. Am iubit fiecare bucatica din el, pt ca fiecare parea absolut perfecta. Si am fost ngrozitor de fericita. Cateva luni – am bifat-o si p’asta.

Apoi ani de zile am luptat sa simt iar macar o particica din ce-am simtit atunci. N-a fost sa fie. Nu stiu de mama lui, dar mama a refuzat sa creada ca s-a terminat mult timp dupa aceea. Ea si prietenii mei. Paream un cuplu ‘perfect’. Banuiesc ca nu era “el”.

Alex-3 a aparut cand ma asteptam mai putin. Eram atat de amarata si zdrobita incat uitasem sa respir. Am simtit pericolul, si ceva in minte s-a trezit din nou la viata. Ochii lui tulburi ma priveau sfidator, dar imi evitau privirea, si n-am putut sa cred in dragostea lui. Am refuzat sa cred intr-a mea. Un pericol nou, necunoscut mie pana atunci, caruia nu stiam cum sa-i fac fata. N-am vrut sa fie “el”, si pana la urma nici el n-a mai vrut.

Cum zboara timpul cand te distrezi!

Mi-ar fi placut la nebunie sa iubesc o singura data. Imi displace teribil atata promiscuitate emotionala din partea mea. Cum sa mai crezi cu tot sufletul, cum sa-l mai pui la bataie fara indoiala, cum sa pui capat cautarii – cand stii atat de bine ca de fiecare data ai luat-o de la inceput. Si cum sa mai crezi in iubirea altuia cand stii ca au fost atatea inaintea ta – toate la fel de speciale, la fel de “pentru totdeauna”.

Stiu ce am de facut, si parca mi-e sila s-o fac. Nu vreau s-o mai iau de la capat. Nu vreau! Nu vreau! Fir-ar sa fie! ... Si-am zis c-o sa fiu atenta! Am zis ca n-o sa-mi mai irosesc vremea si sentimentele pe cauze pierdute. Fir'ar! M-am saturat de jocul asta, m-am saturat de ...

Okay. Inca o data, si gata. Pot s-o fac. Sa-mi dovedesc mie! Ca nu sunt superficiala, ca nu ma joc cu sentimentele altora; nici cu ale mele. Inca o data. Poate de data asta imi iese.

“Did I Walk Or Did You Run? What’s The Way To Love Someone?”

2007-08-26T15:03:00.001+03:00

Ma intreb daca ar trebui sa explicitez povestea aia scandinava… In ultimii ani, simbolurile au devenit pentru mine o a doua limba, o eliberare de limitarile limbajului obisnuit. Dar o discutie in contradictoriu cu cineva mi-a ridicat o noua problema. Cat de personale si interpretabile sunt simbolurile? Cat de maleabile sunt, cat de …personalizabile? (sper ca Jung nu se rasuceste acum in mormant. Calm! Calm! Ne punem intrebarea ca sa o lamurim. Atat. Orice intrebare e valida. Pana cand desconspiram motivele ei :-)

Ma rog, intre timp am inteles mai bine ‘lupta de eliberare’ dusa de persoana respectiva impotriva oricarei rigori sau restrictii. Dar nevoia de ‘liberatate’ e alt subiect. Povestea noastra depinde mult de simboluri si de receptarea lor – de cele mai multe ori inconstienta. Dar multimea de sensuri care-i corespunde unui simbol e… intotdeauna acceasi, in masura in care poti spune asta despre ceva infinit, intr-un univers in care toate se inrudesc cu toate.

Una din capcanele simbolismului este aceea ca ‘poti reprezenta ceva prin orice’. Sigur. Teoretic, poti. Practic, nu vrei sa faci asta decat daca te atrage ideea de am muri cu ‘secretul’ in brate; pentru ca, daca vrei ca altcineva sa-ti descifreze mesajul, trebuie sa faci doua lucruri: 1. sa te exprimi intr-un cod re-cunoscut 2. sa oferi legenda codului tau.

Simbolurile, in forma lor ‘arhetipala’ (aia pe care ar apara-o Jung si de dincolo de moarte) sunt un fel de cod implantat adanc in inconstientul nostru (colectiv, desigur). Noi toti stim, instinctiv, cum sa-l decodificam. Intelegem mesajul automat, fara effort constient. Ce-i drept, multi dintr noi facem asta automat, si nu constientizam nici procesul, nici mesajul receptat. Ne-am pierdut exercitiul.

Nu-i problema, e tratabila chestia – printr-o lectura unui dictionar de simboluri (ala in 3 volume e rezonabil). Daca aveti ‘muschi’, rabdare si o pasiune pentru povesti, mituri si legende (prin ‘pasiune’ inteleg si un bagaj zdravan de cunostinte, fara de care te uiti ca matza’n calendar) – poti incerca Jung. Chiar daca n-o sa pricepi mare lucru de la inceput, iti garantez niste vise fantastice si puternice. (nu stiu de voi, dar eu cand nu visez, ma simt ‘singura’).

O chestie interesanta si utila pt noi toti ar fi ce a inteles fiecare din povestea de mai jos. E ca la plansele Rorschach : ce vezi tu aici? Ceea ce ne intereseaza sunt bucatile de poveste incarcate emotional pentru fiecare – alea care te-au facut sa tresari, sa razi, sa plangi, sa misti nervos din picior, sa vrei sa pleci, sa bei apa, sa tusesti…. alea pe care ti le mai amintesti si dupa mult timp.

Secretul succesului este, din nou, sinceritatea. Daca te minti singur, iti furi singur caciula. Incep eu, ca-s mai curajoasa

Primul lucru care m-a surprins si care, in plus, a trezit in mine un cald sentiment de recunoastere si validare, a fost frica.

Dupa toate filmele americane si povestile nemuritoare pe care le-am incorporat, pt mine ‘dragostea’ vine cu “fluturi in stomac”, “ameteala”, “fior pe sina spinarii” – in niciun caz n-as fi recunoscut-o in spatele unei frici atat de mari incat sa vrei sa fugi. Well, mea culpa ar fi ca exact asa am facut in viata reala – n-am recunoscut-o.

S-a intamplat acum trei ani sa ma indragostesc de cineva, cineva care ma facea ad-literam sa fug. De fapt, in noaptea dinaintea primului nostru ‘date’, n-am putut deloc sa dorm, sau sa stau locului. Mintea mea de psiholog ‘normal’ a recunscut atacul de panica in acea terifianta iminenta a mortii. Inexplicabila, covarsitoare, paralizanta. Intr-o incercare (disperata?) de a ma salva de sursa de stres, mi-am spus ca nu putea fi dragoste ceea ce simteam si am luat o decizie (jnconstienta) de a-l respinge pe El. El era de vina, nu?

Va mai amintiti articolul meu “catch me when I fall?”. P’asta am invata-o de la papa Jung: sa 'vad' chestii cu sens luand ad-literam expresii verbale si/sau in originea lor. Englezii au niste expresii interesante. Ei ii zic “falling in love” [a cadea in dragoste; a te in-dragosti]. Stim toti ca e nashpa cand cazi. Dap: poti sa si mori! (simptom definitoriu al ataclui de panica ;-)

Sentimentul lipsei de control (asupra corpului tau, asupra vietii tale) e nashpa. E terifiant. Banuiesc ca ai timp sa-l constientizezi cand cazi de sus, de undeva. Cateva secunde bune de “omg! omg! Ma prabusesc!”. Pe urma, asa cum stim foarte bine, cand cazi te lovesti, faci buba. Curge/nu-curge sange, oricum o parte din tine e anihilata pt o vreme. Distrusa. Tre sa stai la pat :-)

D’aia ziceam eu atunci, intr-un dialog imaginar cu El (imaginar, ca nu cred ca a avut rabdare sa citeasca, si nici nu cred ca a inteles; ca e un barbat ‘normal’)- ii ziceam “prinde-ma cand ma prabusesc. Eu imi asum riscul asta (ma indragostesc de tine), imi infrang frica (groaza!), dar da si tu o mana de ajutor! De exemplu, asigura-ma ca n-o sa ma omoare... ca o sa fie okay.”

O alta chestie care cred ca rezoneaza bine in orice suflet de femeie ‘educata’ (in cultura Playboy/Cosmopolitan) este, inversand povestea, momentul in care el se ingrozeste de ea cand o vede.

Stiu, stiu - in povestea asta scandinava, el a scos din apa un schelet. La naiba, oricine s-ar fi speriat! Stiu. Nu sunt eu chiar asa urata. Nu? :-) (zambet nervos, cautand validare). Dar hai sa o citesc simbolic (asa cum ar trebui citita si biblia ;-). ‘Scosul ei din apa’ e cod pentru o proiectie inconstienta, pentru constientizarea unui continut inconstient. (apa=inconstient; scos din apa = constientizare; realizare). Deci, simbolic, asta e momentul in care el recunoaste in ea (proiectia) ceva de care ii e lui frica (intimitatea? Nevoia de intimitate? Frica de intimitate? Who knows? Fiecare stie pentru el ;-)

De ce mi s-a facut mie frica in noaptea aia? Naiba stie! Ma gandesc la asta de trei ani, si inca nu stiu (si stiu ca nu stiu pt ca nevoia de sens a ramas puternica; cand clarifici, iti gasesti linistea – the truth will set you free ;-). Am mai multe variante – poate toate sunt ‘adevarate’. Suntem fiinte complexe – raspunsul nu e niciodata simplu.

"Era prea frumos ca sa fie adevarat. Era o smecherie la mijloc! Mi se parea incredibil ca sentimentele noastre erau reciproce. Cum era posibil? Chiar ma iubea? No way! Aaah. Dar stai putin! Era doar inceputul. Ar fi urmat apropierea si intimitatea… M-ar fi cunoscut mai bine si ar fi descoperit ca nu eram asa grozava (si deci, nu meritam sa ma iubeasca) si... m-ar fi sufocat!" (simptom cunoscut al atacului de panica). Mie imi era frica de intimitate. Mie! Eu ma sufocam. Eu am fugit. De fiecare data.

E atat de simplu cu cei de care, de fapt, nu-ti pasa, nu? Dar cand gasesti persoana "potrivita", totul devine al naibii de greu. Pe el… pe el nu pot sa-l refuz (nici macar acum). Nu pot sa-l ranesc si, de cate ori ma raneaste el, sunt incapabila sa ma apar. Cred, chiar cred asta, ca l-as lasa sa ma omoare - fara nici o impotrivire. E ca si cum instinctele mele de conservare sunt anulate total. Acel ‘fa ce vrei cu mine’ din romanele de dragoste ieftine? O fi ceva adevarat si acolo, ca prea au succes, huh? Naiba stie!

Cum sa nu-ti fie frica de asa ceva? Cum sa nu fugi? Well… si pescarul nostru a fugit. (subtil, huh – ca personajul e ‘pescar’ – cel care ‘scoate chestii din apa’; adica cel care activeaza contnuturi inconstiente; cel care incearca sa se cunoasca mai bine). Mi-a placut ca, in fuga lui, a tarat-o si pe ea dupa el. Avem si un proverb pe tema asta: frica te urmareste oriunde, oricat de tare ai fugi. Logic, pt ca e 'in tine'.

Si eu am incercat de atatea ori sa fug de el, sa-l anulez prin distanta, tacere, respingere. Dar ramasa singura cu mine insami, el era mereu acolo. Am ras cand mi-a spus ca-i e frica de ‘implicatii’. (in primul rand pt ca i-a luat cam mult sa se prinda). Si pe urma... Hei, pariez ca mie mi-e muuuult mai frica decat ti-e tie! Care dintre noi fuge mai tare? Care dintre noi fuge primul? Oops: ma tem ca eu.

In caz ca n-ai observat ;-) bataile inimii lui au transformat-o pe ea din ceva terifiant si ingrozitor in ceva uman, frumos, tangibil. Face your fear, eh?

E ca’n cosmarurile alea repetitive in care esti absolut ingrozit de ‘ceva’ – fara forma, fara sens – pt ca, dupa mai multe ‘confruntari’, cand in sfarsit iti iei inima’n dinti si, in loc sa fugi, iti privesti frica ‘in ochi’, descoperi cu surprindere ca nu e nimic ingrozitor acolo. Asta e momentul in care interegrezi un continut inconstient – o parte din tine, necunoscuta pana atunci (monstrul indescifrabil) este activata, este integrata in tine. De obicei, visul asta coincide (si noi stim ca nu exista coincidente, nu?) cu ceva din viata ‘reala’ – un succes, o realizare, o transformare personala.

De ce transformarea ei a avut loc in timp ce el dormea, e (inca) un mister pt mine. Ce-i drept, e drept: omul isi infransese groaza; isi castigase linistea. Poate pt ca transformarile se intampla pe nesimtite – te trezesti doar intr-o dimineata un ‘alt om’. Ea, la urma urmei, era o parte din el, necunoscuta lui pana atunci. Nici macar ‘lipsa ei' nu-i era cunoscuta. In dimineata in care a plecat la ‘pescuit’, din cate stia e, viata lui era "completa". Dar in inconstient, ‘dormea’ nevoia de "mai mult".

Oh. faza aia cu 70% apa? e un fapt stiintific, nu? Simbolic vorbind, suntem 70% EMOTIE. Dar ne prefacem destul de bine, nu? (ca suntem fiinte rationale, ca avem motive 'serioase', blah-blah-blah) .

titlul - "Vision Of You", Belinda Carlisle; o lectura educativa (artistii sunt mai pe faza cu chestiile astea)

Disclaimer: sunt si eu om! Ar fi o prostie imensa sa dai vina pe celalalt pt frica ta. Ca celalalt te-ar putea ajuta, asta e clar. Dar ce ne facem cand si el traieste 'aceeasi poveste'?

70% APA (Spune-mi de cine ti-e frica, ca sa-ti spun pe cine iubesti)

2007-08-05T16:26:00.000+03:00

“Ceea ce facuse ea il suparase foarte tare pe tatal ei. Ce anume era, nimeni nu-si mai aduce aminte. Dar tatal ei fusese atat de furios incat o tarase pana pe stanci, si de acolo ii facuse vant in apele involburate ale marii.

Mult timp a trecut dupa aceea – nimeni nu mai stie cat – si ea a asteptat tacuta in adancuri. Vietatile marii s-au hranit din carnea ei, astfel incat cu timpul, din corpul ei nu mai ramasese decat scheletul – si acela ingalbenit de vreme si acoperit de corali si alge.

Intre timp, povestea ei devenise legenda, iar locul in care fusese aruncata de catre tatal ei capatase renumele de a fi bantuit. Oamenii se temeau de Doamna din Adancuri, si apele involburate spargandu-se de stanci ii umpleau de spaima si-I faceau sa ocoleasca cu grija zona.

Si alt timp a trecut, mult, nimeni nu mai stie cat, pana-ntr-o zi cand un pescar nou se abatu prin apele acelea involburate. Poate nu auzise legenda, poate era mai curajos decat altii – nu se mai stie. Apele pustii, ocolite de toate navele de la mare distanta, I s-au parut pascarului numai bune pentru o prada bogata, si plin de entuziasm si-a aruncat navodul. Se gandea probabil ca, chiar daca nu ar fi prins nimic, nu avea totusi nimic de pierdut.

Cand navodul aruncat in adancuri a inceput sa atarne greu, pescarul s-a bucurat teribil: “am prins probabil un peste mare! O captura importanta” si-a zis, si plin de energie si de entuziasm a inceput sa traga navodul afara din apa.

Ea se trezi brusc, smulsa din patul moale de alge. Incerca sa se impotriveasca, dar cu cat se zbatea mai tare, cu atat oasele i se impleteau si mai tare in sforile navodului lui – pana cand, dandu-si seama ca nu se poate opune, sa lasa trasa spre suprafata.

Nu se stie de ce, pescarul se intoarsese cu spatele catre navodul care iesea din apa, astfel incat o vazu d’abia cand intreg scheletul atarna deasupra valurilor. O privire scurta a fost indeajuns ca sa-l umple de groaza. Ea era, cu siguranta, cel mai infricosator lucru pe care-l vazuse vreodata.
Doar o secunda a stat asa, incremenit, paralizat de frica, apoi, cu o zmucitura, el incerca sa o zvarle inapoi in valuri. Dar ea era atat de bine prinsa in navod, ca efortul lui fu zadarnic. O porni atunci catre tarm, vaslind din ce in ce mai tare, din ce in ce mai repede, incercand din toate puterile lui sa scape de grozavia pe care o scosese din adancuri. Dar ea, prinsa in navodul lui, il urma indeaproape, fara sa se poate impotrivi.

Ajuns la tarm, pescarul isi abandona barca, si o rupse la fuga. Frica ii dadea puteri supra-omenesti, si cu toate astea ea era mereu cu doar cativa pasi in urma lui. Epuizat, ajunse acasa si tranti usa dupa el, ferecand-o cu toate lacatele, in sfarsit sigur ca a scapat si ca e in siguranta. Dar cand aprinse lampa, o decoperi cu groaza acolo, tacuta, ghemuita intr-un colt, ferindu-si fata, ca sa nu-l sperie si mai tare.

Nu se stie daca lumina lumanarii o facu sa arate mai putin infricosatoare, sau daca el, obosit de atata alergat, nu mai avea puterea sa se impotriveasca. Fapt este ca de data asta, in loc sa-si intoarca privirea ingrozit, el indrazni sa o priveasca. Si cu cat o privea mai mult, frica i se risipea. Astfel incat, dupa un timp, el se linisti, si privind-o, isi dadu in sfarsit seama ca biata creatura era prinsa inca in sforile navodului lui, si ca fara sa stie, el insusi o tarase cu el pana acasa.

Nemaifiindu-i frica, el se apropie de ea si cu mare grija, o ajuta sa-si elibereze oasele din sforile navodului, apoi se intoarse la locul lui si continua sa o priveasca cu curiozitate. Stinghera, simtindu-se expusa sub privirile lui, ea se cuibari mai bine in coltul ei, fara sa-si ridice fata. Intr-un tarziu, rapus de oboseala, el adormi.

Eliberata de privirile lui necrutatoare, reusi si ea sa se linisteasca. Bataile inimii lui rasunau in intuneric, si ritmul ii coplesi mintea. Si cu cat le asculta, cu atat se simtea mai atrasa, irezistibil catre el, pana cand se trezi langa el, magaiindu-i parul, inspirand cu nesat caldura degajata de corpul lui. Ca vrajita, isi trecu degetele descarnate peste corpul lui, avida sa–i simta pielea, sa-i simta caldura.

Cand isi lipi mana de pieptul lui, inima lui salta brusc. Isi trase mana, speriata – dar observa cu surprindere ca inima lui ii statea acum in palma, batand in continuare ritmul acela obsedant, care-i cuprinse corpul, si-l facu sa vibreze. Din inima lui se scurse lin un fior, care se raspandi de-a lungul oaselor ei, in ritmul batailor inimii, si carnea incepu sa creasca pe ele, si organe, si piele, si toate cele – pana cand, intr-un tarziu, spre dimineata, ea se trezi brusc din vraja si se descoperi iar femeie.

Il privi, si propria ei inima incepu sa bata, din ce in ce mai tare; din ce in ce mai puternic. Atunci ii puse lui cu grija inima la loc in piept, se intinse langa el in pat si-si lipi corpul de a-l lui. Caldura corpului lui o invalui, si viata prinse iar sa vibreze.

Au dormit asa, imbratisati, pana dimineata. Nimeni nu stie ce s-a intamplat dupa aceea. Unii spun ca pescarul si-a continuat munca, apele involburate unde o gasise pe ea fiindu-i loc prielnic de pescuit. Altii zic ca s-au intors in mare, unde vietatile care-i tinusera ei companie atata amar de timp i-au hranit si i-au protejat. Ceea ce se stie sigur este ca, din noaptea aceea, nu s-au mai despartit niciodata, caci pe buna dreptate se castigasera unul pe altul pentru eternitate."

Legenda scandinava, repovestita de mine dupa Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D. - "Women Who Run With The Wolves".

P.S. apa = emotii / inconstient

Hate Is Just A Word For Somebody You Love, But No Longer Believe In

2007-07-12T12:45:00.000+03:00

“toata lumea iubeste pe cine nu trebuie” spunea cineva zilele trecute.
Credeam ca eu sunt in cacat, dar femeia de langa mine iubeste un nemernic mai mare decat al meu. Niste ochi albastri absolut superbi, si un decolteu imbietor care-mi atrage ca un magnet privirea. Eu sunt ignorabila, ba si dificila pe deasupra (vorba lui), dar ea? Ea e o femeie incredibil de frumoasa, si desteapta, care asteapta rabdatoare ca nemernicul sa aiba chef sa o ‘vada’. Si, cand el nu mai raspunde din senin la telefon, si-i respinge apelurile, ea nu poate decat sa planga, si sa regrete sms-ul suparat pe care i l-a trimis intr-un moment de impertinenta “te rog frumos, suna-ma. Vreu doar sa stiu daca e totul ok. Nu inteleg ce s-a intamplat”

Nici eu nu inteleg ce naiba l-a apucat. CE NAIBA L-A APUCAT? Hei – ce bine de mine! Al meu (acum) ma suna inapoi. Ba chiar, de o vreme, imi raspunde si la sms-uri. Wait… nu e al meu. Eu sunt cantitate neglijabila.

“ba nu poti sa-mi zici “fuck off!” imi reproseaza el cu siguranta de sine.
Ma simt slaba si vinovata. Am gasit 2 apeluri ratate de la el, si l-am sunat imediat inapoi. S-o fi intamplat ceva. Nu e genul lui sa sune de 2 ori. Cateva ore mai tarziu, ii explic, prin sms, de ce nu i-am raspuns. Doua ore in care m-am uitat de 100 de ori la telefon. Era in priza, mergea ok, si – da, chiar ma sunase. De 2 ori. S-o fi intamplat ceva. Sunt o femeie disperata si nesigura. D’aia nu ma iubeste, d’aia nimic din ce fac n-o sa conteze niciodata pentru el. Barbatii, cica, iubesc femei puternice, care stiu ce vor. Femei care nu se lasa calcate in picioare. Femei care ii umilesc si-i abuzeaza. Abuzul e un semn de putere, intelegi? Sunt slaba si nepriceputa – si o sfarsesc singura si neiubita de nimeni. Asta daca n-o sa ma multumesc sa fiu amanta unuia. Aud ca se poarta. Se poarta femeile ‘mature’ care au viata ‘lor’ si nici nu observa ca el a sunat, sau nu; ca el iubeste, sau nu; femeile care se gandesc numai la ele. (daca-l prind p’ala care umple netu de cacaturi d’astea, ii rup gatul).
Are dreptate. Nu pot. Inca.

Intr-o lume de adulti crescuti peste noapte din copii ignorati si abuzati, tandretea, grija, afectiunea, altruismul nu sunt decat relicve ridicole. Nu pot sa ranesc omul pe care il iubesc. Il mai iubesc? Naiba stie? Iubirea asa… are un gust dulce-amar. Citisem – dar d’abia acum il inteleg. Imi sta in gat.

“credeam ca sunteti mai tanara!” ma asigura groparul.
Cum isi permite zdrenturosul asta sa ma agate? Ce anume face sa fie rezonabila invitatia lui la o cafea? Ce dracu am avea noi de vorbit? Ce sa caute mainile lui, cu unghii pline de pamant, pe corpul meu? Indignarea ma amuteste, si ramane fara ecou: muncitorii carand saci de ciment, taximetristii, pustii de liceu care pica bacul cu 2, chiar si barbatii din masini scumpe care opresc langa mine pe strada si deschid portiera – eu sunt doar un corp, printre alte milioane de corpuri. Toate – mult mai disponibile decat al meu. Dezavantaj eu, ca’s fraiera. In fiecare an, fiecare generatie scoate pe piata cateva mii de corpuri proaspete. Ce am eu in plus fata de o ‘femeie’ de 14 ani? 15 ani de… experienta?

N-am nimic de oferit. Toate calitatile mele s-au transformat miraculos in cerinte, si conditii. Barbatul modern vrea sa se simta bine; are destule probleme la servici. Are destule lucruri importante, si mize in viata lui – eu nu trebuie sa fiu – nici importanta, nici miza. Trebuie sa fiu ‘acolo’, mereu acolo. Tacuta, ascultatoare, cuminte. Sau rea, amenintatoare, puternica? Nu mai stiu. Ma simt in plus, si probabil asa si sunt.

“Learn to accept your situation so that the healing process will not become blocked.”
Asta raspunde Universul strigatului meu disperat – ce sa fac???? Ce ma fac? Cum am ajuns aici? Cum naiba ies? “Don’t avoid doing the right thing when you know it to be right, only because it will entail hurt.” Care naiba e ‘the right thing”? Mai stie cineva? Credeam ca daca-mi urmez si-mi respect sentimetele, o sa fie bine. De ce ma tradeaza propriile mele sentimente? De ce iubesc pe cine nu trebuie? De ce cel care nu iubeste ma tine legata? La ce-i foloseste dragostea mea terfelita, calcata in picioare, umilita? Se sterge cu ea la fund? “No longer letting emotions get in the way of clear reasoning and decisiveness.” Asta trebuie sa fac. Stiu, de mult. De ce n-o fac? Ce ma opreste? Nu mai cred de mult jumatatile lui de adevar. Nu mai sper nimic. Viitorul e clar, si nu ma include. Viitorul a inceput ieri, si ieri nu s-a intamplat nimic. Trecutul e deja dincolo de granitele memoriei. Barbatul care-mi mangaia picioarele nu mai exista. Pentru ce mai lupt cu mine insami? “Cowardice, weakness, avoidance of necessary suffering despite the positive outcome.”

Daca nu mai vreau sa fiu aici, eu unde ma duc?

Does Astrology have any scientific validity?

2007-07-08T14:34:00.000+03:00

de aici LindaLand Forum
________________________________________________

"The discovery of quantum nonlocality – the ability of particles to exert subtle influences on each other instantaneously across vast distances – is confirming the ancient mystical teaching that all things are profoundly interconnected. Quantum nonlocality might also explain extrasensory perception…. As well as the miraculous healing that results from prayer and other spiritual practices."

From "Rational Mysticism" by John Horgan

________________________________________________

Thomas Aquinas, medieval theologian extraordinaire, believed that if the moon could influence the tides of the ocean, then there was no reason why the planets couldn’t influence mankind. But even if we assume that ancient symbolism for various constellations is credible, can we honestly believe that the planets and stars making up these constellations exert a force on human beings at the time of birth that infuses them with character traits that pertain to these constellations?

For astrology to gain any scientific merit, a form of energy must be proven to extend from a constellation and have direct effect on the human body. The most likely candidates, science’s two most powerful types of energy, are gravity and electromagnetism.

by Mariapaula Karadimas
_____________________________________________

does science?

do you actually know how 'scientific validity' is defined, measured and calculated?

that quote reflects a very simplistic mind - one that doesn't understand natural NECCESSITY - and looks for causality.

It maddens me when I have to explain to stupids that nothing ‘causes’ anything in this world – that things go about following their own nature – being themselves sort to speak.

When you add 1 to another 1, there’s no law that obliges them to ‘make’ a 2. IF only a human choice intervenes and decides to keep them confined to a GIVEN area (say ‘positive numbers’), they will always behave in the expected way – and that would be the given one. The one the human decided and defined. But should that area be different, their ways would change as well, and so would our expectation of the result.

Yet we always trust that '1 + 1 = 2' because it's their nature to do so. 2 follows naturally to 1, that's how we chose, and named them; that's why they're called 'natural numbers'; also, there are no no 1/2, or -1, or square-roots in nature; and we know it... we invented those numbers in order to comprehend nature; but we don't - we never expect to see them walking around, holding hands.

So – only a primitive expects to find ‘causes’ in the natural universe. And only a 4 year old would be amazed that the vase fell 3 meters away when I pulled the cord (simply cos the cord extending to the vase is not visible). and that 4 yo would look for cords everywhere - and that's called 'magical thinking' ('I make things happen in the world', "there has to be a cord', 'things happen when there is somebody pushing/puling them').

The line of thought along the lines of “stars causing people to do or be anything’ is beyond simplistic – is plain stupid.

We ‘read’ the stars bc our human nature makes us unable to see what’s right under our noses – but we can easier see what’s further away. We also forgot how to read the ‘human-signs’. Well… most of us, anyways… thankfully, astrology was written down and we can still learn it today.

Science is just a modern language we invented when we realised that we have no idea about the universe we inhabit. We INVENTED science.

The stars and the people simply ‘act’ according to natural laws – they follow the same TRENDS. when we look at the stars we simply see what's going on at the moment, in the universe. The Universe is dynamic - things move about and change all the time. (remember the ‘up-and-down’ principle of the ancient texts?).

The signs are everywhere. We just don’t know how to read them.

P.S. but when we're THIS stupid, maybe we don't deserve to know shit...

P.S.2 if you do have a good, solid argument, I'd love to know about it.
P.S.3 if you think 'astrology' is about newspaper horoscopes, DON'T waste my time.

Pentru omul absent din tine …

2007-06-24T14:32:00.000+03:00

… cunoasterea a ceea ‘ce este’ este cunoasterea a ceea ‘ce vreau’…

Imi tin privirea atintita asupra scopului, in timp ce adevarul mijloacelor prin care ajung la scop ramane implicit. Astfel, orice ‘adevar’ este o ipotecare a viitorului meu, o pretentie asupra libertatii mele…

(pentru ca eu indreptandu-ma catre ceea ce vreau, resimt mijloacele de a ajunge acolo ca fiind straine mie - refuz sa accept ca ele sunt de fapt implicite in dorinta mea initiala; ma prefac ca-mi sunt impuse cumva din afara - ca ma obliga sa fac lucruri pe care eu nu vreau sa le fac; ca-mi descriu calea pe care eu nu am ales-o explicit. Tocmai pentru ca 'uit' ca pentru a ajunge de la orice A la orice B trebuie sa parcurg drumul dintre ele. Daca vreau sa ajung de la A la B, trebuie sa parcurg distanta dintre ele)

Daca “vrei X”, trebuie sa “vrei Y”.

‘Dorinta mea’ ma arunca in lume, lumea mi-o intoarce sub forma unei exigente – iar eu n-o mai recunosc (io am vrut x, nu y; am vrut sa mananc friptura, n-am ucis eu puiul; nu sunt responsabil de moartea lui).

'A ignora' inseamna sa vrei sa fii ‘libertatea care profita’ in dauna ‘libertatii care face’…aceasta ignorare nu este posibila decat intr-o lume a opresiunii

(in care un altul poarta responsabilitatea faptelor si dorintelor tale; in care esti liber sa ignori ceea ce faci ca nefiind al tau, fara insa ca asta sa te opreasca din facut. eu sunt doar cel care-si savureaza elegant friptura; nu sunt macelarul primitiv si plin de sange, care suceste gatul puiului).

Omul absent – este omul care se gandeste mereu la ‘altceva’ tocmai pentru a ocoli valoarea revelatorie a comportamentului sau. Omul care gandeste pentru a nu vedea… pentru a nu intelege.

(nu soarta puilor din lumea'ntreaga ma preocupa pe mine. ori a ucigasilor de pui. Mananc puiul ucis si ma gandesc 'la ale mele'. toale lucrurile frumoase si destepte prin care imi place sa ma definesc. sunt cine aleg eu sa fiu. alegere pe care o fac simplu, ignorand cine sunt cu adevarat)

oldies but goldies: Sartre - adevar si existenta, explicitat fara bolduri - pentru aceia dintre voi care pretind ca traiesc; si se fac ca nu inteleg ce spun eu aici. recunosc! va dispretuiesc pentru ca sunt tentata de aparenta de calm si comfort pe care o aveti. tentatia renuntarii... tentatia somnului. somnul de veci, dragilor. somn usor!

We, The People.

2007-05-14T17:48:00.000+03:00

Nu sunt la curent cu politica. Nu stiu cine e cu cine, cine - ce a facut. Sa fie clar!

Asta e o incercare de analiza non-exhaustiva (adica partriala, incompleta ) a campaniei electorale in curs prin prizma mesajelor ajunse la mine intamplator prin afise, fluturasi si sloganuri – pe care va incurajez macar sa le observati cu detasare si simt al umorului.

Deci, avem 2 tabere:
(malitiozitatea nu e intamplatoare, si cauza va deveni clara la sfarsit)

“Base” - Basescu, presedinte-suspendat, (cica) mare bautor de wiskey, fost-marinar, fost primar al capitalei, prieten si cu Becali, microbist, gura-sparta, cu 2 fete (una frumoasa, alta divortata si notar), etc. – printre altele Presedinte ales cu majoritate de voturi la alegerile din 2004.

Ceilalti - Inamicii lui Basescu, pe scurt “Inamicii” – o vaga gramada, cel mai probabil membrii PSD, usor de identificat dupa mirosul de mici si burta de bere, initiatorii miscarii de eliberare parlamentara fata de restrictiile abuzive (aka “legi”), marii victoriosi in lupta de destabilizare a situatiei politice interne si de ingrozire a opiniei publice internationale cu referinta directa la UE (pe directia ‘ce-a fost in capul nostru de i-am inclus p’astia?!?’)

Pornind de la t₀ – “n-am nici cea mai vaga idee cine conduce tara si cu ce-si ocupa timpul toata ziua, si nici nu ma intereseaza”, am ajuns aici: t1 = sfarsitul ignorantei. (aka asumarea mijloacelor, nu numai a scopului, asumarea responsabilitatii pentru ceea ce este - cum ar zice Sartre)

E mai putin credibil ce declara cineva despre cum ar face o treaba. Campania asta E o treaba de facut - ia sa vedem cat de bine isi FACE fiecare treaba,

“Base”

Consistenta si unitate de imagine si stil : toate afisele/fluturasii au aceeasi combinatie de culori: “ferm” & “cald”, aceleasi fonturi, aceeasi organizare in pagina, aceeasi grafica, etc.
Comunicarea e personalizata, individualizata – fiecare conteaza: “eu” (presedintele) vorbesc cu “tine” (you and me, baby!)
Individul se simte bagat in seama si important.
Sunt sustinute si promovate constientizarea si asumarea responsabilitatii
“Puterea” si “controlul” situatiei sunt definite ca apartinand alegatorului.

“tu ce vrei?”

“e decizia ta”

“puterea e acum la tine”

in acelasi timp, este subliniata ideea de solidaritate, “impreuna” (mesaj implicit ‘eu, ca presedinte, te reprezint pe tine si interesele tale’)

“am nevoie de votul tau” / “am nevoie de tine”.

“singur nu-i pot invinge” / “singur nu pot”

Toate aceste formule trasmit putere interlocutorului – ceea ce englezii numesc “empowerment” / si “apartenenta la un bine comun” – ceea ce Captain Planet spunea prin “the power is yours!”

Complexitatea mesajului adreseaza subtil (implicit) aspectele delicate ale situatiei, fara a re-aduce in discutie aspectele controversate si dificil de controlat (mesajul asta e despre vot, votul e despre demiterea presedintelui, presedintele e ales de popor… si asta e tot ce conteaza.).

Asocierea reusita intre comportamentul dorit (vot ‘nu’), si opozitia dintre tine (alegerea ta) si ceva ce ti se impune din afara (demisia este hotarata de altii).

“spune NU demiterii presedintelui ales"

Implicit (subliminal, dc vreti) se transmite ideea de onestitate, sinceritate, “nu am nimic de ascuns”

In absolut toate fotografiile, apar prim-planuri (apropiere) ale unui Basescu care isi priveste interlocutoul (agresorii?) in ochi. Faptul ca are ochii albastri nu strica deloc; observati ca au fost intelept evidentiati prin alegerea culorilor camasii – asortate atat la albastrul ochilor, cat si la movul fonturilor.

Si mai subtil apare ideea de siguranta, stabilitate, incredere (“sunt om serios”). Observati ca in multe fotografii este vizibila verigheta.
Non-comformism si degajare. (ca opus elitismului? Un fel de ‘sunt aproape de tine?)
Prin alegerea fonturilor. "Singur nu pot. Am nevoie de tine' – o combinatie de comic-sans si scris de mana.

NU in ultimul rand, o inteleapta subliniere prin MAJUSCULE a comportamentului (votului) dorit – care permite o citire rapida si faciliteaza asocierea dintre Basescu si ‘NU”, si clarifica scopul mesajului (vreau sa votezi ‘nu’ / “nu” inseamna ca ‘nu esti de acord cu demisia’)

“Spune NU demiterii presedintelui ales”.

Ok. ajunge. Ce inteleg eu din asta?

Ca Base asta e serios, destept si responsabil. Intelege miza a ceea ce se intampla, si cand are ceva de facut – o face profesionist. Pentru un lider, e mai putin important sa aiba el abilitati in toate domeniile, cat sa stie sa gaseasca, recunoasca si foloseasca talentele altora.

Deci:

Basescu este un bun administrator al resurselor disponibile.
Basescu este un lider care-i respecta pe cei pe care ii reprezinta – le vorbeste ca si cum ar fi destepti, responsabili, parteneri.
Basescu face o treaba buna in campania asta.

Tabara adversa. “Inamicii”

Arata de parca si-ar fi angajat rudele s-o puna de o campanie electorala. Imagini si mesaje disparate, disociate, diferite, … dar hai sa le luam pe rand!

aspect vizual neingrijit, neprofesional, culori stridente (albastru strident ca fond), colaje de imagini cu o impresie clara de fals, facatura, amatorism.
limbaj primitiv si ofensiv (daca as zice ‘de cartier’ as nedreptati cele mai mizerabile cartiere de pe lumea asta).
infantilitate.
agresivitate pronuntata.
adresare catre persoana lui Basescu (facand abstractie totala de adevarul situatiei – e vorba de un presedinte, de o campanie, de o demisie – nu o cearta intre 2 vecini despre un pom din gradina).
mesaje neclare, ambigue, ne-directionate.
acuzatii speculative (ne-dovedite, ne-explicate, ne-clarificate) – si a caror legatura cu situatia in cauza este neclara.
promisiuni (electorale) vagi, generale SI greu de definit, greu de tinut.

“Basecu – presedinte in Congo” (ce anume ar trebui sa cred despre Congo? Daca ‘eu’ l-am ales, asta inseamna ca ‘eu’ sunt congalez? Asta e de rau? E o jignire?)

“Base, nu uita, Congo este tara ta” (@&*%$ copiii sub 7 ani parca n-au drept de vot, eh?!? Cui se adreseaza campania asta? Mie?!?)

“vrei sa nu mai fie coruptie in tara?” (ce legatura are asta cu demisia presedintelui? Se sugeraza o legatura intre faptul ca base e presedinte si coruptia din tara. Se sugereaza o legatura intre demiterea lui si incetarea coruptiei. Ok… Cum anume o sa le reuseasca asta?)

“s-a schimbat. e obsedat de putere”

Asta e mai profunda. Deci:

- “s-a schimbat” – nu mai e cel pe care l-am ales (activare informatia cum ca el e cel ales).

- s-a schimbat din ‘ce’ in ‘ce’? Aha. Inainte nu era obsedat de putere – acum e. De unde stiu asta? Cum se manifesta asta la Basescu? Simplul fapt ca… nu renunta? Ca lupta sa fie anulata demisia si sa revina pe postul pe care a fost ales de milioane de oameni? Hmmm… Dar asta nu e ‘obsesie a puterii’, e tinere de promisiune. Si-a asumat un job (o raspundere) – o duce pana la capat. Nu renunta. Adica sa nu vreau un om care lupta pentru ceea ce crede ca e bine. Sa vreau unul care renunta? Hmm…. Asta nu poate fi o idee buna…

BIG MISTAKE: Imagini ale lui Basescu in posturi interpretabile - in favoarea lui:

Basescu cu bratul ridicat de parca s-ar apara de o lovitura peste fata.

Un om este atacat fizic, personal – si se apara. Daca votez pentru demiterea lui, devin agresor si eu… vreau sa fiu partas la o agresiune?

Basescu cu spatele. (il vorbim de rau pe la spate; il atacam pe la spate)

Cea mai mare greseala: Demiterea e definita ca un act agresiv, un atac personal la adresa lui Basescu – Credeam ca demiterea e un gest politic justificat.

Altele n-am vazut, dar n-o sa uit prea curand impresia lasata de Parcul Izvor in seara mitingului PSD: nori de fum putzind a mici; munti - si campii acoperite de gunoaie; o multime de… cetateni putind a bere ieftina, parfum ieftin, traspiratie si 3 ani d’acasa; niste gagicute aproape dezbracate pe scena dand din … diferite parti ale corpului pentru a satisface audienta; o mare de scaune albe de plastic. MIZERIE.

Recunosc – mascota PSD-istilor – FURNICILE – mi s-a parut o idee funny. O gramada de furnici acolo. Mici si rosii. Si multe. Muncind pt supravietuire. Lipsite de constiinta de sine, constiinta valorica, abilitatea de a comunica altfel decat prin semne, mirosuri…

Furnicile din tara asta se vor duce ascultatoare sa voteze. Cu cine? Nu-mi pasa. Nu stiu cine are dreptate. Asta am inteles eu din campania asta total dezechilibrata.

Toate astea NU conteaza. Singurul lucru care conteaza e asta:

Sambata, 19 mai,

vor vota 50%+1 dintre romanii cu drept de vot.

inclusiv TU!

q.e.d. (si logica e curva'n tara mea. hei! hei!)

2007-05-08T18:53:00.000+03:00

din SENATUL EVZ: E mai rau decat credeati

Legea referendumului - articol 5:

(1) Referendumul national si cel local se organizeaza conform prevederilor prezentei legi.

(2) Referendumul este valabil daca la acesta participa cel putin jumatate plus unu din numarul persoanelor inscrise in listele electorale”.

reformularea in Parlament a articolului 10:

„Prin derogare de la art. 5 alin. (2), demiterea Presedintelui Romaniei este aprobata daca a intrunit majoritatea voturilor valabil exprimate, la nivelul tarii, ale cetatenilor care au participat la referendum”.

(boldurile si linku la dex imi apartin)

pt cei dintre voi care nu se prind, info despre istoricul participarii la vot in tara asta de cacat (in care 'smecherii', 'intelectualii', bucurestenii si aia care-si cumpara hartie igienica de la unguri nu voteaza) - pe scurt, d'abia trecem de 50%, de fiecare data. (cu tot cu decedatii, dublurile, etc.)

la atata nesimtire din partea 'poporului', astia isi bat capul degeaba - mai simplu era sa scrie in lege direct (hai, ba, baieti! va invat io?!?)

"pt economisirea fondurilor irosite pe un referendum anulat, parlamentul va revota demiterea presedintelui in termen de 2 luni de la primul vot, si hotararea va fi naibii definitiva."

plus "prin derogare de la art tz din Constitutie, parlamentul va vota alegerea unui nou presedinte si-l va prezenta poporului cu prima ocazie."

sa dea dracu sa nu votati!!!!

Heart Shaped World

2007-04-24T18:56:00.000+03:00

Cineva imi zicea zilele trecute despre un post de pe blog – “nu l-am citit, dar m-a speriat titlul”. Incerc sa ma explic:

cris: barbatul perfect e o constructie imaginara
cris: adica 'eu' l-am 'facut'
cris: doar ca uneori e bine sa te intorci la realitate si sa-ti 'ucizi' fanteziile
e bine ce-am zis! vine momentu' cand trebuie sa-ti ucizi fanteziile; crima care iti salveaza sufletul! tara arde si io ...

un altu, imi zicea la un mom dat ca e prea complicat ce scriu io aici. Altu zicea ce e elitist – ca d’aia n-am miile lui de cititori. Cum ar veni, poporu’ nu serveste filosofie; prefera ‘divertisment’. I'auzi! ( sarcasm! sugerez ca 1)stiam 2)e evident 3) esti un idiot ca-mi subliniezi chestii evidente 4)oricum esti idiot pt ca crezi ca conteaza)

Un studiu zicea ca poporu nu face eforturi sa citeasca – ca daca e la nivelul lui, bine. Daca nu, la revedere. Ma rog – poporu’ nu mai face eforturi in general. “Comfortul” e dumnezeul contemporanilor mei. Din pacate, conform logicii oricarui test de inteligenta si curbei lu’ gauss, cei mai multi e si prosti – deci ce ne facem?

Pai, cica Isus zicea ca daca vorbesti pe intelesu’ copiilor, te inteleg toti. Dincolo de optiunile personale legate de credinta religioasa, 2007 de ani de crestinism si procentu de crestini din populatia globului ar fi argumente sa credem ca fiul_omului se pricepea macar la propaganda si comunicare.

Singuratatea m-a facut sa valorizez mai mult compania altuia – recunosc, inainte eram mai pretentioasa; imi alegeam audienta dupa viteza cu care pricepea corect ce ziceam io. Acum… cred ca m-am speriat: de unde au aparut gramezile astea de oameni prosti?!? Unde au fost pana acum? Cum de nu mi-am dat seama ca exista?

Suntem oare atat de bine protejati de grupurile noastre de prieteni, familie, colegi de facultate/master/servici incat nu mai intelegem cum stau cu adevarat lucrurile?

In prostia mea, am crezut ca e suficient sa-mi exersez dreptul de a alege – mi-am ales prietenii, cartile, filmele, emisiunile tv, revistele si ziarele. Inca din facultate am fost criticata ca sunt … well, he-he-he, prea critica! Asa ca mi-a fost simplu sa schimb canalul, sa-mi gasesc linistea la umbra prietenilor mei care – nu-i asa? gandesc 'la fel’. (cin' s'aseamana...)

Primul semn de alarma a venit de la o prietena. Discutam o chestiune de principiu si i-am aruncat in fata, cu trufie, increderea mea in specia umana: “daca eu pot, oricine poate!” A ras.

I-am explicat cum ca eu nu sunt cu nimic speciala – ca ma servesc de fix aceleasi resurse pe care le are toata lumea. Ca succesele mele s-au dovedit de fiecare data o simpla chestiune de ambitie si effort. Toata lumea vrea chestii. E suficient sa vrei (mult) ceva – se cheama ambitie, si e urmata natural de efortul de a obtine chestia aia. Ma rog.

Prin facultate ma preocupa o problema – aparent pur teoretica, abstracta, de-a dreptu’ filosofica: care e diferenta de responsabilitate intre “a gandi” si “a face” ceva. Mai precis, un om responsabil si serios (ca mine, asa) ar trebui sa-si cenzureze si gandurile? (pe criterii morale, de exemplu). Sau e okay sa gandesti orice, pt ca e doar un exercitiu mental??

Varianta comerciala a acestei dileme morale o gasiti in playboy la capitolul fantezii erotice: "sunt femeile curve pentru ca se viseaza violate de straini?" (okay, nu discutam aici daca femeile au cu adevarat asemenea fantezii erotice sau daca ele apartin de fapt editorilor playboy care propun cumparatorilor scuze perfecte pt lipsa de responsabilitate – pt ca ‘au un produs de vandut’).

Sau sunt fanteziile si gandurile absolvite de responsabilitate, eventual tocmai pt ca ar avea un rol de tensionare fara consecinte reale? Adica imi ucid sefu linistit in capul meu de cate ori ma enerveaza, si gata! Energia se consuma, io raman un om bine integrat social si fara cazier. Fac sex cu toata echipa de fotbal a italiei fara sa dau vreun ban pe biletu de avion (okay, si cu reputatia intacta; am ales Italia aleator, pe baza prejudecatilor ca italienii sunt mai, aah, pasionali.)

Dilema mea din facultate a pornit de la incapacitatea mea sincera de a decide daca as consuma cu adevarat droguri. In teorie (fantezie), suna... "interesant". "Fun". Cunosc suficient de multe despre consecintele consumului/dependentei pt a ma tine departe de ele. Dar, hey! M-am lasat io de fumat! Sunt puternica! Am vointa! Nu mi se intampla mie asta! Freud a facut experimente cu LSD...

In ce masura pot sa am incredere in mine? In ce masura pot sa-mi pastrez fanteziile ne-cenzurate, cu credinta ca voi fi in stare sa le cenzurez in realitate?

Oare o fantezie consumata imaginar nu lasa nici o urma? Orgasmul unei masturbari e identic cu orgasmul unui act sexual cu o alta persoana? Identic cu orgasmul unui act sexual cu o persoana pe care o iubesti? Identic?? Sigur? Daca imi omor imaginar vecinul de deasupra cu 50 de lovituri de cutit, eu raman aceeasi? Sau devin o criminala?

Data viitoare cand ma va trezi la 7 dimineata cu lovituri de ciocan, nu voi avea oare senzatia unui deja-connu? Cunoscand deja satisfactia crimei comise si lipsite de consecinte, o sa mai am oare argumente sa ma cenzurez? Hey – data trecuta nu m-au prins! Va sti creierul meu sa faca diferenta?

Voua vi s-a intamplat vreodata sa tineti minte fantezii si vise, si sa vi le amintiti dupa o vreme? Erau diferite de amintirile unor intamplari reale? Ma tem ca raspunsul ar putea fi ‘nu prea’.

Ma tem ca masa mare de oameni are o judecata morala de nivelul 1. Si zic asta dupa ce m-am gandit la ea cativa ani si am tot adunat date. Ceea ce-i opreste pe oameni sa faca chestii este teama de a fi prinsi si pedepsiti. Atat. Sunt inconjurata de imbecili (termen stiintific: IQ<50!) care - daca nu-i opreste nimeni (adica altcineva!) fac orice. FAC – nu “ar face”. Ii recunoasteti dupa formula imbatabila de provocare: “nu poti sa faci asta?!?” Nimeni nu mai pune problema “vrei sa faci?!?” Protozoare!

Blogul asta despre asta e: striga in gura mare frustrarea si teama mea ca ne pierdem sufletele. Le vindem? Le mancam? N-as comenta, dar le vindem ieftin! (‘libertatea’ costa 5500 vechi; si e al dracului de usor de citit) Si le mancam - repede (aluzie). Ne-am gandit bine? Vrem asta?

Mi-ar placea la nebunie sa zic “sa va ia dracu! Daca sunteti prosti, ce-mi pasa!? Fiecare pt el’. Dar nu e chiar asa de simplu. Si nu, nu ma refer la faptul ca se topeste gheata la poli sau se subtiaza stratul de ozon. In momentul asta, sa murim ar fi o solutie frumoasa. Au trimis aia in spatiu niste urme ale culturii noastre – poate viitorul o sa ne inregistreze ca pe o specie de poeti si filosofi. Ce romantic! (sarcasm )

Mai teama mi-e ca ecosistemul asta al nostru o sa se regleze singur (implicit, ca asa fac sistemele astea, deh) – ca o sa supravietuim, ca o sa ne adaptam. Ca alegand biologia ca singura explicatie a faptelor, gandurior, viselor noastre – incet-incet, o sa ni se atrofieze sufletele.

O sa ajungem sa fim ce zicem ca suntem: sa reactionam automat, inconstient la mediu – ca niste masini destepte, ca niste organisme biologice ce suntem!

E irelevant daca e adevarat ca dragostea e un dezechilibru chimic in creier, ca schizofrenia e genetica, ca barbatul e “biologic programat” sa perpetueze specia, ca-ti place sa fumezi/droghezi, ca femeia e inferioara barbatului, ca homosexualitatea e ne-naturala, ca donatorii de organe sunt opriti la poarta raiului de Sfantu Petru si re-distribuiti in iad… (rai si iad se scriu cu litere mari?)

Importante sunt consecintele.

Consecintele pe termen lung.

Viata e o chestiune de credinta.

ALEG sa cred ceva - nu pentru ca stiu ca e adevarat - ci pentru ca 'e bine'. Oricum alegi - macar fa-o constient! Nu exista certitudini – si nu exista glorie in a merge mereu “la sigur” – si un soarece gaseste drumul pana la branza. Cu asta te lauzi?? (sarcasm sugerez ca 1) o faci si 2)deci esti un cretin)

Paranteza:
Daca tu crezi ca “studiile stiintifice” reflecta realitatea si stabilesc ‘adevarul’ – esti un IDIOT! (termen stiintific – IQ<20). Dispari de pe blogul meu! Daca ai si facut o facultate – cere banii inapoi! Ai fost jecmanit! Mai bine te invatau sa impletesti sosete de lana – faceai si tu un ban cinstit. Inchis paranteza.

Concluziile pe care le-am tras io azi (“PE care”, nu “care”) sunt:

este inacceptabil ca o persoana inteligenta sa aleaga explicatia “biologia e de vina”. Acest argument, in orice fel de discutie, atrage dupa sine, automat, descalificarea de la rangul de “Om” si retrogradarea pe alte trepte ale evolutiei speciilor (de stabilit ulterior, dupa ce verificam prezenta/absenta coloanei vertebrale).

"imi pare rau" nu se pune. Daca ti se pare o prostie, n-o face!!! da, stiu. pt asta e necesar sa te gandesti inainte de a actiona si sa-ti dai atunci seama ca e o prostie.

nu pt ca te va prinde cineva. nu pt ca vei fi pedepsit. si pt ca ASA E BINE.

(nu stii diferenta dintre "bine" si "rau"? oh, in acest caz probati va rog aceasta frumoasa camasa alba: nici o grija! va ajutam noi sa va legati toate sireturile alea la spate. de acum inainte nu va trebui sa va mai faceti griji! o sa avem noi grija de dvs.!)

in timp ce io gandesc, prostul face.

Nota pt viitor: Sa urli la un idiot ‘esti un idiot!’ e o ineficient. Tre sa gasim solutii sa ne intelegem. Argumentele nu ajuta la nimic. FRICA e singura care are sens pt un idiot.

Vorba unui copil de 7 ani, brusc cuprins de apatie, care refuza sa manance sau sa-si faca temele:

- Ce ai? Ce te-a apucat?
- Nu mai are nici un sens!
- Cum adica? De ce spui asta?
- N-ai auzit? Soarele galaxiei noastre se stinge. O sa murim cu totii.

DA, stiu, dar NU AZI.
Azi luptam.

"Toate durerile se uita, dar nu uitam nici o umilinta…" (Cioran)

2007-03-23T16:46:00.000+02:00

pic by darkbean

“… pierderea sperantei inseamna moarte vie. Sunt oameni, cum sunt si eu, pentru care viata e o eterna pedeapsa, asa cum va fi si restul vietii mele.
Am un bagaj informational suficient ca sa stiu sa fiu fericit, sa fac din a trai o arta. Daca as vrea, as putea fi fericit. Nu vreau! In matricea mintii mele s-a intiparit o conditie.
Fi-voi fericit in clipa cand si doar atat cat Dumnezeul meu imi va zambi cu dragoste. Dumnezeul meu este o entitate complexa, formata din sotia si fiul meu.
Se pare ca am compromis definitiv acest zambet. Am ales sa mor cate putin in fiecare clipa.”

Frumos, nu? Profund? Sincer? Emotionant? De bun simt?

Autorul cuvintelor de mai sus este un oarecare A. Radulescu. Gandurile lui au ajuns pana la noi pentru ca intr-o zi a anului 2001, o femeie nu si-a tinut gura facand observatie extrem de nepoliticoasa: “se pare ca esti impotent!”. I-a zdrobit craniul cu lovituri repetate de ciocan. A taiat-o apoi in bucati, pe care le-a imprastiat prin tot Bucurestiul.

Un altul, refuzand sa se apere:

"Am ucis 6 persoane: n-am nici o scuza. Remuscari?
Pentru ce? Imi erau complet straini..."

Omul cu doua ceasuri nu stie niciodata sigur cat e ora.

2007-03-12T00:53:00.000+02:00

Cand Coco s-a indragostit imediat si total de prima femeie care a intrat in viata lui, am fost dezamagita. Orbita de orgoliul meu, am simtit un fel de superioritate morala fata de papagalul care imbratisa cu tot sufletul singura optiune disponibila lui.

Acum inteleg insa ca lipsa optiunilor (sau alternativelor de inlaturat) nu-i diminueaza nicidecum valoarea; ca alegerea lui Coco e semnificativa tocmai prin faptul ca legitimeaza ca pe o responsabilitate personala ceva ce altfel n-ar fi decat necesitatea destinului sau.

"Nu exista nici o posibilitate de a afla care hotarare e cea mai buna..."

In carte, Tomas se vede pus in fata unei alegeri – o vrea sau nu pe Tereza? In acest moment, ambele optiuni ii par egale. Pentru ca Tomas crede ca Tereza devine semnificativa sau insignifianta pentru el ca urmare a optiunii lui.

Citim aceeasi carte, vedem acelasi film, si totusi intelegem altceva. (eu invat noi motive sa ma schimb; "voi" gasiti noi confirmari sa ramaneti la fel. cum e mai bine?!?)

"daca ar invita-o acum, Tereza ar veni ca sa-i ofere toata viata ei. Se temea de aceasta responsabilitate. Sau, mai bine, sa renunte, si sa nu-i mai dea niciun semn? in cazul asta, Tereza ar ramane o simpla chelnerita intr-un local pierdut undeva..."

"constiinta totalei sale neputinte avea asupra lui efectul unei lovituri de maciuca in moalele capului. dar, in acelasi timp, avea darul sa-l linisteasca. Nimeni nu-l silea sa ia o hotarare.... Tereza hotarase totul de una singura"

"tereza se indragostise intamplator de el... [intelegea acum ca] in afara iubirii ei realizate cu Tomas, mai existau in imensul posibilului, un numar infinit de iubiri nerealizate cu alti barbati"

"profunda perversiune morala inerenta unei lumi intemeiate esential pe inexistenta eternei reintoarceri. o lume in care totul e dinainte iertat si, in consecinta, totul e permis..."

"in lumea eternei reveniri, fiecare gest poarta greutatea unei poveri insuportabile"

stii de ce trag eu mereu concluziile, Bogdane? de ce nu va las pe "voi" sa le trageti?

pt ca "voi" alegeti mereu varianta usoara!

Oh. cartea e de kundera - ceva cu usuratatea fiintei... eu aflu intotdeauna ultima... noroc ca ma prind si singura. pacat ca "voi" va prindeti degeaba.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn"

2007-03-05T17:15:00.000+02:00

Cabaret by Bob Fosse feat. Liza Minelli

observ cu surprindere ca toate cantecele care mi-au placut in copilarie si-au gasit mai tarziu un moment al lor in viata mea - un moment pe care il descriu perfect, mai bine decat as putea-o face eu in cuvinte. ca un regizor metodic ce sunt, mi-am stabilit atunci nu numai scenariul de viata, dar si coloana sonora...

Riddle Me This!

2007-02-27T02:39:00.000+02:00

articol intr-o revista pentru barbati (italics-urile le apartin; boldurile in rosu sunt all mine):

What's the right attitude to have when you are meeting a woman? (link)

You should be totally detached from the "outcome" of any situation with a woman.
What that means is that no matter what she says or does, your life goes on the same way.
If a woman rejects you, it is no big deal.
If a woman goes home with you, it is also no big deal.
Try to become the guy who doesn't care either way. This attitude of indifference is magnetically attractive to women.
They can sense it the moment they start talking to a man.
But this isn't a way you can "act" or something you can say. It has to come from inside of you.
Make it a point to avoid the "scarcity" way of thinking at all costs.
Stay committed to your overall goal of success with women, but don't worry about success with any one woman.
There will always be another. Always.

bai, baieti! cine pacaleste pe cine?!?

Sunt bine. Foarte Bine. N-am nimic.

2007-02-21T21:47:00.000+02:00

pic by elena getzieh

Sunt oarecum racita si am senzatia aia vaga ca nu’s cu adevarat nici treaza, dar parca nici nu dorm. Mi se invalmasesc toate in cap; imi vine sa rad, imi vine sa plang – dar sunt okay. Stiu ca sunt okay pentru ca n-am nimic – n-am absolut nimic. Sunt plictisita – dar asta nu e niciodata o tragedie – nu poate fi, pentru ca oricine altcineva in locul meu s-ar simti excelent. Doar eu – eu vreau mereu mai mult, mai repede – si ‘filmul’ nu e niciodata suficient de bun ca sa ma “prinda” pana la sfarsit. Aproape niciodata.

Stiu foarte bine logica lucrurilor – stiu ordinea lor, si cu toate astea ma ucid perioadele astea luungi de “nimic” – nimic asezonat cu toate chestiile plictisitoare, repetitive, rutiniere, cotidiene pe care noi toti le numim “viata”. Voi toti! Eu nu! Sa fie clar!

Daca asta e viata, imi bag picioarele! Ma rog – adica prostestez, public, cu toata convingerea si energia de care sunt in stare (si sunt in stare: o-ho! Am o gramada de energie; acu’ sunt oarecum racita, dar imi trece… aoleu! Cred ca am somatizat plictiseala asta! M-am imbolnavit ca sa am ceva de facut! Clar! Acum inteleg si deja mi-e mai bine. Okay… unde eram? Stai sa vad daca am febra …
Am. Deci:

Acu’ o saptamana-si am facut o chestie… mare! Am pus bazele unui scenariu – de altfel bestial! Mai trebuie lucrat la detalii, facute dialoguri, dar in principiu – e gata. Stiu care-cine-ce.
Normal, l-am lasat pe ultima clipa – adica trebuia dat la scoala pe la 12, vineri – m-am trezit la 6 dim si m-am apucat de scris. La 13 era gata. Nu-mi venea sa cred.

Eram in al 9-lea cer. Parca pluteam.

Nu ma intelege gresit, nu e nici o magie la mijloc – de cateva luni ma gandeam la asta. Facusem deja profilele psihologice ale personajelor, le alesesem cate un nume, o poveste de viata, un trecut. Stiam care e ideea. Si aveam cateva scene cheie foarte clar in cap – trebuia doar sa le gasesc locul in logica povestii. Ma rog – si trebuia sa gasesc povestea - legaturile.

Si in dimineata aia totul a curs pe hartie ca o poezie invatata pe din’afara. “Stiam” totul. Si toate bucatile se potriveau unele cu altele ca prin minune.

Si dupa ce l-am lasat la scoala … era o zi superba, soare, cald - si am pornit-o asa usor spre cismigiu; eram in al 9-lea cer… si nu era absolut nimeni cu care as fi putut sa impartasesc chestia asta. Absolut nimeni.

Am cautat disperata – mi-am rascolit mintea, am luat la rand toate intrarile din agenda telefonului.

Prietena cu care vorbesc mai des era la servici – nu mi-a raspuns; nu m-a sunat inapoi. Are si ea o gramada de probleme. E psihoterapeut si stiu ca daca o sun sunt sanse infime sa-mi poate raspunde. Nu stiu niciodata cand incep si cand se termina sedintele ei.

Mai e un … barbat cu care … vorbesc, din cand in cand. Nu stiu daca suntem prieteni – sau ‘ce’ suntem. E unul dintre oamenii singuri care a gasit in mine un confident, un ascultator fidel. Si ma suna cand are chef de vorba. Nu prea vorbim despre mine. Ca toti ceilalti, nu vrea sa stie ca si eu am probleme. Prefera sa ramana cu o imagine oarecum idealizata despre mine, sa pastreze distanta si detasarea – si e ok. Inteleg. E un schimb. Ne oferim unul altuia impresia de intimitate emotionala, si asta e. Doi oameni singuri.

Stiu ca atunci cand o sa apara o femeie reala in viata lui, n-o sa ma mai caute – si uneori ma intreb daca eu i-as mai raspunde daca ar fi un barbat real in viata mea. Nu stiu. Uneori mi-e sila de joaca asta de-a intimitatea. Apoi trece timpul si fug inapoi in ea ca intr-un refugiu. Mi-e dor de emotii reale… m-am cam saturat de jumatati de masura.

In ziua aia eram atat de fericita – si pur si simplu simteam nevoia sa impartasesc asta cu cineva. Cu oricine. L-am sunat. Nu mi-a raspuns. Nu m-a sunat inapoi. Nu m-a surprins. Entuziasmul meu real din ziua aia ar fi sunat straniu in povestea noastra. Era vorba de mine, numai de mine… n-avea absolut nici o legatura cu el.

Nu m-am simtit niciodata mai singura ca in ziua aia …si se zice ca atunci cand esti fericit e usor sa gasesti ‘prieteni’!?!

eh… Am sunat un prieten mai vechi, unu care nu vrea nimic de la mine, care mi-a raspuns – si apoi m-a sunat inapoi sa mai vorbim, si a fost sincer bucuros sa ma auda razand. Si am stat pe o banca in Cismigiu si mi-am amintit ce norocoasa sunt sa pot face asta oricand am chef…

Si apoi, joia trecuta, am facut un film. Primul meu film.

A aparut din nimic – nici nu mai stiu cum gramada aia de imagini si povesti a inceput sa se inchege, si sa capete sens. Mai stiu momentele de haos si de panica, in care ma invarteam haotic prin casa frecandu-mi fruntea nervos, uitandu-ma in gol. Apoi ma asezam iar la masa si … timpul se scurgea…

Si chiar in clipa cand l-am terminat, si ma ridicasem in picioare sa-l vad de la distanta, cu un amestec de mandrie si uimire - partenerul meu de discutii in miez de noapte m-a sunat pe neasteptate. Si pentru o clipa, doar pentru o clipa, am crezut ca o sa pot impartasi ceva - cuiva din bucuria mea…

Si am vorbit … iar... despre el, despre viata lui, in timp ce micul meu succes astepta tacut sa-i vina randul. Si l-am privit din cand in cand, vinovata – la inceput facandu-i semn sa aiba rabdare, apoi i-am evitat privirea plina de repros pentru ca stiam ca iar nu e loc de el; de mine.

Si l-am dus la scoala, l-am privit inghetata impreuna cu ceilalti, abia controlandu-mi tremuratul in linistea salii – si cand s-a terminat am fugit sa-mi iau cd-ul. Mi-a fost frica sa-i privesc. Sa vad ce cred. Stiu, ca prin vis, ca au aplaudat. Stiu ca s-au identificat cu unul dintre personaje si au reactionat cand el a suferit. Si stiu ca profu mi-a cerut filmul.

Si apoi am plecat. Confuza. Neclara. Asta e tot. Gata. O luam de la capat. Peste doua saptamani o sa vorbim despre el…

Sambata seara, la petrecere, am aruncat asa, intr-o doara, o vorba despre el, prietenilor. M-au privit pentru o clipa ca pe o extraterestra. Apoi si-au vazut de ale lor.

O prietena mi-a cerut fimul sa-l vada – dar tot aman. Nu stiu de ce. Poate pt ca ma tem ca n-o sa “inteleaga” - ca o sa se uite ca la un obiect strain, ca n-o sa ma intalneasca 'pe mine' nicaieri.

Si iar am avut senzatia aia apasatoare, terifianta – ca sunt absolut singura. Ca dac’as disparea peste noapte - nu mi-ar simti nimeni lipsa, nu mi-ar duce nimeni dorul. Mama, poate, s-ar simti abandonata; si furioasa ca nu i-am dat nici o explicatie. Sigur – prietenii ar fi surprinsi, uimiti, contrariati – pentru o vreme. Dar nimeni nu ar fi profund afectat de lipsa mea.

Viata nimanui nu ar fi mai goala decat este acum – in clipa asta. Totul ar fi exact la fel – cu sau fara mine. Micile roluri pe care le joc eu in viata fiecaruia ar fi preluate de altcineva, sau s-ar topi pe nesimtite.

Fetele graviteaza invariabil catre barbatii din viata lor. Sunt singura. Prietenele mele s-au maritat sau ‘au pe cineva’. Nu mai e nimeni cu mine – in afara jocului. Ma simt irelevanta si inlocuibila – si nu e un sentiment grozav.

Ok, stiu ca am febra si asta ‘ajuta’. Dar e un fapt absolut indiscutabil ca in clipa asta nu se gandeste nimeni la mine, nu vrea nimeni sa ma vada, nu e nimeni care arde de nerabdare sa-mi spuna ce i s-a intamplat. Nu e nimeni cu adevarat ingrijorat ca sunt oarecum racita. Nu se intreaba nimeni ce fac la ora asta.

Si nu e nimeni la care sa ma gandesc eu, nu e nimeni cu care sa ma vad, sau sa-i povestesc ce mi s-a intamplat. Nu e nimeni cu care sa-mi impartaseasc bucuriile si tristetile, nu e nimeni cu care sa-mi impart viata. Nu e nimeni care sa ma faca sa visez sau sa sper. Nu e nimeni care sa ma faca sa plang.

Vezi? Ti-am spus ca sunt ok. N-am nimic. N-am absolut nimic.

P.S. ok. universul are simtul umorului. recunosc! m-au sunat 2 prietene. sa vada ce fac. la naiba! si io care ma simteam atat de singura...

"Mie ar trebui sa-mi fie rusine! Nu-mi inteleg propriul suflet..."

2007-02-19T22:58:00.000+02:00

cea mai originala cerere in casatorie pe care am auzit-o vreodata:

"Pana acum, de cate ori am vrut sa fac ceva rau, am facut-o.
Astfel am suferit mai putin.
Dar acum e altceva.

Te-am avut deja, dar nu m-am saturat.

E foarte greu.
Te implor sa-mi fii sotie.

Faimosul bandit Tajomaru te implora în genunchi.
Daca vrei, ma las de talhareala.
Am agonisit destul ca sa-tipot oferi o viata fara griji.
Dar daca nu vrei banii mei murdari sunt în stare sa si muncesc.
Ma voi umili vanzand maruntisuri pe strada, ca sa te întretin.
Voi face orice daca ma urmezi.

Ia-ma de barbat, te rog.

Te rog, spune ca vrei.

Nu mai plange si raspunde-mi.
Spune ca-mi vei fi sotie!
Spune!

Daca spui 'nu', nu-mi ramane decat sa te omor."

Rashômon (1950) de Akira Kurosawa.

"If people are truly, madly, deeply in love with each other, they will find a way.”

2007-02-08T18:32:00.000+02:00

or so the legend goes...

traducere libera pentru merce

adica: daca oamenii se iubesc cu adevarat, la nebunie, etc, or sa gaseasca o cale. asa zice legenda (care legenda, e drept, am facut-o io in paintbrush.)

(pt ca ma pricep!)

***

mada: mai, pe blog remarc ca sunt in forma de inimi toate
mada: in rest...
cris: da sunt semne de circulatie, see...

mada: nu e f clar
cris:
mada: are noima inima in lucru
mada: dar
cris: offf.... tie nu-ti trebuie sa "citesti" in inimile celorlati?
cris: asa
mada: inima cu circulatie din ambele sensuri?!?!?
cris: unii vin, altii pleaca
mada: inima cu sens giratoriu?
mada: ei, nu e f clar
cris: e confuza, nu stie ce vrea
mada: ca putea fi si "ambii se iubesc"
mada: adica iubirea merge in ambele sensuri
cris: ar putea fi si sex, simbolic
cris: exact!
mada: vezi, sunt interpretabile
cris: ai dreptate
mada: prima poza era ff clara (alta, pe mail)
cris: pai asa sunt oamenii
mada: ne-ambigua
cris: interpretabli
cris: ambigui
mada: at nu sunt niste semne bune
cris: transmit mesaje alambicate, codate
mada: nu pt a circula dupa ele
mada: vor provoca accidente
cris: primul titlu era 'si ne mai miram ca sutn atatia oameni siguri?!?"
mada: si toti vor avea dreptate
mada: nu singuri
cris: daaa...sunt multe accidente
mada: ci loviti
cris: dap
mada: pai vezi

mada: deci nu sunt bune

Valentine Special 50% Off

2007-02-04T14:03:00.000+02:00

When the boys sang “can’t buy me love”, they were probably in denial. Meanwhile, the love-economy flourished. You can’t take a walk or a piss in this town without having some token of *love* stare you in the face. Like we didn’t have enough stress in our lives!

For all you men out-there: bad news! You may go-by a whole year without really having to consider your relationship or the whole soul-mates theory, but this cold, gloomy day of February is all about having-balls. Don’t be a wimp - take a stand! The woman in your life is (anxiously) waiting for you to make some sort of statement.

The good news is, you can say it with a teddy bear, or a box, a balloon, a pillow – as long as it’s red and/or pink and heart-shaped, you can do no wrong.

Don’t worry about The Words: you don’t have to actually say it, you could buy a thing that has it written all over. Same thing. Really.

For those of you who actually believe in honesty – this may not be your favorite time-of-the-year. For the sake of God: don’t! I mean DON’T go for the “I sorta love you” or “I think I love you (I’m not sure)”. “I care about you” is as good as a knife in the back. You may think there’s someone better for you in the future, but this is now. Don’t spoil it! No woman will stick around after she’s learnt that …weelll… she’s not ‘all that special’.

We live and breath for *romance*! This is our holyday.

Fuck honesty! Instead, go for the fluffy puppy or the coffee-cup with kittens on it. We do looove kittens. Again – make sure it’s pink and/or red. And put a ribbon on it! We, women, are hormone-driven creatures, and our brains are all about alpha waves. Ribbons and flowers make us feel all warm and cozy inside. If your religion doesn’t forbid it, you should definitely buy flowers. Nothing says ‘heart’ like a bunch of roses – pink, red, I dunno - be creative!

We know it’s make-belief, but we love it that way. Like when we were kids playing-doctor: don’t worry. It’s not gonna hurt you one bit! You just take your pants off and turn around: this is not really a needle; and I’m not really sticking it into you. I’m just going to pretend to make you feel better! Play along. Hush!

Okay, if you insist, I guess you could take this opportunity to really think about your (love)life. If you honestly think it’s worth the trouble. Ask yourself all those hard questions: what am I doing here? Is this really what I want? Where is this going? Will this be a good-idea twenty years from now? Am I really going to be happy fucking only this woman for the rest of my life? (okay, you can lie a bit here. We all know that’s not a realistic option).

The thing is – you have to consider these questions, because we-women don’t. It’s all about butterflies and rose-petals with us. And, as we all know, those can’t pay rent or buy food. But if you’re not in the mood, I understand. It’s not all that important. You can do it next year, or the next… Meanwhile, don’t forget to buy yourself some more time.

Till next year,

Heart you too!

P.S.

2007-01-27T00:56:00.001+02:00

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!

2007-01-08T22:52:00.000+02:00

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

2007-01-03T22:01:00.000+02:00

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!

la munca, bah!! (doar ca sa ma dau mare si sa "share")

2006-12-27T15:17:00.000+02:00

adica yours trully invata sa manareasca chestii pe calculator - (i.e. sa editeze filme)

povestea:

prin septembrie, nashii mei m-au plimbat nitel prin jud brasov (cred). uite'asa am trecut pe langa falnica cetate a rasnovului - si am urcat ca cica mie-mi plac cetatile (si sabiile, si super-eroii... aveam o prietena care avea o sabie veche (si un samovar urias de argint); mi se parea foarte cool; dar eram teenager si mi se pareau multe chestii cool; nu ca acuma... :-P madalinei, georgianei, si altor necredinciosi).

tot ce e de vazut, am filmat io (cu o camera foto! sa n-aud complaints despre calitatea video/sunet, blah-blah-blah). sunt si niste poze - la poze. e si o taxa de intrare (parca 100 000 roli), care-ti cumpara dreptul sa vezi de aproape zidurile de piatra si pe interior (sic!)
ce nu pot sa va arat (ca costa prea mult o poza si io sunt cost-efficient) e curtea interioara - plina de 'relicve'/obiecte 'istorice': o caruta, niste vase mari, o gradina...

"si cam ce e de vazut?" o intreb pe tanti de la intrare... 'cum ce? zice ea... "cetatea!"
'ok, ok', ma inrosesc io ca un turist ignorant ce eram, 'ce anume?'... "pai mai sunt niste camere cu niste sulite d'alea de piatra vechi, niste coridoare, si cam atat" ...
aham...

(adica mereti voi daca sunteti mai smecheri si explicati-mi si mie de ce am urcat tot muntele ala? carute am mai vazut io... ok, ok! privelistea e nice. vezi si poze. si rasuna tare frumos barbieru' pe toata valea... rasuna frumos, ca 'tare' am muncit io sa-l fac sa sune... me=out)

Let's See If You Believe In Me

2006-12-23T19:41:00.000+02:00

( I really Do Believe In You! )

“I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, because I'm not myself, you see”

2006-12-10T01:25:00.000+02:00

Surreal moment no1.

My 26 year old married +children girlfriends [gf for short], at a party, about some girl they know. Let’s call her ‘Ana’, for demonstration purposes. [notice: actual words were not kept in my records. I made these up, keeping their original meaning].

‘she’s like… old… she’s what? 30?!? What’s wrong with her? She definitely has to lose the attitude, lower those standards! Where is she going to find a man like that?’ If she keeps this up, she’ll end up alone. Who’s gonna marry her in her late 30's? It’s already like too late to have a child!’

I’m waiting nervously for a wink in my direction: Alright, then: go-on. Hit me! I’m ready. old’ .... I’m only 28 for Chris’s sake! What do you ppl want from me?!?

Later.
One gf remembers her dentist: a gorgeous, smart, funny, intelligent, 30-something man, looking for a serious relationship.
Great! Cool. Just what I’m interested in. What a coincidence: me too!
Another gf: hey, we should help. Put him in touch with someone. Who? Who could it be?
I’m like: what a wonderful idea! here I am! Awfully nice of you! Pick me! Pick me!
The other:

Oh, I know! let’s help poor ‘Ana’! I could arrange something later this week…

Later that week.
I pull the pin from the grenade. I ask another gf: wtf?!?
She’s like:

what do you mean? Of course we didn’t think of you. I never thought of you that way…You don’t really want another man in your life, do you?!?

Surreal moment no2.
late evening, this guy from down the street finally finds the courage to stop me:

where r you coming from? School?
I don't see how…
What r u like – 26?
So what if …
listen here!I have a great job! Maybe not much, but I’m administrator at this firm.
Small firm, only 20 ppl or so. But I make good money.
I could take good care of you!
I would go to work and make money. You’d stay home and mind the children.
Cook too – can you cook?
I don’t mind if you can’t! my mum could help us.
You just make sure that the kids are all cleaned-up and do their homework.
I’ll do the shopping, take out the trash. I’ll take care of everything!
You won’t miss a thing! I’ll make you happy!
What do you say? Look at you!
you’re such a beautiful woman, and you’re throwing your life away - doing what?
Reading? Going to school? What do you need all that school for?!?
what can those books give you that I can't?
What do you say? Marry me!
Forget that crap about school and books! I’m not so bad, am I?!?

Surreal moment no3.
Clubbing with a male-friend. Late night

I don’t get it!!! All those nice guys staring at you all night, and not one of them came to talk to you. Only the creeps did. What do you do to them?

Surreal moment no4.
My closest g-friend , one evening:

I can’t imagine why you're still alone!
You’re like… perfect!
If I were a man, I’d definitely want you!

Surreal moment no5.
My mum, when I arrive home:

Your mother-in-law must love you!
I’ve just finished the cooking.
Shall I bring you something to eat?

Surreal moment no6.
Some guy from my neighborhood, I meet every two weeks:

God! I just can’t believe that you and alex are not together anymore!
That was like two years ago, you know… He has a girfriend and everything.
When are you two getting back together? You just gotta… I can’t imagine the two of you separately.

Eu te-am facut, eu te omor!

2006-12-07T01:02:00.000+02:00

pic de monicazozo

Ma agat de ‘el’ din incapatanare; din orgoliu; dintr-un instinct de conservare dezorientat. Imi protejez investitia, si reduc riscurile pe viitor in acelasi timp. E aproape perfect. Daca’as fi in stare sa ma multumesc cu asta…

Mi-a fost atat de greu sa-l asimilez in intimitatea gandurilor si sentimentelor mele, sa inregistrez toate lucrurile care-l definesc sub senzatia de ‘familiar’, ‘cunoscut’, ‘friendly’, ‘frumos’, ‘bine’, ‘el’.

La inceput de tot a fost doar senzatia vaga, generala, difuza, care anula tot restul lumii, creand un fel de vid in jurul lui. Eu insami dispaream instantaneu – ramaneam un martor mut, incremenit. Senzatia aia de beatitudine, de inimaginabil de frumos, de sublim, ma cuprindea numai ‘dupa’ – cand ma indepartam, cand ‘el’ era departe – ca si cum distanta ii micsora intensitatea si le permitea simturilor mele sa-l inregistreze, sa-l sintetizeze, sa-l numeasca.

Uneori ma trezeam privindu-l buimaca, de parca doar ce m-as fi materializat brusc, la dorinta lui. Si-l priveam neputiincioasa sa-i alin furia sau dezamagirea – pentru ca eram cu adevarat incapabila sa ma regasesc.

La inceput corpul lui imi era strain. Recunosteam cu bucurie crampeie ale vechilor iubiri, si priveam cu suspiciune restul. Apropierea lui imi era incomoda – pt ca imi cerea raspunsuri pe care nu le aveam, la intrebari pe care inca nu le pusesem.

Mi-a luat luni intregi sa imblanzesc fiecare gand, fiecare senzatie, sa incorporez in mine imaginea lui. Luni intregi pana cand i-am descoperit si am invatat sa-i iubesc si mainile (atat de similare cu ale mele), si umerii rotunzi si moi, si urechile, si ochii cu gene intoarse, si picioarele, si burta, si fundul, pana cand am ajuns sa le recunosc pe toate ca fiind parte din ‘el’.

L-am invatat pe de rost si mi l-am apropiat zi-de-zi, bucata cu bucata, pana in ziua cand am putut sa-l privesc drept, fara frica, stiind ca l-as fi recunoscut oricum, orice’as fi vazut.

Ma agat de ideea de el: din incapatanare, din orgoliu, din economie. Atata munca: degeaba. Un efort inutil, ridicol. Din spatele ratiunilor care m-au tinut departe de el, senzatia aia difuza, de spledoare, de la inceput – a amutit. E covarsitoare senzatia de sila – o greata imensa, absurda, care ma invaluie, care-mi rasuna in urechi mieros, insinuant, cu vocea lui; imi strange stomacul; ma apleaca: umila, invinsa, redundanta.

Mi-e sila sa o iau de la capat. Mi-e sila sa raman aici. Mi-e sila de faptul ca ‘el’ e singura constanta din viata mea, singurul lucru pentru care lupt sa ramana acelasi – tot restul, le schimb iar, si iar.

Non-existenta lui mi-e comfortabila, calduta, imi intretine anxietatile, depresiile, revoltele, imi alina plictiselile si insomniile. Adevaratele lui saruturi nepricepute, stangace, golite de intimitate, de pasiune, de implicare, de 'el', inca ma haituiesc. Amintirea lor ma asigura ca, daca i-as permite sa existe cu adevarat, l-as ucide. In cel mai bun caz, l-as topi in amorteala dupa-amiezilor de duminica, in graba cafelelor de dimineata, in normalitatea sexului cotidian.

Ma agat de ideea de el ca sa-l tin la distanta pe un altul: tactil, bagacios, impertinent. Altul care cere mai mult, care (daca l-as lasa) mi-ar umple si viata, nu doar gandurile, care imi pretinde sa-l privesc in ochi si sa-l las sa se uite in adancul sufletului meu.

N-a murit in mine speranta. Doar a preluat chipul lui - pentru o vreme; chipul care o sa-mi re-devina, incet-incet, indiferent.

It’s deja-vu all over again!

2006-11-28T01:56:00.000+02:00

Here we go again. One more scratch on the wall. One more candle to burn out. One more year to end. What have I got to say for myself?

I did this for the past two years. I stated a notebook: each year gets one page to speak for itself. Back then, in 2004, I was pretty sure that was going to be the end of me. The second half of that year felt like the whole world was out to get me.

I lost pretty much everything I had: my faith - in God, in myself, my own feelings, and my own judgment, in the people I trusted and loved. Things stopped making sense, everything I dared to do ended in complete failure (plus a lot of pain for seasoning); nothing worked.

Everything I was crushed in front of my eyes: my relationship, my health, my friends, my school, work, my whole damn future. The fact that what I took for my new chance at real-love turned out to be a cheap trick, and the man I thought I could trust and love, turned out to be a lying, deceiving jerk was just one of those things.

One evening, in November, I remember it vividly because I cried for hours, topped it all. A routine checkup turning into one doctor telling me I was just fine, another doctor telling me that not only was I not perfect, but I actually had some genetical flaw that would a) make life a living hell for me, gradually or b) could be dealt with, by years of treatment and a very costly and painful operation, which afterwards would assure me a life of a real-life robocop (with steel-plates and screws in my skull). Lucky me - I had come to the one doctor who would've dared to perform it (him, I liked: quietly and calmy watching me brake into pieces). What was my choice, they asked?

So I did what only a very sensible, practical, down-to-earth woman like myself does: I called my ex and cried my heart out, for hours. I’ve always said he’s an angel. He sure earned his wings that night. And the jerk? He ‘hated’ me for missing his promotion announcement at work that evening; yet I couldn’t help smile when he let me 'have it'. He was right afterall: had I been there, it’d been in my best interest.

And that was my lowest, so far. I lost a lot of weight; I cried a lot of tears; yet here I stand, in front of you. A bit older, and maybe a little bitter (an acquired taste, for sure); lonely sometimes, happy occasionally. I don’t feel any stronger now than I did before. I doubt myself now even more than I doubt others.
I lost my innocence that year. I lost my dreams.

I’m not going to tell you now that real friends, people who really, honestly care and love you, will be there for you when you’re down; that when so-called friends lie, cheat and betray you, they do you a favor by showing you their real feelings; that the ones you’re left with after hard-times, are the ones that matter; that when a door closes, another one opens; or that doctors sometimes play god, and don’t know when to stop; and all problems have solutions, however imperfect, you just gotta find your own. You know all these, don’t you?

I’m telling you something else, something very useful in hard times: write down the good things that happen to you.
To remind you that, despite what you might think in a moment of despair, you’ve been better. And in the long run, even the bad things make sense – however strange that may seem. And the good and the bad alternate, as you walk towards the end of the line.
Oh, the bad things – you’ll remember those. Don’t worry. And you’ll be telling your friends about them, and they’ll remember it too.
Write the good things down cos you’ll forget.

Looking back now, over what I’ve written, I know that all those things – however painful, they helped made me who I am today.

If you asked me what I did with my life, I’d say “nothing” – cos there’s nothing that I’m particularly proud of. So many ridiculous mistakes shame me. Going back, I would make them again (be it in a different form, but still make them). I failed at the things that matter the most to me – my relationships. I gained no greater control over my emotions, nor am I any wiser with the years. I still have no idea what’s the point to it all, or what the hell I am to do with my life.
But all-in-all, you know… despite all the odds, I guess "I" turned out all right. I could've made myself a better life, and I sure as hell could’ve been a better person, but…oh, well! I’ll give myself a brake for the holidays. If only to impress Santa. I plan to ask him a huuuge favor...
Cheers!

P.S. Why do you think we celebrate endings?

The Secret Ingredient

2006-11-26T14:31:00.000+02:00

.......................................................

Martha: I swear to GOD George, if you even existed, I'd divorce you.

......................................................

George: Martha, in my mind you're buried in cement right up to the neck. No, up to the nose, it's much quieter.

.......................................................

Martha: I disgust me.
You know, there's only been one man in my whole life who's ever made me happy. Do you know that?

[pause] George, my husband... George, who is out somewhere there in the dark, who is good to me - whom I revile,
who can keep learning the games we play as quickly as I can change them.
Who can make me happy and I do not wish to be happy…
…Yes, I do wish to be happy…
"George and Martha": Sad, sad, sad.
…Whom I will not forgive for having come to rest;
for having seen me and having said: yes, this will do.
.......................................................

George: I'm very impressed.
Martha: You're damn right.
George: I said I was impressed. I'm beside myself with jealousy. What do you want me to do, throw up?

.......................................................

George: Well, you make me throw up.
Martha: That's different.

.......................................................

Martha: [derogatorily, to George] Hey, swamp! Hey swampy!
George: Yes, Martha? Can I get you something?
Martha: Ah, well, sure. You can, um, light my cigarette, if you're of a mind to.
George: No. There are limits.
I mean, a man can put up with only so much without he descends a rung or two on the old evolutionary ladder, which is up your line.
Now, I will hold your hand when it's dark and you're afraid of the boogeyman and I will tote your gin bottles out after midnight so no one can see but I will not light your cigarette. And that, as they say, is that.
.......................................................

Martha: I looked at you tonight and you weren't there...

.......................................................

George: You're a monster - You are.
Martha: I'm loud and I'm vulgar, and I wear the pants in the house because somebody's got to, but I am not a monster. I'm not.

.......................................................

Martha: Is that a threat George, huh?
George: It's a threat, Martha.
Martha: You're gonna get it, baby.
George: Be careful Martha. I'll rip you to pieces.
Martha: You're not man enough. You haven't the guts.
George: Total war.
Martha: Total.

Quotes from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)

How Do You Know?

2006-10-21T18:06:00.000+03:00

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a powerful King. His was a land full of riches, but his pride and joy was the brightest jewel of the Crown. For the King had a son, whose good looks and bravery were only matched by his remarkable wits.

And then, the time came for the King to pass on his Crown and Kingdome, and they sent word to the Far Lands for every Princess in the Whole Wide World to come to the Palace for The Greatest Ball of all, where the Prince would chose his bride.

And thousands of Princesses jumped at the chance, as the fame of the Prince had reached very far. Beautiful, smart, educated, rich, all sorts of Princesses passed by in front of the Prince, in their best dresses, the brightest jewels, setting whole countries and their riches at his feet, yet his heart had not skipped a beat.

Night came, and exhausted, The Prince decided to walk out his disappointment along the paths of his palace’ rose garden. For in the old books in the old library he had read about ‘love’: the most noble of all the feelings, something magical he had never known before. And his noble soul was exhilarated that he would find this ‘love’ and make it his own.

And while he was walking along the red-rosed paths, he passed by the kitchens, where a simple, poorly dressed young woman was helping with the dishes And with the night breeze along came a trail of the Prince’s perfume – and the young woman lifted her eyes, in wonder. Her large, brown eyes opened wide, as they met the eyes of the Prince. And right then and there, the prince-heart stopped beating for a while, and the wind stopped blowing, and the stars stopped blinking, for that was a meeting of souls.

About a second or so later, the Prince came to his senses – and even laughed in his mind at the silly feeling that had dared to trouble his inner peace. Surely this ‘love’ business would prove far too troublesome than he had hoped, and such being the case, the Prince pondered whether in wasn’t far better to abandon his plan. As the important business of the Kingdome were at stake, he could not afford to let ‘love’ mess with his head.

And he hurried back to his quarters, hushing his heart away from the sweet memory of a pair of brown eyes that seemed to have stuck in there. He drank some fine wine, and ate some fancy dinner, and had the clowns and the magicians put on their best show to entertain him; read from his books, had his old deuce tell him his favorite bedtime story, had some more wine, and yet the hours of morning caught him wide awake.

The next morning came over him with a cold breeze when he opened his windows. And there, in the shadows of the old oak trees, a dark silhouette made his heart jump with joy, and troubled his mind with the promise of unwelcome distress.

First he jumped right out, and then hesitated. Gathered up all his strengths, pulled his hands into fists and walked right up to her. ‘Back to the kitchen! his common-sense shouted, yet when he finally spoke, his voice was trembling with desire and a soft, dazzling shiver made him all warm inside. And as the sun rose, a pair of young lovers walked deeper into the gardens, overtaken by the rose smell and their own heart-beats.

But as the new day was taking its rightful place, the Prince felt time was not on his side: the Whole World was waiting for him to make up his mind. Trapped between his duty to his country and the call of his own heart, the Prince was dangling in despair. What should he do? How would he know the best course of action?

And the young woman saw the pain he was going through and did not want to be the cause of it. So she told him, “Don’t worry. I’ll be here tomorrow night, and the night after tomorrow. You do what’s best for the Kingdome, I’ll always be here for you.”

“Listen, answered the Prince, thinking he saw some vague promise of light at the end of his troubles. If you wait for me here, in the garden, every day and every night for a 100 nights and days in a row, I’ll chose you as my bride.”

And so the days and the nights passed by, and the young woman hadn’t move an inch from her bench in the garden, overlooking the Prince’s window. Every now and then, he checked to see if she was still there; had her love for him fated away? Had her determination died out? Rain came down on her, and cold nights tried to frighten her away, but there she stood, firm in her belief, unshaken.

90 days and nights later, she was but a sheer trace of the beautiful, healthy young-woman she used to be. So many un-slept nights, the lack of food, and water, and the cold and the winds had taken a heavy tow over her body. Like a leaf the wind blew her around, but she gathered all her will to stand her ground. And the Prince watched from his window, amazed by her determination, wishing he could find that sort of sureness in his heart.

And the 99th night came, and the Prince spent it at his window, still wondering, still not quite sure what to do, what he wanted, looking at the now skinny, ill-looking woman shaking out in the cold; half impressed, half bemused by her stubbornness. She was hardly any prize at all, in her cheap cloths, over her bony, fragile, pale body, with her once bright brown eyes half closed – hardly a match to any of the rich, beautiful Princesses awaiting for him in the Throne Hall. Surely, she was no Queen material.

And as he was lost in his thoughts, with the first light of the 100th day, his eyes caught some surprising movement in the garden. Trembling with all her joints, the woman rose for the first time in almost 100 nights and days, and looked up at the Prince, tears wearing down her face, clouding up her eyes. He rushed to open his window and as he looked down, their eyes met once more. Only this time, not a single star moved in the sky.

And as the Prince stared in disbelief, the young woman turned around and walked away.

After a story in the Cinema Paradiso, a film by Giuseppe Tornatore

You’re Nobody ‘till Somebody Loves You

2006-10-10T21:02:00.000+03:00

I met the most gorgeous man one evening; 38, never married, hasn’t had a steady girlfriend in ages. Terribly smart, perceptive; very polite; very funny too. Flirtatious to the bone. Shameless. With that boyish playfulness that I find so irresistible (until it turns to selfishness and irresponsibility.)

So what’s wrong with you? I ask him – half mocking him, half wandering. He looks straight into my eyes, hardly containing his delight. Hold on my heart, I think to myself. Was it a trap? Did I fell right in?
No, seriously, I recompose myself. If you’re so darn perfect, how come nobody wants you? How come you’re so alone?

I’m not, he says smiling. I’m with you.

Right, I gulp. Silly me.
He’s playing with me and he’s better at this game than I’ll ever be. I stumble. I feel my way in the dark. He’s enjoying himself. I should pull back. That twinkle in his eyes spells trouble – he’s a swindler, a playboy, the wrong kind of man for me to play with. Not again. What was I thinking?

Only … I wasn’t playing. I was honest (alright: and naïve) – and it took like forever to get him serious about it, into my territory. And a bottle of wine. And when he starts talking he stops looking me in the eyes.

He’s happy with his life – just the way it is. He loves his job, his dog, and the fact that ‘nobody tells him what to do’. He’s ‘the lord of his mansion’ – comes and goes as he pleases. No one to answer to. He’s free to enjoy his life to the fullest. Every moment of it. No regrets. No looking back. No complications.

I listen in silence. I know, by the hesitation in his voice, that it’s been a long time since he actually talked to someone. If ever. No games, no charades, just him. I get that a lot. I recognize it by the butterflies in my stomach.

Hours into the night, the story of his life pours out. Bits and pieces, like a puzzle coming together, to complete the image I was so curious about. Stories of loss, unfelt grief, of betrayal, of being let down, left behind, hurt, unloved. He says he’s fine, and I hear the words. Yet they tell a different story in my heart – one of such a terrible, hopeless sadness, of deeply buried emotions, unspoken fears. Lost Faith. A story of complete, self-imposed, self-protective loneliness. And even though it looks like he’s reaching out to me – he’s so far away that I can barely touch him.

By his way of life, the whole thing would’ve ended (gloriously) with sex, thus restoring the order of things - to make him safe - to get me back to my rightful place: that of a toy, a dolly he’s playing with for the night. I’m supposed to turn into a ‘complication’ by day-light. I get the point, only too well. But I don’t like playing Barbie.

And there’s no button to push to make me ‘happy’ again, after everything he’s told me. It weights heavily on my soul. I feel all the pain he’s ignoring. And I feel like crying. His un-cried tears; the ones that drawn his dreams into a puddle of repressed despair and anger.

But there’s no way I can make him see. He’s already made up his mind, and he has the perfect theory to back him up. The fit words to hide the pain, and the fear. And the brains to defend it ever again, against every argument I could think of.

And yes … I could've stayed. (I would've; I wanted to) I could've found a way to accept that tiny place in his life he’d prepared for me. But I know that, at best, he would pretend this never happened. He would never look me in the eyes again. All these… ‘things’ he’s told me - only to re-enforce The Fact that he’s Just Fine. He’d get even better at his game – to better show me that he doesn’t need me, or anything.

And the truth is … I don’t want to be needed. I don’t want to be ‘strong’ for you. I don’t want to pretend I don’t care. I don’t want anybody else’s tears – I’ve got my own. And I’ve got my own fears to struggle with, and my own faith to keep.

And if you are reading this – I hope you’ll forgive me for walking out like that. And there are no words in the world to reason our way around it. I know you think I’m very smart, but that’s not how I chose to live my life. Mine is the way of the heart. Since you have no respect for your own feelings – how could you respect mine?

To you it was just a game; but I was falling for it. And it’s not fair, you see. You can do this with anybody – you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

But I would.

A song by Frank Sinatra and Judy Garland. "You're nobody 'till somebody loves you, so find yourself somebody to love!"

Catch Me When I Fall

2006-10-06T00:57:00.000+03:00

Yes, yes! I know: Don’t. Look. Down.

Trapped. No way out. What do I do? What do I do? I can’t breath in here. My heart ... is like trying to beat its way out of my chest. I press my hands against it: calm down.

Calm. Down. Breath. Gently. Here-we-go. I can do this.

Sure I can. I know I can. One step at-a-time. Here-we-go. I can do this.

Oh God. Oh God. I don't know if I can do this. I don't think I can. Wait. Waait! I'm not sure. I’m not sure.

falling for - falling asleep - falling under - falling through- falling apart - falling away - falling in - faling off - falling out - falling behind - falling down - falling back

falling "1: suddenly losing an upright position; 2: decreasing in amount or degree; 3: becoming lower or less in degree or value; 4: coming down freely under the influence of gravity"

“We have art to save ourselves from the truth.” Nietzsche

2006-09-22T03:37:00.000+03:00

what I've tried for myself - and works. read the whole "so you want to be creative?' by hugh macleod here

1. Ignore everybody. (YES!)

2. The idea doesn't have to be big. It just has to change the world. (you and me, baby! you, me, and the power-puff girls)

4. If your big plan depends on you suddenly being "discovered" by some big shot, your plan will probably fail. (don't wait for some else to say you're 'great'; this is a chance you'll have to take)

7. Keep your day job. (I know; this is not what i did; but I'm not the best example to follow; honest! I got away with so many things in my life... the risks I take are always planned, I know myself well, and I'm lucky... I haven't made this work yet)

8. Companies that squelch creativity can no longer compete with companies that champion creativity. (yeah, sure...aaah... that's why i resigned.. i couldn't take the constant pressure to be creative, inventive, smart; maybe we'll get there someday)

9. Everybody has their own private Mount Everest they were put on this earth to climb. (told ya so; see this and this :-)

11. Don't try to stand out from the crowd; avoid crowds altogether. (it's a figure of speach, dip-wit! it doesn't mean you're 'better' than everybody else, just that you need to do your own thing : just because lots of people do something, doesn't make it a good idea; actually...)

12. If you accept the pain, it cannot hurt you. (aaah: very zen, or something; No, not really. pain is pain whichever way you take it: it will hurt. but, take it like a wo/man. don't run cos the it will only stab you in the back - and that hurts even more)

14. Dying young is overrated. (but, as I said, it makes me warm inside knowing I'll always have a Plan B; of course, you wait till the next morning. always wait...)

16. The world is changing. (no kidding)

17. Merit can be bought. Passion can't .

18. Avoid the Watercooler Gang. (i.e. people who tell you to 'calm down', 'take it easy', 'get back in line'.... tell them to fuck off - my way; they don't take it well; and then I have second-thoughts about it ... maybe they're right, why fix if it ain't broken? why change at all?.... or, you can try the gogu kaizer way)

21. Selling out is harder than it looks. (not sure about this one; i guess you need to offer something of value)

22. Nobody cares. Do it for yourself. (... or do it for me, if it makes you feel any better; they don't care)

26. Write from the heart. (yes: it's your emotions that will come through and win your public over; they don't care about what you say...)

27. The best way to get approval is not to need it. (yap. i stil need it. badly - that's why you are the only one reading this)

28. Power is never given. Power is taken. (this is a dangerous, two ways sword - in the wrong hands (ethics) ... yes, 'm looking at You, hitler-wannabe!)

29. Whatever choice you make, The Devil gets his due eventually. (they do say that money is evil; so if you starve to death...; only trying to help here...)

...

very important:

bette davis said that "the hardest thing to do when you are successful, is finding someone to be happy for you".

It's a good thing to make really sure who your friends are (before you get there): people who like / love you for who you are, not what you can do. When gods fall, their fans simply chose other gods to worship.

Something I learned the hard way: in the most important moments of your life, you are always alone.

If you had it ALL, where would you put it?

2006-09-20T03:21:00.000+03:00

I'm under siege. And deep down I fear that maybe I should be ashamed to complain about being offered ‘free’ stuff. But, I can't trust something that just pops right into my arms; something I never even asked for.

Call me ungrateful and suspicious, but I believe that nothing really worthy comes for free. Anything of real importance in life must be earned. Sometimes I feel like I stand alone in this line.

My mum buys about 5 magazines weekly, and even though I’ve told her many times that they’re crap, she’s very determined to share. And for some unexplaned reason, I can’t say ‘no’ to women’s magazine.

It takes me about 5 minutes to go through 50-some pages… usually. Today, I stared for a long 30 seconds at page 43, moved on, but then returned to make sure I got it right: the unbelievable promise made by the “great unique lady” who calls herself Eva Gabor.

“As you can easily see, her face reflects devotion and love for fellow humans” (what I could see was this old lady pointing at me with what must have been a seductive, luscious stare; rather strange for her years).

“she’s decided to offer her exceptional help to this magazines’ readers” (lucky us, eh?)

“she can transform anyone’s life into a fabulous destiny”. ANYONE’s!!! anyone’s ?!? aah… why such disbelief in your eyes? Patience! Patience! There’s more!

You see... because "she’s aware of her tremendous powers", she’s doing all this for free! That’s right, you’ve read correctly. You get “5 money-wishes fulfilled for free, before the end of this year!” (am I the only one who feels the irony here? Free Money?!?)

All you have to do, is chose which 5 wishes you want. Hard work, you-bet! why? Here… see for yourself:

Wish no.1 win a large amount of money.
Wish no.2 win the jack-pot at lottery
Wish no.3 get an important salary bonus
Wish no.4 win a free house or a free car
Wish no.5 win at least 1 million lei (~30 euros)
Wish no.6 get a regular income, for life
Wish no.7 get your dream-job
Wish no.8 be lucky at any games
Wish no.9 become the owner of a house or apartment
Wish no.10 get a money gift from someone rich
Wish no.11 win at a casino
Wish no.12 get an unexpected inheritance
Wish no.13 be invited at the palace (?!)
Wish no.14 meet a rich and famous man/woman
Wish no.15 meet the important men of the world
Wish no.16 travel to the most beautiful places of the world
Wish no.17 marry someone rich.

I’m curious: does anyone ever not chose Wish no.2?? I mean – the jackpot is usually into millions of euros…. You’ll buy yourself everything else, afterwards… right?!? And you pick the other 4 wishes just for laughs…

I bet you’re just dying to know which magazine offers this once-in-a-life-time opportunity, eh? A worry-free life, from now on… who’d say “no”…

Well… err....I’m not saying… I’m keeping this for myself – me and the other 200 readers of this magazine. I'd tell you , but... you see… this stuff is “100% FREE AND GUARANTEED”… once you've chosen the 5 wishes, there’s no going back!

I’m not sure if it is at all possible that we all win the lottery (by this year's end), but I know this: if we’d all have everything we dream of, it would stop being a dream… if we’d all have “fabulous lives”, ‘fabulous’ would translate into ‘ordinary’. Life would be such a bore. Imagine, the horror: we’d have nothing to wish for!

hei! i'm doing you a favor!
This damned woman is taking our dreams away from us! For free.

"Destin" e un cuvant ce are sens doar in nenorocire, Cioran

2006-09-18T03:01:00.000+03:00

I believe in karma.

it’s based on the assumption that the Soul reincarnates several times, taking along the journey whatever lesson it learns.

It implies that one cannot run away from the consequences of one’s actions. They follow you around, from one life to the next. Sooner or later, you will pay your dues!

Another implication that I find particularly exciting is that the whole bouncing from one life to the next has an educational purpose: this is how a Soul learns - lives are but opportunities to try on different personalities, different perspectives. And thus, each life has its own lesson(s).

Karma is directly connected to the lessons. If they hurt, it’s not about punishment. It’s about learning things you don't know (yet). Things you need to learn in order to move on to the next level. To grow. To get closer to 'everything'.

The things connected to your lessons – people, situations, problems – they keep showing up in your life, repeatedly, until you take notice, until you “get it”, until you learn. These are the patterns in your life; look for them, ask yourself: what am I missing here? what is this trying to teach me?

Naturally, people are lazy, and prefer comfort, and easy ways (out). They tend to shun away from responsibilities and difficulties, they shun away pains, avoiding them, pretending them away. Well, they don’t go away because these “difficulties” are the reason you are “here”. And they're meant to be ...well, "difficult".

There is such a thing as “accumulation of karma” – meaning that a specific lesson has been avoided several lives, too many lives: and the time is up. Yes, there is a time schedule. And things get worse as your time runs out. At some point, karma takes over, forcing you to face the issues you are avoiding. You cannot run forever (maybe a few lives). You can live in the moment - only for so long. Like it or not, all these moments are like a huge puzzle (i.e. your life), and they are connected (their connection is you).

The good news is that your Soul also takes along the lessons you do learn in previous lives: your dharma. Your accomplishments, your gifts, your knowledge. The Jack in your sleeve, the stuff you can depend on in your new learning experience.

I know: it's a such a drag to even consider such posibilitie ...but then, consider the alternative.

it's hard to translate Cioran... it says that -"destiny' is a word which only makes sense when you're feeling down, miserable, hopeless.")

Lie To Me

2006-09-13T17:16:00.000+03:00

Tip of the Week by yours truly, Love Tactics!

“Even though it’s natural to want to spill your guts to somebody when you like them, do NOT be telling them all the negative things in your life and all your dirty little secrets.

Don’t talk about your insecurities and weaknesses.

It only contributes to the loss of their respect for you, which is essential for the falling in love process to occur.”

~ Tom McKnight

w h a t a l o a d o f c r a p !

withholding the truth is a lie;

an incomplete truth is also a lie.

since when honesty makes for loss of respect? respect for whom? a lier? a pretender? a coward?

and WHO would you be in love with, anyhow, not knowing them for who they really are? (super-man /super-woman?)

magic happens when a soul opens up to another.

what this guy is talking about is a magic-show (david copperfield would be proud of).

yeess! sure you can trick someone into falling in love with you (the nice, enhanced, beautiful, perfect, "you") - but that would be a lie. and lies...

they tend to turn back into froggs faster then you can fake a "true-love's kiss"

Piece By Piece Is How I'll Let Go Of You.

2006-09-11T14:50:00.000+03:00

First of all must go,

Your scent upon my pillow,

And then I'll say goodbye to your whispers in my dreams.

And then our lips will part,

In my mind and in my heart,

'Cos your kiss Went deeper than my skin.

First of all must fly,

My dreams of you and I,

There's no point holding on to those.
And then our ties will break,

For your and my own sake,

Just remember, This is what you chose.

I'll shed like skin,

Our memories of lazy days,

And fade away the shadow of your face.

Piece by piece,

is how I'll let go of you.

Kiss by kiss,

Will leave my mind one at a time.

One at a time.

Piece By Piece, by Katie Melua

"An unexamined life is not worth living" Socrates.

2006-09-05T14:39:00.000+03:00

pic by madalina iordache

Some say that great poetry is born out of lonely, miserable lives. And unrequited love. Somehow, the human spirit blooms out of misfortune and suffering.

Freud rethought his system into a constant battle between life and death, our life and death instincts - that is. He figured that, apart from needing the balancing of energies, the human psyche needs the constant reminder of its human limitations. Like the Creator saying to Adam and Eve: ‘do anything you please, just don’t…’. and they needed that! They needed to know where their limit laid. And, of course, their breaking the limit was a reasonable expectation. Forbid something, and it becomes desirable. Common sense.

Rules and restrictions have been driving our spiritual evolution ever since.

I don’t know what to write anymore. My life is ... fine. Just fine. No more drama, no more tension. Nothing to fix – nothing to worry about. Everything’s fine, and it’s boring the hell-out-of me!

I’ve kept a diary all my life. Alright, not all of it.

The first 14 years of my life have been … well, GREAT; there was no need to write about it, no need to complain. I was on top of the world; my world anyway. I was unbeatable, invincible, ‘my way' was ‘the way’. No one even dared to dispute that. Teachers, parents, my extended family, my friends, even strangers. I was so used to telling everybody what to do that I was never . thinking . about . Me.

I remember everything - back to when I was like 2, maybe earlier. Not even one reflective thought. Nothing. Never stopped for one second to notice who I was, what I was doing, why… Oh, how I wished I had! I miss the old me. Sometimes, I wonder if everything was well worth it.

Not thinking about your life seems such a blessing sometimes. Ignorance is a blessing.

Around 13 years of age, things changed. Many things changed – and I turned reflexive. I stopped ‘talking’, and ‘doing’, and started thinking, watching, observing. The more I watched, the more it scared me, the more depressed I became. It all looked so completely pointless.

That’s when I fist became aware of my limits in life. Outside limits. That depressed me.
Up until that point, I had always felt as if everything was within my reach – everything was attainable, possible. It was only a matter of my will: wanting or not wanting it.

And that fateful summer, I met this girl. And she had something – something denied to me, something not within my power to have: not only did she have a full set of parents, but they were also nice, loving, caring, involved parents. She had a loving family - I had one extremely busy mum; a pushy, sometimes violent, always ignoring-me mum. I was on my own. And up until that point – for 13 years – that never ever bothered me before.

But there was nothing I could do to change that. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how smart, powerful, determined, brave, ingenious, independent I was, it made no difference.
And my powerlessness to make my life what I wanted it to be made my whole universe collapse.

I suddenly became ‘powerless’. ‘Imperfect’. ‘Incomplete’. I began doubting myself, my decisions. Who was I to tell people what to do? My own life was out of my hands – what right did I have to mess with other’s lives?

It was all natural, I guess. I was interiorizing the external limit – that’s how self-discipline is formed. It should have happened long ago, as a child. My parents should have taught me about imposed restrictions – so that I would have learned how to deal with my frustration.

I started keeping a diary when I was 14. Keeping track of my misfortunes, of my depressions, my anxieties, my fears, my doubts, my pain. I don’t write when I’m happy. It would take me away from enjoying the experience. Of course I am much wiser, mature, empowered, self-willed, more complete this way. The thing is… I’ve never been truly happy again ever since.

This awareness destroyed my ability to completely enjoy life. There is always, in the most blissful moments, some part of me that’s witnessing the event. I can never go back to that state of ignorant bliss.
I don’t trust it anymore. Now I consider it an illusion.

In my weakness, I too long for it. I dream of it, try to trick myself again into that state of mind; sometimes I pretend my conscience away, like I don’t really grasp the full awareness of the situation at hand. But it’s there alright: laughing back at me: who are you trying to kid?
When I’m deeply depressed, I toy around in my mind with the possibility of escape.

Madness is one way to escape reality; death is the other. ‘Giving in’ or ‘giving up’.

I’m far too serious I guess to even consider simplistic ways like fantasy, lies, deception. These are the ways of common people! People who lie to themselves. The cheaters, the hypocrites, the weak ones. The ones that never truly dare to make a definite choice - always in the middle, always ready to jump ship, should it begin to sink: “neither dressed, nor undressed; neither on foot, nor on horseback, neither on track, nor aside it” (Romanian folklore).

I am condescendent towards such self-deceptive people cos that’s what I fear. (‘cowards’ I call them capitalizing on my publicly acknowledged courage). I don’t share some people’s fascination with mentally ill patients, nor with death. Because I’ve had first hand experience with both and, having tried them, I feel they are within my power. They are deliberate options one can make in regard to one’s life.

Self-deception, though, terrifies me.
Not being aware and not knowing it – that’s scary! Going back to Eden, losing everything we’ve learned since ‘Adam & Eve were thrown out’: that’s scary! No-way: we gotta keep going!!

And we must wake everybody up. Ignorance may be blissful, but it prevents you from knowing yourself. You never stop to acknowledge who you are, what you’re doing, why…

pentru Ingerash

"The wise lover understands that in losing the battle, he or she can still win the war"

2006-08-21T19:48:00.000+03:00

Dear Love Tactics,

I have been seeing the person of my dreams for some time now, but I seem to be at an impasse. I don’t know what more I can do. I have declared my undying love many times, but that doesn’t seem to do the trick to get them to reciprocate. I wish I knew what to do.

Apparently love alone doesn’t do the trick, because if it did I’d be married to this person by now. I cannot imagine a love stronger than I have for this person! What more could I possibly do?

~ Exhausted

Dear Exhausted,

You’ve got to understand, first of all, that once somebody becomes convinced way down deep inside them that you really, really love them, it becomes like a well springing up inside of them flowing with love back for you. They can’t help it. It’s involuntary.

Now the problem is not that people don’t respond to being loved, but that most people who profess to love another just haven’t successfully made their case yet! That’s right! They haven’t convinced the One they feel so passionate towards that what they feel for them is true love.

is it you not being convincing enough? is it that you don't really realy love them, or is it that the One you love is having a hard time believing they are loved/loveable (on behalf of some deep insecurity issue). cris

Dear Tom,

OK, smart guy! How am I supposed to convey this “true love” you speak of?

~ Skeptical

Dear Skeptical,

Here are a few of the elements of true love:

(1) True Love is accepting of, and happy with, a person just as they are even if for the moment that includes their being somewhat judgmental and rejecting towards ourselves;

(2) True Love is discerning, and able to recognize that a person is masking for us, putting on their best selves, and hiding their judgmental attitudes towards us; but that is what it is being secretly critical and unaccepting of our own human weaknesses;

(3) True Love is patient, able to allow the One We Want to progress at their own pace; not trying to force them to love us before they’re ready; and

(4) True Love is longsuffering; able to accept hearing judgments of us by the One we think so highly of and suffering it without striking back in some way;

In final answer to your question, the best way in the world to convey “true love” is to let the One You Want show themselves for who they are, in all their weaknesses of passing judgment on you,

and not let it destroy you.

Persistent kindness in the face of these painful revelations will go far in touching the heart of the One You Want.

Ironically, your best chance to prove your love comes after they out and out reject you. The wise lover understands that in losing the battle, he or she can still win the war.

I guess it isn't worth discussing why some people, including the One, are out to hurt you. the matter of fact is - people do that. and the scary, twisted thing is that they do it when they do love you, because they do love you.

it may be that they don't really believe deep down they're worth to be loved - so they either test you or your lack of sound judgment (how stupid are you to love someone so unworthy ;-)

it may be that they fear all that hard work they should put into a meaningful relationship, and they're trying for a easy way out: you may just ran away (thus saving the trouble and reinforcing their self-deprecating beliefs that it wasn't love, or it's not worth the try anyway)

and it goes double for you: it’s so much easier to swim in the shallow waters; you don’t get to face any real intimacy, exposure or vulnerability. as long as you keep the One you love away, you can’t get hurt –

because only the one you love holds that kind of power over you. everyone else is incidental.

P.S. so... who wants to go first?

We Both Know I'm Gonna Lose You (by 311)

2006-08-20T15:34:00.000+03:00

pic by alex axon

Yes, this is the truth: I like to make an impression. I live for it. I plan it, I wait for the moment, I twist and push the Truth with my ability to twist words into my weapon of choice. I don’t lie, mind you! I enhance reality. I give it artistic credibility. I give it flavor and taste. I sprinkle star-dust over the trivialities of life.

Unlike you - inexperienced seeker of Truth, I know that impressions are everything. Appearances define this world and everything we know - it is someone’s invention. That’s how I like to think of myself: I’m an explorer of realities, an inventor, a creator of meanings and beauty. A magician.

Without me, Life would be as dull as a Sunday afternoon. I practically invented sun-sets and heart-shaped fluffy clouds. I put the ribbon on chocolate boxes, I aligned the stars twinkle along with heart-beats, I marketed rainy afternoons for their sensual promises and the candles dripping on bare-skin.

Don’t run, hiding won’t do you any good. If you see me coming, better get yourself ready. If you’re lucky, you’ll get two weeks of absolute bliss: no extra charge. Just a glimpse at your pure heart, just the regular offering of your true and honest feelings, a touch of your pure passion to warm up this old heart and body.

Don’t worry: I’ll be in and out of your life in no-time. You won’t even know I’m gone: lighter than the flight of a butterfly in the night, I follow the light. My tender heart wasn’t built to withstand the darker sides of the human soul. I’ll have none of the tears and pains of this world! As soon as the magic starts to fade, I’m off. Trust me: I’ve seen it many times, and it’s far better this way. I’ve seen Love and Lust fade away into the … (eaw!) ordinary.

I’ll have none of that, thank you very much. I was made for the finer things in life, for the joys and wonders. And I’ll share it with You for a while, if you promise not to ask for more. Don’t bother me with irrational demands: silently understand the delicate fabric of illusion that I’m creating Just For You, appreciate the intricate details of this beautiful deception meant to make you feel Special. I’m not picky. It can be anyone. Be grateful I’ve chosen You of all the others.

When I’m gone – you will have earned the meaning of True Love; the New, Stronger, Wiser You will face the light of the new day with a larger perspective of what can be. Your tender mind will be amazed to discover this whole new world it never knew possible. Your inner limits shattered, you will be free – for the first time – to enjoy Life to its fullest. Thanks to me, you will have learned to give yourself completely, and freely, you will have learned to suck the pleasure out of every glimpse, of every moment, with no regard for consequences.

Don’t be sad that it’s over, be glad it happened. I’ve taught you about human frailty, I opened your mind to how terribly vulnerable you are and taught you how to hide and defend yourself next time someone like me shows up. I’m not shallow – I’m well traveled, I’m a connoisseur. I’m everything you’ve ever dreamt of, you lucky girl! I am Mr. Wrong.

Trick me once... shame on me

2006-08-19T21:28:00.000+03:00

“ …So maybe the chance for romance is like a train to catch before it's gone..."

A friend told me once that I had lost the train; And I spent a long time wondering if there really had been one. Not knowing was the most painful and heartbreaking experience of my life. They say that ‘missed opportunities revenge themselves’, and knowing that made me fear...

…had my decision to pass it by been a mistake?

Unable to trust my own senses – I feared that Fate had taken over, bringing to life my deepest fears. And that was unacceptable. I needed to clear things up. I needed to make sure that the shadows of my past would not tarnish the new life I chose for myself.

An unrelated remark startled me, reminding of something that had puzzled me from the start. "He would only come home when he got hungry. Not having food awaiting for him is the only lack of affection he can remember".

Food is a symbol of life, and trust. The life of a new-born depends on the food coming from its mum. Their everlasting bond starts with the merging of their bodies, one feeding the other into being; and it continues well into a child's life – food and love merging into the concept of care.

We even teach our dogs to only accept food from the people we trust. Food can make the difference between life and death, and it can convey the message of love and affection. So many people feed themselves the love they miss and long for. Dining out is nothing but a social integration of this symbolic reality: we feed our loved ones; we take them out to eat. We are what we eat.
And for whatever reason, I've always been more sensitive when it came to food. During college, my best friend was thrilled when I finally accepted food from her - years into our friendship! She had earned it - I could finally trust her with my life.

From the very beginning, my body must have sensed the deception - and refused to be a part of it.
To my dismay, it refused to take any of it in: my favorites foods, nevertheless! I felt completely betrayed by its stubbornness to not play along, and to unexpectedly shut down in the face of the very affection I had so long awaited for. I did not recognize myself. I was in awe. Everything I had ever wished for... and for some strange reason, I could not trust the love he was offering me.
And now I know what my body had known all along. If it looks too good to be true, it probably isn't.

“There is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophy.” Nietzsche

I know my fate.

2006-08-17T18:58:00.000+03:00

One day there will be associated with my name the recollection of something frightful
of a crisis like no other before on earth,
of the profoundest collision of conscience,
of a decision evoked against everything that until then had been believed in, demanded, sanctified.
I am not a man ...
... I am dynamite.

Friedrich Nietzsche

What's Your Story?

2006-08-16T20:29:00.000+03:00

This is how you read symbols. Crash-course.
Remember when you were a kid: which story did you enjoy hearing over and over and over? That story can tell you a few important things about yourself.

Here’s how:
My favorite story is that of the little mermaid, by Hans Christian Andersen. I hear it’s the story of his life. Go figure! Forget the Disney version. The original doesn’t have a happy ending – cos it doesn’t deserve one. Curious? Read on.

Let’s follow the story, and the story behind.

---------------------------
The little mermaid is the spoiled brat of her World: as the favorite daughter of Neptune – the Sea God (the Sea/Ocean as a symbol of the Unconscious), she is treated as ‘special’ by everyone. Yet, she waves off the attention, retreating in an imaginary world.

She dreams of impossible things – being fascinated with all things human. What she dreams of is being human – being able to do things that humans do. The underlying motive though is that Ariel is not happy with what or who she actually is. She doesn’t appreciate what she already has.

As Fate should want it, there came a day when fantasy became real - in the shape of a human - a mortal, flesh & blood man – incorporating everything Ariel dreams of. Meeting him is a crucial moment. Loving him is a chance to make her dream come true.

The sudden attraction to the strange man is really a projection of who she wants to be; he is what she dreams of being – loving him is really loving her ideal image. Narcissistic love, Freud called it. Loving him is a like magical solution: she cannot accept and love herself as who she is, but symbolically she loves herself in him. Get it?!?

The man is bound to die, though (a challenge, conflict is necessary in order to grow-up). Her own father starts a storm (emotional upset, crisis; the father, the sea-god stand for her super-ego; Rules, Must-dos; self-discipline; higher-mind), which threatens the life of her lover (classic father-lover conflict; the Oedipus fear –projection that the father kills the lover; in real life, both father and lover usually compete for the girl) .

We should notice that by saving the man she loves from drowning, the mermaid actually breaks the laws of her world, going against her father’s rules/wishes (faced with the choice, she makes the right one: chooses to grow up, replaces symbolically the father with a man she can have; the father is forbidden, taboo of course; the father ‘belongs to the mother, he is her lover’; in real life, the girl identifies with her mum and thus becomes a woman in her right, going on to love a man of her own; Ariel doesn’t have a mum, though. Who will fill that place?).

This is where destiny takes over – just like it did with Oedipus. She is no longer in control, no longer aware of the forces at work: Fate unfolds as it must.

We know we’re off the reality realm, into unconscious territory because Ariel is incapable of finding a realistic path to her goal; she turns to magic instead. Naïve and ignorant, she puts her trust in the hands of the evil woman (everyone else knows she’s evil); Enters: The Witch.
Ariel doesn’t have a mother; symbolically, the Witch stands for a mother figure – enacting the unresolved Oedipus complex: the mother stands between the girl and the man she loves; the projection of the girl’s hate ‘turns’ the mother-figure into a ‘witch’, but the girl needs to love and be loved by the mother figure, and that’s why she trusts her against better judgment; in turn, the witch wants the father’s power – the falic symbol, the trident – and uses the girl to get to the father; (Freud thought that’s all women want; not true; get over it! )

-------------------------------------
Projection: an unconscious process by witch what I want/need/fear ‘becomes’ yours. Instead of realizing it’s mine, I think it comes from you. It enables me to use my needs/fears/wants without owning them or acknowledging ownership. We do this with the people close to us, the ones we love – and sometimes we chose them for this very reason. It can be mistaken for true-love! Be sure you ask and accept the real response of your significant other – instead of what you expect (which reflects your projections). Disappointment is a sign you’ve projected something and luckily! your lover didn’t play along. Be grateful!
---------------------------------------

Self-absorbed, Ariel is unaware of the witch’s hidden agenda. Lacking confidence in what she is and what she can do, she fears rejection and she projects it on to the man she loves. It is she who believes that her ‘imperfection’ (being half fish) would prevent her man from loving her.

Pay attention here: this is the moment when her true motives shine through! Ask yourself: at this time, does she have reasons to believe the Prince wouldn’t love her as a mermaid… as who really is? No, she doesn’t. All she has to guide her are her own fears and inhibitions, her own lack of self-worth. It is SHE who isn’t happy with who she is. But she tells herself that this is what the prince, Eric thinks. It is she who values being human and having legs. For all we know, Eric takes that for granted – and he actually may have been impressed to know she is a mermaid. She tells herself a lie.

This inferiority complex blinds her completely – as it often does. She willingly gives away her voice (her ability to express her individuality, she gives away who she is), in exchange for a human body: feet instead of a fish tail (reality, grounding instead of fantasy, but also reason (earth) instead of feelings (water); i.e. rationalization! A defense mechanism. She doesn’t trust feelings to unite her and the man she loves. She changes who she is for an ideal image (we all do that when we think life would be so much better if we were… ‘thinner’, ‘smarter’, ‘prettier’, ‘rich’, etc)

But the stakes are much higher. Should she be wrong – and fail to be united with her man, she would lose her soul. (she identifies so strongly, so completely with this dream (also the man) that life without him becomes pointless; this mechanism lies behind depression when a loved one dies; you want to die too. That’s why you stop eating for instance.)

A kiss would prove the union, by the third day’s sunset. (the kiss as a symbol for both body-and-soul union, the ‘3’ as fulfillment of the union of the ‘2’: man and woman united create a third: a child; the sunset as the end of life)

Well…true love cannot be under false pretences. The Prince – a practical, down-to earth man – feels the attraction, the magic, but is unable to correctly interpret it (as men often are ;-).
Further more, he prefers the sensual promises of another, more mature woman to the clumsy, inexplicably weird behaviors of the inexperienced Ariel. (who is unable to tell him who she is – ‘has no voice’, unable to manage her new legs gracefully and under intense pressure for fear of losing her life).

Nothing helps, and at the end of the three days time, Ariel heads to the ocean – to meet her end. Fantasy over – we must face reality.

She is met by her sisters (sirens as symbols for unconscious forces) who alert her to another option. She can save her immortal soul, but only if she distances herself from her fate and exercises free-will. The man she loves is her fate, so she must distance herself from him: she must kill him, practically she must end the spell that binds them together.

She must admit failure, must admit that he's nothing but a fantasy gone wrong (her running away from accepting herself as who she really was).

She can’t do it though. Can’t 'give him up'. She hangs on to the lies, the deception. She can’t wake up. She watches him sleep (projection) alongside the other woman (unrecognized fear of competition complex; of not being good-enough) for one last time, and then returns to the ocean. The Powers That Be acknowledge her story as an example - her determination to hold onto the fantasy. She is to be found forever and ever in the foam of waves braking into the shore. (Embracing the legs of humans!). As reminder of the consecuences of fantasy eroding reality (water moving against land).

When an inner situation is not made conscious,
it happens outside as fate.
C.G.Jung

Practical Exercise:

Take a piece of paper and a pencil and close your eyes.
Imagine you are helping God for a few days. A new baby is born, and the baby needs a Destiny. You are The Writer. You get to decide what sort of life this new baby will have.
Clear your mind. Don’t think! It’s all in there, it will come to you.
Write at the top of the page:

This will be the life of…. [your name].

and start writing.

The thing is… you’ve already written it quite some time ago. This is only going to help you remember what the heck you’ve decided back then. You probably forgotten already. But you are living it nevertheless. Every bit of it.

I did this exercise some… 7 years ago. And I’m on track, sort-to speak. Hopefully, I’ve given myself a cross-road to exercise free-will. And luckily, I did. I just remembered that yesterday. And for those of you who know me, you know how dramatically my life has changed just recently. But it was all in the script. As a possibility. I had the courage.

Unlike Ariel, I opened my eyes and realized I could enjoy my fish-tale (pun intended, as many others; have you noticed them?) and have a happy end. Well… I don’t know about that yet, but I took my chance facing reality.

The little mermaid story didn’t deserve a happy-ending cos there was too much deception going on. If your life is made of lies – white lies, little lies, doesn’t matter – you will pay the price eventually. Better wake up now while you can still change something.

It is in your power to re-write some of that stuff. It’s not painless and it requires courage, and it involves risks. Or else… better hope you’ve given yourself a happy-ending. Some people don’t, you know...

Perhaps love is the process of my leading you gently back to yourself, Saint-Exupery

2006-08-14T17:04:00.000+03:00

pic by Catalin Alfianu

How to mess up your life in less than 10 hours, with a little help from Him

2006-08-13T15:53:00.000+03:00

by Ionut Dipse - in parcul circului

first, you go on holiday with 4 couples, and a hundred or so witnessed kisses later, your own loneliness against the romantic scenery starts to weight heavenly on you.

You go to bed early, to avoid the dark silhouettes holding each other lovingly against the moon light over the sea. You don’t drink, and don’t focus the people around not to see other men and be reminded of how much you long for a touch.
His touch. It Must be that way.

Tension really builds up over the weakened: he might show up. He doesn’t. You try hard to pretend you’re not terribly disappointed and definitely avoid jumping to silly conclusions like that he may just not care enough (of course he does, but he has a really good reason not to come)

It’s ‘next week’ already, and you loosen up. Start to enjoy yourself a bit. Afterall, it’s your vacation, among friends. Have a beer, dance a bit. Life.

Tuesday is a great day for you: all mature and together, you play the brilliant therapist who makes the best of a heated argument with two policemen and pumps up some confidence into a really confused 16 year old boy.

The sudden emotional closeness with the boy kinda gets to you: it’s so powerful, so intense. He smiles away his tears, but you’re left disturbed.

In order to help him, you had to open up a door that it’s been shut tightly for quite a while. And it’s a full moon, and you cannot protect your self any longer. You FEEL the loneliness, the longing, the desire. Damn kid! Why did he have to start crying?!?

2 a.m. The phone rings. He’s coming. Of course, he doesn’t actually say he’s coming for you – he has a good, safe reason to come. But you’re happy nevertheless. Get up, get dressed, try really hard not to burst with exhilaration. He’s on his way!

You actually see the car arriving, but you loose it in the crowd. Instead, you call Him. Twice. When he doesn’t answer, you get paranoid and question his reasons... Maybe what you thought was just an excuse, wasn’t... Maybe he doesn’t want to see you afterall – he’s actually here for his good reason - nothing to do with you... He’s done it before, you know – avoind you by not answering the phone, pretending you missunderstood his intensions... The nerve this guy has! To wake you up in the middle of the night like that. Take you for a fool!

You wander around for a while, aimlessly, hopeless, feeling like a lost dog, like a paria, tears stuck in your throat, but too confused to actually cry. You start writing an SMS: "I don't understand" but don’t send it. What for? If He wanted to talk, He would’ve…
So you go back to bed, petrified, numb. It hurts so much you just don’t feel it anymore. You feel like such a complete dork.

Defeated. Incapable of handling your own life.

7 a.m. The phone rings again. The common friend. You pretend not to feel the flirtatious irony in his voice. By this time you’re furious. You swear you’ll stop loving the jerk the next minute, and burst into tears when you realise you can’t: you're trapped, there's no way out.
When you finally get together, you’re all grumpy. And tensed up. And confused. He keeps close, but somehow avoids you. You missed his touch so much that everything he does or doesn’t do gets magnified by a million. He wants to know how you’ve been – you want to hear He’s missed you. He wants to talk, you want to be held.

He brought a friend along - who really likes you. And when you like him back, his acute flirting gets from a nuisance to a bother; and He doesn’t seem to mind. Does He even care? Does He even notice?

In his own twisted way, He hints that He has come to celebrate his birthday [with you? with the common friend? Damn! You missed it again] cos He’ll be going away for a while [with whom?]
His lack of affection reaches mythical proportions against the enthusiasm of his interested friend. And that whole inside gets bigger, and bigger. He needs to go, and you’re left behind.

Completely drained. Exhausted. Not quite knowing what hit you.

**

---- astro-advice of the week ----
Things may be getting more and more tense this week
as the days progress.

...then, a Full Moon in Aquarius on Wednesday,
is going to bring out emotions
that may have been suppressed for some time.

If you feel tired and unhappy,
then it may be best to keep a low profile

and to refrain from making any snap decisions...

Rules For Humans

2006-07-31T14:19:00.000+03:00

* You will receive a body. You may like it or hate it but it will be yours for this time around.

* You will learn lessons. You are enrolled in a full-time informal school called life. Each day in this school you will have the opportunity to learn lessons. You may like the lessons or think them irrelevant of stupid.

* There are no mistakes, only lessons. Growth is a process of trial and error: experimentation. The failed experiments are as much a part of the process as the experiment that lands up working.

* A lesson is repeated until learned. A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you have learned it. When you have learned it you can then go on to the next lesson.

* Learning lessons does not end. There is no part of life that does not contain lessons. If you are alive, there are lessons to be learned.

* There is no where to run, no where to hide. There is no better than here. If you try to escape the lessons by running or hidding, they will follow you everywhere you go.

* Others are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects to you something you love or hate about yourself.

* What you make of life is up to you. You have all the tools and resources you need. what you do with them is up to you. The choice is yours.

* The answers you need lie inside you. Look for them, listen and trust your inner voice.

* You will forget all this!

jpg by kassandra (an amazing ucranian artist)

A dog can learn a few things,

2006-07-29T16:48:00.000+03:00

but not if you forgive him

everytime he follows his nature

"This is the sad tale of the township of Dogville... up where the road came to its definitive end ; the residents of Dogville were good honest folks...

a beautiful little town in the midst of magnificent mountains. A place where people have hopes and dreams even under the hardest conditions

a man can't really be blamed for being scared,

now can he?

...although, using people is not very charming,
I think you have to agree that this specific illustration has surpassed all expectations. It says so much about being human!
it's been painful, but I think you'll also have to agree it's been edifying,

wouldn't you say?"

Lars von Trier, writer/director of 'Dogville' - a must-see

" Sinceritatea poate ameţi mult mai tare, decât falsul mister al minciunii." Marin Preda

2006-07-23T01:26:00.001+03:00

Mirela Miada

“Sincerity can be more enchanting than the false mystery of lies and uncertainty.”

There is a false belief that one needs to play the uncertainty game in order to get the affection they desire. Men and women alike play the game of uncertainty, burring true feelings underneath layers of deception and emotional blackmail.

Some misinformed and ignorant journalist (let’s call him/her Stupid) messed up million of years of spiritual evolution and turned 'love' into the 'game of love'.

A 2 cents per dozen scientist (let’s call him/her Idiot) came forward professing the discovery that men don’t have a soul, only balls – so they’re meant to procreate (i.e. fuck as many females they can, in their everlasting heroic attempt of keeping the species alike).

Being too busy asserting themselves, and carrying the fate (politics, economy, culture, religion) of the entire humanity on their shoulders, Men missed the argument, and settled - for the life of sexual freevolity.

If 'sex' per se isn’t the issue, than 'the freedom' of "I do what I want whom I want to" takes over. As a philosophical stance, it is beyond suspicion. Life offers a rich variety of temptations, and after centuries of forced morality, nobody frets anymore about a little bit of moral inconsistency, or how I would like to call it – the emotional swamp everyone seems to be dying to swim in.

Excuses become trivial and unnecessary – we live in a time of individual freedom and self-empowerment. I think excuses – scientific or statistical or which ever they may be – come from the thousand of years of religious hypocrisy, to silence the remains of whatever consciousness speaks up.

It’s ironic to throw away so many years of spiritual progress, just so we can play the game of love, only at a higher level this time - of course.

People get it when they only talk about it, but practice shames us all just as it has for the whole length of our human history. It hurts me to witness love fail; prey to the mind games people play with themselves. In my opinion, people who love each other, should cherish the precious gift life has made them.

When love meets love is the very moment of our redemption from the dirt God made us of.

We shouldn’t throw away the chances life gives us to rise beyond what we are into the best version we can be. Because Love is not a moment in time, or a goal to meet, yet the process of discovering your truest self and shading off layers and layers of make-belief, deception or pretentiousness. There’s probably a good reason we take our cloths off in order to make love. We should do the same, symbolically, when we talk love.

For once, I’m not being selfish. This is not about me. It’s about the two couples I watched during the past few days. I watched them willingly hurting each other, in some strange and twisted attempt to gather some proof of love.

They have used up the power words have to convey meaning. They’ve used them so many time for the wrong cause, that words have become astray; and meaningless. They are like fugitives slaves, carrying the signs of abuse on their bruised bodies and souls.

I honestly don’t know (as a psychologist, a woman or as a human being) where and how the cycle begins. The cycle of abuse, and treachery, ultimately of alienation from yourself. I don’t know if you lie to yourself first, before you lie to your lover, or if – loving them, you internalize your lover's disbelief in you. It doesn’t matter who starts, or who’s to blame.

" Fericirea nu are istorie, fiindcă nu poate ieşi istorie din veşnica surpriză pe care ţi-o face fiinţa iubită prin însăşi existenţa ei. " (happiness has no history, cos the very existence of the one you love is an ongoing surprise)

It takes two to love.
But it starts with only one to hurt, or deceive, or misguide.
in turn, it takes only one to make the first step on the way back to sincerity and trust, and it takes one to forgive. Or to let go.

picture @ mirela miada;

P.S. funny how life is sometimes; as it turned out, this was about me, afterall. about the day things could've been perfect: only had he resist the temptation to hurt me again; the day I learned what he really was; the day I let go.

Avoid reality at all cost (2): Romanian films

2006-07-18T13:41:00.000+03:00

I’ve just spent 2 weeks watching Romanian films and, since nobody else seems to have commented on them, I’ll do the unthinkable.

To begin with, most of them are unbearably long (2 hours+). I know that Gone with the wind is 6 hours+ (I’ve seen it at least 20 times), but that one is beautiful and inspiring even in its gory moments. It beats me why Romanian (and Italian, and French) directors never care about the feelings of their public. Everything is bound to be heavy, gloomy, and harsh – like I imagine a Siberian winter to be (although I hear that the Russian cold actually pumps you up with energy; which never happens with these films: they leave flat like a walked on old carpet).

I feel like I’ve earned the right to piss on their parade, since they took me tru hell and back, they’ve tried and tested every bit of patience and rationalization I am capable of. And Yes! To be honest, I rose in my own eyes quite a bit – I didn’t really think I had it in me. If anything, I bore easily, I’m very demanding and lack the understanding for human flaws like being uninteresting, unreasonable or plain stupid.

Don’t take my word for it. See them yourself: I dare you!

Of what I’ve seen so far, amazingly, I actually liked Morometii (1988), directed by Stere Gulea
Didn’t read the book (don’t tell on me, plz!) for the simple reason that it was forced on me; and the shit they commented about the book convinced me to never ever get close. Years later I loved Delirul (delirium), but my affair with Marin Preda stoped there. It wasn’t love.
Gulea must’ve chosen to keep it black &white – and it helped create authenticity, and depth. If you contrast it to Amintiri din copilarie (Childhood memories; see below), the poverty, the tension, and emotionally bleak atmosphere of the Moromete family really gets to you.
It could be my attention spam shifting for the second hour, but I saw how the composition and the planning of the scenes disintegrate along with the story plot. The first half has an inner consistency, an inner beauty - the carefully prepared composition, the candle light faces or the contre-jour, slightly overexposed and soft look are very impressive. It looks beautiful while it feels gloomy, and that makes you an accomplice. And the camera always looks up to Moromete – he feels like a giant in his made-up world, he looks like one to us. Then it all falls apart – and the focus moves from form to content.
The silent beauty before the storm. Weelll, at least it shows it could’ve been beautiful, despite lack of money or illness.
If you forgotten the story, his idealism keeps him from emotionally connecting to his family – he takes care of business, he cares for them financially, but fails to recognize them as human beings. They’re as real to him as the politicians he comments on – and make no mistake! This is a very smart man. Many fathers make the same mistake, with predictably the same results.
Interestingly enough, as if giving Moromete a chance to redeem himself as a parent, his youngest son resembles him – a dreamer and a thinker, begging for a chance to embrace his true nature. Again, he fails to see what’s important, what is already lost and what can still be saved. The dreamer in me hopes that the second part of the book restores hope – for the first ends in failure.
As far as I can tell (never having read the book) the mistake this man makes is not choosing his own destiny, pretending to be something he’s not. He projects his own flaws onto others, oblivious to the intrinsic imperfection of human nature and reality he demands perfection. He basically refuses to face life while pretending to know everything about it, except his own refusal. And, the worst of all (in my eyes), he doesn’t know when to stop the charade and acknowledge his loses. A blind mule.
While that may be a fine way to live your own life, it’s a heavy burden for children left without the care, love, attention or guidance of a parent, but with the blame of needing them. That’s his “crime”, and he never accepts to suffer for it. His own pain – had he accepted it and expressed it – could’ve set him free.

A happier account of the family life in a simple village in the Amintiri din copilarie (1964) (Childhood memories) film, directed by Elisabeta Bostan.
This one is nice, and let’s leave it to that. It follows Ion Creanga’s story thoroughly – plot, casting, scenery. Down to the darn Hoopoe bird, the herbs field, the cherries, the poor house the kids broke to pieces
Again, the film colors are used by the director – soft, cheerful colors for the memories, black & white for the old Creanga himself, writing down his stories and guiding the viewer along the path of memories.
Stefan Ciubotarasu was perfectly chosen for the part and manages quite skillfully to slowly infuse you with the bleakness, the loneliness, the silent suffering in which the writer spent his years. His voice brings you back to his ‘present’ at the end of the film, and the sudden misery overwhelms you. How strange to cry at the end of a beautiful, joyful and fun film – don’t you think? A talented murder – this Elisabeta Bostan: she hits you hard when you least expect it, with a heavy, dark dose of reality.

As for Ion Creanga himself, we’re not finished with him. His untranslatable Childhood Memories aside, another director – Ion Popescu-Gopo and his De-as fi Harap Alb (1965) – alerted me to the fact that the man was pure genius. Even if you think you know it, go back and read the story of Harap Alb – (The White Moor) once more! I promise you you’ll be surprised. The level of significance goes way beyond word meaning and deep beneath the surface of a children’ story.

Marin Preda’s other ecranisation Cel mai iubit dintre pamînteni (1993) (the most beloved among people), dir. Serban Marinescu is as smart, and ironic, and deep as I didn’t expect it to be.
I almost withdrew from the 2 hours race when faced with the unnecessary and unreasonably direct sex scene in the first 5 minutes of the film. I happen to find necessity very important – it helps make fiction plausible and creates inner consistency for character and plot alike. I love porn, but there’s a time and place for everything.
If you’re like a friend of mine, who watched a whole film because someone had promised him a hard-core sex scene between a dinosaur and a human, you’ll be happy to know you won’t be disappointed (like my friend was ;-). Two respectable cinema stars, Stefan Iordache and Mircea Albulescu make a homosexual rape look good on camera, and quite believable.
Of course there’s more. There is human absurdity, and life irony, and silent suffering, and clever dialogue, and politics, and philosophy, and a human being disintegrating right before your eyes. And there is the frustration – of being different, empty handed, naked, powerless.
He is also a dreamer, a philosopher, of course he’s also unable to deal with common reality, but this one adjusts to it, incorporates the lessons he’s given. And in doing so, loses his dreams, his dignity, his values and principles, that whole inner context that defined him and his destiny. Well, he loses just about everything. And you know, watching his reality, that hanging on to anything too tightly would’ve been just as pointless. You learn something too, I guess.
There is some trace of Russian behaviorism (you're welcome to agree with it, but be advised that I don't) – claiming that if you treat a man like a murderer, he will become one. I don’t know what happened cos I didn’t see it to the end. One more hour to go – and I saved it for some other time.

I watched Poseidon (2006) instead
A fast food kind of film. And I enjoyed every bit of the lack of: plot, psychological depth, human connection to the characters or empathy. But tt was fast and it kept me up and alert. Yeah, sure – because I’m terrified of the water and I died several times watching it – I was one of the unknown many floating around in the back, due to their lack of a heroic attitude.
One thing bothers me, however: why the hell did they turn the boat to meet the wave sidewise? Aren’t you better off breaking the wave – diving right into it?

Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime,

2006-07-17T15:07:00.000+03:00

Therefore, we are saved by hope.

Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history,
Therefore, we are saved by faith.

Nothing we do can be accomplished alone,
Therefore, we are saved by love.

Reinhold Niebuhr

human history, by Gopo

Love The Hand You Were Dealt

2006-07-09T14:09:00.000+03:00

One thing I’d like to accomplish at some point in my life, is to clean up the bullshit we feed our kids though ‘fairytales’ and bed-time stories. They are unrealistic and they support unrealistic expectations and plans for their future.

Love isn’t supposed to be easy, or aesthetically appealing; and that's because it involves putting together two different people , 24 hs a day, every day, for a seriously long time.

We know that each person is unique, right? We seem to forget all that when we look at relationships. 2 individuals are brought together by their feelings for each other, but those feelings do not (and they’re not meant to) disintegrate who they are in their own right.

It is only natural that there will not be an instant understanding, that there will be conflict of interests, differences of opinion and desires. Adjustment and some serious compromising should be in order.

The most common mistake people make is to assume that love brings some sort of psychic sensitivity towards the one you love: as in "I don’t have to actually say out loud what I need, if you love me you should know that already"

Crap!
“if you show me real love....” If it is happening to you, it IS real; and it's yours.

Early life experiences, disparate glimpses of memories of parents holding or screaming at each-other, movie scenes taken out of context, crappy literature and there you are: with your very own definition of what things should be like.

When they do come, you detach yourself, you extricate yourself somehow out of the situation because it doesn’t fit! It’s not right! You find yourself... dissapointed.

It is there for you to have, and to hold, and yet to push it away, or keep yourself from actually getting involved, you ignore it, or simply pass by it, on to the real thing that’s .... coming (;-).

What are you looking for?
Oh, I don’t know. But I will recognize it when I see it.

As long as you want things that don’t fit who you actually are, and what you can actually do, you are running away from your life, instead of towards it. You don’t get to chose what reality looks like. But you do get to live it the way you see fit.

“Fate is whatever happens. Fate is inevitable; nobody controls or escapes fate.
Destiny, on the other hand, is ours to create,
and it develops through our personal responses to fate.

Fate is the cards you're dealt; destiny is how you play them. “
Antero Alli

"If you show me real love, baby - I will show you mine…" Paris Hilton

2006-07-04T14:51:00.000+03:00

Listen. Real life Love isn’t going to make any birds sing, or the stars shine brighter. It does not glitter in the dark, it doesn’t keep you warm in winter, it doesn’t taste like sugar nor smell like roses, and most of all – it won’t be light entertainment.

You can’t treat it like your favorite TV series. You don’t get 30 minutes of it on a weekly basis, at convenient hours, scheduled for months in advance. You don’t get commercial brakes, and you don’t get to turn it off and go to bed.

You may get to discuss the more controversial parts with your friends, as long as you remember that they are not really part of it. Which also means you do not move on to shag your lover’s best friend when you're feeling lonely.

There are no director’s indications, and you don’t get to rehearse really important scenes. They’re supposed to catch you off guard! It doesn’t matter what you wear as there’ll be no front-page covering.

There’ll be no superstar cast as leading man/woman, burst your bubble. Sometimes the villain looks better than the hero. Be careful with your casting. There’s no box-office, so don’t worry about reviews. It doesn’t have to look good, or please an audience. Actually, it’s not supposed to please you all the time. It’s supposed to be challenging: to bring out the best in you.

There will be no unexpected developments or plot twists, unless you make them happen. Of course, praying will help, but don’t hold your breath for a fairy-godmother to come to the rescue. And you can’t use your superpowers either. You have to put in the effort – just like everybody else. Any blood or tears – will be the real thing.

Don’t try. You don’t get to edit later, you only get one time at everything. Don’t worry about doing your best, either. The only way to fail at it is when you fake it, or when you take it lightly. Be prepared: the good stuff comes right about the time when the credits start scrolling.

The uncut version. Call it ‘love’ if you must; I see it more like
a life long struggle to make a potentially explosive combination of egos embrace the most precious gift life made them: a more complete version of themselves.

"Love ya is just another one of those ambiguous turns of phrase

that help us fulfill our superficial destinies.

It says everything and nothing at the same time.

It is so airily casual, so shamelessly daft,

so nauseatingly sappy…

so extremely (dare I say) Paris Hilton-esque

that it would certainly qualify as a useful nugget

for inspiring lifelong devotion

between you and 350 of your closest “friends”

by Sash

In order to grow, we must step outside of our comfort zone. ~John Maxwell

2006-06-27T16:44:00.000+03:00

_ So, what is your greatest fear, she asks?

_ Oh, I duno. What’s yours? I childishly attempt to throw the ball back in her court.

_ Don’t do that! she shakes her head understandingly. We’re talking about You now.

_ But there’s nothing all that interesting about me, I shun, stressing each word. I’m just like everybody else. Nothing special, really.

_ Well, of course you are! And that should make it easier for you now: to open up. C’mon. it will do you good.

I try to take her on her word…’it would be good for me’. .. _ The truth is, I say aloud. I don’t really want to tell you.

_ Do you even know? she ducks.

Do I even know? sure I do, it’s… damn, it’s hard. There’re so many things I fear. My greatest?

She watches me patiently, as I weight things in my head. Memories come and go, secret dreams dare to come forward for a split of a thought. Where should I look: in my past? To my future?

_ Same thing, she interrupts abruptly.

Say, what? What’s the same?
_ It doesn’t matter where it comes from and what it does to you. Stop avoiding the issue and look her straight in the eyes!

Blood rushes into my chicks; I feel them burning; I take a deep breath and look up, all pepped up to the challenge.

She’s not there, though. My eyes stare blank, in disbelief.