The Future. Always.

Walking on a dream.

Walrus, I knew who you were

Mortals can conceal no secrets.

Our lips may stay silent, or they can become so abruptly,

but in the end,

I've seen some chattering with their fingertips, betrayal in its most sublime patterns.

Battleground of a jungle

Good is better than perfect,

and my footsteps never meet.

Ours once did.

Hours flew by since then, refresh, months. Bygones. 

Goodbyes never work, but hey, I already told you that. 

(Never say never. I heard it.)

Blood drops like rubies, diamonds seem teardrops,

на свою бродяную жизнь в дождях, нееее, в снеге сейчас.

Show me your thousand faces, two by two for a change.

I love декабр, December, december, decembrie, grudzień, décembre... I'll stop.

Rushdie Afternoon

It's all there to use, in old wives' tales, in tall stories,  and most of all...

in the cliché. 

My Sea of Stories

I blame fiction for the troubles we bring on ourselves

Curieuse

Hello December...

How's my month going to be?

Contretemps

The poet has a foot in the mud,

an eye on the stars,

and a dagger in his hand.

Poetry is a rough magic that fuses opposites.

P.B., P.B.

Бесы

'The world's a swindle!'

Keserédes

Feels like Monday all over again

The Cat Empire - The Lost Song (live)

The Cat Empire - The Lost Song (live)
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Gloomy 'Saturday'

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

I wish this could be a happy song

Дождь

Feels like summer rain...

In the words of Hamlet 'That's wormwood, wormwood.'

one more time with feeling

Try it again, breathing's just a rhythm

Untitled

It is only through magic that life stays awake

Staccato

The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,

Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.

T.S.Eliot

Die Blütezeit

Blumen, blumen, blumen

dirty lenses

Today is a fine day to/for relapse.

La femme d'argent

Mad. Ave. Perfume AD

by Marvin Martin

'The woman left. The laughter stopped. 

But... the man is still here. Not like that... All alone.'

when our souls were introduced

Parov stelar ft. lilja bloom - Shine
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five miles to midnight

Yes, yes, the past gets in the way;

it trips us up, bogs us down; it complicates, makes difficult.

But to ignore this is folly, beacuse, above all, 

what history teaches us is to avoid illusion and make-believe,

to lay aside dreams, moonshine, cure-alls, wonder-workings, pie-in-the-sky - 

to be realistic.

Elle a dit

She dreams in carcrashes le rouge et le noir of everyday.

gotta go there to come back

Roads ahead to dance on

Bourbon Baby

"The song you sing today,

Wasn't always in your head"

But it is now, for more than I care to admit, or remember.

Words are not good, but at times they can be perfect, and paired with rhythm, rhyme, and a haunting melody.

They frame out thoughts and it's basically ravishing. It's You. And last night.

"Born of a sign that carries water,

But in a month that brings just ice.

I'm not a skillful water carrier,

But I've,

I've learned to carry love."

Good to see You again.

Restoration

The stars are too numerous and too distant

to restore to me anything but a terror at my own insignificance.

allez, venez, milord

Edith Piaf - Milord
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Saffron

I am, I discover, a truly tidy disorder.

Come into my world,

it's both white and dark, same as chocolate...

Here there is no why

Days and numbers, cats and mice, leaves and pages,

Lead a dance.

How's time working out for You?

Blueprint

          

            I paint myself on the canvas of every day.

Занавес

Summer moved on...

Zsivago

                                                             Örül, ha hozzáérhet

                                                                            és

                                                             Felébred, felébred

                              Örül, ha hozzáérhet a pokol, az összeomlás, a romlás, a halál,

                              velük együtt azonban örül, ha hozzáérhet a tavasz is, Mária 

                              Magdolna is, az élet is. És fel kell ébredni. Fel kell ébredni, 

                              és fel kell kelni. Fel kell támadni.

C'est la mer

           La mer... a great number of people associate the deep blue with the possibility of change, and watching change happen. I'm one of those people. The resolutions I make by the sea are a proof of that. We all need such exits or entrances, it's a matter of perspective. 

          Taking a closer look, could take us to pure psychology. The colour of the sea, its movement, the stillness, its depth, all in all, overrated symbols and cliches, none of them truly count. Only from a distance. 

          Yes, I'm at a considerable distance right now, still. Absence sure made my heart grow fonder, and a couple of days more: Voila!!!  Soon, I'll be there... I'll have my  nouveau resolution demanding a solution, demanding more than what I usually bargain, but es muss sein, es muss sein, that's what Beethoven's sonata repeats. 

         Let there be no more compulsions, no more instructions such as 'Don't face reality, let it be a place from which you escape'. Escape into a reality of my own making, yes, of course. 

         It all begins with the sea for me, 'Water, water everywhere, Not a drop to drink'...

Regina Spektor-Apres Moi

Regina Spektor-Apres Moi
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World Before Columbus

              There's good and bad in each choice we make. Which automatically means that the idea of 'the right choice' is nothing more than an illusion. We are governed by fears and anxieties, selfishness and hate, pity and mercy; at other times of our subconscious, and in many cases we give in to what others consider right. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome warmly the dreaded "mókusfogó". Cheers...

              It's also very easy to make other people's decisions those truly are no-brainers. No dramatic repercussions, no fidgeting and wondering, sleepless nights and headaches. We are sometimes incapable of being charge of our own world. We want it to be perfect, even though we agree that it could never be flawless... 

              I read a fortune cookie the other day: 'Dance like nobody's watching, sing like nobody's listening and love like you've never been hurt.' There's no word about these actions being perfect, ever. They are not, because they are simply not supposed to be. There's always the possibility and probability that we go one step too far, or that we fall short of something, or that we still bear the pangs of past experiences. No sweet escape from what we once did wrong and the obsession of doing better. Surround the choices with the emotional baggage and there you go, you got all the drama that can be suffocating.

             I told my mother that I need to make my own mistakes to actually learn from them. She smiled at my father, and he poured me a glass of wine. That night, red wine became my favourite drink. It was not a mistake to let them see that I'm not the perfect daughter, but I started to see that they are the perfect parents (I know it sounds dramatic).

            So... Here we go.

            

games people play

      In a sky full of people, only some want to fly.
          Isn't that crazy?
      In a world full of people, only some want to fly.
          Isn't that crazy? Crazy...
     In a heaven of people there's only some want to fly.
          Isn't that crazy? crazy crazy...crazy...

Swing

        SubZERO. All questions erased. At times forgotten, censored, under snowflakes or stones I used to step on. Future on hold, such far objectives and present objections. On the radio ('I hear November rain' :) ), 'Hope I choose a better tomorrow, than a better yesterday', it's not my demand, not my doorstep, anymore. Anyway, it's better to fall, because you eventually stand up... If you choose to stay, you'll eventually crash and never let go of anything. We always needed a neverending intermezzo, not a passage; found destruction and forgot banalities. 

      No finish, no regrets, they never work.

Das Leben Der Anderen

Bleibet Hier

      All is in perpetual disorder, blue touches blue, touches black then expands, I ask for nothing more.

     'Still my heart this moment or it might burn'. 

Hanging Around

         Inbetween two places, one step outside the house, and one step already out of the door... Still miles away, still restless, this is summer, this is how I always get. 'I look down at my feet, they've been with me for years...' And the song gets louder and louder in my head: 'So far away, so far away, so far away...' And I AM at my best when I'm far away.  What else is there? Someone, maybe. Truly? Passingly for me, I steal one smile, the truce is one glance in the shadow, under rainy roofs. I'm bad at goodbyes, but you surprised me, and I'm not gonna tell you, maybe in the winter, when there's frost, snow, mistletoe and 'Behute mich Gott'.

Hooverphonic - Vinegar and Salt

Hooverphonic - Vinegar and Salt
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Walde Huth: One Hundred Unwritten Letters

                I have one unwritten letter. I received one, two, three answers to it by this time. This way, it's much harder to bring myself to actually writing the 'ghost'-letter, even though eventually, if a refuse to do it, I won't be myself and stop being myself from that moment on. Selfish, irrational, dreamer, stupid. 

                I'll end up buying a postcard at one point, of course. Not going to send it, no. Just keep it in my drawer for a while, yes. 

                I'm polishing My Unwritten Letter, I can see the title, no content, no contempt (yet). Dread all mistakes. 

                I'm not lost, just wondering/wandering. 

Dialectique

                    'Cause two right steps often lead to a completely wrong turn...

                    C'mon... We're the same, just as yesterday. Listen to the poet, hear the rhythm in disarray, creep under your wooden stairs. We're the same, just you and me. 

                    Allegro, allegro.

suzanne vega caramel

suzanne vega caramel
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Collateral damage

              'Sometimes, the hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross and which to burn.

               I'm the one you burn.'

Jarmilka

                          If you ever carry me home, keep in mind that I tend to be

                                                                    a cripple

                                                                    a maniac

                                                                deaf or mute

                                          perfectly covered in Wednesday's ashes

                                sizzling and sinister, as your Monday morning coffee.

                                                          You take your pick.

                                                                Thank you.

                                             I'll secretly find my desolute return.

My Penny

                                                                   M.

                                           I lost my penny, one devilish night,

                                           On the floor, outside your door,

                                           A poor penny I lost.

                         As a small boy, and a small girl, 

                         We diminished the world, our sinfully loud nights.

                         Me smiling, you gliding...

                                You liked to listen, I liked to talk,

                                You made me bloom, I made you stalk,

                                There was never bloody enough to make us stop.

                        You never forgot my T-shirt, I always see your smirk,

                        Passing each other's window,

                        I know, we'll continue to lurk.

Почему?

                   Want to meet the prostitute Bijou, from the Bar de la Lune, Montmartre, Paris, whose photo was taken in 1933, by Gyula Halász, the artist also known as Brassai. I want to feel completely deserted on the streets and quarters of the city which changed my life in so many ways; the city that I see over and over again, in my dreams, at night and when the sun is up and shining...

                   Want to meet Don Ygnacio de Alfaro y Duenas, the second marquis of Casalduero, from Garcia Marquez's novel, Del amor y otros demonios. The man with a sullen face, with lily-white skin, since bats satiate on his blood each and every night. The picture of this man also haunts my dreams and visits me at night...

                   Bonne nuit, mes amis, bonne nuit... 

Coalitions

        Roll your sleeves up and raise your head high...

        I have been walking 500 laps every second, because while I walk, and walk, and yes, walk, I sink, and sink, and yes, sink of course, while reflecting or dreaming or smiling. I find this truly amazing, even though most times, it's always related to waiting, which requires patience, something I truly lack. But still... there's a secret deep down in how I choose to project what I'm concerned of,  and also, how I manage to hold my horses, only play with the object of my desires. You know the feeling when in your mind you hear Yes! Yes!, but at the same time, your head is shaking No!. That's what I usually mean by 'yesyesno'. Before, it used to be 'bygones', but I try to keep cynicism deep deep deep down. Why? That's what P. asked, because he says I am a cynic, and I even embrace it (too) many times. But, we keep what is most dear to us to ourselves mostly, non est volentis, I presume. Again, this is demure in so many ways. But yesyesno, even if in the same time it's harder to breathe and I can't shake my thoughts; until that magical epiphany, the yes after which the no from the end of the expression is smaller and smaller and smaller and it's gone, yupppi. 

       Next step, literally, walk on, walk on... New projection? Naturlich... YesYesNo? Hmm:) There is a war between us, that always binds us. I recognise no end, I already forgot the beginning. As I should. I don't need the battles, I want them. 

Hello, stranger.

                            'Love is an accident...

                                                          waiting to happen.

                            Desire is a stranger...

                                                         you think you know.

                           Intimacy is a lie...

                                                         we tell ourselves.

                           Truth is a game...

                                                         you play to win.'

             This is not a review. These are simple impressions of a not-so-simple story. Watching Closer, I jumped lightyears ahead, and it was one step towards maturity. Something like reading The unbearable lightness of being. Don't misunderstand, I do not claim I reached the prime of my life just with a movie and a Kundera's philosophy:), it would be too easy that way.

            I watched Closer more than 20 times, had it on my computer for more than 20 months, contemplated watching it for more than 20 minutes and was dazzled immediately. I fell in love with Natalie Portman's character, with Alice Eyres slash Jane Jones; and with Clive Owen's  raw sexual magnetism fullstop.

            Larry: There's a girl out there who calls herself Venus, what's her real name? 
            Alice:   Pluto.

            Larry: Christ. When I was in flares, you were in nappies.
            Alice:   My nappies were flared.

            Larry: I'll pay you. 
            Alice:   I don't need your money. 
            Larry: You have my money. 
            Alice:   Thank you.

         'Finally a love-story for adults.'  This is the  tagline of Closer. And there is only one prevailing song and two melodies playing throughout the movie.

         I'm breathing out my memories of these characters, the plot, words, situations,  Damien Rice's  haunting song and its lyrics...then I breathe them back again.

         My finish, inspired by Alice's words, the only way to say goodbye:

                                   I don't love you anymore. Goodbye. 

 

Choose your seconds

       Someone once told me, the worst thing that could happen to me was to live the wrong moment of a two-second story. It never leaves my thoughts. In matter of fact, it intertwined with a song most dear to me and some of its words, 'Everything you think you know baby, is wrong.../ And everything you think you had baby, is gone...' I choose my seconds since then, and I choose them well.:)