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old people
Wednesday, 9. July 2008, 17:38:42
Why does the past seem closer than the present to old people?
They always seem to find it easier to remember how they used to tie up their laces in the army than what they had for supper. It's frustrating and it's entreaguing, or maybe it's just envy of people who find it relevant enough to remember and share such experiences.
They always seem to find it easier to remember how they used to tie up their laces in the army than what they had for supper. It's frustrating and it's entreaguing, or maybe it's just envy of people who find it relevant enough to remember and share such experiences.
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thoughts
Sunday, 29. June 2008, 12:18:00
"One of his minds raced. The other dawdled lovingly over the food it was still shoveling in."
(I know it's rather strange as a first article after a month absence...but then again, maybe that's exactly it)
(I know it's rather strange as a first article after a month absence...but then again, maybe that's exactly it)
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Fate
Tuesday, 27. May 2008, 10:32:08
What would you say if newborn, before learning how to say "mother", learnt the name of death and started crying...
(Sysiphus in Octavian Paler's "Subjective Mythologies")
(Sysiphus in Octavian Paler's "Subjective Mythologies")
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five minutes
Wednesday, 21. May 2008, 18:37:36
Oh, the whole thing is mad! Mad! An awful misunderstanding! It's improbable! Impossible!
I was only five minutes too early...
I was only five minutes too early...
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Water
Sunday, 18. May 2008, 06:57:34
There's something so calming, and yet so overwhelming about water; is it the colour, is it the movement, is it the depth, is it the everything else reflecting? I don't know, but somehow the thoughts rest well in its depths.
STICKY POST
Silence
Sunday, 4. May 2008, 19:01:03
There are moments when silence is itself a poem. (John Fowles - The Magus)
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Daily nights
Tuesday, 29. April 2008, 20:00:46
Why dream during night when you can easily dream in full daylight and even avoid the frustration of not remembering your fantasies?
Actually, this is a story about my awake nights rather than my surrealist days (and it is also directed to a certain person whom I almost woke up a couple of nights ago with my dreamless sleep)
Just imagine the scary stories told in cold winter evenings in front of the fireplace by the old ones/ or better, by your old ones. Followed, of course, by the long and naive attempts of falling asleep, while ignoring the chaotical run of your thoughts and fantasies. And then imagine your fright - when you were very young or even later - at the threats and stories about the bad witch and all her much too common and familiar hiding places.
And then try to mix the two feelings (but obviousely ignore the mentioned causes).
That would explain why I can only sleep with the lights on, or maybe with some music playing in the background, why I like all the powerful sounds but can't bear the discrete ones without feeling shivers down my spine, but most of all, why I loved his snoring (which marked his presence so well) or asked for his embrace in the middle of the night.
Actually, this is a story about my awake nights rather than my surrealist days (and it is also directed to a certain person whom I almost woke up a couple of nights ago with my dreamless sleep)
Just imagine the scary stories told in cold winter evenings in front of the fireplace by the old ones/ or better, by your old ones. Followed, of course, by the long and naive attempts of falling asleep, while ignoring the chaotical run of your thoughts and fantasies. And then imagine your fright - when you were very young or even later - at the threats and stories about the bad witch and all her much too common and familiar hiding places.
And then try to mix the two feelings (but obviousely ignore the mentioned causes).
That would explain why I can only sleep with the lights on, or maybe with some music playing in the background, why I like all the powerful sounds but can't bear the discrete ones without feeling shivers down my spine, but most of all, why I loved his snoring (which marked his presence so well) or asked for his embrace in the middle of the night.
STICKY POST
song
Thursday, 24. April 2008, 19:27:56
love this song...and i miss him already, but it doesn't make any difference now
STICKY POST
expression
Sunday, 20. April 2008, 08:37:15
Do old people have their life imprinted on their faces?
STICKY POST
colourless
Friday, 11. April 2008, 07:42:15
just like a window whose colours have faded, just like a lighter whose switch is stuck, just like a song that's lost its tune, just like a table cloth whose flowers have suddenly disappeared...
STICKY POST
can't seem to find my place
Thursday, 10. April 2008, 19:19:03
...maybe that's why I crave about travelling so much.
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Sit Down and Prepare
Friday, 14. March 2008, 21:14:37
Lying back on an extensible coach, feet barely touching the ground, head leaned backwards as if in defeat, maybe waiting for something. Green cups, black little dry flowers, milky touch...then small cookies, cherry classic, cognac flavour and a large and much too-conscious smile.
STICKY POST
In The Undergroud
Saturday, 23. February 2008, 22:38:37
Nothing more relaxing than a trip on the Bucharest subway on a Sunday evening...just coming back from the movies at a time when most people were going out clubbing, so mostly impatient and excited faces, lots of colourful and shiny outfits, too much makeup and wishful smiles.
I was in one of those states when you feel invisible to everybody else, capable of recreating everything you see around yourself without offending or making anyone feel like some kind of injustice has been committed towards them.
So, there I was, on the platform, looking for some isolated place to wait for the tube and observe, when something attracted my attention: at first sight, the typical Romanian 40 year old husband, coming back from a long day of work, partly drunk, tired and mostly unhappy to be going back home. But there was one detail that made him stick out of the crowd: his fancy Lakers cap, worn a bit on the tip of the forehead, just to let loose the few drops of sweat, the result of the long day of work or the prefiguration of an even longer evening at home...with the family. However, for some reason, he seemed quite impatient to get somewhere, or maybe just to put an end to his day.
Once we got on the tube, nevertheless, he lost any sense of action or reaction whatsoever. He sat on a chair, which happened to be just in front of me, shortly looked - as if in disgust - at the persons sitting next to him (which happened to be an old lady looking judgemental at him, probably because of the smell of alcohool, and a rather young woman who once sat on the chair fell into a deep concentration with a book in her hands)and fell into a resigned sleep.
From time to time he half-opened his small crossed eyes, pressed his work bag between his hands, while his Lakers cap descended slowly as if in resignation...
I was in one of those states when you feel invisible to everybody else, capable of recreating everything you see around yourself without offending or making anyone feel like some kind of injustice has been committed towards them.
So, there I was, on the platform, looking for some isolated place to wait for the tube and observe, when something attracted my attention: at first sight, the typical Romanian 40 year old husband, coming back from a long day of work, partly drunk, tired and mostly unhappy to be going back home. But there was one detail that made him stick out of the crowd: his fancy Lakers cap, worn a bit on the tip of the forehead, just to let loose the few drops of sweat, the result of the long day of work or the prefiguration of an even longer evening at home...with the family. However, for some reason, he seemed quite impatient to get somewhere, or maybe just to put an end to his day.
Once we got on the tube, nevertheless, he lost any sense of action or reaction whatsoever. He sat on a chair, which happened to be just in front of me, shortly looked - as if in disgust - at the persons sitting next to him (which happened to be an old lady looking judgemental at him, probably because of the smell of alcohool, and a rather young woman who once sat on the chair fell into a deep concentration with a book in her hands)and fell into a resigned sleep.
From time to time he half-opened his small crossed eyes, pressed his work bag between his hands, while his Lakers cap descended slowly as if in resignation...
STICKY POST
The Laws of Nature
Saturday, 23. February 2008, 19:27:10
"When it is proved to you that you are descended from a monkey, then it's no use pulling a long face about it: you just have to accept it. When they prove to you that one drop of your own fat must, as a matter of course, be dearer to you than a hundred thousand of your fellow-men and that all the so-called virtues and duties and other vain fancies and prejudices are, as a result of that consideration of no importance whatsoever, then you have to accept it whether you like it or not, because twice-two - mathematics. Just try to refute that."
(from Notes From The Underground by F. Dostoevsky)
(from Notes From The Underground by F. Dostoevsky)
STICKY POST
New Deeds
Sunday, 17. February 2008, 19:56:01
Stained the carpet with red paint and cut my hair zig-zagishly.
Reactions:
- the carpet: "you will have to find a way of cleaning it or replacing it" - the landlord (I have an idea: how about pouring some more paint, differet colours, on it, try to mix them all together and get the colour of the rest of the carpet; it will be some hard work, taking into consideration that I am talking about a 20 year old carpet with a pattern that tries to imitate the leopard skin...)
- the hair: "what the hell happened to your hair?"; "who did that to your hair?", "did the scissors fell from your hand and into your hair by mistake?"; "I hope you didn't pay money for that" and finally "you look great, but I can't tell what is different about your look" (no comment to that, or just quoting the last guy that cut my hair "I know you will cut it again by yourself, but at least do it right...")
Reactions:
- the carpet: "you will have to find a way of cleaning it or replacing it" - the landlord (I have an idea: how about pouring some more paint, differet colours, on it, try to mix them all together and get the colour of the rest of the carpet; it will be some hard work, taking into consideration that I am talking about a 20 year old carpet with a pattern that tries to imitate the leopard skin...)
- the hair: "what the hell happened to your hair?"; "who did that to your hair?", "did the scissors fell from your hand and into your hair by mistake?"; "I hope you didn't pay money for that" and finally "you look great, but I can't tell what is different about your look" (no comment to that, or just quoting the last guy that cut my hair "I know you will cut it again by yourself, but at least do it right...")
Showing posts 1 - 15 of 37.
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