Mi s-a spus ca nu stiu sa iubesc si probabil ca e adevarat, ei stiu mai bine. Si totusi, parca nu e asa. Am realizat ca nu mai cred in iubire, ca pe masura ce timpul trece iubesc tot mai putin si mai putin, plapand... estompat, asemeni primaverii ce trebuie sa vina la timp si mereu intarzie. Ma decalez, si sfarsesc de fapt altundeva, pe un alt taram. Un taram in care iubirea mea este eterna, economica, rezistenta, falnica, impunatoare si demna. Toate amintirile sunt acolo, toate gesturile pe care nu le-am trait la o anumita intensitate, raman, dainuiesc chiar si dupa ce eu ma sting din sufletele voastre. Si da, gresesc...sunt om si ma agat de perfectiune, de dorinta de a fi mai buna si sfarsesc prin a distruge tot ce ating. Nu e un lucru voit, dar asta nu conteaza, nu? Da, este o linie trasata in jurul meu care tine oamenii la distanta, pe cei normali...Pe cei mai viteji, care din cand in cand incearca sa o treaca, ii seaca. Sunt imposibil de iubit, sunt doar "fuel" o chestie care arde intens, scap printre degete, existenta mea ii taie sau poate ca pur si simplu fac ceea ce fac mereu- cand ma simt bine, ma proptesc pe un perete cu spatele apasand intrerupatorul....
Sau poate ca am uitat sa ma bucur de lucrurile mici, poate ca nu mai gasesc confort in iubire, poate ca sunt oarba, poate vreau mai mult... Candva, erau lucruri in viata mea care ma ridicau si zburam in fiecare zi, acum nici macar nu mai am curajul sa-mi privesc aripile, le-am sfartecat si eu in nenumerate randuri, la fel ca toti ceilalti. Erau dimineti in care eram somnoroasa, vroiam sa dorm mai departe, radeam cand incerca mama sa ma trezeasca, eram lenesa, dar acum nici macar somnul nu-si mai face efectul, nici macar nu mai lupt sa dorm mai mult... Ci execut aceleasi miscari pe care mi le-am programat, over and over again si nu exista o conditie care sa ma scoata din aceasta rutina, nu exista o salvare....
Poate ca de fapt nu ne salveaza nimeni, poate ca suferim precum cainii in noapte, indeajuns incat sa realizam ca trebuie sa ne lingem singur ranile. Da, nu exista nimeni acolo care sa ma salveze, poate ca nu merit, sau... poate ca nu ma aude nimeni...
Nici macar nu exista o persoana care sa citeasca ce scriu acum, e doar un alt monolog cu mine in noapte, incercand sa ma aduc inapoi la viata din moarte clinica...
Thursday, 29 March 2012
Monday, 26 March 2012
Fragments of imagination
Wrap surgical knots around my brain
Kill my urge to dream, choke my passion to the ground
Delay my motionless escape to this land I've built inside a frame.
For I have lost the will to live, I'd die in your arms without a sound.
Kill my urge to dream, choke my passion to the ground
Delay my motionless escape to this land I've built inside a frame.
For I have lost the will to live, I'd die in your arms without a sound.
Her mind is a book I never want to finish
Chase my dreams and kill them slowly
Watching her move with her everlasting grace
In her embrace I find myself lonely
She's broken, torn, mutilated her loving face
Spells scars that deep have been inside for ages
Expecting the return of soothing days
I will forever be trapped in her ripped pages...
Watching her move with her everlasting grace
In her embrace I find myself lonely
She's broken, torn, mutilated her loving face
Spells scars that deep have been inside for ages
Expecting the return of soothing days
I will forever be trapped in her ripped pages...
Saturday, 24 March 2012
Damage
It's been a while since I last felt so lost, so hopeless, insignificant, useless and pathetic but part of being human is getting to this point where you realize you've been stripped all of positive emotions. You find yourself on the ground, staring at their tall figures, realizing they've been climbing on top of you all this time, feeding off you, dreaming your dreams, devouring your light, leaving you motionless and paralyzed. But this doesn't change your demeanor, you're still there, unchanged, barely alive. You only know it's too late when you realize there's nothing in this world that you'd want, nothing that would make you stay, nothing besides morals and respect, but what are those when in fact you're dead inside?
Usually I'm the one that drives myself into this state, but this time is different. This time I got consumed, I lost too much fuel, been depleted...
It may sound silly, but to those who played Mass Effect 2, this reference may not sound odd at all. I wish I died, crossing space and getting reconstructed afterwards in order to start again...The only thing I can think about right now is that scene...Shepherd getting everyone to safety, saving everyone and dying during the process, drifting into space, suffocating, alone, scared, desperate....
Probably I'm lame for posting this, but actually I don't care anymore, struggled too much to make things perfect, tried far too long to make the right choices but people will always drag you down regardless of their reasons...
Another reason why I posted this is because I thought it has been a while since I last indulged myself into these kind of activities and I used to love writing.
[link] -- "Leaving Earth..."
Usually I'm the one that drives myself into this state, but this time is different. This time I got consumed, I lost too much fuel, been depleted...
It may sound silly, but to those who played Mass Effect 2, this reference may not sound odd at all. I wish I died, crossing space and getting reconstructed afterwards in order to start again...The only thing I can think about right now is that scene...Shepherd getting everyone to safety, saving everyone and dying during the process, drifting into space, suffocating, alone, scared, desperate....
Probably I'm lame for posting this, but actually I don't care anymore, struggled too much to make things perfect, tried far too long to make the right choices but people will always drag you down regardless of their reasons...
Another reason why I posted this is because I thought it has been a while since I last indulged myself into these kind of activities and I used to love writing.
[link] -- "Leaving Earth..."
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Facultate
The place where you learn how to live when you're dead.
Viata asta te intoarce pe toate partile si da cu tine de pamant doar pentru a se amuza. De multe ori am crezut ca fiecare isi atrage “simpatia” vietii, insa de multe ori, nu conteaza cine esti, de unde vii si ce faci, rahaturile ti se intampla si n-ai ce face. In general, aceste rahaturi sunt accentuate persoanelor cu un anumit grad de constiinta. Ma simt parasita, ingradita, lipsita de culoare, de forma, de sens, ma simt moarta pe dinauntru, aninata doar de obligatii, suferinta si responsabilitati. Deschid ochii cu scarba, privesc in jurul meu cu dezamagire si traiesc de multe ori cu speranta ca va fi ultima zi, insa nu e… Nici nu stiu daca ar mai conta, mereu voi fi singura, mereu sunt eu contra lumii, mereu sunt sanctionata indifferent de circumstante sau de dorinte.
Everything that defines me as a human being has left me empty and hallow. I walk amongst people but I find myself surrounded by strangers which once were supposedly my friends. I am fed up with myself, there must be a reason why I always end up alone.
Sunday, 25 September 2011
Sfarsitul meu este inceputul tau
In ultimul timp, sentimentele mele au trecut pe default, nu mai cred in copilarie, zambete, inocenta - am crescut.
Dar oare exista iubire sau ma amagesc si acum cu vise colorate, admirand de fapt pelicula de praf de pe varful pantofului meu?
Se spune ca abis-ul contine deopotriva si fericirea si nefericirea in palma ei stanga, ca prapastia dintre cele doua se pierde vag in departarea dulce a liniilor pielii...
Si atunci ma intreb de fapt : Cine sunt? Ce caut? Ce vreau? Ce iubesc? De ce exist? Si din nou, ca si atunci, ca si mereu, gasesc sens in nonsens. Dar am pierdut speranta, increderea, tot ceea ce ma definea, toate aceste lucruri s-au ascuns de mine si-mi refuza accesul...
De ce oare este atat de greu sa scrii : Imi vine sa tip? De ce trebuie durerea sa fie poetica? De ce trebuie sa modeleze sentimente ce iti sfarama sufletul cu fiecare fasie de aer pe care o respiri?
Ca sa nu vorbesc de exemplificare, de tradare, ignoranta, egoism, orgoliu...Si uite asa a inceput sfarsitul meu. Am plecat si nu ma pot intoarce, singura bucatica ce inca ma mai reprezinta, alunga posibilitatea intoarcerii si spera, aspira la schimbare...
I've grown fond of simple things, most basic needs since I had the opportunity to learn what loosing truly means.
I feel my insides scattering and resonating throughout my entire body, violently toying with my mind as I feel the end growing tighter.
Then it shifts, a soft and dying ray of sunshine blinds the depths of these dark thoughts, thoughts of despair, death and blood.
So tell me what can me more horrifying than realizing there's no way out... You can see feelings floating all around you, you can see others feeling but you cannot feel the faintest bit of them... But you have to agree, join the game and survive at times even put off a lovely show which involves smiling, joking, talking about all of these as if they truly have sense, as if you're not in it because it's a one way choice.
You are given life, and from that point on you are fidgeting inside chosen parameters without the possibility of checking out. It's funny how death can never be your own option, everyone thinks it's sane or normal to suffer a natural death or simply die by someone's hands. We'd rather put our last breath in God's hands or someone else's, either way it's called fate, a cruel one which you have to abide.
With no opportunity of climbing back up, life defines another "parameter". It's called waiting and it pretty much means looking for someone to clean up the mess, in this case the mess is ME.
And the worst part is meeting someone who would willingly, not to mention gladly, pull you up and place some meaning back in this forsaken chaos, but failing in doing so, since the burden would weigh greatly over their shoulders. To make it simple, nomatter how much we'd like to help, that much weight would just crush anything and anyone in their way.
But I've turned philosophical and that has never been my purpose. My one and sole purpose however, has always been primordial. I wanted to walk this path with a wise smile on my face, at times in the company of the ONE. My forsaken, my darling cursed...
How hard must have been for him, seeing me fall like this, changing so rapidly and radically, nurturing the consent, any type or form of it as belief or hope for change in those who can never be changed.
I close this chapter, I feel I failed in portraying my fall, I failed to relate the true reasons why I am on the ground, helpless and alone in this darkest hour, with barely no one to witness my dying candle light....
Dar oare exista iubire sau ma amagesc si acum cu vise colorate, admirand de fapt pelicula de praf de pe varful pantofului meu?
Se spune ca abis-ul contine deopotriva si fericirea si nefericirea in palma ei stanga, ca prapastia dintre cele doua se pierde vag in departarea dulce a liniilor pielii...
Si atunci ma intreb de fapt : Cine sunt? Ce caut? Ce vreau? Ce iubesc? De ce exist? Si din nou, ca si atunci, ca si mereu, gasesc sens in nonsens. Dar am pierdut speranta, increderea, tot ceea ce ma definea, toate aceste lucruri s-au ascuns de mine si-mi refuza accesul...
De ce oare este atat de greu sa scrii : Imi vine sa tip? De ce trebuie durerea sa fie poetica? De ce trebuie sa modeleze sentimente ce iti sfarama sufletul cu fiecare fasie de aer pe care o respiri?
Ca sa nu vorbesc de exemplificare, de tradare, ignoranta, egoism, orgoliu...Si uite asa a inceput sfarsitul meu. Am plecat si nu ma pot intoarce, singura bucatica ce inca ma mai reprezinta, alunga posibilitatea intoarcerii si spera, aspira la schimbare...
I've grown fond of simple things, most basic needs since I had the opportunity to learn what loosing truly means.
I feel my insides scattering and resonating throughout my entire body, violently toying with my mind as I feel the end growing tighter.
Then it shifts, a soft and dying ray of sunshine blinds the depths of these dark thoughts, thoughts of despair, death and blood.
So tell me what can me more horrifying than realizing there's no way out... You can see feelings floating all around you, you can see others feeling but you cannot feel the faintest bit of them... But you have to agree, join the game and survive at times even put off a lovely show which involves smiling, joking, talking about all of these as if they truly have sense, as if you're not in it because it's a one way choice.
You are given life, and from that point on you are fidgeting inside chosen parameters without the possibility of checking out. It's funny how death can never be your own option, everyone thinks it's sane or normal to suffer a natural death or simply die by someone's hands. We'd rather put our last breath in God's hands or someone else's, either way it's called fate, a cruel one which you have to abide.
With no opportunity of climbing back up, life defines another "parameter". It's called waiting and it pretty much means looking for someone to clean up the mess, in this case the mess is ME.
And the worst part is meeting someone who would willingly, not to mention gladly, pull you up and place some meaning back in this forsaken chaos, but failing in doing so, since the burden would weigh greatly over their shoulders. To make it simple, nomatter how much we'd like to help, that much weight would just crush anything and anyone in their way.
But I've turned philosophical and that has never been my purpose. My one and sole purpose however, has always been primordial. I wanted to walk this path with a wise smile on my face, at times in the company of the ONE. My forsaken, my darling cursed...
How hard must have been for him, seeing me fall like this, changing so rapidly and radically, nurturing the consent, any type or form of it as belief or hope for change in those who can never be changed.
I close this chapter, I feel I failed in portraying my fall, I failed to relate the true reasons why I am on the ground, helpless and alone in this darkest hour, with barely no one to witness my dying candle light....
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
Lipsa de inspiratie
E grav, starea mea e grava, e una de hmm...dificil de spus, da...e una dificila, ma rotesc in cercuri concentrice in jurul meu, uneori ma privesc din unghiuri diferite, dar ma invart mai departe.
Ecouri. Ecouri are cuvintelor mele, sperante, vise care si ele plutesc intr-o stare amneziaca.
Ma intreb: Sunt oare eu? Sau reflexia mea in oglinda?
Ma ghideaza un instinct, e acela de autoconservare, urasc sa execut ordine, sa scriu despre ceva care imi zgarie interiorul mintii doar pentru ca trebuie sa fie un raspuns etic, un raspuns perfect in ochii societatii.
Oricum e o inselatorie, a scrie doar de dragul de a scrie, oricum acele fiinte nu ar scrie nici o scrisoare daca n-ar fi obligatorie...De ce sa storci zeama unui fruct trecut? De ce sa fim ceva ce nu suntem...
Si totusi limbajul e un impediment, unul chiar imediat. De ce se numeste "Limba si literatura romana" cand singura referire la acest subiect e aprecierea "de comun acord" sau de nici un fel de acord a ta cu a defunctului parere, mai conteaza ce a spus el? Mai conteaza ce a spus el privit prin prisma unor oameni care modeleaza suflete pe bani? Dar societatea ma constrange...."Scrie draga mea...e un examen, toti am trecut prin el." Stiu, asta e si ideea ca nu putem face chiar tot ce ne place, dar oare este relevant ceea ce facem? Intrebarea asta o ridica cineva din cand in cand? Daca ajung sa ma uit la o coala alba de hartie din fata mea mai mult de 10 minute fara sa scriu nimic pentru ca am prea multe reguli de luat in vedere, oare nu am pierdut deja? Oare nu mi-ati ucis deja geniul, nu l-ati ratacit intr-o padure intunecata deja, cum spunea poetul Dante?
Parerea mea, parerea mea...ce cuvinte marete, te imping cumva sa faci orice sub pretextul ca e bine oricum, sau nu e bine deloc... Si las oarecum aceste cuvinte si incerc sa scriu din nou ce a vrut sa spuna Nichita Stanescu prin "Suntem ceea ce iubim" sub forma de 30 de randuri, nu mai mult, cu doar 3 maxim 4 alineate in cuvinte adecvate pe care le furam si observ ca tot nu stiu ce sa scriu, e ca o inchisoare literara. Hmm...au mai trecut 10 minute si foaia e tot goala...
Ecouri. Ecouri are cuvintelor mele, sperante, vise care si ele plutesc intr-o stare amneziaca.
Ma intreb: Sunt oare eu? Sau reflexia mea in oglinda?
Ma ghideaza un instinct, e acela de autoconservare, urasc sa execut ordine, sa scriu despre ceva care imi zgarie interiorul mintii doar pentru ca trebuie sa fie un raspuns etic, un raspuns perfect in ochii societatii.
Oricum e o inselatorie, a scrie doar de dragul de a scrie, oricum acele fiinte nu ar scrie nici o scrisoare daca n-ar fi obligatorie...De ce sa storci zeama unui fruct trecut? De ce sa fim ceva ce nu suntem...
Si totusi limbajul e un impediment, unul chiar imediat. De ce se numeste "Limba si literatura romana" cand singura referire la acest subiect e aprecierea "de comun acord" sau de nici un fel de acord a ta cu a defunctului parere, mai conteaza ce a spus el? Mai conteaza ce a spus el privit prin prisma unor oameni care modeleaza suflete pe bani? Dar societatea ma constrange...."Scrie draga mea...e un examen, toti am trecut prin el." Stiu, asta e si ideea ca nu putem face chiar tot ce ne place, dar oare este relevant ceea ce facem? Intrebarea asta o ridica cineva din cand in cand? Daca ajung sa ma uit la o coala alba de hartie din fata mea mai mult de 10 minute fara sa scriu nimic pentru ca am prea multe reguli de luat in vedere, oare nu am pierdut deja? Oare nu mi-ati ucis deja geniul, nu l-ati ratacit intr-o padure intunecata deja, cum spunea poetul Dante?
Parerea mea, parerea mea...ce cuvinte marete, te imping cumva sa faci orice sub pretextul ca e bine oricum, sau nu e bine deloc... Si las oarecum aceste cuvinte si incerc sa scriu din nou ce a vrut sa spuna Nichita Stanescu prin "Suntem ceea ce iubim" sub forma de 30 de randuri, nu mai mult, cu doar 3 maxim 4 alineate in cuvinte adecvate pe care le furam si observ ca tot nu stiu ce sa scriu, e ca o inchisoare literara. Hmm...au mai trecut 10 minute si foaia e tot goala...
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
My memory
Why do all good things have to end one way or another? Why can't we just preserve the moment and always treasure it?
One moment you have wings, flying as high as the sun allows you to, the next one you find yourself barely hanging on, barely surviving the storm. In the end it all comes back to the memory. "Memory is the Treasury of all Things" - Cicero, I never gave any thought to this sentence, not until today, not until I have violently understood that my only thing in the end will be my memory. Three stones guard these words in a park called Rufford Abbey in England, as heavy as they may seem at first, you only realise the burden as it strucks later on in life.
"Flames to dust..." that's what we will be in the end, nothing lasts forever, but my illusion will. I still want to believe I live my dream, I don't want to wake up and face the cold, I don't want to try and recover all the shattered pieces of myself. I am all over the ground, facing everything upside down. Tiny, small, fading... But everyones says "You are still yourself, all the treasures are inside yourself, move on... make other memories so you won't feel the cold old ones anymore, move one....evolve" Just words spinning round' and round' inside my mind and heart.
And it feels like when you meet the right person it's not gravity that holds you on to earth anymore, it's her or him. Kay deal with that, let me see you deal with that, let me see how you like the logical gravity back, let me see you move on like a fish on the sea shore. Can you? Let me see you turning back to a statue, get back the honour, but lose yourself, lose your charm, the magic...
They say " It's okay dear, you are human in the end... it's okay to stumble sometimes, hence...you're just a baby. More or less." And I reply " I like being human, I don't mind that...but about the stumbling, I loathe it, I despise it, I'd rather be on two feet all the time then switching when life feels like it. I'm no remote control, nor a machine, I am just myself whoever that is. May no one read this...but I know, in the end we all feel like this sometimes, more...or... less...
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