DIANA VLASE

The Brain

2012-02-15T22:46:00.000+02:00

They came up with this name after a series of questions. Science people are still people, at the end of the day. And we all know people are tiny creatures in need of a bigger entity to guide them. So each time the scientists discovered an answer, they also saw the logic underneath. A strong, well explained logic. It was all physics, chemistry and applied laws discovered by other dead smart people.

So they named it The Brain. It was easier to refer to, in this way.

Journalists made appointments to see the scientists, to interview them about this new thing that they were referring to.

‘So, how was the world created?’

‘It was The Brain who did it.’

‘Right. Who or what is The Brain?’

‘Young man, The Brain is – for you to understand more easily – God as we know it.’

‘So, there is a God? Is this what you’re stating?’

‘No. I’m stating that there isn’t. I’m stating that there is The Brain and he created it all. Ok, imagine the universe as a human body. The Brain is the brain. Get it?’

‘So, are you able, through The Brain, to explain everything now?’

‘Yes! Well, not exactly, but everything that has been created without us knowing how it was done, was created by The Brain - even us. For example we can all create things, right? I can create something that will make you marvel at my abilities and wonder how I did it. But I really did do it, with my brain. Don’t tell me that you know how the TV works, I do, but you don’t. It takes smart people to understand smart stuff, smart stuff that The Brain creates. Get it?’

‘Hm...’

***

The Brain was bored of walking around, between galaxies, with nothing to do. He had created worlds, given reason to creatures and won a game of darts. What to do next? So he put on his nightcap and went to sleep on the moon. The moon wasn’t really his sleeping place, but doesn’t a bit of diversion bring a new meaning to a boring eternal life?

The Brain lied comfortably on the moon and looked at one of his favourite creations, the earth. When the earth was just a baby, The Brain had called it The Ball. The Brain used to play with The Ball, that’s how he got so good at all these ball sports. But then he became bored. One week, the Brain thought about what to do with the ball, he thought about it every minute of every day and night. He couldn’t throw it away, there were too many dear memories there. So he turned it into a planet, made a living ecosystem on it with animals, plants, clouds and humans. Then he did something that made him smile at the thought of it now: He gave humans the knowledge of playing ball games! He created loads of other planets after that, making those humans blue, orange or purple in skin colour. But only the first humans played the ball games.

The Brain gazed through the clouds at the humans. They had done well for themselves, the last time he had checked-in on them the poor things were trying to invent electricity. The Brain didn’t give them a chance! But he was wrong.

It was Rome, the place he was gazing upon at the moment. Singers in the streets, beautiful ladies waving their white dresses in the moonlight, love and peace sheltered Rome from the universe.

He noticed a girl. She couldn’t have been more than 18 years old. A beautiful Italian girl; she looked up, from her window, straight into The Brains eyes. He felt a shiver on his ethereal spine. He knew instantly that her name was Beatrice, a fair-headed virgin in a white dress, her skin soft, her moves delicate, her eyes deep and her dreams high.

The moon shook as The Brain realised the feeling that human awakened within him. She had chased his sleep away with an innocence he had never known before. He said her name to himself, Beatrice, and thought about what to do next. He wanted her for himself.

The Brain observed Beatrice for some time and was pleased by her choices. She was a good student, an obedient daughter, a cultivated young lady, a pious person. She was a beauty and she was graceful. She was what the brain always wanted, though he never imagined falling in love with a human.

The first time he talked to her was in her sleep. In her dream, she was sitting on a walnut bench, reading a poetry book. The hills were pink and the wind was slowly touching the tips of the grass leaves.

‘Turn around!’ he whispered in her ear.

She did. As she looked at him, her face gradually turned to stone. He was an immense mass of nothingness, like a giant balloon of air, his shape changing as he spoke.

‘Don’t be scared, little Beatrice, I don’t want to hurt you.’

She showed no fear on her face, that’s how scared she was. In bed, in the real world, Beatrice’s nightmare was making her wipe heavy tears, their warmth cutting her cheeks.

‘Who are you? What do you want form me?’ she managed to say.

‘I am The Brain, the creator of it all. I came to you in your dream to announce you that I want you for myself.’

Beatrice didn’t know what to reply.

‘Don’t you have anything to say?’

‘I know I am dreaming, and the priest told me that the devil sometimes comes and tempts you in your sleep. But I am not scared. There is nothing that you can do to make me, this is just a dream.’

‘The devil? Beatrice, there is no such thing as the devil.’

Beatrice almost smiled at him. ‘Yes, the priest said that too, that you’ll try to convince me of your non-existence.’ She was happy for finally being able to use this new word she read in a magazine, non-existence. The brain smiled at it too.

‘Ok, how do you want me to prove it to you?’

‘To prove what?’

‘I don’t know; ask anything. Don’t you have questions you want to ask? About yourself, about this world?’

‘No.’

‘So is everything clear to you?’

‘Yes. I’m not scared of you. I can listen, but you won’t make me believe in you.’

The Brain didn’t know how to deal with that. He paid his compliments to the girl and decided to leave her dream and come again more prepared next time. He thought it would have been easy, because what more can a human want, than him?

After taking some time to think on it, the brain returned; not in Beatrice’s dream, but in her mirror. It was Sunday morning and she was getting ready to go to church with her mother and her grandmother. She didn’t tell any of them about her dream; she had been too scared to in case they would think she had impure thoughts.

‘Hello, Beatrice,’ said The Brain from the other side of the mirror. 'I came again, as promised.' But she didn’t say anything. ‘Beatrice, can you not see me?’

‘I’m trying to ignore you.’

‘Well, you’re doing a great job. There is something I want to show you, in order for you to understand who I am.’

‘I need to be in church soon, I don’t have time really.’

‘What if I make time stop?’

Beatrice contemplated on the idea. ‘Come on then, make time stop!’

So the Brain did it. He froze the time at 6:12pm. ‘I want to tell you about this world’ said The Brain and images appeared on the mirror. First it was a black picture, a still image of nothingness. Then it all started spinning and a light appeared in the centre of the picture. The light got bigger and brighter, and then bigger and brighter some more. Then it all turned into a mass of lights, imperceptible at first but as the lights moved further apart they started to appear more like little stars. It all looked fascinating to The Brain, as he played the images for Beatrice.

But she stood there, in front of the mirror, not moving a muscle.

He showed her the earth, water moving apart and making room for the continents to be created. The mountains rising, the grass growing, the dinosaurs, he showed it all.

But she didn’t move.

‘I heard about this. I don’t like it.’

‘But this is the truth!’ said The Brain, dazed by her reluctance to see the truth.

‘I don’t believe it. But it doesn’t matter. What do you want from me?’

‘I... I want you, Beatrice, I want you to love me and to be mine forever.’

Beatrice looked at the clock, its display frozen at 6:12 pm. Her mother, a tall, heavy woman entered Beatrice’s room like a storm.

‘What are you doing? Why are you not ready?’

‘We still have time,’ said Beatrice, pointing at the clock.

Her mother leaned her head to the right and handed Beatrice a set of two batteries. ‘After you’re ready, change youre clock’s batteries, I noticed it had stopped yesterday evening. And hurry, Bea, we’re going to be there after the priest and that’s one sin that can throw us straight into the devil’s arms, my girl. And I told you to stop reading all those science magazines, they do nothing for your soul, they’ll just make you doubt yourself.’ said the mother and took the two science magazines from Beatrice’s desk.

Beatrice looked at the mirror again. Her face was beautiful, shining as if she knew a well kept secret.

A night to Forget

2012-02-15T22:35:00.000+02:00

Sarah opened the door and glanced at the deep, black shadows in front of her. The forest. She had lived in the village all her life but she had always been anxious about walking by herself, at night, in the woods. She’d heard a lot of midnight stories about horrible things that had happened there. And tonight she would have to walk through to the other side of the forest and then along the road, to where her home – that she was about to leave soon and for good - was. She’d had a lovely evening with John, her future husband. The previous week John had proposed to her – he’d whittled into a piece of wood a miniature version of Sarah and hung the engagement ring to the sculpture’s neck before giving it to her as a birthday present - and they were both eager and excited about what would come next, the peaceful, fulfilling domestic life and all that. People used to say they made a lovely pair. And they sometimes felt like they were tiresomely and annoyingly perfect for each other, but in a good way, yeah, in a good way...

She kissed John and then said goodbye. He waited in the doorway for her figure to lose its colour in the velvet darkness of the night. Then she disappeared.

It was a dark night indeed, no moon, no stars. The wind was howling through the leaves, angrily. Sarah put on her headphones and searched for the ‘Man on Fire’ soundtrack in her MP3 Player’s list. ‘Una Palabra’. A feeling of restiveness made her turn off the music-player just as the song was reaching its dramatic moment. She stopped and looked around apprehensively. The old trees were taking human shapes! She smiled because it wasn’t like her to feel unsettled, not in there, amongst them, the comrades of her childhood games. But tonight was different and what she really needed was to hear the echo of her steps in the stillness.

She walked carefully, trying to pick her way between trunks and branches that the forceful wind had thrown on the ground.

“You’re pathetic!” Hearing her own voice echoing in the dark was strange and even more distressing. She kept on walking. To take her mind off the gloom that the forest had spread into her heart, she decided to plan – well, to fantasise about - her wedding. She imagined herself being married in that very forest, amongst the old trees; she, appearing as a goddess, in a virginal white dress, more flowing than walking...

She heard steps behind her, on the fallen leaves, and looked back, but could see nothing but trees winding angrily and chaotically. She took a deep breath and then shouted. “Is anybody there?” She waited for a while. No one answered. It must have been nothing more than a poor animal scared by the strong wind.

***

John took his brown-leather suitcase, switched off the light in the living-room and went upstairs. At twenty-two, he had done well for himself, restoring his grand-father’s shop and earning respect in the village. And the climax, he was to marry Sarah, the love of his life, his best friend and closest confidant, the amazing Sarah! He knew some of his friends were a bit jealous of his good fortune... Sarah, he loved Sarah... And, as he was taking out some files out of his suitcase and organizing them on the desk in his office, he thought of her contagious smile.

The wind slammed the window closed with such rage that the glass broke into tiny pieces. He cursed through his clenched teeth and went downstairs to find a broom. He checked his pockets for his mobile phone but couldn’t find it. He wanted to call Sarah to see if she was alright all by herself, in this kind of weather, in the woods. But he didn’t.

***

Sarah stopped walking and looked again through the emptiness around her.

“If there’s anyone out there, please, say something!”

She waited. Nothing. She started walking faster, almost running. Then she heard him, far behind.

“Stop!”

The human voice frightened her, as up to that point she’d convinced herself that it was nothing but a lost, frightened fox. She started running. “I will not stop” she whispered, “even if I have to burst my heart running.” A branch with strong, sharp thorns cut her tights. There could have been some blood drawn but she didn’t stop to check. She was hot, drops of sweat wetting her forehead and bony cheeks. She clenched her teeth and kept on running. When she thought she was far enough, she stopped and held her breath. Her heart was beating so fast that she could hear it. But also... He was running too, now closer than before and towards her. She didn’t think any further but started running again.

“Stop!” she heard him shouting - a hoarse, breathless voice -, but she had no intentions to. “Damn, woman, stop running!” Sarah could sense anger in his voice and for the first time she cursed her stubbornness in not allowing John to drive her home. Fear was spreading through the woods like plague.

She turned her head while running. The man was behind her. He must be a vagabond, a homeless person living in the woods. Suddenly he launched himself into a lofty jump and landed right behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

“Stop, I won’t hurt you,” he shouted, but Sarah was wild. She scratched his face, ragged his clothes, tried to punch him, all the moves she had seen in the movies, as she had never been in a real fight before.

“You stupid woman!” cried the man, “I don’t want to hurt you!” But she couldn’t understand the meaning of his words. They were on the ground now, him on top of her, trying to keep her still; she, shouting and kicking, tossing and striking. Then he slapped her, hard.

“Stop it, I said!... I am not from around here, I got lost and I needed to ask someone for directions. And, as I’ve met no one else in the last four hours, I thought to catch up with you. I am sorry for scaring you...” and released Sarah’s arms. She looked at him, her eyes empty; her face expressionless. Why didn’t he answer in the first place? Why did he run after her? Why did he scare her like that and jump on top of her and pin her to the ground? She let her arms rest on the wet, cold fallen leaves and there it was! She grabbed the neat branch that providence had placed for her in that exact place and hit him hard, several times. She got up and started running again.

***

John couldn’t find his phone anywhere, but he kept bumping into his car keys. He would take the car and wait for Sarah at the other end of the forest. She’d arrive there in approximately ten minutes, he knew, because she always liked to walk cautiously, with no hurry. What a fool had he been to let her leave like that! But she’d had always been stubborn as a mule, no point arguing if she had made up her mind on anything. He threw his jacket on the other seat and got into his car. He put some music and the AC on and set off. The road was clear. He kissed his teeth in annoyance. It would have been nice to wait for her with a rose, he had roses at home, but he left in a hurry so he forgot. Twenty-two years old, and he was starting to forget things, who knew what could come next?

***

Sarah couldn’t feel her legs and she was sure some things had fallen out of her pockets, but she didn’t care. She could see the road now. She needed to turn left and then walk alongside it until she reached her house. Almost there. She must have put on quite a show, because ever since she hit the vagabond, he’d stopped following her. She kept on running all the way, just to be sure. Now she was just a few steps away and she let a smile light her face. “I got away...”

***

John was driving fast, listening to the radio and humming some old song he knew since childhood. He didn’t see her... but her lovely smile hit the wind-screen of his car and she looked at him for the last time, blood coming out of her mouth.

The Guest

2012-02-15T22:24:00.000+02:00

Friday, 21 September

18.37: She’s come home. Black trench coat, medium heels (not an important day). She wears Tuesday’s suit, as usual on a Friday.

18.40: Sits at the table. Looks happy - excited maybe; throws her shoes on the floor.

18.43: She is planning something. Thoughts flick across her face as ideas form in her head. I like that about her. Still at the table. Phone rings. From the way she talks, it must be Fat (the subject’s best friend, an ugly woman, surely mistaken for a man many times); feet on table, it’s surely Fat. Why didn’t I plant a microphone in there when I had the chance?

18.54: Goes to the bathroom. I’ve just realised I’ve never been curious enough to observe her in the bathroom.

19.40: She’s back, wearing red dress, knee length. It makes her breasts look big. Her breasts are not that big; high heels. Nice hairdo, the going out one. Goes to the kitchen and back. Tidies up the room. Lights candles, I bet scented ones. We’re going to have a little show tonight. First in _____ (check previous files). I’m making myself comfortable.

20.05: Goes to kitchen.

20.12: Brings plates to living room. Wine. Iceland frozen food tonight, most probably.

20.17: Sits at dressing table. Puts make-up on. Too much make-up. Can somebody tell women that too much make-up is not appealing? They wouldn’t listen if a guy like me told them so.

20.30: Interphone rings. She jumps; answers. She paces nervously in and out of sight.

20.32: A man arrives. 32-36 years old, looks important. I’ve never seen him before. He carries himself with dislikeable self assurance. I suppose that makes him attractive to women. They kiss. She blushes. Both sit at the table. Her hands tremble. She laughs too much, nervously. That annoys me.

20.40: He’s already drunk 2 glasses of red wine. She talks without stopping, gesticulates, has barely touched the wine, nervous. He is not listening. Not as a man who comes for the first time to a woman’s house should. I bet if she puts a mirror in front of his face she would instantly regain his interest.

21.00: She brings in the food. Fast food with advice on how to eat healthy printed on the label. It looks good. They dine.

...

Albert Core is in a wheelchair. One night, a few years ago, he got drunk with his mates and they decided to pinch a couple of wheelchairs from the Hospital Emergency Room and race them along the high street. Hospital wheelchairs lack the lightening system that would make them visible in the dark. He was unfortunate. Jane, his mother, said he got what he deserved and that him not being able to walk again was God’s way of saying ‘Hey, take that Albert, I’m a funny guy, too.’ But he is not like that anymore, people say. Even his mother likes him a bit more now. It’s been fourteen years since it happened. He’s stopped drinking and his mates never visit any more. It’s not cool to hang out with a guy in a wheelchair. Anyway they all have families and kids and crappy jobs now.

He doesn’t feel lonely. He enjoys his own company. He has got used to not wanting much from life. When family come to visit, he gets tired. They talk loudly, fidget, offer to give him a hand with this and that. And walk around. Why on Earth would they be walking around for, when he can’t, to make him angry? He’s better off without people in his space. He needs them out there, though, on the other side of his window. He bought binoculars with night vision function, a tripod, a recording device that he hasn’t used much, as he likes to write it all down in his notebooks. He has a notebook for each of his subjects.

Her name is Elodie. She’s a French woman who moved to his neighbourhood several months ago; seven, to be precise. Maybe her real name is not Elodie and maybe she is not French but she certainly fits the profile. He knows her clothes, her friends, her eating habits and her body. He best knows her body. But he never thinks about masturbating whilst looking at her. Not because that would be sick. It wouldn’t be so sick, if you think about it. He doesn’t feel the need to think about it. It’s not his thing.

...

21.26: They finish eating. She takes the empty plates to the kitchen. He drinks more wine. He empties the second bottle in his glass. Her half full glass is still on the table, barely touched.

21.29: She brings desert, some sort of multi-coloured ice-cream with a red topping. He refuses. Bowls remain on table. They kiss. I bet I’m going to witness some sort of body-to-body action...

21.35: The ice-cream is melting. He lifts her red dress, her skinny legs open like the gates to Heaven. Not for him, though. He acts like he deserves it, like he owns her. Her face is burning red. Her mouth opens. He must be having a finger inside her, lucky bastard. He lifts her up, puts her on the table, between ice-cream bowls and glasses of wine. She doesn’t like it. She stops him.

21.45: They talk. She looks at him apologetically. He’s pissed off. A shade of discontent appears on her face. I know her so well! She takes his face in-between her hands and tells him something. He pulls back.

21.48: He walks nervously to the window. He looks up. He narrows his eyes. Is he looking at ME? Did he see me? He leaves.

21.53: She is trying to touch his arm, he pushes her aside. She nearly fell. Now she is a bit angry. No sex show after all? Fuck! He just slapped her. Again! Again. I feel a warm sensation in my back like when mother used to put hot bottles of water in-between my sheets. She stands up and starts crying. She is not telling him to stop, just looks at him and weeps. His rage is not entirely released; I can see it in his eyes. He curls his finger into a fist and hits her on the right side of her jaw. Blood comes out of her nose. She falls.

...

Albert puts the binoculars down and looks at himself, at his body sitting inert in the wheelchair. He had felt something, something that reminded him of his former self. The nails cutting the palm of one’s hand when turned into a fist, the pleasure of hitting another, of launching your punch with power into someone’s face. His hands start to tremble. He put his palm on his chest and lowered it. He closed his eyes. Could it be? Could anything still be alive down there? He left Elodie and let his mind shift to the time when he raped a girl. He lowered his hand even more. He was going home, drunk, and there she was, two blocks away from his house, sitting on the pavement and crying. He stopped and asked her what was her problem. He had no intention of hurting her. She said all men were pigs. Pigs with a capital P. He leaned forward and spat on her face. She called him a mother-fucker. His mother was ugly and he was no Oedipus. They used to have this joke in their little gang. So he hit her hard. And again. And his dick was getting harder with every punch. She stopped screaming when he looked down on his cock . His penis was so erect that he couldn’t think of anything else. He tore her clothes apart there, on the pavement, and started his job. His job. He whispered in her ear that he would break her neck if she moved. So she didn’t. Remembering that, he smiled. His eyes were still closed. His hand was nearly there. The images of Elodie, blood coming out of her nose gave him the courage to unzip his trousers.

Nothing. Dead meat. Dead fucking meat. Nothing at all. His penis lay on a side, connected to his body but not his to control. Not anybody’s to control, just a dead piece of meat attached to his body. He wanted to take a saw and cut the lower part of his hapless body. He was so angry he could run. He couldn’t. He started slapping his dick with all the strength his upper body had. Harder. Harder. His cadaveric skin turned pink and he continued, thrusting his uncut nails into the soft skin, pulling out pieces of flesh, crying. Crying. Fuck. Crying. Why, God? Crying. He didn’t want this for the night. He had blood on his hands. His blood now. And no erection. Blood.

He took his binoculars in one hand and the pen in the other. He wheeled to the window.

...

22.06: She is on the floor. She is breathing. He is nowhere. His coat is gone. The fucker left. She doesn’t move. She breathes, but she doesn’t move.

22.09: She’s still not moving. Ice-cream melted. She has to move. I would be disappointed if she stopped breathing, I need her. She breathes. Not moving. Should I do something? I should do something.

...

Albert looks for his phone. It’s in his reach. Without putting the binoculars down, he dials a number. Ring. Ring. Ring. She breathes, her chest moving up and down, her sole trapped between life and death. Ring. Ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh! Hi, Albert! What can I do for you tonight, sugar?’

‘The usual.’

‘Ok, honey, enjoy! I’ll pass you to Linda, ok sugar?’

Albert doesn’t say anything. He waits. She is still breathing.

‘How are you, you hot stallion? Do you want mammy to fuck you hard tonight? This is what you want? Tell me, you want me to fuck you hard?’

Albert rests his head on the top rail of his chair. Linda is talking fast in a foreign accent. She is breathing. He rests.

Momot

2012-02-15T22:20:00.000+02:00

‘What’s wrong with us?’ said the wife. She wasn’t looking at her husband but through the window, somewhere far away, over the hills, at the deep, dark sky. The room was silent apart from the crackling fire.

‘How do you mean?’ said the husband after a while.

‘I mean, she was a good woman, John. A good woman! She didn’t deserve it.’

‘It happens so rarely for someone who deserves it to actually get it,’ replied the husband in a humorous way. ’So rarely that I don’t question these things any more. You should learn this…’

‘You’re talking nonsense. Why don’t you just shut up for now?’

*

The candle was burning and its light had chased the shadows into the ghostly corners of the room. Mariette was on her knees, praying. She was always praying at this hour; and at any hour. She was always praying. As if praying would bring her husband back. As if praying could generate a miracle. Tales yes, miracles no. But she kept on praying, every day, every night. She kept on praying.

There was a soft knock at the door but she remained stone-still. Only her lips moved as if she was speaking, but no sounds were released in the praying room. Then she kissed the ground and the baby Jesus in the picture and stood up.

‘The pig is ready, ma’am. I can’t do it by myself. I need four hands for all the little babies.’

‘They are called piglets, Angela,’ said the woman in the softest of voices.

‘Not for this wild beast here!’ said Angela, pointing towards the pregnant pig. They both laughed softly and Mariette touched Angela’s arm, as a sign of friendship.

‘Do you know what I ask for, in my prayers?’ Mariette started to say, but the pig started to squeal so loudly that they needed to bring the hot water and the blankets right away.

18th of March. By midnight, six healthy piglets had been born. But the mother-sow was still squealing loudly. ‘There has to be at least one more.’ said Angela, rubbing the sow’s swollen belly.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Mariette, and Angela saw, for the first time since her husband died, something that looked like a light in Mariette’s eyes. ‘Come on, little pig, come on… I’ll take care of your babies, I promise, come on!’

And there it was. The answer to all her prayers, there it was! A child! A human child, a tiny, red, soggy little creature, with a round head, two hands, two feet: A human child! The women fell silent, the pig stopped squealing and time stood still… A baby, sent from Heaven, a holy child!

*

That summer the rain flooded the fields, the crops were destroyed and the people in the village started to go to church more often. Every Sunday all they talked about at the meetings was how to turn God’s face back to them. They killed cows and burned them on the open fields, they killed goats and hens, turkeys and horses; they sacrificed everything they could lay their hands on, hoping that God would stop the rain. But He didn’t. God was upset.

Only Mariette didn’t mind. She had it all, in her praying room. A little bed, dressed in nice, cotton sheets, holding in its wooden safety a magical life. Momot. Mariette named the boy Momot. Every day he looked more and more like her, even Angela said so. But he was growing so fast. By the end of the summer he had hair and teeth and had started to walk. By autumn he was stroking Mariette’s cheek and calling her mama.

One afternoon, in mid-November, Mariette and Angela were having camomile tea in the praying room. The bells from the church were ringing, rain was pouring and the clouds were furious. ‘Where is Momot?’ said Mariette all of a sudden, fear spreading on her face. ‘He can’t be outside, it’s pouring…’

They started calling him, but he was nowhere to be found. They searched every room; Mariette went outside, started running up and down the alleys, crying, calling his name, pulling out her hair. Angela wanted to go to ask the neighbours. ‘Wait!’ said Mariette, ‘what are you going to tell them? Tell them it’s my baby; tell them I want him back!’ But an old woman, all dressed in black was coming their way. She was holding Momot’s hand. Mariette ran and grabbed the boy in her arms. ‘Don’t ever leave like that, Momot, you hear me? Never do this to mama, never, never!’ and she held him tight and wept tears of happiness.

‘Whose baby is this?’ asked the old woman.

‘My baby!’ said Mariette proudly.

‘Is he really? Because he told me his mother is a pig and you are his other mother. That’s what the boy said to me. Mariette, are you hiding something from us?’

‘Did I not come out of that pig, mama? Are the piglets not my brothers and sisters, mama? Tell her, you tell her, she’ll believe you!’

*

It was almost Christmas. Rain had turned into snow, so much snow that the mayor had to employ people permanently to clean the alleys and the streets; so much snow that houses were nothing but roofs, surrounded by a sea of white; so much snow that no other place in the world had snow that year.

People were getting their pigs ready for the Thursday slaughter. By Friday the village would smell of blood, roast pork, sausages and meat rolls, goodies for Christmas Day.

By now, everybody in the village knew about Momot. They all came to see him, and the more people came, the faster he grew. They liked him; he was smart and had an answer to any question they asked. But, most importantly, Momot couldn’t lie. ‘Where did you come from?’ they would ask. ‘From Heaven.’ He’d reply. ‘How is Heaven?’ And his face would hold a wide smile as he spoke. ‘A bit like this place, a lot of white around, but no snow; and not so cold. They don’t kill pigs for Christmas in Heaven, either…’

‘That’s because it’s pigs Heaven.’ they whispered to one another.

On Christmas Day, all the wealthy people in the village met in the mayor’s house to dine. There were no more than a dozen of them. Mariette came too – she left Momot with Angela for two or three hours – to maintain her place in the village’s hierarchy. She was the only daughter of one doctor and the widow of another; both dead.

They all stood around the table, talking about this curse, about how God hated them for a reason they didn’t know, how they would all end up dying under the snow. Mariette didn’t want to listen to any of that. She knew nothing of any curse. All she could think of was the miracle God had blessed her pitiful life with, her baby, her treasure, her Momot.

‘Friends,’ she said, ‘let’s talk no more of the misfortune that has fallen upon our village, not today, not on this holy day. Let’s pray, let’s be thankful and let’s taste the holy food that we are so lucky to have on our table. Mayor, tell the girls to bring the platters.’ She was in high spirits; she remembered being like this when she got married. She had loved her husband so! All she had ever wanted was him and his baby. She got one of two. She was happy.

The saloon’s doors slid open and the girls came with hot platters, covered with silver lids. They were all put on the table and the mayor stood up to make his speech.

‘Dear friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate a holy day. We are gathered here today to pray, to ask for forgiveness and to do right again. There are good people in this village, but something has cast a shadow over our simple, peaceful lives. And we need to make it right today, in this day when Christ came for us. We ought to thank Him. We ought to show Him our love.’ And with that he lifted the lid of the big platter. There he was, roasted, a golden apple stuck in his open mouth.

Mariette released a sharp scream and jumped on the table. Momot! Her dear Momot, her baby, not only dead, but cooked, naked, her poor baby, naked on a silver plateau! Were they going to eat him? Was that the way they deal with a miracle? She kissed the body, between tears, and tasted the salt, the vinegar and the flames still burning his skin. Her baby…

‘I curse… I curse you… I curse you, sinners, for taking the last piece of life out of me, I curse you to never give birth again in this village, not you here, not anybody who will ever live in this village, I curse you…’

*

‘You know, as well as I do, Angela, you know that we all wanted her to die.’ said the husband.

‘I didn’t want her to die, John. I didn’t want her child to die and I never wanted her to die. Did we do the right thing? Did we stop the rain? Yes! But twelve years, John, and no new-born. You answer me now; you tell me what the answer is. Did we do the right thing?’

‘God works in mysterious ways.’

‘He does. We have no idea how to handle His ways. If I’ll ever be with child, I will name him Momot,’ said Angela, continuing to look through the window, over the hills. Then she turned and looked into her husband’s eyes.

‘I’ll be in the praying room.’

Hercules and the Serpent

2012-01-05T01:13:00.001+02:00

The Serpent wasn’t his real name. His name was Peter. The nickname came from childhood. Not many people knew that The Serpent could not walk until the age of five. He had crawled instead.
His uncle James used to make fun of him. ‘This child of yours, Dorothy, is ugly like a devil. And he crawls like one too. You know what? Why don’t we call him The Serpent? ’
‘Why don’t you go to hell, James?’ Dorothy used to say. But James never stopped calling him The Serpent and soon enough everybody else called him that too. Eventually, after some years passed, even Dorothy started calling him The Serpent.
People took his new name as a reflection of his personality, assuming he was sneaky and devious.
Preconceptions.
The Serpent and Hercules met when they were both about ten years old. When Hercules’ family moved to the village, the boy had been properly introduced to class by the principal. Mr. Hornick sat Hercules next to The Serpent, giving him precise instruction on how to take care of the new boy. Fifteen minutes into the Geography class, Hercules pushed a note onto his mate’s side of the desk and said ‘I have two awesome sandwiches. Want one?’ They had been desk-mates and best friends ever since.
Unlike The Serpent, ‘Hercules’ was his class mate’s real name. His mother named him after a drink she used to have when she was pregnant with him. If it wasn’t for Hercules’s close relationship with The Serpent probably a lot of youngsters would have made fun of his name. But that wouldn’t have been the only thing to poke fun at him at; Hercules weight was something one couldn’t ignore.
They made a good pair, those two.
They grew up together riding their bikes in the afternoon; only the two of them because nobody really wanted to waste their time on a pair of losers, one ugly as hell, the other one fat as hell. They went to the same local college, which was fine by them; nobody really had any high expectations of them. When they were old enough they decided to take an important step in their lives: they moved to the city - together. There were approving nods from family and Dorothy’s friends; yes, it was a good idea for Hercules and The Serpent to make this step together. They have been watching each other’s back for a while, so it was just the right thing to do.
They rented a small flat in the city. Each one had his own bedroom room and they shared the living room, the kitchen and the bath. But they shared everything really. Not one time did night fall to find them asleep in the living room, on the sofa and under a woolly blanket, with the TV on.
One night, when a fire alarm woke the neighbours up, The Serpent left his room to go and check on his friend. Hercules was sobbing in his sleep, aware of the alarm but unable to wake up. The Serpent contemplated on waking him up, but changed his mind and tiptoed under the blanket, next to him. He put his arm on Hercules’ shoulder and rubbed it slowly to calm him down. Hercules stopped sobbing after a few moments but didn’t open his eyes. He put his arm around The Serpent. They stayed like that for a while, both awake but keeping their eyes closed. Hercules waited for a sign of sleeping from his friend and then opened his eyes. He looked at The Serpent’s peaceful face.
The idea had come to him a long time ago; but he had pushed it to the back of his mind for some years now. Not until now though did Hercules have this kind of opportunity, to be inches away from The Serpent’s face in the stillness of the night.
So he kissed him.
His lips were soft and his breath smelled like freshly boiled milk. It had been a delicate, innocent kiss on the lips and The Serpent didn’t seem to sense it. So Hercules got bolder. He moved his head closer and touched his lips again, this time opening his mouth a bit and letting his tongue touch The Serpent’s lips. Hercules wasn’t breathing at all, too scared not to ruin the moment. Then he stayed silent in bed, looking at the ceiling and smiling inside.
‘How was it?’ asked The Serpent, in a whisper.
Silence followed; a silence that didn’t allow time to pass anymore. Blood rushed to Hercules’ face and his reactions were frozen by the uncertainties of his actions.
‘I liked it.’ continued The Serpent. ‘I have been thinking about it too but never had the courage... I’m glad you did it.’ Hercules smiled and pulled him closer. They did it again; they kissed, this time holding each other’s heads, stroking each other’s cheeks, searching for ways of getting closer together. It was beautiful and pure. Sincere.
They slept holding hands. Without speaking they both knew it had been enough for one night. Enough for the first night.
They were still desk-mates and best friends. But now also lovers. They enjoyed their new way of spending time together but neither of them wanted to talk about the implication of it. They were living being driven by that feeling and that feeling only.
After a while Hercules started to accept that he was not straight. He was happy to be with The Serpent, to share his life with the only man in whom he trusted and believed in most, who shared his experiences, who meant everything to him.
The Serpent, on the other hand, had his doubts. He had never been with a woman, with anyone really apart from Hercules ever since he was ten years old. He didn’t have any doubts about not loving Hercules, he knew he did, but sex with another man... he wasn’t so sure.
And there was a girl. The Serpent spent quite a few nights out with Ann. She had chased after him and made him go out on a date with her. But he didn’t really seem to mind that.
‘I know all about you.’ said Ann from across the table.
The Serpent doubted that, but you can never be sure. ‘What do you mean?’ he responded cautiously. She meant that she knew he was not romantically involved with another woman, which was true.
‘And I’m attractive. Am I not attractive? Come on, I’m not asking you to marry me, maybe I’m not your type, but you have to give me the chance of one date.’
‘Why?’
‘Why would I want to go on a date with you why?’
‘Yes.’ Said The Serpent, turning red all the way to his ears.
‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you never seem to mind anything around you, nothing really catches your attention.’
‘Oh...’
‘Plus, you spend too much time with that fat friend of yours. Are you guys together? Maybe that’s why you don’t...’ The Serpent stopped her. ‘I’ll go on a date with you, but don’t make stupid assumptions.’
And mostly for the sake of not raising suspicions about Hercules and himself, they both decided that he should go out with Ann.
In the beginning The Serpent’s feelings hung in the balance between liking and disliking her. She was so loud. But she was also funny and witty. . She knew the answer to every question. But she would ask more questions than one could imagine. One thing was for sure. It was like a breath of fresh air and The Serpent admitted that to himself. Also she was really cute and she had managed to surprise him with some really good poems.
‘You will never believe what I heard.’ said Hercules angrily as he came in one day.
‘Well?’
‘Ann is bragging all around that she’s your girlfriend and that you two are going away together for this romantic weekend or something. She is lying, isn’t she?’
‘What if she isn’t? Would you be jealous?’
‘No. But nevertheless I would have to kill her.’ A moment of silence passed and then they both burst out laughing. Though it wasn’t a joke, The Serpent thought.
‘So?’
‘She did mention something, but we haven’t decided.’
Hercules eyebrows rose with surprise. ‘And when were you going to tell me about it?’
‘It’s no big deal, don’t sweat over it.’
‘It’s not... Fine! Just fine! You’re going on a romantic weekend with another...’
‘You’re not a girl, Hercules, and she is not your rival. I thought you knew that. Don’t act ridiculously, we’ve both agreed on this.’
‘I knew they didn’t call you The Serpent for nothing, you sneaky bastard.’
‘Hercules! Don’t talk like that!’
‘Or what? You’ll fight me like a man?’
The Serpent did go on that romantic weekend with Ann. It was an amazing weekend; they walked in parks, sharing cigarettes, glasses of wine and stories. Ann questioned him about his relationship with Hercules and he had put it in a very casual light. It gave him a feeling of freedom to do so.
One other time Ann came with the idea of inviting Hercules out for a movie with her and The Serpent. The Serpent didn’t know how to put it in the right words, she insisted, so they did it. The three of them went out. It wasn’t as bad as one would have thought, but bizarre moments occurred during the night. The movie, a chick flick, would have been a nice way to spend an evening if only the tension had not thrown them all into a rigid politeness. Ann figured out that something wasn’t right. She told the Serpent that she had this theory about his best friend, Hercules. Ann strongly believed that Hercules was in love with The Serpent and that his attempts at excessive good manners were springing from jealousy.
There is a point when someone dear to you, or a stranger, a child on the street, an advertisement or something sends you the message that you’ve been waiting for, to make your decision. For The Serpent that was the moment, the only moment in which he could’ve escaped, the last moment.
He told Hercules he would go for some days to visit his uncle James.
Now, ten years later, Hercules and his wife Ann have a beautiful daughter, Tamara. They live in the suburbs. Ann commutes every day to the city, working as a journalist and Hercules teaches geography in a school nearby.
No one ever heard about The Serpent again. But everybody who knew him said that the true nature of oneself eventually comes out. And he did prove himself to be a sneaky bastard.
Preconceptions.

For You

2011-12-31T01:16:00.000+02:00

I listen to your words when you’re asleep.
You speak to me from within.
You resemble my universe.
An
Incredible
Panorama.
Peace.
I love you when you’re gone.
You’re pacing slowly through the bright hallway of my dreams
Dreams that used to be,
Dreams that are,
Dreams that will be.
The world needs to hear that you dream of me.
I need to...
Maybe you’re dreaming of Heaven.
I don’t want to know.
I have to stop listening to you.
I’m never going to speak to you again,
Not when you’re awake.
When you’re breathing, your chest almost touches my hand,
Like the ocean almost touches my feet sometimes,
When I have infinity in my eyes.
Your sealed lips whisper in my tiny ear.
You talk of angels.
You talk of fireworks
And music.
You talk of the softness of my skin.
I like that.
I smile.
My hand almost touches your face.
Your air is now me.
I would like it to stay this way.
Forever.
You smile.
Forever is now, you say.
Forever is us, I reply.
Forever is never again.
Take this second, my love,
Take it and hold it tight.
Now pull it in your dream.
I’ll do the same.
We’ll make a world.
Enclosed.
We’ll live forever.
Asleep.

Face Lines and other Intimations of Morality*

2011-12-30T17:36:00.001+02:00

It was late afternoon. Some people might call this time of day early evening. It’s always related to the activities one initiates. She thought about waking her sister up when she heard the bedroom door opening and she saw her sister coming out.
Tina and Andrea were twins. Identical twins. They resembled so well that most of the time people couldn’t tell which one was Tina and which one was Andrea. And they always played with people’ minds. That’s what identical twins do; it’s their way of making fun of the world, just like the world made fun of them, creating them identical. Almost.
‘Coffee?’ asked Andrea, happy that Tina finally decided to wake up.
‘Yes, please.’ answered Tina, her voice hoarse.
‘Party hard last night, eh?’
‘So hard I couldn’t tell you what had happened even if I wanted to.’
‘What do you mean? What happened?’
Tine burst into laughter. She shrugged as she moved her head side to side. ‘No idea, I’m telling you. I guess someone slipped something into my wine glass.’
‘What? Like a drug?’ asked Andrea, her eyes wide open.
‘I guess. I can’t really remember anything that happened after I got there. I don’t know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I have good news for you.’
Andrea stood silent, waiting for Tine to take a sip of the freshly made coffee.
‘You’re back together with James.’ said Tina casually.
‘I don’t think I am. We haven’t been talking since yesterday morning. He’s the biggest arse and I don’t want to see him again. Ever.’
‘Too bad, Andrea, because you were with him last night; no, I was with him, but he doesn’t know that.’
‘What?’
‘And you had sex. I guess. My knickers were not on me this morning and I think I left with James. Not sure, but I think so.’
‘What?’ said Andrea again, almost without actually saying the word.
‘Don’t give me that look, I did it for you. I knew how much you wanted him back and I thought that it would be a pity for an opportunity like the one I had last night to just vanish in the darkness. So, there, you’re back together.’
‘And he believed you were me?’
‘Yup. Hand me a cigarette, would you?’ said Tina, her eyes searching for the cigarette-case. ‘He promised me he will call you today. You know what, thank God he came, I was French-kissing this really boring bloke from south.’
‘And he thought you were me, you say?’
‘Totally, he didn’t have a doubt. I mean he took me from the sofa and started asking me questions with that demanding tone of his. I can’t really stand him, you know. Look what a sister does for her twin, isn’t this nice?’
Andrea didn’t say anything. She stood tall on the stool, her gaze down in her mug.
‘Isn’t it?’ asked Tina, louder.
‘No, not really.’
Tina came round the table and faced her sister. ‘I did it for you, dummy, why the long face?’ Andrea lifted her gaze and the girls looked at each-other; identical hair-cut, identical pyjamas, identical red fringe covering identical pairs of green eyes. Andrea’s eyes widened as she checked her sister face, observing her nostrils movement, her eyeliners, her half-opened mouth.
‘What is it?’ asked Tina, exasperation in her tone.
‘Wait!’
‘What now?’ asked Tina again, trying to shift away from Andrea’s intimidating look.
‘What are you not telling me, Tina? What are you hiding? It’s all over your face. I can tell you’re hiding something.’
‘I just told you I can’t really remember anything, so if I’m hiding something, I’m hiding it from both of us.’
‘I see...’ answered Andrea irritated. ‘He knows it was you.’
‘Who?’
‘James, you stupid slut. James knows it was you.’
Tina stood there, erect, taking in the first insult she had ever heard from her sister. Slut. They weren’t even really two different persons, they were so similar, and feeling each-other’s moods and all that twin stuff; she had called her slut? Her voice turned into a whisper. ‘But how could he know?’
‘I taught him, alright?’
‘But...’
‘I know. I just couldn’t bear the thought that he was never sure who I was.’
‘But it was our pact...’
‘Oh, shut up, sleeping around with James just because you knew that would forever ruin what we had.’
Tina put the mug on the table with a strong hand. Coffee spilled around. She opened her mouth to say something but Andrea was faster. ‘I don’t want to hear it. You and your lame excuses. It’s all lies. And let me tell you why. Because I can see on your face that something had changed.’
‘Oh, really? What had changed, Andrea? Am I not the easy one anymore? I am not the evil twin? Am I not a party animal? What had changed? Am I not exactly how you always say I am; a bit too superficial, a bit too outgoing and easy? Aren’t these your words, sister? I’ve just done what you always tell me it’s in my nature, aren’t you happy you were right, and I’m the bad twin?’
Andrea stormed out without a word, leaving Tina and her late hangover behind. Tina wanted to shout after her, to remind her that she was in her pyjamas, but it was too late.
***
The phone was ringing for a while now.
‘Are you going to get that?’ asked Tina.
Andrea slowly lifted her head from the tedious work she was doing at her desk. ‘No, please, you take it, it must be for you.’
‘Maybe it’s James.’
‘Exactly, Tina; maybe it’s James, and that would make the phone-call for you. So stop bothering me, I’m working.’
‘Fine.’ by the time Tina reached the phone, the ringing had stopped. ‘Great...’
‘Relax, he will call again. He’s calling like a maniac for the last two weeks.’
The phone started ringing again.
‘Hello?’ answered Tina.
‘Who’s there? Is that Andrea? I’m James.’
‘I bet you are. It’s Tina, Andrea is not home.’ said Tina, scrutinizing her sister’s face for approval. Andrea continued to keep her head buried in books.
‘Good, ’ said James, ‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘With me? What is it?’
Andrea left her seat and without looking at her sister pressed the speaker button on the machine. It was her right, Tina though.
‘I need you to help me. She won’t talk to me, I left like a hundred voicemails, I went to her office, they told me she’s home sick, I’ve came to your place, no-one answers the door, what is going on? ’
Tina took a deep breath and released it with an imperceptible hum. Andrea was at her desk again, her gaze in books.
‘James, Andre won’t talk to you because we had sex at that party.’
Andrea stopped breathing. Her eyes were blocked on one line and couldn’t focus on reading any longer.
‘You had sex at a party?!?!’ shouted James, the echo of his voice transcending time and space. Andrea lifted her head, searching for her sister’s gaze. Tina frowned.
‘Not me and her, James.’
‘Who then? What is going on Tina?’
It was a pause. The twins spoke without words. Then Tina asked, ‘Were you at that party, James, two weeks ago, on Saturday, were you at the house party at Tim’s?’
‘No, I was not. I called you guys, you didn’t answer and I left a message saying I can’t make it. Why?’
‘Then who the fuck did I slept with, James?’
‘You?!? How on earth should I know?’
Andrea smiled.
‘I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, I promise, I have to go now. ’ Tina said nothing for a while. Neither did Andrea.
‘It wasn’t him.’
‘I know,’ said Andrea, ‘I got his message.’
‘Then why...?’
‘For my own amusement. And because I was sick and tired of people putting us into the good twin-bad twin categories.’
‘But... That’s not a joke, you fucking hurt people.’
‘I know. It was really fun. Want a coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’ Said Tina, still bemused by her evil twin.

*The title is a line from P. Zoline.

Nothing really... But then again...

2011-12-27T16:36:00.002+02:00

He woke up today with a plan. He was going to be different. As his eyelids let the sun invade the slow growing platform of his conscience, he realised that his body hurt. The curtains hung freely, not covering the rays that escaped the dark clouds. That's the thing about London, he thought. You can get disturbed by the sun one second and find yourself literary covered in dark, heavy clouds the next.
His jogging outfit lay on the armchair, next to his running watch and his headphones. He even worked out the right music for this first day of his new life. If only his body would stop hurting so badly. He felt like he had been bitten up by a gang of angry revolutionist. Bollocks. But didn't he put his mind to not letting reality mess up his plan? Was he thinking it was going to be an easy one? Because it wasn't. He uncovered his naked body and didn't like the sight. It wasn't only about running, no, but it was a first step. It was also about healthy eating, smiling more, taking regular baths and put goals on paper for him to achieve. He would start progressively. One day he would run, watch a good news channel, read for a while and eat steamed vegetables with fish.
He stood in front of the small mirror in his room and tried to smile. He stretched his facial muscles and he let two lines of white healthy teeth show. But his eyes were observant, concerned with understanding the changes on his face while he made great efforts to smile. That was not a smile. That was pilates for the face. Not necessaries what he wanted for this morning. Then he remembered what his doctor had said about the list. He had to make a list of things that bring him joy. You see that in a documentary and you think it's shit. Your doctor tells you exactly the same thing and you take it as it's the only thing that can save your life... So he rushed to his desk and read the first word on the line. Stewie. He burst into laughters and went back to the mirror. His face was taking the same shape, he had a beautiful smile, indubitably, but his eyes were warmer, his eyelids heavier as the images spring from within himself. He enjoyed that. He went back to the list. Puppies walking backwards. His laughter had a voice now, his morning hoarse voice was replaced by a crystalline laughter that make him laugh even more. Who gave a damn about the clouds, the pain in his muscles was slowly easing and the jogging outfit made him think about him galloping like a thoroughbred horse on open fields. Oh, he was going to do this.
He opened the window and let the cold air invade his longs. That was cold air, alright. He jumped into his jogging suit and stretched his arms. He went out.

Discutie in unu

2011-11-10T03:18:00.005+02:00

Se invartea prin camera ca un leu in cusca. Ar fi vrut sa faca ceva. Insa, ce? Sa bea o bere? Sa manance resturile de pizza de la pranz? Sa raspunda la mailuri. Ce sa faca? Ce sa faca mai intai. S-a oprit si s-a privit in oglinda. 'Am imbatranit'. Nu obisnuia sa se priveasca prea des in oglinda. I s-a parut intotdeauna redundant. Unii oameni imbratiseaza narcisismul fara sa se intrebe daca e penibil. Iar el nu-si ingaduia nici macar sa se analizeze. Doar o clipa. Doar atat cat gandul sa-l atentioneze. Greg, prietene, nu e nicio cale inapoi. Inainte. Si basta.
Greg a crezut intotdeauna despre el ca este un ratat. E mult spus, poate. Un caz pierdut... suna mai bine. La scoala a fost un elev medioctru, cu asteptari inalte. Genul ala de individ care se intoarce foarte afectat de la scoala, incovoiat - intr-un mod demn, insa - de suma cunostintelor acumulate. Ha. Greg a stiu mereu ca nu valoreaza doi bani. Insa a stiut cu mestesug, cum ar zice bunica, cu demnitate si chiar cu pret. 'Nu valorez doi bani, insa o fac cu pret', ar fi zis Greg.
Nici mare amant nu a fost. Prima prietena a avut-o la 19 ani. O relatie unilaterala. Greg a avut nevoie de 8 luni sa isi faca curaj sa o invite in oras, timp pe care l-a calculat ca 'relatie', daca e sa-l intrebi; apoi au iesit impreuna, doua saptamani. Apoi el a suferit dupa ea, rotund, un an jumate. Greg iti va spune ca a trait o poveste de dragoste cu Anna timp de doi ani, doua luni si doua saptamani. Intelegi? Intelegi??? Apoi si-a continuat viata in solitudine si masturbare continua si lamentabila. La 25 de ani a cunoscut-o pe Aneta. S-au casatorit. Si gata. Nefericire instanta si de durata. Ca-n reclame.
Jobul. Ca si cum nu v-am plictisit suficient... Da, atat de mediocru.
Un ins caruia ar trebui sa-i stiu numele spunea ca unele povesti trebuie pastrate. Neimpartasite. Pentru ca sunt atat de plictisitoare.
Greg a facut doi pasi inapoi si s-a asezat, ofensiv, in fata oglinzii. Ofensiv il privea si individul de dincolo. Da, indubitabil imbatranit. Si parca sprincenele si-au pierdut din castaniu. Si parul. Sa fie lumina? A aprins veioza si lustra. Nu... Si-a pirdut din culoare... Si buzele, odata pline si vii, atarna acum, purtand pe ele canale subtiri si fine. Dar Greg a incetat sa dea atentie trasaturilor fetei cand s-a prins in ochii lui. Al celuilalt. S-a uitat fix in ochii lui, iar celalt l-a privit cu impertinenta, zeflemitor chiar. Cine te crezi, sa vii sa ma interoghezi asa, dupa atatia ani? Nu mi-ai acordat niciodata mai mult decat un pieptanat, iar acum cauti raspunsuri la mine? Dar Greg n-a renuntat. A stat acolo, nemiscat, in soarele dupa-amiezei, si s-a holbat la el insusi cateva ore. Intai l-a facut pe celalt sa cedeze. Cu stoicismul lui. Celalalt a capitulat ca o femeie care simte pentru prima data o clipa prelungita de atentie de la barbatul dorit. Waw. A cedat si si-a coborat sprincenele. S-au privit asa o vreme, ce vrei, ma, de la mine? Pana cand unul dintre ei n-a mai rezistat si a inceput sa rada. Celalalt a ridicat sprincenele a uimire, dar n-a mai avut timp, a fost prins in reflectia unui hahait sanatos. Esti idiot, si-a spus, dupa ce toata isteria/terapia cu rasu' a luat sfarsit. Apoi colturile gurii au cazut, nemultumite, si s-a uitat la el mijit, printre gene.
Nu s-a considerat niciodata un copil/adolescent/barbat frumos. A avut maica-sa grija de asta, de mic. 'Esti frumos ca un castravete murat si dulce ca gemul de coacaze'. Bucatareasa. Numai Anna i-a spus odata ca are un zambet frumos. Asta a fost singura data cand cineva a pus ceva de-al lui Greg langa cuvantul frumos. Cand se mai cearta cu Aneta, ea are grija sa-i reaminteasca 'Haide, pleaca, cine te mai ia, frumos asa cum esti!' Greg crede ca frumos e ironic spus, acolo. 'Aneta nu m-a placut niciodata', isi zice, in timp ce se uita, in continuare in ochii celuilalt, insa departe in ei, in adancul pustiu al capruiului. Dar tu... iar eu nu te-am luat deloc in calcul. Niciodata. Cat timp a pierdut? Sa o luam de la capat? 'Buna, eu sunt Greg.' Greg. Greg. A rasunat, in camera goala. Vreau si eu sa fiu, a spus celalt. Greg si-a descretit fruntea si si-a asortat zambetul la ochii aproape inchisi. Bine.
Apoi a stiut ce trebuie sa faca. Si-a pus o bucata de pizza pe farfurie. S-a uitat la ceas. Sase fara zece. S-a asezat pe canapea. Si s-a dus.

You think English is easy?

2011-10-03T13:07:00.001+03:00

I got this email, the funniest thing, briliant!

Enjoy

I think a retired English teacher might have been bored.

(That's what first came to me, but I now beg to disagree!
This was one very creative teacher that took the time
to show kids instead of just telling them!)

Please do read to the very end.
This took a lot of work to put together!

So you think English is easy??

1) The bandage was wound around the wound.

2) The farm was used to produce produce.

3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.

4) We must polish the Polish furniture.

5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.

6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.

7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time
to present the present.

8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.

9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.

10) I did not object to the object.

11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.

12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.

13) They were too close to the door to close it.

14) The buck does funny things when the does are present..

15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.

16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.

18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear..

19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.
There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor
pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in
England or French fries in France . Sweetmeats are candies
while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take
English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we
find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square
and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig..

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't
fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If
the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of
booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One
index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can
make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds
and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you
call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a
vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be
committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what
language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run
and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a
wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at
the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn
up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling
it out and in which an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it
reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course,
is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out,
they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are
invisible.

PS. - Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick' ?

You lovers of the English language might enjoy this ...

There is a two-letter word that perhaps has more meanings
than any other two-letter word, and that is 'UP.'

It's easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list,
but when we awaken in the morning why do we wake UP ?
At a meeting, why does a topic come UP?
Why do we speak UP and why are the officers UP for
election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report?
We call UP our friends.
And we use it to brighten UP a room, polish UP the silver;
we warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen.
We lock UP the house and some guys fix UP the old car.
At other times the little word has real special meaning.
People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an
appetite, and think UP excuses.
To be dressed is one thing, but to be dressed UP is special.
A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP.
We open UP a store in the morning but we close it UP at night.

We seem to be pretty mixed UP about UP!
To be knowledgeable about the proper uses
of UP, look the word UP in the dictionary.
In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes UP almost 1/4th of the page
and can add UP to about thirty definitions.
If you are UP to it, you might try building UP a
list of the many ways UP is used.
It will take UP a lot of your time, but if you don't
give UP, you may wind UP with a hundred or more.
When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding UP.
When the sun comes out we say it is clearing UP.
When it rains, it wets the earth and often messes things UP.
When it doesn't rain for awhile, things dry UP.

One could go on and on, but I'll wrap it UP,
for now my time is UP, so.........it
is time to shut UP!

The Bird and The Tree

2011-09-18T21:30:00.011+03:00

One day a bird-girl fell in love with an old tree and it's dark, deep, protective shade. She sang anthems for it every morning and rested on it's strong branches at noon, played in-between it's leaves at sunset and hid from the dangerous storms at night. Isn't it the perfect union, the bird and it's tree. Or is it the tree and it's bird?
Wouldn't it have been a happy ending if the bird needn't have to fly and if the branches wouldn't have been so strong, the shade so dense and the sky so further up?

Mister Twittelgaz and Other Friends

2011-09-06T15:15:00.000+03:00

Characters

Tudor 16
Olympus 16
Helen 32
Helene Angel1 32
Helen Angel2 32

The three Helen’s are the same character shifting from reality into Tudor’s imaginary world.
Olympus is Tudor’s imaginary friend; no other character can see, hear or feel him.

The scene is set in a hospital room. An old hospital bed is covered in white sheets, with a cupboard on the left and a small children’s chair on the right hand side of the bed. Tudor lays in bed, his legs swinging to the rhythm of the song Olympus sings (a children song – director’s choice). Helen enters the stage and they stop. She wears a white hospital gown.

Helen: Good evening, Tudor! How are you feeling today?

Silence

Helen: Tudor? Tudor, can you hear me?

Silence

Helen: (with patience) Tudor, I would like you to answer if you can hear me.

Olympus: (snaps) I just can’t stand her. Who does she think she is? Really! I mean, we are both here, all the time, and she knows it... Why is she only talking to you? This is driving me insane...

Helen: Tudor, stop playing, I know you can hear me. Come on, stop being so stubborn. You’re not doing anybody any favour. (Tudor is ignoring her) Hey, Tudor, what’s wrong, we used to be friends. You and me...

Olympus: This is in-fucking-credible! You and him, ha? Ha. Not me and him? Not me and him, and you trying to destroy our friendship?

Helen: Alright. We’ll do it your way. Just listen. Doctor Winters read the results of your periodic consultation this morning. I don’t know how much you really understood out of it. I am here now because I want to explain everything one more time, alright?

Helen sits on the bed and reads through his diagnosis sheets.

Helen: Ok, nothing that you didn’t know about... You haven’t improved at all... (looking at Tudor) I know you can hear me... Are you upset? Did I do something to upset you?

Olympus: No! Don’t worry about it. Coming here every single day, giving us drugs to make us dizzy is why we love you! (to Tudor) Let’s play a game!

Tudor: Let’s!

Helen: Let’s what?

Olympus: (to Helen) How about if you just shut up, huh? We don’t care about your feelings. We don’t need your help. And we surely have no intention in listening to you. (shouts in her ear) You’re driving us crazy!

Tudor: (to Olympus) Hey, behave, would you? We’re not supposed to use that kind of vocabulary, remember?

Olympus: Oh, give me a break!

Helen: What kind of words, Tudor?

Tudor: Crazy, nuts, insane, lunatic, these kind of words.

Olympus: (nettled) Hey, don’t talk to her! I thought we decided we wouldn’t...

Helen: Yes, that’s true. We are not allowed to use them.

Olympus: (to himself) We aren’t allowed to use a knife either, and I have no idea why. It’s uplifting to be forbidden things without actually knowing why! (to Tudor) Anyway, this rule applies when we are outside our room. And stop talking to her.

Tudor: (to Olympus) Well, you provoked me!

Olympus: No, I didn’t!

Helen: (quietly) No, I didn’t...

Pause. Helen starts reading Tudor’s report again.

Helen: Ok. I’m just going to explain everything one more time. I want things to make sense for you.

Olympus: Why?

Helen: I want you to get better, my darling. I really do! (to herself) And I will make it happen!

Olympus: Someone has to take action. (to Helen) Are you going to cuddle him now and sing a song? You’re fucking annoying! (to Tudor) Tell her to leave us alone.

Helen: Ok... Here we go... (reading through his sheets) What the doctor really said here is that, well, you know the name of your disease, we don’t have to talk about it again... ok... interesting...

Olympus: What is she talking about? Can you please tell her to go away?

Helen: Eight months back. That’s quite a regression. The thing is... What the doctor said is that... you made a considerable progress... by admitting that you have this... problem and, you know, asking for help... (to Tudor, smiling) You were very brave, my dear. But then... (still reading) but then you just refused to interact... because you got... scared? (to Tudor) Did you get scared? That’s the doctor’s presumption but maybe you could tell me more about what had happen?

Olympus: Boring! Boring! Boring! (moves closer to her and whispers in her ear) Can you please get the fuck out of our room?

Tudor: Olympus!

Silence

Helen: I thought so...

Olympus: Great! Please excuse my frankness, but isn’t Tudor the new word for stupid? Idiot! Why can’t you keep your big mouth shut?!

Tudor: I’m sorry!

Helen: I know you are. It’s ok!

Olympus: (to Helen) No, is not ok! (to Tudor) Why don’t you just strip naked, tie some bells around your willy and run around this nut-house screaming my name?

Tudor: I said I am sorry!

Olympus: Because of your big mouth they will keep us locked in here forever. (shouting) And we will never see Ma’ again! Neeever!

Tudor: I said I’m sorry! What do you want? WHAT DO YOU WANT? It’s hard enough to hide YOU from everyone, to pretend you’re not here, when you just keep babbling in my ear. Tudor this! Tudor that! Go ahead, shout! But you know that you aren’t making things easier for me! ...You know it!

Helen: (looking around) He’s here, isn’t he?

Silence

Helen: Tudor, is he here?

Olympus: (bitter) Oh, no! He’s talking to an imaginary friend.

Tudor: Yes.

Olympus: Great!

Helen: (trying to hold him) Oh, dear you!

Tudor: Leave me alone.

Olympus: Me?

Helen: Me?

Tudor: Yes, both of you. Just leave me alone! Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to continuously drag an imaginary fastidious friend after me and to be closely supervised by an obsessed nurse? I’m sick and tired of this...

Helen: Ok. Ok, that was enough for now. I’ll let you rest. Today is a big day for you. I’ll come back in (she checks her watch) one hour, to bring you your four o’clock pills... Call me if... anything, alright?

Helen leaves. Tudor and Olympus rest in silence for some time.

Tudor: And we don’t use fuck either.

Olympus: Why not?

Tudor: Why not??? Because!

Olympus: Because? Because of what?

Tudor: Because I say so! Isn’t that reason enough?

Olympus: What... are you God now? Was I converted to some weird religion or something? Why do I have to stop using one of my favourite words? Because YOU said so? Why can’t I say fuck?

Tudor: Because it’s bad, Olympus, and secondly, because we don’t even know what this word means.

Olympus: Sure. Let’s not use words that we don’t understand because they are BAD. That doesn’t make sense, my friend. Fuck is not bad; it’s just something we never did. But we do understand what it means. Don’t we?

Tudor: What?

Olympus: We do know what it means...

Tudor: Do we? I mean... I don’t.

Olympus: Yes you do.

Tudor: No I don’t. Please let’s end this conversation here. It makes me feel awkward.

Olympus: (moves closer to Tudor) Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. (pause) Fuck!

Tudor: (angry) It’s your fault. Everything is your fault. You’re the reason why I’m locked in here. (silence) I should let them help me.

Olympus: So why don’t you? Why don’t you, tiny willy? Why don’t you, you stupid fuck? Why don’t you, little poor Tudor? Asshole!

Silence

Tudor: Because I care about you.

Olympus: You care about yourself.

Tudor: Yes, I care for me too. But I care for you, regardless of myself.

Olympus: Now I don’t want to insult you...

Tudor: Why not? You love to.

Olympus: But... There is no such thing as regardless or yourself. I am you!

Tudor: No, you’re not!

Olympus: Yes, I am!

Tudor: No, you’re not.

Olympus: Yes, I am!

Tudor: If you are me, how come we have different thoughts and opinion? How come we argue? All. The. Time.

Olympus: People have arguments with themselves all the time. They argue in their minds. They think about a conversation they should have with somebody and you can see their faces on the bus, distorted by contradictory thoughts. I tell you, they do it all the time!

Tudor: On the bus?! You’ve never been on a bus, you liar! What do you know about people? Really! You have the impertinence to talk about people, to say fuck and everything? Where did you get the courage to behave like that? You weren’t supposed to be so bold.

Olympus: You were not supposed to talk with me when people were around.

Tudor: I. Said. I. Am. Sorry.

Olympus: Fine! I’m sorry too!

Tudor: Oh, please! No, you’re not.

Olympus: How would you know?

Tudor: I know you. Just stop it.

Olympus: You think you’re so privileged because we’re in this position. But let me break it down to you: you’re shit!

Tudor: Language! What position?

Olympus: This... thing... we’re in. You have an identity, you have a ‚body’, you have a real life.... this... everything.

Tudor: (giggling) I was thinking, I have an identity but you’re the one that usually has the identity crises.

Olympus: Because I don’t really have one.

Tudor: Yeah, but it’s still funny! (thinking) No. I mean, I can have a headache because I have a head. But I can’t have an artificial heart attack because I don’t have an artificial heart! Does that make sense?

Olympus: Not at all. An artificial heart attack doesn’t exist, an identity crises does. What part of what you just said should lure me into a conversation?

Pause

Tudor: If they eventually cure me of you, will I be inferior to what I am now? (Olympus seems confused) Will I be stupid?

Olympus: Isn’t this just perfect? Isn’t this heavenly? Isn’t this ‘magnifique’? How can you think of me as a disease! You know what, my friend? Being in your head is the worst thing someone can experience.

Tudor: I strongly agree! But you’re not someone. You’re not somebody. You’re not a person.

Olympus: When the fuck did you become so carpingly?

Tudor: I learnt from the best.

Olympus: (disgusted) Children shouldn’t be allowed to watch soap opera. Come on, come out with some nice lines, would you? Such a cliché! You learnt from the best... You can do better... (silence) Did you mean that?

Tudor: Yes.

Olympus: Oh, thank you.

Tudor: You’re welcome.

Silence

Olympus: Want to play a game?

Tudor: Let’s.

Olympus: Phobias?

Tudor: Will do!

Olympus: Achluophobia. You have it! (Olympus imitates Tudor) Oh, I’m so scared! Put the light on, the dark is going to ravage my soul or something, oh, oh!

Tudor: No. Not funny. But I accept the word.

Olympus: One big fat point for me.

Tudor: Hm... (thinking) Aphenphosmphobia.

Olympus: What is that?

Tudor: Fear of being touched.

Olympus: I don’t know... No. It doesn’t count. I’m not scared of being touched because it’s practically impossible for someone to touch me. Another one, please.

Tudor: Hm... Ah! Athelophobia! Fear of imperfection. That’s totally you!

Olympus: I accept that one. One-one! I have another one for you. Autophobia.

Tudor: I’m not scared of being alone! I used to be, but not anymore.

Olympus: (laughing) Yes, because you’re never alone anymore. But think about it, would you be scared if I would just disappear? (their gazes meet) Two - one.

Tudor: Apeirophobia.

Olympus: Never heard of it!

Tudor: Fear of infinity.

Olympus: Oh, come on, this is too poetic for me.

Tudor: You do love poetry.

There’s a knock at the door.

Olympus: Come in!

Knock again.

Olympus: Say something. Maybe it’s Mother.

Tudor: It’s been a while since Mother came to visit. Why isn’t she visiting us anymore?

Knock again.

Olympus: Come on, say something!

Tudor: (in a whisper) Something. (out loud) Come in!

Helen Angel1 enters the stage. Her steps are as delicate as her moves. She wears a long white dress. She appears more like an angel than the nurse she was before.

Helen Angel1: Hello Tudor.

Olympus: You again...

Helen Angel1: I came! Mister Twittelgaz, are you in here too?

Tudor’s face lights up with joy.

Helen Angel1: That’s right. You never thought I would come back, did you?

Tudor: Emma! You came...

Olympus: Hey! Hey! What’s happening? You are not supposed to talk to her.

Tudor: (apart, to Olympus) She is not her. She is Her! Remember I told you about Her?

Olympus: No, she is not Her, she is her!

Tudor: No, she isn’t! Watch me! (to Helen Angel1) Come sit next to me.

Helen Angel1: (looking around) What is this place?

Tudor: My home.

Helen Angel1: I remember your home as being more colourful.

Tudor: It used to be. Not anymore.

Olympus: Not anymore.

Helen Angel1: So... What have you been up to, Tudor?

Tudor: Games.

Olympus: He’s the best at losing!

Helen Angel1: Do you remember the first time I came to your house? We had moved into the neighbourhood a few days before and my mother had an emergency at the hospital. So your mother had to look after us both. How is your mother?

Olympus: Is she Her?

Tudor: (to Olympus, in a whisper) She is! (to Helen Angel1) Not too bad, I guess...

Helen Angel1: (giggling) And we had ragout for dinner.

Tudor: I remember.

Helen Angel1: The meat wasn’t well cooked and I instantly got sick. I was so pale that your mother wanted to take me to the hospital. But she thought people would say it was her fault. She didn’t know what to do!

Tudor: She took you in her arms and you two went to my room. You were in my bed and there I was, kneeling next to you.

Helen Angel1: Yes...

Olympus: And then we fucked!

Tudor: Olympus!!!

Helen Angel1: What?

Olympus: Stupid.

Tudor: Ah... Olympus was the name of my favourite toy, those days.

Helen Angel1: Was it? I thought Mr. Twittelgaz was...

Olympus: Was I? And what was your favourite toy then, your brain?

Tudor: (to Olympus) You are not my brain!

Olympus: Very clever, keep talking to your imaginary friend while she is in here. That will remind her all the reasons why she left in the first place. Stupid fucking lunatic...

Tudor: (to Helen) You don’t know.

Helen Angel1: What?

Tudor: You have no idea! How do you even have the nerves to come in here after all this time? You just left me there. You were my only friend. You knew everything about me, all my secrets, and we used to have so much fun together. Do you have any idea what you did?

Helen Angel1: I was a child, Tudor, I couldn’t do anything about it.

Tudor: So you just left me there. Me and Mr. Twittelgaz were waiting for you! One day! Two days. One week. Two weeks... I had to ask Mother why you stopped coming to play with me. You just moved out, without a notice, without saying goodbye. Not even to Mr. Twittelgaz?! Why? How could you?

Helen Angel1: The time I spent with you was the best time of my life!

Tudor: It wasn’t fun after you left.

Helen Angel1: I didn’t want to. They forced me!

Tudor: Oh, give me a break! Why are you telling me this after so much time? Why did you even come here?

Helen Angel1: I wanted you to understand. And I wanted to see you. I needed to see you. I have never missed anyone as much as I’ve missed you.

Olympus: Please...

Tudor: (to Helen Angel 1) I don’t need you anymore!

Helen Angel1: Tudor...

Olympus: He doesn’t need you anymore! Helen of Toy...

Tudor: There is somebody else.

Olympus: What are you doing?

Helen Angel1: I thought there might be. I didn’t expect you to wait for me. I just wanted you to understand... I really missed you and I wanted to say I’m sorry! I really am.

Tudor: You don’t tell people things and then disappear. You don’t do that! It’s not fair. I imagined that I did something wrong, that you wanted to punish me for something. I was waiting for you. (tensed) I was waiting for you every day! Mother was worried about by well-being. I didn’t want to play anymore.

Helen Angel1: I’m sorry...

Tudor: (shouting, having a crisis) I didn’t want to eat. I put Mr. Twittelgaz in a box and I buried him in the garden. I felt nothing. I wanted you!

Olympus: Hey, ok... Tudor. This is not... This is enough... You should relax now... You shouldn’t get so hot about it...

Tudor: (to Helen Angel1) I don’t like what I feel when I remember. This is not fun. I want you to leave. You don’t tell people ‘See you tomorrow!’ and never come back. You don’t! Get out of my room.

Helen Angel1: At four o’clock my bag with toys and plastic pieces to build Mister Twittelgaz a home, was ready. So was I. Then I heard the door slam. My parents started shouting at each other. (the discussion can be on tape, along with projected images)
‘You whore!’
‘Don’t you dare call me a whore after all you’ve done!’
‘What have I done?! What have I done? I made love to a woman who actually wanted me! Is that a crime?’ then she slapped him.
His face turned red and he just started punching her and he wouldn’t stop. (she cries) He just wouldn’t stop!
‘Father! Father! Stop! You’re hurting Mother! Father...’
I never saw him after that day.

Silence

Tudor: You never saw me after that day either.

Helen Angel1: But I’m here now.

Olympus: He doesn’t want you now!

Tudor: (to Olympus) You know what, you’re right! (to Helen Angel1) I don’t want you now. Please leave.

Helen Angel1: I will. But first I want you to forgive me. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to hurt you, Tudor.

Olympus: I don’t know... I’ll think about it. Now go!

Helen Angel1: I loved you. So much...

Helen Angel1 leaves. As she closes the door we can see Helens gown and shoes hanging on the hallway rack.

Olympus: ‘B’. Belonephobia.

Silence

Tudor: (distracted) What is that?

Olympus: Fear of pins and needles.

Tudor: (still thinking of Helen Angel1) I have that in my pocket.

Olympus: What do you mean?

Tudor: What?

Olympus: You have what in your pocket?

Tudor: (exhausted) It’s a way of saying you got that one right.

Olympus: Maybe in a different context.

Tudor: Oh, shut up!

Silence

Olympus: Your turn.

Tudor: Oh... Let me think. ‘B’?

Olympus: If you have any in mind. Or ‘C’.

Tudor: ‘C’ is perfect. Cynophobia.

Olympus: (to himself) Fear of drugs.

Tudor: You have it!

Olympus: I do have it but its nature is not psychotic. Sometimes drugs make me disappear, if you would make the effort to remember.

Tudor: Yes, but at least is not the case of disappearing for good. I can still hear your voice or know your thoughts.

Olympus: How low can I go? To be an invisible imaginary friend is degrading. It’s frightening, today you can’t see me, tomorrow you won’t be able to hear me and the next day, poof! I’m gone!

Tudor: Hearing you is enough of a torture.

Olympus: You’re too kind. What’s the score?

Tudor: What time is it?

Olympus: Five to four. She’ll come at five, huh?

Tudor: I guess. It’s your turn.

Olympus: Coulrophobia.

Tudor: Not really. I hate clowns because they make me apprehensive. But I wouldn’t call it a phobia.

Olympus: You’re a fucking schizophrenic. Everything you’re apprehensive about is a phobia.

Tudor: (sick and tired of telling Olympus over and over again) Language... This works both ways.

Olympus: My way and ‘moi’ way? You never told me about Mister Twittelgaz.

Tudor: He’s dead and buried; nothing to talk about.

Olympus: So I’ve heard.

There’s a knock at the door. Helen enters the stage.

Helen: How are you, Tudor? It’s four o’clock.

Tudor: (to Olympus) Does mother come at five?

Olympus: Most definitely.

Tudor: Really? That’s awesome! That’s awesome!

Helen: Your mother? She may come soon... Come on, take these.

Helen gives Tudor two coloured pills and a half full plastic cup.

Olympus: What did she give you?

Tudor analyses the two pills with care.

Tudor: Ziprazidone and Olanzapine.

Olympus: Bitch!

Helen: Come on, Tudor, swallow it!

Olympus: Don’t take it. Tudor, stop it! You don’t have to! They can’t make you! They can’t make you!

Helen: I don’t have to tell you twice, you already know you sleep better after taking them.

Olympus: (to Helen) Shut up, you... (to Tudor) Don’t!

Tudor takes the pills and throws the plastic cup on the floor.

Tudor: (to Helen) Will my mother come to see me today?

Helen: (hesitating, then forcing herself to smile) Hm... Well, I don’t know. We shall all have to wait and see. I’ll let you rest now.

Olympus: Yes, leave! Coming here with your white gown and pretending you know shit just to get us medicated. Go, I said! Leave!

Helen exits.

Tudor: I would like her to come.

Olympus: (reciting) My mental illness is like a snake
Sometimes it swallows me whole
Its bite is poisonous with faces.
Confusion. Psychotic breaks. Depression.
Anxiety. Paranoia. And other things.

Silence

Tudor: Dysmorphobia.

Olympus: Dystychiphobia.

Tudor: Do you blame me?

Olympus: No...

Tudor: Some things you can never forget.

Olympus: Some things you can never remember.

Tudor: Dystychiphobia. I’ve always been scared, terrified of accidents.

Olympus: Not always.

Tudor: Always.

Olympus: Not always.

There is a knock at the door.

Olympus: What now?

Tudor: Wait.

Knock again.

Olympus: (in a whisper) What?

Tudor: It’s not her. Wait.

Knock again.

Tudor: Come in.

Helen Angel 2 comes into stage. She is identical to Helen Angel 1.

Helen Angel2: (examining Tudor) Oh, Tudor, you grew up so big. Oh, my baby!

Tudor: Mother?

Olympus: Mother?

Tudor: Mother, you came! Did you bring me some apple cake?

Helen Angel2: I did, I finally came. Are you happy to see me?

Tudor: Yes! Where is Father?

Helen Angel2: He is... he is not here.

Tudor: But you are!

Helen Angel2: I am.

Olympus: (to himself) Mother looks a lot like her. And Her.

Tudor: (to Helen Angel2) Will you stay?

Helen Angel2: I will stay, if you want me to.

Tudor: Will you stay forever?

Helen Angel2: I will.

Olympus: She said that before...

Tudor: You said that before. But you didn’t. You lied to me. Why would you lie to your own child?

Helen Angel2: It wasn’t my decision to make. I would never choose to leave you, but no one gave me the choice.

Tudor: I totally understand. I knew someone had forced you to leave me. I bet you were crying and screaming but these nasty armed men were dragging you out of your own house! That’s what happened. Isn’t it so? Isn’t it?

Helen Angel2: Tudor... Let me hold you.

Tudor: But Mother...

Helen Angel2: Tudor...

Tudor starts to weep.

Tudor: I’ve missed you so much, so much, Mother. I’ve been so lost. I’ve been lost. And scared... (he cries) So scared! And the dark night was getting darker, and I was scared, and I wanted to put the lights on but I couldn’t reach the switch. And I was (crying) screaming and screaming... and no one there... No one. I was so alone... and the world... and I... Oh, Mother... Mother... Don’t ever do that again... Mother...

Helen Angel2 sits on the bed. Tudor and Olympus next to her, both rest their heads in her lap.

Helen Angel2: The little boy woke up. The nanny was gone and the evening sun was searching for the dark corners of the room. They had been late before. So he took his favourite toy, Mister Twittelgaz and started rehearsing the song he had prepared for his parents. (Olympus sings the same song he sang in the beginning) He was there, in his room, all by himself, for hours. He didn’t see the night creeping on him. He was singing, dancing and imagining Mother’s reaction when she would hear the song. By the time he finished playing, the dark night was already grinning its yellow teeth from behind the window. Silence. He waited. Silence. He waited. Silence. He waited.
But his parents didn’t come. He tried to put the light on, but he was too scared to move. He tried to scream but he had no voice. He tried to run. But his legs couldn’t move. He tried to...

A car crash sound makes them shudder; police sirens, ambulance siren; the voice of a reporter, a TV news report: ‘There was an accident on E39 High Street. No one survived.

Tudor: (shouting) Mother! Father! Mooother!

Helen Angel2: I am sorry, Tudor! I never wanted to leave you alone. It was never my choice to make...

Silence

Olympus: And there I was, next to your bed. Singing the song you prepared so well. And I crept under the blanket and we sang together. And we turned tears into laugher and dark into light.

Tudor: I remember. (to Helen Angel2) You were not there but he was.

Helen Angel2: Who?

Tudor: (like having an epiphany) He was there! (to Olympus) You were there. You helped me. You saved me! You came and you saved me!

Olympus: I didn’t come.

Tudor: Yes you did.

Olympus: I didn’t come. I was there all along.

Tudor: Mother, I want you to meet Olympus.

Olympus: What?

Olympus looks around for a place to hide. He takes a few steps backwards.

Tudor: He... You can’t see him, because he is... invisible... he is not invisible... he doesn’t exist.

Olympus kicks Tudor in his knee.

Olympus: How does this feel, from someone that doesn’t exist?

Tudor: Ouch! Stop it!

Helen Angel2: (her voice sounding less angelic and more human) Tell me more.

While Tudor is talking, Helen turns her dress in a gown, pulling some strips. She rearranges her hair, now looking more like the nurse than like an angelic character.

Tudor: He is my best friend. Well, we argue quite a lot but who wouldn’t when you spend all your time together. I mean... he hears my thoughts, can you imagine, but he doesn’t always listen to them. He is protective and truly hates everyone that tries to harm me. He’s been with me ever since... ever since that night. He’s here. Come, I want you to meet him. Olympus!

The light fades in the left corner - where Olympus was hiding- while Tudor was talking. Olympus is gone.
Helen Angel 2 is now Helen.
The lights are bright on the stage.

Helen: Tudor?

Tudor: Where did he go? (panicked, almost crying) Where did he go? (screaming) Where did he go???

Helen: (takes him into her arms) It’s ok, darling! It’s ok, we did it! We did it together. You remembered. Tudor, do you realise? You remembered!

Tudor: I don’t care. I fucking don’t care. Where is he? I want him back! I don’t want to be alone! I want him back! Fuck! No!!!

Helen: Calm down, shhh, calm down! We did it! I’m so happy, Tudor. Is he really gone? I can’t believe it! I made you remember, I never really believed that this was going to work. But it did, Tudor, and we made him disappear.

Tudor: (crying in her arms) I want him back... I can’t do it again. Why is it that always someone has to go? First it was Emma, then Mother, now him. I can’t do it anymore! I can’t...

Helen: But I am here... Do you know who I am?

Tudor cries.

Helen: Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.

Tudor: What?

Helen: Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.

Tudor: (through tears) What is this?

Helen: (smiling) Fear of long words.

The End

O altfel de noapte

2011-08-16T21:32:00.007+03:00

S-a asezat pe pat. Era destul de tarziu, insa, de cum a pasit spre pat, a stiut ca nu avea sa doarma. Cum sa doarma? Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum. O sa-si asculte inima toata noaptea si o sa numere secundele. Nu i-a iesit niciodata trucul ala cu oile. Plus ca i s-a parut penibil. Oi? De ce oi? De ce nu capre sau cape negre, sau gazele? Gazelele sunt destul de gratioase cand sar peste un obstacol, nu?
S-a intins pe pat, s-a intins perfect. S-a invelit si si-a asezat mainile dezgolite peste cearsaful care invelea o patura rosie, orientala.
Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum. A inchis ochii. S-a fortat sa ii tina inchisi pentru o vreme, dupa care - cu un plescait de buze - i-a deschis si a privit inspre fereastra. Luna plina.
'De aceea!' si-a zis 'E ca un felinar, sta rotunda si luminoasa si se uita la mine. Parca nu stie ca nu pot sa dorm cu niciun fel de lumina. Fie ea artificiala sau naturala!'
In camera luminata de luna se mai auzea inca ecoul vorbelor lui. L-a ascultat, apoi chipul i s-a transormat intr-un templu - mai degraba o biserica saracacioasa de la tara - a mirarii. 'Oi? N-am intalnit pe nimeni care sa-mi marturiseasca ciudatenia asta, ca numara oi in scopul...'
A aprins lumina si s-a asezat pe scaunul albastru din fata biroului. Si-a deschis calculatorul si i-a ascultat huruitul. 'Oare cata energie consuma dracia asta?', s-a gandit.
Din strada s-a auzit un tipat. A alergat spre fereastra dar nu a putut vedea nimic, asa ca a deschis, cu zgomot nepotrivit pentru ora tarzie din noapte, fereastra cu o miscare rapida. Felinarele luminau placut strada. Din departare se vedea o persoana alergand inspre casa lui. Si-a luat ochelarii de langa pat si a inchis lumina cu un zambet care-l facea complice cu sine insusi pentru tertipul pe care, involuntar, l-a jucat somnului lui.
Parea a fi un copil imbracat cu un trenci prea mare pentru umerii lui ingusti. Insa alerga ca si cum muschii tineri de puiet de caprioara nu ar fi putut sustine atata vointa de a nu mai fi aproape de persoana de care fugea. Poate. Si ce striga?
Si-a pus coatele pe pervaz si a asteptat, cuminte, ca tanarul sa se apropie, pentru a-l putea examina cu atentie.
Era o femeie. Sau o fata, nu-i putea spune inca varsta, insa trenciul cu siguranta nu era al ei. Nu mai alerga acum. Mergea repede si isi intorcea intr-una privirea, lasand sa i se intrevada spaima pe chip.
'Pst...' a lasat el sa-i scape, mirandu-se imediat de reactie. Fata a ridicat privirea si a mijit ochii catre fereastra deschisa de la primul etaj. El a tras repede de coltul cearsafului care-i acoperea patul si l-a lasat sa cada peste fereastra. 'Asta o s-o atentioneze ca nu sunt periculos!', s-a gandit.
'E cineva acolo?' a soptit fata, insa coltul cearsafului alb a continuat sa atarne inert din deschizatura ferestrei.
'Daca e cineva acolo, te rog sa misti usor cearsaful. Insa nu prea usor, nu as vrea sa ma las pacalita de vant. Iar daca nu este nimeni, iar eu vorbesc ca o nebuna, cu un cearsaf, sa stii ca e vina ta, Doamne, pentru ca nu meritam sa fiu lasata...' dar cearsaful s-a miscat, numai putin mai mult decat daca ar fi fost miscat de vant, in adierea lui racoroasa.
'Ei, ce mai astepti? Sper sa nu fii un copil, pentru ca atunci toata intarzierea asta ar fi de prisos. Haide odata!'
Si-a simtit muschii de la picioare incordandu-se, in timp ce isi impingea capul pe fereastra. Nu era tocmai un copil. Nu la prima impresie, cel putin. Capul cu par lung si barba nearanjata nu-l ajutau sa para un individ de incredere.
'Ce vrei?' a spus fata, dezamagita, stiind ca si un barbat la cinzeci de ani care urmareste femei pe fereastra si care foloseste cearsaful ca replica de agatat, nu ar fi de niciun ajutor intr-o seara ca asta.
'Te-am auzit strigand si ma gandeam ca esti in pericol... Plus ca nu puteam sa dorm. E din cauza lunii. E luna plina in seara asta. Stiintific, exista anumiti oameni care pur si simplu nu pot dormi cand e luna plina. Am citit undeva. Nu am participat in nicio cercetare cu scopul...'
'Si cum m-ai putea ajuta... dumneata?'
'Ah, eu sunt Tom. Am o camera libera, adica nu o camera, ba da, si o camera, insa am o baie si... vreau sa zic ca ai putea sa te cureti si... Si apoi am si o camera, daca iti e teama sa o iei iarasi la pas pe strazile astea... Sau niste bani de taxi... daca... As putea sa te ajut, cred.'
'Si de ce ai face dumneata asta? Poate ca sunt o hoata, o fugara, poate ca sunt una dintre femeile alea care...'
'Nu sunt un om prea bogat... ai putea sa-mi furi ceva mobila, insa. Nu era in obiceiul mamei mele sa arunce nimic, si dupa ce a murit, nu m-a mai lasat inima sa arunc nimic, merem mi-am imaginat ca are sa o deranjeze...'
Fata a facut un pas inapoi ca sa poata privi cladirea mai bine, apoi i-a facut semn din cap, sa o intalneasca la intrarea.
A sarit de la geam intr-o clipa, si-a agata halatul cu o mana ramasa in urma, in timp ce el a zbughit-o pe usa, catre scarile spre living. A aprins toate luminile in drumul lui si a deschis larg usa de la intrare. De sub fotoliul tocit de vreme si de prea multe tabieturi a tasnit un motan gri, durduliu.
'Eu sunt Tom', a spus el vesel, in timp ce inchidea usa in urma ei.
'Eu sunt Barney.' a murmurat fata, in timp ce ochii ii jucau peste toate tablourile, cartile, operele de arta si... cartile din living. 'Ai spus ca nu esti bogat...'
'Ha, cartile astea nu valoreaza doi bani. De ce crezi ca hotii prefera sa jefuiasca magazine alimentare si nu anticariate? Pentru ca astazi cartile nu mai valoreaza doi bani.'
'Vorbesti cu oaresce doza de ranchiuna pentru cineva care detine atat de multe carti.'
'Glumesc,' spuse Tom, 'cartile astea valoreaza totul pentru mine, si o suma frumusica pentru restul, insa nu despre asta trebuie sa discutam. Nici nu cred ca trebuie sa discutam altceva in afara de ce ti s-a intamplat. Asta dupa ce te cureti. Sa-ti pregatesc ceva de baut?'
'Un whisky, daca esti amabil. Unde imi... pudrez nasul?'
'Pe hol, in dreapta. Barney, Barney, nu?'
'Da, ma cheama Elena de fapt - ce nume cretin - insa cand eram mica semanam cu Barney, din Fred si Barney, ii stii, desenele animate?'
'Nu cred ca...'
'In fine, si acum toata lumea imi spune Barney. Iar daca imi vei spune vreodata Elena, vei infrunta o moarte lenta si dureroasa.'
Tom a ramas in picioare pentru cateva secunde, apoi a inceput sa vorbeasca ca si cum nici nu ar fi auzit vorbele lui Barney. 'Eu sunt Tom... pentru ca, pana la opt ani nu voiam sa adorm decat ascultand-o pe mama cum imi citeste Tom Degetel. Ma cheama D... Dante Petrescu. Ai prosop in dulapul alb, de langa masina de spalat.'
'De ce nu te barbieresti?'
'N-am unde sa ma duc. Nu am prea multi prieteni. De fapt nu prea am prieteni. Munca mea nu necesita parasitea apartamentului. N-am de ce.'
'Ma intorc in cateva minute. Sau fug pe geam cu toate sampoanele si rufele tale murdare.'
'Rufele murdare se gasesc in spalatorie, pentru cei interesati. Masina de spalat nu functioneaza, e unul din lucrurile acelea...'
Ea a grabit pasul catre hol iar el s-a indreptat catre bar. A scos intai un pahar, apoi a dat din cap, cu un zambet sugubet si a mai luat inca un pahar. 'Talharule!' si-a spus. Mai, mai ca s-ar fi dus sa-si ia un trabuc, asa isi simtea sufletul de plin de victorie. Dar s-a gandit mai bine, poate fata avea sa ii povesteasca un episod dramatic din viata ei si ar fi fost elegant sa arate ceva compasiune. Si-a lasat mintea sa ii umble printre intrebari despre impresiea pe care si-ar fi putut-o face ea despre el, apoi s-a surprins inclestandu-si pumbii de placere. In sfarsit, ceva se intampla in viata lui, ceva dincolo de mintea lui, ceva ce sa rupa monotonia fiecarei zile care incepe la opt si se termina - fie ca putea sa doarma sau nu - maxim la miezul noptii.
'Fratele meu datora bani unor indivizi si au venit sa ii recupereze. Nu aveam niciun ban in casa asa ca au luat tot ce au putut. Au luat tot. Hainele mele. Posterele de pe pereti, canapeaua... Tot.'
'Imi pare rau' a soptit Tom, in timp ce i-a intins paharl cu whisky.
'Suntem orfani. Locuiesc cu fratele meu. Uneori... uneori nu face numai lucruri bune ca sa aduca bani. Eu... eu termin facultatea anul asta. Si o sa fiu traducator. Ai tigari?'
Top s-a ridicat, apoi s-a intors catre ea. 'N-ar trebui sa fumezi. Sa stii ca ti-as fi dat cel putin douazeci si cinci de ani.'
'Adica ai, insa te gandesti ca n-ar trebui sa fumez. Stii ceva? Nu esti tatal meu...'
Tom a luat o carte din biblioteca si i-a intins-o. Ceea ce parea a fi o carte s-a dovedit a fi o tabachera destul de sofisticata, care continea tot felul de tigari, de la cele subtiri si albe, mentolate, pentru femei, la trabucuri groase si maronii, pe care cu greu ti le-ai putea imagina infipte intre buzele unei alte fiinte umane.
'E randul tau' a spus fata intr-un glas gajait, in timp ce primul fum ii umplea plamanii si ii transorma paloarea intr-un alb ceros.
'Eu sunt un scriitor trist care a trait toata viata cu mama lui, pana anul trecut. Nu am fost casatorit niciodata. Pentru ca sunt prea tipicar, cred. Si pentru ca oamenii din jurul meu sunt ignoranti. Si pentru ca nu mai am ce sa vorbesc cu nimeni, in jurul meu. Toti cred ca stiu, toti au o parere despre cate ceva, fiecare poate vorbi despre razboaie, poluare, politica, marile orase ale lumii, insa s-a pierdut comunicarea, iar mie imi place sa comunic, iar daca ar fi sa fie o femeie care sa-mi fie pereche, ar trebui sa fie ca mine, sa iubeasca sa comunice, sa putem sa comunicam impreuna, vreau sa zic.'
'Asta ar fi aproape imposibil, pentru ca vorbesti mult si fara pauze, asa ca orice forma de dialog isi prinde picioarele in menchina ta nelubrifiata.'
S-au privit. Aproape ca a spus ceva nepoliticos. Insa adevarat. Destul de adevarat... Tom a inceput sa rada, iar Barney, luand asta ca pe un semn bun, i s-a alaturat.
'Nepoliticos, zic, sa inviti o tinara, in miezul noptii, la tine in casa, si sa o tii cu paharul gol.'
Tom a sarit ca picat cu ceara si a adus sticla mai aproape de locul pe care si l-au revendicat, ca tabara pentru noapte.
Soarele isi intindea razele peste coama pamantului cand Tom a incercat sa se ridice. 'Gata!' ar fi vrut el sa spuna, insa bautura tare i-a inmuiat muschii, iar articulatiile au incetat - de multa vreme - sa il asculte. 'Poate ca nu e tocmai o idee buna, as putea sa mai raman aici.'
'Eu o sa dorm... asta ca sa stii. As putea sa-mi dau jos... eh... maine.' a spus Barney, si chipul i s-a relaxat iar respiratia a inceput sa i se scurga usor, in si dinspre plamani.
A privit-o o vreme. Era o tanara frumoasa. Copila? Femeie? Tom o privea printre genele grele si nu reusea sa se decisa cum sa o priveasca... Ar fi vrut sa indrazneasca sa isi imagineze ca... Nu! Dar asta facea, isi imagina, asta facea in fiecare zi, in fiecare carte sau mica povestire. De ce sa nu ia acest personaj real, o tanara care obisnuia sa arate ca un personaj de desene animate cand era un copil, si sa o iubeasca in gand, tainic. Dar parca nu se simtea bine, parca isi insela realitatea cu imaginatia. Parca fata asta frumoasa care dormea in casa lui nu putea fi inselata cu proiectia ei in mintea lui. Ochii i-au alunecat catre chipul ei in timp ce ea respira adanc, dand semne fie ca se va trezi curand, fie ca pozitia in care dormea nu era foarte comfortabila. A deschis ochii.
'Sa te duc in dormitor?' a intrebat Tom intr-un mod atat de natural incat raspunsul ei afirmativ, cu o miscare a pleoapelor, nu a venit ca o surpriza. A luat-o in brate si a urcat scarile. I se intampla ceva magic. Stia asta. Si stia ca - daca in clipa asta ar fi fost sa se termine - s-a intamplat ceva magic, inexplicabil. A asezat-o in patul ravasit de frenezia cu care a tras de cearsaf cu cateva ore in urma, apoi a realizat ca - din obisnuinta - a dus-o la el in dormitor. A simtit un fior de panica la gandul ca el nu va putea sa doarma in nicio alta incapere din casa aceea plina de fantome, apoi a ridicat din umeri. A invelit-o si s-a indreptat inspre iesire.
'Unde pleci?' vocea fetei a taiat aerul diminetei ca o sabie rece.
'Ah... Sa ma intind, in... alta camera.'
Nu, ramai cu mine, intinde-te langa mine.'
'Nu cred ca e... potrivit.'
'Nu, fireste ca nu e. Nimic nu e potrivit in seara asta. Ce conteaza. Vino.'
S-a indreptat catre pat si si-a impins papucii de casa din picioare, in timp ce pipaia marginea patului cu varfurile degetelor. S-a intins langa ea si a auzit din nou. Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum. 'Nu pot sa dorm aici!', s-a gandit. Insa fata s-a intors si si-a strecurat mana pe sub patura, peste halatul lui. L-a luat in brate si si-a lasat respiratia usoara sa-i suiere in ureche. A adormit.
Intins, perfect intins, cu ea incolacita in jurul lui, a mijit ochii si a privit tavanul luminat de razele diminetii. Si atunci, in momentul acela, le-a vazut. O oaie. Doua oi, Trei oi. Patru oi. Cinci oi...

Picture: http://www.flickr.com/photos/84784982@N00/

Emma c'est toi!

2011-07-21T19:16:00.005+03:00

Madame Bovary is one of the most important French novels of the 19Th century. It is vastly regarded as Flaubert's most important work, and is also considered socially relevant because it inadvertently served to inspire, if not signal the dawn of feminism. Flaubert's adulterous heroine, the author's alter-ego of sorts, was happy in her transgressions, her actions seemingly justified by her dull and lifeless marriage.
...
But getting back to our main "raison d'être", let us whet your appetite as to the novel we have chosen to feature on our website:

Madame Bovary is the story of Emma Bovary, an unhappily married woman who seeks escape through forbidden relationships with other men. The book could be viewed as an expose of the situation of women in the 19Th century; women who had not yet been emancipated and were expected to obey their husbands, to stay in their homes while the men went to work, or left for months on end to fight in wars. Emma Bovary also serves as a voice for Flaubert, who patterned the character's personality after his own. Emma Bovary's "rebellious" attitude against the accepted ideas of the day, reflects Flaubert's views of the bourgeoisie. Ultimately, Madame Bovary's indiscretions and her obsession with Romance lead to her downfall, which not only appeases the guardians of morality, but shows us Flaubert's view of the world wasn't one of naive optimism.

http://www.madamebovary.com/

It is not without purpose that Flaubert asserted (and billions of other people, after him) 'Madame Bovary s'est moi'. He manages to capture real, thinkable thoughts that every humane being can have at a certain time. But why do so many people identify themselves with this colorful and picturesque character, Emma? Is it because she's frail, vulnerably delicate and incredible beautiful - how one would imagine being, as a character in a book (yes, I am pointing mostly at the feminine part of the 'cast'). Or is it because Emma is what we like to call a dreamer - unhappy, but hopping... Or maybe because every single soul is longing for everlasting love, and that eagerness excuses her for everything?

She is a horrible woman, without a doubt. The way she treats her baby, her husband, her mother-in-law, the way she has no sympathy for the poor, the needy, the helpless around her, the way she spends her time and money on egocentric rubble, makes Emma a despicable woman. But! We can't help loving her, understanding her, appreciating what she stands for. And there is a pretty good reason for that. She was created perfect. Not as a humane being, but as a character. She is a perfect character. We understand her! That's why we love her. Because we understand. And when she lets her feelings free and dares to fantasise about the Vicomte, we too aspire for that fantasy to come true, to apprehend that everlasting love trapped in a smile, that heart-skipping line, that soft, barely noticeable touch. And again, we understood her love for Leon, too, as there is a pure feeling, a real intense struggle that needs gazing and poetry. We understand the despair and the need of poison, the need to give up all the consequences of all the bad decision she took.
Is just... Somehow it's not fair, because we - the readers - were next to her when she took all her decisions (let me be!) and we supported her, we too smiled shyly when she was pacing on forbidden paths - because we too were thrilled by having the courage or the insanity to act that way. So I find it unfair. Full Stop. I find the ending unfair because she dies and I got to learn about the apothecary's affairs... The rightness of my reading experience has to press a red light and to admit that I would have been overexcited if something had happened to me too. If I would have died with her - the end. - or if her death would have driven Charles to be a less mediocre person.
Some people might consider her type of character doomed to an unhappy life. I rather consider her brave for not giving up the desire to live more, to feel more, to love more, be it for her own unhappiness.

Damn hard to write on such a delicate topic in english, I'll quit for now and start again after I've finished reading my one thousand book. Grrr...

Picture from: http://www.toutlecine.com/images/film/0006/00061890-madame-bovary.html

Fragment 2. - Madame Linda

2011-07-20T15:19:00.005+03:00

'Have I ever told you how I ended up living here?'
Madame Linda was in a good mood that morning. Usually she doesn't talk to anybody, not until she has breakfast and tea. She sits there, alone, looking through the window. I can't imagine what she has to stare at, the view hasn't changed for the last fifteen years. Yes, maybe the trees have grown older, thicker and their shade has become darker, but there are still the same trees...
I turned and faced her. 'You haven't.' Then I waited. Would she tell me? Would I have to ask her? She was not looking as if she was thinking of ways to start the story. We all knew that she was not like all of us, just old and sick, we knew there was more to Madame Linda, but no one ever got to hear her story. No one was interested in it, after fifteen years, because no one really believed that she would ever tell it. And then she just hit me with this question. And why would she pick me, from all the people living here? We were not good friends and I was ten years younger than her. Not to mention I was 'in the wrong gang', as Mister Johnson used to say, 'don't befriend the nurses, they are in the opposite gang', he used to say. He is dead now. But that doesn't get me down, as I know that he's in a better place.
'Do you want me to tell you?' madame Linda asked, awaking me from my daydreaming.
'If you wish...'
'I just need you to do me a favour.'
'OK', I said reluctantly, knowing that this favour could be anything, from a sip of cold water to a key to help her escape.
'I need a cigarette', she said quietly, with to much emphasis on 'need'. My eyes widened as her lips, curled upwards, told me that there still was a spoiled child inside Madame Linda, one that wouldn't speak unless she received what she demanded.
'You know that it is against the rules, in here...' I said, standing up.
'I know, I know', she said dismissively, 'now go get me one!'
I walked towards the building. As soon as the wind touched me with its spring fresh breeze, an idea crossed my mind. What if this one little cigarette would get me fired? But a burning red little devil on my shoulder whispered in my ear. 'What if this one little cigarette would make her speak?!' I had to try it...
I reached into my purse and looked for my cigarettes. I took one out and put it into my pocket. Then I rushed back into the garden.
On my way back I bumped into Madame Tania, the householder.
'What's the rush?' she asked me, gazing over her tiny glasses.
'Nothing, I just need some fresh air...'
'You'll get some fresh air when you'll finish your duties. Now, please, if you would be so sweet to check on Mr. Edward, he needs assistance with his aerobic classes.'
'Yes, M-am.'
'Where are you going, the sport hall is in the other side.'
'Oh, he was in the garden just a minute ago. I'll go there first and if he's still out I'll help him to the hall.'
Was it obvious I was lying? Did she just let me go because she didn't want to bother arguing with me? I don't know. I rushed into the garden to find... an empty bench. All the other benches, lining up in a semi circle, had people sitting, but Madame Linda was nowhere to be found. I had to ask around but apparently no one had seen her all morning. That was strange, as I remember seeing the same old people just five minutes ago, while sharing the same bench with Madame Linda. I burst into laughing as I remembered that I actually believed what a bunch of old crazy people were saying to me. I decided to look for Madame Linda, when I saw Madame Tania and two other nurses that I did not know coming in my direction.
'Stay right there, Linda.' Madame Tania almost shouted.
Was she talking to me? I stopped and watch them approaching.
'Hi, Linda. I thought you were going to help...'
'Look, she holds it in her hand', said one of the nurses, pointing towards my cigarette. She snatched it and looked at it closely. 'It's mine, I told you!'
Madame Tania took in a deep breath and looked at me questionably. 'Where did you got this cigarette, Linda?'
'From my purse, in the office.'
'That was my purse!' said the nurse.
'How many time should I say this to you, Linda, patients have no business in the office. Not even the patients who do voluntary work around here...'

picture from: http://www.impactphotos.com/Preview/PreviewPage.aspx?id=1267451&licenseType=RM&from=search&back=1267451&orntn=1

Fragment 1.

2011-07-19T10:50:00.003+03:00

Just for the pleasure (more pain though...) of exercising writing in English, I decided to write whatever crosses my mind, for a number of days. Do forgive my inevitable mistakes, I am still learning this game...

***

I found you standing on the cliff edge, facing the sunrise. I crept closer to you and held your hand. You didn't object in any way, you just stood there, as if my presence couldn't do anything to change your mood or your thoughts. The sun was slowly rising, making you're pale face look colourful. I felt trapped in my own body as the stillness hid some sort of living creature that I had feared. How long did we stay like that? A minute? An hour? A day? I can't remember. I just stood there, frozen in the moment, observing you're expression, as you were wandering around contemplating the infinite.
Then you turned to me. 'Let's go, it's time', you said, and the spell broke. 'We have a warm body waiting in the car.'
'I don't know about it's warmth', I said, trying to cut the strains of that stressful morning, and let it fly free, out of our heads, out of our memories. 'Have you thought what you wanna do with it?'
Oh, your mischievous dark eyes! How you love to trick me into stepping over my sanity line... 'We have to eat it, and we have to eat it all, no proof must remain after our feast'. Something inside me woke up and started screaming. It was me, inside of myself, naked and scared, struggling to discover if that was still love or was it insanity by now? 'Wait', I said, feeling my blood boiling under my skin, 'really, you want us to EAT it?'. You were heading towards the car. You turned your head and let a smile lit your face. 'Unless you are a vegetarian and you don't want to ruin your habits for this silly situation we've created', and you pointed towards the back of the car. 'No, but... It has to be other way. It has to be another way out!'
'I have barbecue sauce...' but you met my silence. 'Do you trust me?' you continued. 'You really chose your moment right here.' But your intense gaze told me that I would need to answer. Oh, how silly was I? 'I do...'
'Then jump in the car and let's dump this garbage in the closest river.'

We drove for half an hour, through some sort of arid lands that I never saw before. 'Where are we?' I asked. 'Not safe, yet.' Then I heard a noise from the back of the car. 'What was that?' You're face shown concern as you pulled the car and took your gun from under my chair. 'Wait here', you said. My heart started pounding faster and an distressing sound echoed in my head. I could not stay in the car. I could not bare the thought that I was not witnessing the last important moment of this... adventure. You opened the trunk and a contorted, bloody body appeared. The pungent odor made my eyes sting. 'Give me a hand, while you're here. Grab his legs and let's dump it here.' I did as required. You nodded you're head and we both lifted the body, then dumped in on the road. 'Now move the car a few steps ahead.' I mechanically took the key from you and started the engine. As the gunshot made my heart skip a beat, I saw you in the mirror, bend over the body, blood spreading all over your clothes and face. 'Now let's go!' I guess I looked terrified as you jumped in you seat and left the body standing there, inert. We drove another half an hour in silence. Neither of us had anything to say. I had a million questions pounding in my head but didn't have the courage to open my mouth. I was not afraid, I was not afraid of you but of what could have happened to us if... 'At leas we did not have to eat it', you said with a crooked smile. 'You were joking, right?' I asked, my eyes still on the empty road.
'Yes.'
'Now, where to?'
'Home.'

***

Antena cu ciori

2011-06-24T11:07:00.004+03:00

Eram la Bacau, acum foarte multi ani. Pe vremea cand incercam sa-mi explic cum functioneaza televiziunea prin cablu. Sigur nu eram singura in casa matusei mele, trebuie sa mai fi fost si alti oameni acolo, insa eu nu mi-i amintesc. Imi amintesc ca televizorul era lasat pe Antena 1 si ca rula un film cu ciori. Sa fi fost chiar filmul cu ciori sau un alt film cu ciori, nici asta nu mai stiu, stiu doar ca imi era frica de ciorile alea malefice care zburau in televizor si printre temerile mele. O frica puternica, se pare, dat fiind ca au trecut zeci de ani de atunci si ca eu inca nu pot uita.
Astazi m-am trezit cu o pofta teribila de Antena. Nu 1, ci 3, Antena 3, pentru ca m-am trezit in multe dimineti cu matinalul lor. Am deschis un life streaming si am privit, pentru mai bine de jumatate de ora, stirile. Fara ciori si fata Bacaul varatic al matusii mele. Insa rucsacul meu burdusit cu amintit nu a mai putut cara atata greutate, asa ca frica aia inghesuita intr-un buzunarel mic s-a imprastiat pe covorul albastru si proaspat aspirat. Ca atunci, m-am intrebat daca oamenii astia chiar exista, daca ei traiesc dincolo de emisiunea pe care o realizeaza.... daca ei realizeaza macar ce fac acolo... 35 de grade, ziceau, si ca romanii trebuie sa se unga cu creme cu proitectie uv chiar daca merg imbracati corespunzator si se protejeaza de soare cu umbrele. Razele uv trec prin tot! Un fel de ciori, ce mai... Cum, sub nicio forma, nimeni nu trebuie sa iasa pe strada intre anumite ore si cum batranii pot muri, daca incearca... Frica. Panica. Teroare. Chiar asa sa se tina poporul asta la foc continuu? Chiar sa se uite ca asa a fost de... de cand ma stiu? Ah, si - fireste - o doamna doctor care a condus intr-o stare avansata de ebrietate si pe care politia competenta nu a reusit sa o dea jos din masina cu care o carau, ca pe un butoi cu vin, la centrul de recoltare. Adica nimic. Nimic, cu iz dramatic. Nimic, cu iz de profesionalism jurnalistic. As putea sa jur ca ieri s-a intamplat si altceva, ceva mai interesant decat ca e vara din nou si ca oamenii consuma alcool. Ciorile dracului...

Alexandrii

2011-06-02T22:53:00.003+03:00

Tudor l-a lasat sa plece. Se mai certasera ei de cateva ori inainte, insa niciodata atat de tare. Plus ca nu s-au certat niciodata de la ceva atat de... feminin. Victor a trantit usa cu putere si a iesit in strada. A cautat prin buzunare pachetul cu tigari, cand, deodata, ceva mic, alb, cale schelalaia jenant, i-a atras atentia. Ar fi putut fi la fel de bine un caine sau o pisica. Sunetele ar fi putut deopotriva fi latraturi sau mieunaturi. Cu privirea la animal, s-a pleznit violent peste zonele unde ar fi putut avea buzunare, cautand in continuare pachetul cu tigari. Apoi si-a amintit. El s-a lasat de fumat de cativa ani buni...
A traversat strada si s-a apropiat de catelul in miniatura, legat de un fier negru, care sprijinea o pancarda publicitara.
'Ce latri, ma balaure, ca o femeie?'
Catelusul l-a privit pentru o clipa, tremurand din tot corpul, apoi a reinceput sa latre. La el. Victor a incercat sa-l ia in brate si sa-l mangaie, fara niciun motiv. Nu i-au placut niciodata animalele prea mult, insa prietenul lui reusise sa ii excite nervii la asa un nivel, incat Victor ar fi incercat orice sa se linisteasca. S-a asezat pe vine si a intins o mana catre ghemotocul de blana.
'Cum te cheama, fiara? A cui esti tu?'
L-a incercat un zambet in timpul in care cuvintele i s-au rostogolit rotunde si s-au pierdut in aerul cald de iunie. Cand era mic, parintii il paraseau cate trei luni la bunici, in vacantele de vara. Pe atunci primea intrebarea asta de zeci de ori, de la toate babele din sat. A lu' Moise...
'A cui esti tu, mami? A cui, iubire? A cui esti tu ma, scumpetea lu' mama!' s-a auzit o voce, din spatele lui. Victor s-a intors si abia a apucat sa-si intinda un zambet pe fata cand Alex i-a bagat mana dreapta, cu unghiile lungi si rosii, sub nas.
'Buna, eu sunt Alex iar tigrul din bratele tale e Alex.'
'Ai acelasi nume cu... ea?'
Alex a inceput sa rada sacadat, strident si zgomotos. 'Nu, prostutule! Eu sunt Alexandra. EL e Alexandru.'
Victor nu s-a putut abtine. 'Ce coincidenta. Si pe mine tot Alexandru ma cheama!'
Alex si-a deschis randurile de gene false intr-un fel de surprindere exagerata, iar Victor a putut sa observe o pereche de ochi albastri, clari, frumosi, sinceri si nu foarte adanci.
'Daca nu ar fi asa un cliseu faptul ca m-am imprietenit cu cainele tau inainte de a te cunoaste, te-as invita la... o cafea?'
Alex l-a luat pe Alex in brate si si-a lipit nasul de nasucul lui mic, negru si umed. 'Ce zici, mami, mergem sa bem o cafea cu baiatul asta dragut? Ha?' Cainele a inceput sa dea din coada, probabil din cu totul alt motiv, iar cei doi cuvantatori au luat-o ca pe un raspuns afirmativ.
Din casa in care locuia impreuna cu Tudor, Victor putea auzi muzica. Pentru o clipa i-a parut rau pentru toate lucrurile urate pe care le-a spus, insa doi prieteni nu trebuie sa se certe niciodata de la o... femeie. E, intr-un mod bizar, o scena atat de nemasculina. Apoi i-a venit ideea. Daca ar invita-o pe Alex la el, la ei, Tudor ar vedea ca Victor nu are niciun interes in prietena lui, si toata povestea asta cu iz de telenovela s-ar opri.
'Alex, e cel putin dubios ceea ce o sa-ti spun, dar... in casa asta, aici, locuiesc eu.'
'De unde se aude muzica asta ingrozitoare?'
'Da. Erm... Vrei sa bem o cafea la mine?'
'Ce zici...' Dar nu a mai avut timp sa-si intrebe guru canin. 'Serios, Alex, lasa catelul in pace. Decide tu de data asta...'
Fara sa spuna nimic, Alex a urcat scarile si a inceput sa sune insistent la usa.
'Ce faci?' a intrebat Victor, luat pe nepregatite.
'Beau o cafea la tine. Adica nu fac asta chiar acum, acum incerc sa intru mai repede in casa si sa opresc muzica asta infernala. Tu?'
'Ma gandeam sa luam ceva vin, inainte.'
Alex l-a privit ca si cum ar fi fost inadmisibil sa nu aiba deja vin in casa cand invita o fata la cafea. 'Du-te tu. Eu o sa rezolv cu muzica, intre timp.' si a continuat sa sune la usa. 'Ok, numai ca... erm... colegul meu de apartament imi spune Victor, i se pare lui ca mi se potriveste. Zic sa stii... ca sa...'
'Am un caine mic si alb, cu care mai vorbesc uneori. Asta nu inseamna ca-s proasta.'
'Foarte!'
'Poftim?' aproape ca a tipat Alex.
'Foarte mic si foarte alb.' a spus Victor, ridicand din sprincene.

to be or not to be continued :D

Elogiu pentru cand n-o sa mai fiu mica

2011-05-04T23:33:00.003+03:00

Am pierdut mult. Atat de mult incat simt ca nu mai am nimic. As fi putut sa am amintiri. Insa n-am.
Zilele trecute incercam sa-mi amintesc ce garderoba aveam in primul an de facultate. Mi-e greu sa cred ca am aveam numai o pereche de pantaloni (cam excentrici), o bluza alba de matase si o batista mov, legata cu ate la spate, cu care imi acopeream nurii tineresti.

Am pierdut carti. Nici nu indraznesc sa aduc asta in discutie, in fatza maica-mi, dintr-un motiv cat se poate de terestru. M-ar arunca pe Saturn. Cartile tineretii ei. Cartile copilariei mele. Cartile pe care dintr-o vanitate idioata am considerat ca trebuie sa le am cu mine in Bucuresti.

Am pierdut plapuma cusuta de bunica. Ma intreaba daca o mai am. 'O am'. N-o am. L-am visat pe Bubu, tragand dintr-o tigara, in usa casei. Bunicul meu sunt eu. A recunoscut-o si el - nu bunicul - inainte de a-mi aminti, pentru a mia oara ca 'nu uita si nu iarta'. M-am trezit cu o dorinta arzatoare sa plang. Nu m-am prins din prima. Am mai stat o vreme in pat si m-am uitat la lustra. Apoi m-a lovit. Bubu a murit.

Am pierdut prieteni. Multi si dragi. Din mandrie (si prejudecata). Si, odata cu ei, amintirile mele, pe care le pazeau. Le-or pazi, poate, si acum, dar pentru ce? Si cu ce rost?

Am pierdut timp. Si voi mai pierde. Gandindu-ma la cartile mele, plapuma mea, prietenii mei si timpul pe care l-am pierdut.

N-am castigat nimic. Si-incep sa inteleg. Pentru ca totul, exact de cand incepe, incepe sa se piarda.

Grey

2011-03-30T01:41:00.005+03:00

I decided not to leave. I decided to stay. And make his life a living hell. A hell to live in his afterlife. I can. I know I can. Don’t take it the wrong way. I am not a bad person. But he made me scratch my skin off and let him drop tears of fire on my flash. I don’t like what I just wrote. It sounds very… not me. I’m a cheerful person. I am a cheerful killer. I kill tomorrow every day.
He will have a nice juicy steak for dinner. Black. Black coffee. I don’t understand why he always has coffee with his dinner. He sleeps like a pig anyway. Black. Black pepper. He hates it. I don’t care. I always use black pepper in his dinner. Only in his. It’s fun. Black. White powder. For him and his short life.
I can hear his car. He is home. My love is home, I’m so happy! Let me put my smile on. Ok. Great. You came. My beautiful lover. How was your day, baby? Grey? Such a pity. I have some black coffee ready for you. And a kiss. Do you want a kiss? You don’t. Why not? You had a fucking hard day? Oh. Have some coffee then. Black. For your grey day. I’ll be in the kitchen mixing the powder. Sorry? You didn’t understand? It’s ok. It’s going to be ok. Tomorrow.
He shouts from the dinner table. Too much salt on the stake. It’s not too much. He never drinks water during daytime. I deliberately put more salt. White. He should stop shouting. He gets on my nerves. I will kill him. Nobody believes me but I will. Mixing white with black. Grey.
He should have some dessert. This will calm him down for a life or two.

P(utere)A(lui)C(are)T(ace)

2011-03-15T05:13:00.004+02:00

Am uitat cine sunt. Fumez. Nu mai fumez. Nu imi pasa. Apoi ma doboara o dorinta de a-mi imbratisa oamenii. Imi pasa. Sunt desavarsita cand scriu. Pacat. Nu stiu sa scriu. Sunt frumoasa. Nu sunt, atat timp cat nu mi se spune. Des. In fiecare zi. Sunt proasta. De destepti e plina lumea. Lumea. Eu inca ma lupt cu notiunea de tara. Ce stiu eu de lume? Nu stiu.
Ce stiu?
D. Cumva cea mai semnificativa litera din alfabet. Dumnezeu, poate. Dar eu nu cu dumne... Dracu se scrie cu d mic. Degeaba. Dinamita. Da-o ma-n... Da-o! Ca e tot cu d.
E. Ecluza ma trimite mereu cu gandu la Zale. Era o vreme cand emanam altceva. Existam altcumva. Elefantul a disparut. De atunci il iubesc pe Murakami.
P. Mircea Badea este un pamflet. Nu el. Asa vine. Putere. Putoare. Punere in scena. Scena puterii pute. Este pentru prima data cand scriu cuvantul asta. Partz.
R. Tara mea. Rabdare. Razbunarea e arma prostului. Vreau sa fiu proasta. Nu mi-a iesit sa fiu desteapta. Dar nici nu pot sa ma razbun. Ca o gaina. Cu aripi dar fara functionalitate in sensul tuturor drumurilor care duc la Roma... Romania.
E. Din nou. Nimic mai mult. Nimic mai putin. Doar. Emilia.
S. Saru-mana soare pentru samanta semanata pe sexul lui. Ha. Serpuite curg apele de pe Muntele Negru pana in fata blocului la mine. Intre Micro 21 si Micro 19 e doar o strada. Siret.
I. Bre! Iubirea e invechita. D-aia nu ne mai plac magazinele de fitze. Vrem la second. Azi mi-am luat o geanta la cinci lire. Dintr-unu'. Iubire n-aveau acolo.
E. Eram in clasa a doua cand am inceput sa invat engleza. Am cautat o dupa-amiaza intreaga intelesul lui 'the'. Cu mama. Nu l-am gasit. Asa ca, daca nu-l stiu, nu exista. Daca nu exista, nu doare. Daca nu doare, poola mea, aia e. Uneori imi amintesc. E. N. D.

Fara martisor anu' asta (ba se pare ca 'CU')

2011-03-01T05:01:00.005+02:00

La Londra nu sunt martisoare. Nici martisori. Nici ghiocei la metrou. Nici 8 martie. Nu m-am hiper-incalzit niciodata la gandul ca vine martie, cu inceputul de primavara rece si imbulzeala sacaitoare la cateva guri de metrou (masuta langa masuta, hippie langa tiganci, martisoare manufacturate langa masinute din lemn, flori artificiale, buburuze colorate si restul tampeniilor care se vand pe la noi) insa nu inteleg cum sa nu le ai si aici... (Curios cum nu iti place ceva dar te trezesti ca ii simti lipsa).
Am vazut abtipilduri la metrou, cum ca poti vorbi cu un p pe minut in cateva tari (cu numarul cel mai mare de indivizi exportati, printre care Nigeria, Polonia, Romania si inca cateva locuri teribile) asa ca, dat fiind numarul mare de NOI, nici nu mi-am pus problema sa nu primesc un martisor anu' asta. Eh, voila, ma uita la telefon si ma gandesc ca intr-o saptamana e ziua (de femeie, nu de nume sau de-adevaratelea) mamei mele si eu n-am de unde sa ii cumpar un cadou corespunzator ocaziei.
Si in timp ce scriu asta, ochii imi fug pe folia mea de Amoxicilina. :))) Nu cred! ALB cu ROSU. :)) aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! :)) Nimic nu e intamplator!!! Pana si infectiile la ureche se intampla cu un scop, iar scopul - de data asta - a fost sa-mi aminteasca ca martisorul exista, oriunde m-as duce eu. Cat de tare!...

2011-03-01T04:31:00.001+02:00

They are both here, looking at each other. She moves one hand. She moves one hand too. She smiles. She smiles too. She looks deep in the other’s eyes. The other does the same. They are two but each of them feels so alone, like playing a game of chess all by yourself. It can be fun for a while but afterwards you get sick of the predictability and you move your chair next to the window. At least watching people passing by your window is not something you can control. They just pass. You can observe them, but you can’t do anything. If you think of doing something to one of them, well, you can, but again, what about the rest?
And then the rain starts tapping on the window. You can let yourself win or you can beat yourself in a game of chess but you can’t do shit when rain starts tapping, except for feeling miserable. Such a wonderful feeling, isn’t it? And you’re no longer God; you’re not even a saint or something. You’re nothing else but another... monkey, as the other monkeys say on a YouTube video.
Then you wonder if you did it wrong; if you should do it right? Or quit? Should you quit? What about your queen, so close to your other-self’s king. Should the queen attach? Should my uncle have given me a break when I was a little ugly girl? Should I ever tell him I have chess nightmares ever since? Should I fucking stop asking myself all these questions and go to bed? Too bad...
I guess I should...

Right...

2011-02-11T02:18:00.003+02:00

'Ok, I'm done asking myself all sort of questions. I have to make a decision. It just have to be yes or no.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Don't pretend you don't know... I'm talking about the subject we're been avoiding for the last... what was it? the last year?'
'Now you've really lost me!'
'Of course I have. I always do! I lost you before actually saying ok, right?'
'What?'
'What is your problem?'
'No. No way! This is my question to ask. What is your problem?'
'Us.'
'I didn't think we had a problem. But again, who am I to think...'
'Exactly!'
'Exactly? What is that suppose to mean?'
'That you don't take any responsibilities regarding this thing we have. That you don't play any role in this cheap movie we're in.'
'But nothing's changed. I've been like this since forever...'
'True! But I'm not ok with it any more.'
'Well, that's not my problem, is it?'
'It will be as soon as I'm gonna say what I want to say.'
'So you have something to tell me.'
'Only if you want to listen. I don't wanna make you do anything.'
'But that's you, that's what you do! You always make me do things.'
'Not any more!'
'Why?'
'Because I decided to change.'
'Right. Can I ask what made you take this decision?'
'No.'
'Right. Are you going to tell me without me asking?'
'No.'
'Right. It seems to me that we just reached a critical situation here. Have you decided upon the next step, since I still haven't got the slightest idea what's going on?'
'No.'
'Right. So, wanna watch a movie?'
'No.'
'We have Star Wars!'
'Do we?'
'Yes, we do!'
'Fine.'
'Great!'
'But after that, I'm dumping you.'

This is going to be a blog in english language

2011-01-26T23:36:00.003+02:00

Asa mi-a strafulgerat acum cateva zile, cand mi-am dat seama ca toate 'tampeniile' pe care colegii mei le-au scris, le pot (cu usurinta) aduce la scoala si posta ca 'work'. Eu nu, pentru ca tampeniile mele sunt scrise intr-o limba pe care profesoara s-ar putea sa nu o inteleaga... Ca sa nu mai zic ca's singura persoana din clasa pentru care engleza nu e prima limba. I.E.I.
Dar apoi, cum sa scriu 'strafulgera' in engleza?
Sunt eu frustrata sau ce?
Oricum, mi-am propus asta. Asa ca, daca o sa-mi iasa (desi am gradul meu ridicat de indoiala) va deveni un blog destul de idiot, arid si bajbait, cel putin pentru urmatorul an. Dupa care, poate...

Anyway, o sa incep cu experienta de la primul curs. Iar acum, gandul ca tre' sa scriu in engleza m-a transpirat. Again. Se pare ca nu sunt inca decisa daca sunt pregatita sa fac masterul asta sau nu. Putin cam tarziu, trebuie sa recunosc, dupa ce mi-am platit taxa si am primit cardul de student (cu o poza destul de dubioasa). Here we go!

As everything starts on Monday, this Monday I had my first class. And as I still don't know the deal with trains between London and Cambridge, but I have to make this trip twice a week, I've arrived in Cambridge way too early. I bought a coffee, visited my favourite shops around, but I still had enough time left to spend. So I went to the university cafeteria, looking for a free hidden table, to sit and read some more. I kinda have a lotta books to read... The place was crowded, but I managed to see a table almost empty. Well, almost, as there was this guy reading the same book I had in my purse. It was Sam, one of my colleagues, one of the first two colleagues I met in the opening day. I said 'hi' and joined him. We sit there reading the same book, without actually talking for about 45 minutes, till our class started.
Novel.

The room was a small but nice one and me and Sam were the last two to arrive. I looked around and saw all kind of faces, friendly most of all, gathered around our beautiful genuine teacher, Laura.
I never felt more relaxed and less in school. The two-hour class was more of a talk. I didn't write more than three lines in my new notebook, but I found a bunch of people having the same thoughts, ideas, frustration, eager and believes as I do. That was the first time to experience something close to what could have been a meeting with future writers and it made me feel that I - somehow - belong.
The main discussion was about what is a novel and how can u tell a novel from anything else. Of course, the talk went on and on on different topics, the opinion each of us had was different but somehow reached to the others's somewhere on the path. Two hours flew in an instant and that made me believe that I made the right decision choosing a master in creative writing and not in drama.
Now I'm searching in all hidden little corners of my brain for the plot for my first novel, and though I have some ideas, I still didn't decide the subject of my freaking (or should I say bloody) first book. But I certainly know is going to be the first and not the only. That for sure.

Hm, well, I didn't have to use the dictionary to write this tiny thoughts in my mind, but again, don't we all know they have no salt and pepper?
It doesn't matter, I don't really expect for anyone to read it, as I wouldn't, but if anyone does, just bear with me, it will get better. :D

The Room

2011-01-05T16:25:00.001+02:00

This is not the future. This certainly is not the past. This is not about time. Time doesn’t exist. Time hasn’t existed since all this started. You would think this is the immediate moment after time stopped. But time never existed. Time has always been a toy invented by humans to be able to relate themselves to something.
Have you ever thought of that? What would you relate to if there were no time? Would you relate yourself to your achievements maybe; or to the number of memories that you have? What about if you have a really bad memory and you can’t memorise the best moment of your life?
What about if there is no time and you (just) are a soul wandering around trying to figure out for yourself what is your past, your future and when does present starts and when does it end?
What about normality? What would normality be, if there is no time? I’m just wandering, because there was a time when killing was a normal thing. And there was a time when slavery was as normal as cell phones were in another time? What about if time wouldn’t exist, what would be normal in that case?
She was waiting for a sign from God or something. She was waiting in this empty room, eating her nails, her fingers and her hands, since... since forever. She was a kid when she entered this room. She can remember precisely. She was ten. She and her sister were playing a game in the basement. One of those games where you have to hide and the other has to find you. She was wearing the same clothes as today, only her hands were small and the skin was white. Now she has no hands, she ate them in time. And her hair wasn’t gray. She used to have dark hair. She had dark hair when she entered the room. She still had dark hair when she realised there was no way out. She still had dark hair when she started to forget her sister’s looks, or if that, their game, was just a dream.
She tried being logical.
‘Where am I? How did I get in here? Let’s take it step by step. It was after lunch. Mother was doing something in the kitchen and she allowed us to play. We wanted to play outside but it was a rainy day. So my sister came up with this idea, to go in the basement, because there was plenty if room for us to play in there. Mother said we could do that, I remember her annoyed figure, she would have allowed us to play in a cemetery, just to let her do her things. If only I could remember her things... Oh, but I do remember her clothes. She was wearing black, a wonderful black silky dress and a hat. Now that I think of it, mother never used to wear a hat in the house. Maybe it was a special day. She wasn’t upset, no, just annoyed. And I don’t remember seeing my father that day. Now I can think that he was dead. Or maybe he just wasn’t at home.’
You had that feeling when you just look at your life and you think this is the end of it. And after two months you smile thinking what a foolish thought you had. Or when you were a teenager and you had interminable fights with your parents, trying to convince them that you love that person. But there was never love. This is what time does to feelings; it amplifies them, to make you believe you live something extraordinary. But you don’t. Nobody has a wonderful life. Nobody knows what wonderful is. Nobody really lives, because everybody is too keen on living. So maybe her father was dead that day, and nobody told her. Why should they? Is not like that would make your life better or worse... no. That would just bring up some strange anxious feelings, nothing else. Knowledge... Knowledge, why have it?
‘My sister put the light on in the basement and I can remember the smell... the smell of time standing still. I thought that if I would breathe I would inhale it all. HIDE AND SEEK – that was the name of the game, I’m sure of it because I remember. My sister told me I wasn’t, but there was no time left in the room. No spare time for me... Can I blame my sister, please, can I? I’m not angry because I have no idea what had happened but sometimes I wish I could just see the bad guy in this picture.’
When a child is killed in a car crash parents need justice to be done and the murderer to be punished. But time? How can you blame time or the lack of it? What about if you are the victim and you have no one to blame? How would that sort it?
She looked at her shoulders and then she looked at the empty space where her hands used to be. What is space if there is no time? Her hands used to be there in the past. And now there are not there anymore. She ate them. That does tell that there was a past. And her memories tell the same thing. So, will there be a future? She looked at her legs. She touched one leg with the other. Her legs existed then, in that time. Was that a sad thing?
‘If I will start eating my legs in the future and then my legs wouldn’t exist, would time pass? I guess it would! Would that make a difference to me or to anyone else?’
Then, out of nowhere, she heard a sound. Like an old woman choking with some dry cookie. She was so afraid to look back that she didn’t. She started looking at her right leg with hunger. Not that hunger that you would imagine, no, a hunger of knowledge.
‘Can I have a glass of water?’ the voice of the old woman said.
Was she there? Was she there all along and she never thought to turn? It couldn’t have been; she looked in every corner of this room, years ago, when she still had hoped she could escape time.
‘So, can I?’
She turned. It was no one there except her, the black and the time.
‘Stupid girl, you’re just going to let me die here, aren’t u?’
‘But I don’t see you...’
‘Of course you don’t! You would need a pair of eyes to do that, wouldn’t u?’
‘So you are here?’
‘Ever since...’
‘Ever since... what?’
‘I had been here ever since you entered this bloody room. Now stop being a silly girl and bring me a glass of water!’
‘OK!’
‘Hurry up; I don’t have all the time in the world.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘How do you do what?’
‘Bring you a glass of water...’
‘I have no idea. How did you do everything else in here?’
‘I know it’s dark and you can’t see but I have no hands, I couldn’t possibly bring you anything.’
‘Then you’re useless.’
‘Sorry?’
Silence makes time stop. Silence makes time start again. Silence is time, in a world where time doesn’t exist.
‘Hey, are you still here? Well? Now I’m going crazy, I’ve started hearing voices. And it wasn’t even a voice I could remember. So it wasn’t a voice from my past. Maybe it was a voice from the future? That means there will be a voice. That’s great news! That’s first page news!

Hear the Wind Sing - Haruki Murakami

2011-01-04T17:56:00.007+02:00

His first novel, written in one hour, when he was 29, (1979). The novel's success made him continue with several more, turning them into the 'Trilogy of the Rat'.

Quotes
"The task of writing consists primarily in recognizing the distance between oneself and the things around one. It is not sensitivity one needs, but a yardstick."

"To those of gloomy spirit come only gloomy dreams."

"Hey, don't worry about it. You can buy another car, but you can't buy Lady
Luck."

"When people are dead, you can forgive them 'most anything."

"Left to his own devices, a guy will sleep with women and
die anyway. That's the nature of the animal."

Caryl Churchill - A NUMBER

2011-01-02T06:25:00.002+02:00

Piesa 'A Number' este una dintre lucrarile din lista pentru master. Pentru ca am descoperit un punct de vedere inedit, pentru ca am citit-o dintr-o rasuflate si pentru ca mi-am imaginat-o, incredibil de frumos, pusa in scena, m-am gandit sa o traduc. Poate ca este doar multe munca inutila, insa pe mine ma ajuta sa o inteleg mai bine, iar pe cei care doresc sa o citeasca dar care se poticnesc in scriitura in engleza, cred ca e o varianta...
Scrisa cu putine semne de punctuatie, o sa incerc (pe cat posibil) sa mentin linia autoarei.
Here it is!

Caryl Churchill - A Number

SALTER, un barbat in jur de saizeci de ani
BERNARD, fiul lui, patruzeci
BERNARD, fiul lui, treizeci si cinci
MICHAEL BLACK, fiul lui, treizeci si cinci

Piesa in doua personaje. Unul dintre personaje il loaca pe Salter, celalalt joaca fiii.
Decorul este acelasi, locuinta lui Salter.

1
SALTER, un barbat in jur de saizeci de ani, si fiul sau, BERNARD (B2) treizeci si cinci de ani.
B2: Un numar
SALTER: vrei sa spui
B2: sunt un numar de, suntem un numar considerabil de
SALTER: spune
B2: zece, douazeci
SALTER: nu ai intrebat?
B2: mi s-a parut ca
SALTER: de ce nu ai intrebat?
B2: nu m-am gandit sa intreb.
SALTER: nu pot sa-mi imginez de ce nu, mi se pare ca ar fi trebuit sa fie primul lucru pe care ai fi vrut sa-l stii, cat de departe a mers treaba asta, cate lucruri de genul asta sunt?
B2: Bine, deci daca ti se intampla tie vreodata
SALTER: nu, ai dreptate
B2: nu, a fost o prostie in partea mea, a fost un soc, am stiut cu o saptamana inainte de a ma duce la spital dar, totusi, a fost
SALTER: este... sunt... ceea ce este intr-adevar socant este ca exista acesti, nu atat de multi, dar
B2: fie chiar si unu
SALTER: exact, chiar si unu, un geaman ar fi un soc
B2: un geaman ar fi o surpriza, dar un numar de
SALTER: un numar, orice numar este un soc
B2: tu i-ai numit lucruri, aceste lucruri
SALTER: am spus?
B2: i-ai numit lucruri. Cred ca vom realiza amandoi ca sunt oameni.
SALTER: Da, bineinteles ca sunt, sunt, bineinteles.
B2: Pentru ca eu sunt unu.
SALTER: Nu.
B2: Ba da. De ce nu? Da.
SALTER: Pentru ca sunt copii
B2: copii? Nu sunt
SALTER: Copii ale tale, pe care un om de stiinta nebun, in mod ilegal
B2: cum stii asta?
SALTER: nu stiu, dar
B2: dar, daca altcineva este acela, primul, cel adevarat, iar eu sunt?
SALTER: nu, pentru ca
B2: nu spun ca nu sunt real, de aceea si spun ca ei nu sunt lucruri, sa nu-i numesti
SALTER: stai, pentru ca sunt tatal tau.
B2: Stii asta?
SALTER: Bineinteles.
B2: a fost o nastere normala, cu tot ce include?
SALTER: crezi ca nu as sti daca nu as fi tatal tau?
B2: Ba da, bineinteles, dar... pentru o clipa... am fost acolo, dar totusi sunt toti oameni, ca gemenii, ca tripletii
SALTER: da, imi pare rau
B2: se intampla sa avem gene identice, sa fim genetic identici
SALTER: imi pare rau ca i-am numit lucruri, nu am vrut sa spun nimic cu asta, este
B2: nu, lasa, nu-i nimic, e
SALTER: pentru ca, bineinteles, pentru mine tu esti
B2: da, stiu ce vrei sa spui, eu doar... pentru ca, bineinteles ca si eu vreau ca ei sa fie lucruri, cred ca sunt lucruri, nu cred ca, bineinteles, cred ca sunt ei la fel cum eu sunt eu. Nu stiu ce cred, ma simt ingrozitor.
SALTER: Ma intreb daca-i putem da in judecata.
B2: Sa-i dam in judecata? pe cine?
SALTER: Pe ei, oricare ar fi ei cei care au facut asta. Cu cine te-ai intalnit?
B2: Un oarecare tanar, mai tanar decat mine.
SALTER: Deci cine a facut-o?
B2: E mort, era batran si... i-au gasit insemnarile si au descoperit
SALTER: dam spitalul in judecata.
B2: Poate. Poate ca vom putea.
SALTER: Pentru ca ti-au luat celulele
B2: dar cand? cum sa fi facut asta?
SALTER: poate cand te-ai nascut sau poate ca mai tarziu... ti-ai rupt piciorul cand aveai doi ani si ai fost in spital... niste par sau putin din pielea ta
B2: dar nu mi-au facut niciun rau
SALTER: dar esti tu, este o parte din tine, valoarea
B2: valoarea acelor oameni
SALTER: da
B2: si care este valoarea
SALTER: acum vorbim, insa cine stie, nepretuita, pentru ca ei apartin
B2: nu
SALTER: iti apartin tie, ar trebui sa-ti apartina tie, sunt facuti din tine
B2: ar trebui
SALTER: au fost furati din tine si tu ar trebui sa ai niste drepturi
B2: dar este
SALTER: ce? este vorba de bani? este ceva pe care sa poti pune un pret? spune un pret.
B2: Nu e asta
SALTER: spune
B2: sa presupunem ca fiecare persoana ar valora zece mii de lire
SALTER: o suta
B2: o suta de mii?
SALTER: ei au creat persoane din tine
B2: inmultit cu numarul persoanelor
SALTER: pe care nu il stim
B2: dar numarul este destul de mare, sa spunem oricum zece
SALTER: un milion este pe putin cat ar trebui sa iei, cred ca ar trebui sa valoreze jumatate de milion fiecare persoana, pentru ceea ce au facut, ti-au deteriorat unicitatea, ti-au slabit identitatea, asa ca vorbim de cinci milioane, pentru inceput.
B2: Poate.
SALTER: Da, pentru ca... cum au indraznit?
B2: Trebuie sa fim capabili sa dovedim
SALTER: dovedim ca tu esti, din punct de vedere genetic, fiul meu, genetic si apoi
B2: pentru ca nu este nicio indoiala?
SALTER: absolut nicio indoiala. Banuiesc ca nu ai vazut unul, nu?
B2: Un ce? unul dintre ei?
SALTER: unul dintre acesti oameni
B2: nu, cred ca ne-ar tine separati, nu? ca sa nu stricam, adica sa nu contaminam locul faptei, sa nu spun celorlati ca am cosmaruri, daca stau sa ma gandesc eu am cosmaruri, dar as fi spus ca nu am daca m-ar fi intrebar unul dintre ei
SALTER: pentru ca trebuie sa afle
B2: cat de asemanatori suntem, nu doar cat de inalti suntem sau daca avem astm, ci mai degraba chestii precum cum se numeste cainele tau sau de ce ti-ai parasit sotia... nici macar nu stii raspunsurile la intrebarile astea.
SALTER: Deci nu ai descoperit dintr-o data
B2: ce? sa ma vad dintr-o data aparand de dupa un colt?
SALTER: pentru ca asta ar fi putut sa fie
B2: ca si cum te-ai vedea pe camera de supraveghere, intr-un magazin, sau te-ai auzi pe inregistrarea robotului telefonic, si ai crede, Doamne asa sunt eu
SALTER: dar mai mult decat atat, ar fi, ar fi
B2: nu se spune ca ai murit daca te-ai intalnit cu tine insuti?
SALTER: daca dai nas in nas cu tine insuti, ai putea avea un atac de cord. Pentru ca, daca eu sunt acolo, cine sunt eu?
B2: Da, dar nu sunt eu acolo
SALTER: nu, stiu
B2: e ca si cum ai avea un geaman, asta e tot, doar ca
SALTER: stiu ce spui.
B2: Cred ca as vrea sa ma intalnesc cu unul dintre ei. Este inedit, nu-i asa, si asta te face parte din stiinta. Nu mi-ar fi teama sa ma intalnesc nici cu mai multi.
SALTER: Nu stiu.
B2: Ei toti sunt fii tai.
SALTER: Nu vreau un numar de fii, multumesc, tu imi esti de ajuns, sunt ok cu tine.
B2: Poate ca, dupa ce descopera totul, ne vor lasa sa ne intalnim. Poate ca vor organiza o petrecere pentru noi, am putea sa
SALTER: Nu o sa beau cu doctorii aia. Dar poate ca ai dreptate, ai dreptate, sa privesti parea buna a lucrurilor.
B2: Este totusi ceva
SALTER: ce este?
B2: un lucru care ma nedumereste
SALTER: ce este?
B2: Am avut impresia, si stiu ca as putea sa gresesc, pentru ca poate am fost in stare de soc, dar am avut impresia ca vorbeau despre acest lot si ca noi toti eram in el. Eu eram in el.
SALTER: Nu, pentru ca tu esti fiul meu.
B2: Nu, dar eram cu totii
SALTER: deja ti-am explicat
B2: Dar nu am fost totalmente deschis cu tine, pentru ca sunt confuz, pentru ca este un soc, dar vreau sa stiu ce s-a intamplat
SALTER: au furat
B2: Nu, dar ce s-a intamplat
SALTER: Nu stiu...
B2: pentru ca mi-au spus ca nici unul dintre noi nu este originalul
SALTER: Au spus ei asta?
B2: cred ca da
SALTER: cred ca gresesti, pentru ca esti confuz
B2: crezi
SALTER: trebuie sa vorbesti cu ei din nou
B2: o sa fac asta. Dar cred ca asta au vrut sa spuna
SALTER: nu e, ceea ce ei au vrut sa spuna este
B2: ok. Dar asta e impresia mea, ca nici unul dintre noi nu este cel original.
SALTER: atunci cine? Ei stiu?
B2: nu vor sa spuna, ei spun doar ca noi toti
SALTER: nu vor sa spuna?
B2: atunci daca sunt fiul tau, cel original, atunci as fi tot fiul tau, deci e absurd sa
SALTER: ce vrei sa spui?
B2: asa ca, te rog, daca nu esti tatal meu, este in regula. Daca nu ai putut avea copii sau daca, poate, mama... daca m-ai facut in vitro sau nu stiu ce ai facut, cred ca ar trebui sa-mi spui.
SALTER: Da, asta a fost.
B2: este in regula.
SALTER: Da stiu
B2: Multumesc ca mi-ai spus.
SALTER: Da
B2: E mai bine sa stiu.
SALTER: Da
B2: Asa ca, nu fi suparat.
SALTER: Nu
B2: Cu toate ca
SALTER: Asa.
B2: Sunt in regula cu asta. Nu sunt chiar sigur cu ce sunt in regula. Era vorba de alta persoana, originalul, un copil sau ceva de genul asta, si un numar de noi, facuti cumva, si tu ai fost unul dintre cei care a cerut asta, ceva de genul asta.
SALTER: Nu a fost
B2: nu iti face griji
SALTER: pentru ca, vezi tu, asta nu este ceea ce s-a intamplat. Eu sunt tatal tau, s-a realizat intr-un mod artificial, ceva stiintific, dar gednetic sunt.
B2: Asta e nemaipomenit.
SALTER: Da.
B2: Deci stiu adevarul si tu esti, cu toate astea, tatal meu si asta e in regula.
SALTER: Da.
B2: Si atunci, ce este cu acest original. Nu prea, nu inte..
SALTER: A fost cineva.
B2: A fost... ce fel de cineva?
SALTER: A fost un fiu.
B2: Un fiu, al tau?
SALTER: Da.
B2: Pai si cand a fost asta?
SALTER: Asta s-a intamplat cu ceva timp inainte.
B2: Cu ceva timp inainte ca eu sa ma nasc, a fost
SALTER: un alt fiu, da, primul
B2: care ce, care a murit?
SALTER: care a murit, da
B2: si ai vrut sa-l inlocuiesti
SALTER: am vrut
B2: in loc sa faci alt copil, ai vrut
SALTER: pentru ca si mama ta era moarta
B2: dar a murit cand m-am nascut eu, credeam ca
SALTER: iti spun ce s-a intamplat.
B2: Deci, ce s-a intamplat?
SALTER: Au fost omorati intr-un accident de masina si
B2: Mama mea si acest
SALTER: accident de masina
B2: cand s-a intamplat asta? cati ani avea copilul, era
SALTER: patru, avea patru ani
B2: si l-ai vrut inapoi
SALTER: da
B2: deci eu sunt el, din nou
SALTER: Nu, tu esti tu, pentru ca asta esti, dar am vrut unul care sa fie la fel, pentru ca asta mi s-a parut mie perfect
B2: dar un alt copil ar fi putut fi mai bun
SALTER: nu, am vrut la fel
B2: dar eu nu sunt el
SALTER: nu, insa esti exact asa cum as fi vrut
B2: dar as fi putut sa fiu o alta persoana, nu ca el
SALTER: cum sa fii? daca as fi avut un alt copil, acela nu ar fi fost tu, nu-i asa? Tu esti acesta.
B2: Nu sunt decat o copie. Nu sunt cel real.
SALTER: Esti singurul.
B2: Ce vrei sa spui cu singurul, mai sunt toti ceilalti, sunt
SALTER: dar nu am stiu asta, asta nu facea parte din intelegere. Ei ar fi trebuit sa faca unul ca tine, nu un numar de persoane, au furat asta, o sa ne ocupam de asta, asta e ceva de care avocatii se vor ocupa. Dar tu esti ceea ce eu am vrut, tu esti acela.
B2: M-ai botezat la fel ca pe el?
SALTER: Face situatia mai grava?
B2: Probabil.

2
SALTER si celalalt fiu al sau, BERNARD (B1), patruzeci de ani.
SALTER: Deci, au furat - nu ma privi - ti-au furat materialul genetic si
B1: nu
SALTER: Ei sunt cei pe care vrei sa-i
B1: nu
SALTER: pentru ca zece, douazeci, douazeci de copii ale tale merg pe strazile astea
B1: Lasa-ma sa te privesc.
SALTER: M-ai tot privit
B1: lasa-ma sa te privesc.
SALTER: Sunt putin mai batran.
B1: Nu, pentru ca tatal tau nu e tanar cand esti mic, este... nu are nicio varsta, este mai mult ca o putere. Este o putere intunecata, intunecata, de aceea inima mea... oamenii platesc instructori sa le faca inima sa pulseze cu intensitatea asta, dar este pentru ca tot corpul meu te recunoaste sau pentru ca mi s-a spus? Pentru ca, daca te-as fi vazut pe strada, nu cred ca m-as fi oprit sa strig Tata. Dar tu m-ai fi recunoscut, nu? Asta numai in cazul in care nu ai fi crezut ca sunt unul dintre ei.
SALTER: A trecut mult timp.
B1: Putem sa vorbim despre ce ai facut?
SALTER: Da, bineinteles. Nu sunt sigur ce, unde...
B1: despre tine care m-ai abandonat si care ai facut acest alt copil, dintr-o bucatica din corpul meu, acest
SALTER: nu te-am ranit
B1: ce bucatica?
SALTER: nu stiu ce
B1: nu o bucata, sigur ca nu au luat o bucata, ca in cazul stelei de mare, care sa creasca la loc
SALTER: o farama
B1: sau jumatate din mine, taiata, cum ai face cu un vierme, din care sa creasca alt vierme
SALTER: cateva celule, o farama, o farama
B1: o farama, da, pentru ca vorbim de lumea aia microscopica, de celule si globule uriase
SALTER: asta e tot
B1: si... ei au luat aceasta farama, fara nicio durere, aceste celule din mine, si le-au insusit, iar tu ai aruncat restu
SALTER: nu
B1: si ai facut unul nou
SALTER: nu
B1: da
SALTER: da
B1: da
SALTER: da, bineinteles, pentru ca stii ca asta am facut, nu incerc sa neg, am crezut ca este cel mai bun lucru pe care il pot face, parea genial, singurul lucru
B1: genial?
SALTER: parea
B1: sa ma arunci
SALTER: nu, era perfect. Era cel mai bun lucru pe care puteam sa-l fac, nu eram prea, eram, eram mereu... si... sunt imagini incetosate, ca sa fiu sincer, dar a fost, iti spun sincer, cel mai bun lucru
B1: si aceste copii, care s-au nascut din mine, procedura a fost un succes?
SALTER: au fost si esecuri, bineinteles, inevitabil
B1: morti
SALTER: in vasele, in tuburile cu care s-a facut experimentul, mi s-a spus ca nu au supravietuit toti
B1: dar rezultatul a fost unul satisfacator
SALTER: da, dar m-au mintit, pentru ca nu mi-au spus
B1: intr-un leagan
SALTER: toti ceilalti, au furat
B1: si arata exact ca mine, nu-i asa? diferente imperceptibile
SALTER: da
B1: deci a iesit foarte bine. Si acest fiu traieste si respira?
SALTER: da
B1: vorbeste si fute? mananca si merge? inoata si viseaza? si exista undeva chiar in clipa asta, nu-i asa? exista acum?
SALTER: da
B1: inca exista
SALTER: da, bineinteles
B1: fericit?
SALTER: pai, destul de, ai putea spune ca
B1: la fel de fericit ca majoritatea oamenilor?
SALTER: da, cred ca
B1: pentru ca majoritatea oamenenilor sunt fericiti, am citit intr-un ziar. A costat mult?
SALTER: procedura? sa-l fac?
B1: copilul
SALTER: da
B1: Eram bogati?
SALTER: Nu bogati.
B1: Nu, nu-mi amintesc nimic care sa ma trimita cu gandul la bogatie. Mult praf sub pat, gramezi de mizerie care se formeaza, nu-i asa? daca privesti, daca te uiti acolo, dedesupt, si daca te intinzi printre ele
SALTER: Nu, nu eram. Dar m-am descurcat. Am cheltuit mai putin.
B1: Ai facut un efort.
SALTER: Am facut, si pentru banii aia te-ai gandi ca as primi exclusivitate
B1: Te-au furat
SALTER: pentru ca unul, unul singur era intelegerea, dar ei
B1: la ce te-ai fi asteptat?
SALTER: si pe tine te-au furat, pe tine te-au furat defapt, doar pentru a face nu stiu ce experiment stiintific, nu stiu ce cercetare, ai astm? ai un caine? cum se spune, ai?
B1: Cine credeai ca e, la usa? Credeai ca este unul dintre ceilalti? sau fiul tau? sau?
SALTER: nu ii cunosc pe ceilalti
B1: il stii pe fiul tau
SALTER: il stiu
B1: fiul tau cel nou
SALTER: da, bineinteles
B1: il stii
SALTER: da, nu am crezut ca tu esti el, nu.
B1: Nu ai fi crezut ca este el, intr-una din zilele alea proaste.
SALTER: Arati foarte bine.
B1: Dar ar fi putut fi unul dintre ceilalti.
SALTER: Da, pentru ca... la asta ma gandeam, cum au putut doctorii? cred ca se pot face bani buni din asta.
B1: Nu am fost prea norocos cu cainii. Am avut o catea cafenie cu negru, care nu facea nimic din ce i se spunea, inutila. Inaintea ei am avut un maidanez care avea nevoie de prea multa atentie. Apoi, un prieten a intrat la racoare si, daca pot sa am eu grija de cainele lui, m-am luptat din prima zi cu el, rottweiler cu pitbull, a trebuit sa-l lovesc cu un scaun, puteai sa-l bati cu cureaua, continua sa se dea la tine. L-am tinut inchis intr-o alta camera si latra incontinuu, asa ca trebuia sa-l bat, am fost fericit cand a muscat o fetita, l-am dus direct la veterinar si am scapat de ticalosul ala. Prietenul meu nu a fost prea incantat, insa nu trebuia sa intre acolo.
SALTER: nu, asa e, niciodata nu am vrut un caine
B1: Nu ma lua de sus
SALTER: nu incerc sa
B1: nu stii ce faci
SALTER: eu doar
B1: pentru ca te duci intr-un pub si cineva iti arunca o bere in fata si tu ar trebui sa spui imi pare rau? nu a avut decat trei copci, sunt o persoana foarte retinuta. pentru ca, in clipa asta suntem aici, nu este nimeni, nu sunt multi, dar gandeste-te ca altcineva acum sufera torturi ingrozitoare. Sunt multi oameni rai. De asta. Si ii vezi peste tot in jurul tau. Mergi pe strada si le vezi fetele si te gandesti ca nu ma prostesc ei pe mine, stiu de ce sunt in stare. Asa ca, nu incepe aceasta discutie.
SALTER: Cred ca avem nevoie de un avocat bun.
B1: Ceea ce imi place mie la caini este ca impiedica oamenii din a te urmari, nu vor veni dupa tine noaptea. Dar iti imput locuinta, pentru ca... s-ar putea sa vreau sa fiu plecat cateva zile si apoi sa ma intorc, si s-ar putea sa vreau sa stau in casa cateva zile. si un caine poate deveni o pacoste.
liniste
Buna tati tati tati, tati buna.
SALTER: Nimeni nu regreta mai mult decat mine momentul complet neasteptat, neasteptat, nu a fost vina mea si de aceea este si mai suparator... dar ceea ce, ceea ce am facut parea, la momentul ala, singurul... plus ca a fost un tribut, puteam avea altul, unul diferit, un copil cu totul nou, asta ar fi facut majoritatea oamenilor, dar eu te-am vrut pe tine din nou, pentru ca am crezut ca tu erai cel mai bun.
B1: Nu a fost eu din nou.
SALTER: Nu, dar aceeasi baza, acelasi fundament, pentru ca erai perfect. Toata lumea spunea ce bebelus frumos. Si copil, erai foarte frumusel, un copil foarte frumusel.
B1: Stii cand tipam?
SALTER: Nu.
B1: Cand eram in intuneric. Tipam.
SALTER: Nu.
B1: Da, tipam tati tati
SALTER: S-a intamplat cand ai avut un vis urat sau?
B1: tipam si iar tipam
SALTER: Nu cred ca
B1: tipam si iar tipam
SALTER: nu
B1: Si nu ai venit nicioata, nimeni nu a venit
SALTER: asta s-a intamplat dupa ce mama ta
B1: dupa ce mama a murit, asta a fost dupa
SALTER: pentru ca erai foarte mic cand ea a
B1: da, pentru ca pot sa-mi amintesc numai
SALTER: aveai, nu aveai mai mult de doi ani cand ea a
B1: si mi-o amintesc stand acolo, statea acolo
SALTER: iti amintesti de... atunci?
B1: era acolo, dar nu ar fi incercat sa opreasca nimic
SALTER: sunt surprins
B1: deci cand tipam, ceea ce vreau sa stiu este
SALTER: dar cand se intampla asta?
B1: vreau sa stiu daca ma puteai auzi sau nu, pentru ca nu am stiut niciodata daca ma auzeai si nu veneai sau daca nu ma auzeai si daca eu as fi tipat destul de tare ai fi venit
SALTER: nu se poate sa te fi auzit, nu
B1: sau poate ca nu era nimeni acolo, pentru ca erai plecat, si oricat de tare as fi tipat nu era nimeni
SALTER: nu, asta nu se putea fi intamplat
B1: asa ca, apoi nu am mai tipat, dar era mai rau
SALTER: pentru ca aproape niciodata
B1: si nu am indraznit sa cobor din pat, sa vad daca
SALTER: nu cred ca asta s-ar fi putut
B1: pentru ca daca nu era nimeni acolo, asta ar fi fost infricosator, si daca erai acolo, asta ar fi fost chiar mai rau, dar este ceva care m-a macinat
SALTER: nu
B1: ma puteai auzi tipand?
SALTER: nu, eu... nu
B1: nu
SALTER: nu cred ca asta s-a intamplat in
B1: ce?
SALTER: pentru ca
B1: tipam si tipam si tipam, in fiecare noapte
SALTER: nu
B1: deci nu ai auzit?
SALTER: nu, dar nu se poate sa fi
B1: ba da, tipam si tu spui ca nu ai
SALTER: nu, bineinteles ca nu am
B1: nu ai
SALTER: nu
B1: nu stateai acolo, ascultand cum tip
SALTER: nu
B1: nu erai iesit
SALTER: nu
B1: deci ar fi trebuit sa tip mai tare
SALTER: dar sa stii ca fiecare dintre cei care a avut copii o sa-ti spuna ca, uneori, ii asezi in patut dar ei mai vor inca o poveste, insa tu spui noapte buna si pleci si ei striga dupa tine o data sau de doua ori, dar tu spui nu, culca-te acum, si ei s-ar putea sa mai strige dupa tine apoi se culca.
B1: Celalalt. Fiul tau. Este fratele meu? Este fratele meu geaman mai mic.
SALTER: Da.
B1: Are vre-un copil?
SALTER: Nu.
B1: Pentru ca daca ar avea, l-as omora.
SALTER: Nu, nu are.
B1: Deci... cand ai deschis usa nu m-ai recunoscut.
SALTER: nu, pentru ca
B1: Ma recunosti acum?
SALTER: Stiu ca esti tu.
B1: Nu, uita-te la mine.
SALTER: M-am uitat. Ma uit.
B1: Nu, uita-te in ochii mei. Nu, continua sa te uiti. Uita-te.

3
SALTER and BERNARD (B2).
B2: Deloc asemanator mie
SALTER: deloc
B2: Sau... asemanator, dar nu identic mie
SALTER: nu, nu identic
B2: pentru ca ceea ce m-a surprins a fost cat de diferiti
SALTER: da, am fost surprins
B2: nu ai fi putut sa te inseli
SALTER: nu, nu, am stiut din prima ca nu puteai fi
B2: nu aveam cum sa fiu identic
SALTER: nu, nu, deloc, esti diferit
B2: putin asemanator
SALTER: da, putin
B2: pentru ca, ca sa stii, de la inceput, nu imi e teama.
SALTER: Si... ce a vrut? a vrut
B2: mai nimic, nu a fost inspaimantator
SALTER: nu te-a lovit?
B2: sa ma loveasca? dumnezeule, nu. sa ma loveasca? ai crede?
SALTER: pai a
B2: nu ar fi putut. da, a tipat
SALTER: a tipat
B2: a tipat si a aberat, spunea ca nu e deloc
SALTER: nu, nu e bine
B2: da, despre copilaria lui, despre viata lui, despre copilarie
SALTER: tot felul de
B2: l-a facut sa fie cam... dement. da, chiar asa, cred... vreau sa spun... nu dement, dar este
SALTER: da, da, nu neg, probabil ca este.
B2: spune tot felul de tampenii
SALTER: da
B2: deci nu stii ce sa crezi.
SALTER: Si cum s-a incheiat, sunteti in relatii de prietenie
B2: nu de prietenie
SALTER: nu
B2: nu, deloc. am incheiat cu
SALTER: da
B2: am incheiat. vreau sa spun ca... cu mine vrand sa inchei, m-am bucurat ca ne-am intalnit intr-un loc public, daca eram acasa, nu poti fugi din propria casa si daca eram la el, ma intreb daca m-ar fi lasat sa plec, m-ar fi putut incuia intr-o cusca, nu chiar, oricum, da. m-am ridicat si am plecat. si am continuat sa ma gandesc daca m-a urmarit sau nu.
SALTER: vrei sa spui ca... vrei sa inchei... adica sa nu-l mai vezi
B2: adica sa plec din tara.
SALTER: Pentru o saptamana sau doua in vacanta, nu cred
B2: sa plec, sa ies de aici, nu stiu, sa plec. nu vreau sa fiu aici.
SALTER: Dar cand te vei intoarce, el totusi va
B2: poate ca nu o sa ma mai
SALTER: pai, asta e... sa nu te mai intorci? asta nu e
B2: Nu stiu. Nu stiu, asa ca nu ma intreba. Nu stiu. Plec, nu stiu. Nu vreau sa fiu aici, cu el in preajma mea.
SALTER: Crezi ca ar incerca sa-ti faca rau?
B2: De ce? De ce continui sa
SALTER: Nu stiu. Este cumva
B2: Este si asta, dar mai e si ca e oribil, nu ma simt eu insumi si mai sunt si ceilalti, nu vreau sa-i vad, nu vreau sa
SALTER: Am crezut ca vrei.
B2: Am crezut ca vreau, s-ar putea sa vreau, daca plec singur s-ar putea sa ma simt mai bine, s-ar putea sa simt - tu poti intelege asta.
SALTER: Da, da, eu pot.
B2: Pentru ca este aceasta persoana, care este identica cu mine
SALTER: nu este
B2: care nu este identica, care este asemanatoare
SALTER: nici macar foarte
B2: nu foarte asemanatoare dar foarte... ceva teribil, care este exact aceeasi persoana din punct de vedere genetic
SALTER: nu aceeasi persoana
B2: si nu imi place.
SALTER: Stiu. Imi pare rau.
B2: Stiu ca iti pare rau, eu nu
SALTER: Stiu
B2: Nu vreau sa te fac sa spui ca iti pare rau
SALTER: Stiu, doar ca imi pare
B2: Stiu
SALTER: Doar ca imi pare rau.
B2: A spus cateva lucruri.
SALTER: Da.
B2: Sunt multe lucruri pe care nu le... poti sa imi spui ce s-a intamplat cu mama?
SALTER: Este moarta.
B2: Da.
SALTER: Ti-am spus ca este moarta.
B2: Da, dar nu a murit cand m-am nascut si nici nu a murit cu primul copil intr-un accident de masina, pentru ca primul copil nu este mort, merge noptile pe strazi, iar eu am cosmaruri din cauza lui. Sau poate a murit intr-un accident de masina?
SALTER: Nu.
B2: Nu.
SALTER: Mama ta, un lucru... problema cu mama ta era ca nu era prea fericita, nu era deloc o persoana fericita, nu vreau sa spun ca erau zile cand nu era fericita sau ca faceam eu ceva sa o fac nefericita, adica faceam, dar ea era nefericita continuu
B2: S-a sinucis. Cum a facut asta?
SALTER: A facut-o sub un tren, un metrou, a fost unul dintre acei oameni despre care se spune ca s-a sinucis cineva la metrou si metrourile intarzie din cauza asta, a fost o persoana care s-a sinucis la metrou.
B2: Erai cu ea?
SALTER: Cu ea pe platforma, nu, insa eram cu ea mai mult sau mai putin, dar nu cu ea atunci, nu, cred ca beam ceva.
B2: Si copilul?
SALTER: Stii ca nu-mi amintesc unde era copilul? Cred ca era la un prieten, aveam prieteni.
B2: Si cati ani avea, patru?
SALTER: nu, nu, a avut patru ani mai tarziu, cand eu, mergea... avea doi ani, abia incepuse sa mearga
B2: avea patru cand l-ai abandonat
SALTER: asa este, cand mama lui a murit avea doi.
B2: Deci asta a fost, ca sa inteleg, asta a fost inainte, asta a fost cu cativa ani inainte ca eu sa ma nasc, a murit inainte
SALTER: da
B2: deci era deja, dintotdeauna
SALTER: da, era
B2: ca sa inteleg. Apoi tu si baiatul, tu si fiul tau
SALTER: am continuat, am
B2: ati trait singuri, impreuna
SALTER: da
B2: tu il cresteai
SALTER: da
B2: pe cat de bine puteai
SALTER: eu
B2: pana cand
SALTER: pe cat de bine puteam, nu era prea... dar am avut momentele mele, sa nu crezi, gateam din cand in cand si ii citeam povesti, sunt sigur imi pot aminti o anumita carticica foarte plictisitoare si prost scrisa despre un elefant pe mare. Dar as fi putut sa o fac mai bine.
B2: Da, a spus ceva despre asta.
SALTER: a spus
B2: da
SALTER: da, bineinteles ca a spus da. Stiu ca as fi putut sa ma descurc mai bine, pentru ca am facu-o cu tine, pentru ca m-am oprit, m-am inchis si am renuntat la tot in timpul in care te asteptam pe tine. si cred ca... s-ar putea sa fi avut si noi aceeasi carte, poate ca imi amintesc ca ti-o citeam tie, ti-o amintesti vreun pic? Avea pe coperta un elefant in pantaloni rosii.
B2: nu, nu cred
SALTER: nu, era ingrozitoare, noi am avut carti mult mai bune, am
B2: Poate ca nu ar trebui sa te invinuiasca pe tine, poate ca a fost genetic, te puteai abtine din baut? nu ne stim adictiile in anumite momente ale vietii, filosofic, cum o inteleg eu, lucrurile nu aratau ca acum, spre exemplu acum punctele noastre de vedere difera si pentru ca sunt in raport cu persoane diferite, pentru ca nu mai esti la fel de vulnerabil, pentru ca... poate fi mereu vorba de o adictie genetica. dar cineva cu aceleasi gene, exact aceleasi gene, dar intr-un alt timp, cu o alta cultura si bineinteles toate maruntisurile, cum ar fi ceea ce se intampla in viata ta, in copilaria ta, pentru ca... sa presupunem ca ai un frate geaman, dar sa spunem ca ati fost despartiti la nastere, asa ca toata copilaria difera, intelegi ce vreau sa spun? ar fi facut aceleasi lucruri, ca cineva sa spuna ca a fost un tata foarte iubitor. si tu ai asta in tine, ca sa fii unul, pentru ca asa ai fost cu mine, deci este o combinatie de lucruri foarte complicate si de aceea probabil ca ai fost... eu nu trebuie sa te invinuiesc pe tine.
SALTER: As prefera sa ma invinuiesti pe mine. Eu o fac.
B2: Nu spun ca nu te-ai purtat ingrozitor.
SALTER: M-as fi putut purta altfel?
B2: Se pare ca nu.
SALTER: Daca as fi incercat mai mult.
B2: Dar cineva ca tine nu ar fi putut sa incerce mai mult. Ce inseamna asta, pana la urma? Daca ai fi incercat mai mult ai fi fost diferit de ceea ce erai de fapt si nu ai fi fost tu
SALTER: dar apoi, mai tarziu, am
B2: mai tarziu, da
SALTER: Am incercat, asta am facut, am inceput din nou, eu
B2: asta ai
SALTER: Am fost bun, am incercat sa fiu bun, am fost bun cu tine
B2: asa ai fost
SALTER: am fost bun
B2: dar nu pot, nu poti, nu pot sa-ti dau credit pentru asta daca nu te invinuiesc pentru cealalta, este... ce ai facut este... ce s-a intamplat
Salter: dar am simtit ca si cum
B2: ca si cum
SALTER: am simtit ca si cum am incercat intentionat
B2: fireste ca asa ai simtit
SALTER: ei bine, apoi
B2: e ca si cum, mereu simti ca si cum... asa simtim, asa suntem, fara sa stim toate aceste complicatii, nu putem sti ce... e prea complicat ca sa poti descalci toate cauzele si simtim ca, adica asta sunt eu, liber, nu fortat de altcineva ci exact cine sunt, pentru ca daca as fi constrans sa fiu eu as fi altcineva, nu?
SALTER: Am facut cateva greseli. Merit sa sufar. Am facut cateva lucuri bune. Merit recunoastere.
B2: Asta simte toata lumea, cu siguranta.
SALTER: El totusi ma invinuieste pe mine.
B2: Atunci e o diferenta.
SALTER: Imi aduci aminte de el.
B2: Imi aduc mie aminte de el. Amandoi te uram.
SALTER: Credeam ca tu
B2: Nu te invinuiesc, nu e vina ta, dar cum ai fost... cum esti... nu pot controla asta.
SALTER: Da, bineinteles
B2: Cu toate ca... ceea ce el simte ca fiind ura si ceea ce eu simt ca fiind ura sunt doua lucruri complet diferite, pentru ca ceea ce i-ai facut lui si ceea ce mi-ai facut mie sunt doua lucruri diferite.
SALTER: Am fost bun cu tine.
B2: Da, ai fost
SALTER: Nu trebuie sa pleci. Nu pentru mult timp.
B2: S-ar putea sa ma faca sa ma simt mai bine.
SALTER: Te iubesc.
B2: Asta e inca ceva ce nu poti controla.
SALTER: Este in regula. Este in regula.
B2: Si, ma tem ca o sa ma omoare.

4
SALTER and BERNARD (B1).
SALTER: Ce fel de loc era? era
B1: o camera
SALTER: era intr-un hotel, nu-i asa? sau
B1: nu
SALTER: Credeam ca era intr-un hotel.Deci unde era?
B1: ce?
SALTER: incerc sa-mi formez o imagine.
B1: Conteaza?
SALTER: Nu o sa-l aduca inapoi, nu, cu siguranta, dar mi-ar placea sa... mi-ar placea... nu poti sa nu fii curios, vrei sa ai imaginea perfecta si te blochezi in detalii, fiul tau moare, ii vrei corpul, vrei sa stii unde a fost corpul lui pentru ultima data, unde a fost ultima data in viata, nu te poti abtine
B1: Avea o camera.
SALTER: In casa cuiva, inchiriata?
B1: o camera mica, stii, cum sunt localnicii cand vii, doar o camera, fara mic dejun, trebuie sa iesi daca vrei o cafea.
SALTER: Era ceva frumos? sau o darapanatura? sau
B1: nu
SALTER: gandindu-ma la el in vacanta
B1: la strada, doar o parte
SALTER: dar el nu era in vacanta, el se ascundea. Ai fost in camera?
B1: O camera mica, destul de intunecoasa, o fereastra si un oblon
SALTER: nu foarte ordonata, banuiesc
B1: asa este, nu ordonata, patul nefacut, cateva carti, o geanta pe podea, haine imprastiate
SALTER: a tipat?
B1: si stii cum e, nu foarte ordonat, eu sunt ordonat, nu ai de unde sa stii, nu-i asa? dar ai banui ca nu este asa, nu? dar ai gresi aici, pentru ca sunt meticulos.
SALTER: Ceea ce vreau sa stiu este cum ai facut executia, cum ai, cum l-ai facut sa cedeze, pentru ca asta imi imaginez, nu impusti chiriasul fara ca proprietara sa auda, nu stiu daca l-ai impuscat, puteai sa ai un cutit, nu cred ca ar fi murit fara ca tu sa fi facut ceva, pentru ca ii era teama, de aceea... sau poate ca i-ai vorbit? poate ca l-ai facut sa simta... sau l-ai urmarit, ai stat acolo in intuneric? si nu stiu cum l-ai gasit acolo... l-ai urmarit din fata casei lui, cand a plecat sau l-ai urmarit de aici, ultima data cand a
B1: nu am fost nevoit sa iti spun ca s-a intamplat
SALTER: dar mi-ai spus, asa ca... acum vreau sa
B1: si mi-as dori sa nu o fi facut
SALTER: nu, eu ma bucur
B1: si nu iti spun
SALTER: pentru ca nu o sa spun nimanui
B1: si nu mai e nimic de zic.
SALTER: Cum ramane cu ceilalti? sau doar pe el il urai pentru ca il iubeam, nu ii iubesc pe ceilalti, tu si cu mine avem o cauza comuna impotrica celorlalti, nu uita, inca sper sa facem o avere din povestea asta. O sa vorbesc cu un avocat, am fost prea ocupat, nu ocupat dar s-a intamplat totul ca o furtuna, nu stiu ce s-a intamplat, nu de multa vreme a inceput totul. Nu ai de gand sa fii un criminal in serie, sa ii omori pe toti ca sa fii singurul, ca la inceput... as intelege asta. Daca te prind, desi nu se va intampla asta, dar daca te prind sa le spui ca a fost vina mea, oricum ai privi situatia asta. Nu esti de acord cu mine, nu simti asta? Nu te opri din vorbit. Nu a fost vina lui, trebuia sa ma omori pe mine, este vina mea. Poate ca ai de gand sa ma omori, de aceea te-ai oprit din vorbit? Sa ma omor singur? As face asta daca ai, daca ai vrea, ai vrea asta? O sa-ti spun ce gandesc. Puteam sa te omor, dar nu am facut-o. Poate ca am facut lucruri oribile dar nu te-am omorat. Puteam sa te omor si sa am un alt fiu, unul la fel, cum am facut, sau sa o iau de la inceput, sa fac altul, sa ma casatoresc din nou, dar nu am facut asta, te-am crutat, desi erai aceasta chestie dezgustatoare pe atunci, orice om cu mintea intreaga te-ar fi strivit, dar mi-am amintit cum ai fost la inceput si te-am crutat, nu am vrut altul, am vrut acelasi copil din nou, pentru ca erai pur si simplu perfect si te iubeam. Stii ca m-ai intrebat despre vremea cand obisnuiai sa tipi? Uneori eram acolo, stateam acolo si te ascultam sau uneori nu eram in stare sa te aud, stateam acolo pur si simplu. Uneori ieseam si te lasam acolo. Nu cred ca ai coborat din pat, ai coborat din pat? pentru ca iti era teama de ce as putea sa-ti fac, asa ca era in regula sa ies. A fost o perioada scurta in care obisnuiai sa tipi, ai depasit faza, ai preferat sa nu ma mai vezi, voiai sa fii lasat in pace noaptea, nu mai voiai sa vin. Aproape ca te-ai oprit din vorbit, iti amintesti asta? Nu mai vorbeai, nu mai mancai, am incercat sa te fortez. Te puneam in dulap, iti amintesti? sau te cautam peste tot si credeam ca ai fugit si te gaseam sub pat. Iti placea acolo, iti puneam farfuria cu mancare acolo jos. Dar situatia s-a inrautatit, iti amintesti? Nu era nimeni in afara de noi. Intr-o zi te-am spalat si am spus ia-l in grija. Nu aratai prea rau si te-au luat. Dragul de tine. Iti amintesti? Iti amintesti ziua aceea, pentru ca sa stii ca eu nu mi-o amintesc. Totul e intetosat in capul meu. Nu-mi amintesc aproape nimic din acei doi ani dar tu trebuie sa-ti amintesti, si cand ai varsta aceea, doi ani e mult timp, nu a fost mult timp pentru mine, a fost o noapte lunga. Poti sa imi spui ceva din ce-ti amintesti? ziua in care ai plecat? Poti sa-mi spui lucruri pe care le-am... pe care se poate sa le fi uitat?
B1: Cand il urmaream ne-am urcat amandoi in acelasi tren, el s-a uitat imprejur iar eu am crezut ca s-a uitat direct la mine, dar nu m-a vazut. Am urcat in tren si am mers cu el pana la capat.
SALTER: Da? Da?

5
SALTER si MICHAEL BLACK, fiul lui, treizeci si cinci de ani.
MICHAEL: I-ai cunoscut pe ceilalti?
SALTER: Tu esti primul
MICHAEL: O sa te intalnesti cu noi toti?
SALTER: Ma gandeam sa incep de undeva
MICHAEL: Sunt sigur ca toti ar fi incantati sa te cunoasca. Stiu ca eu sunt.
SALTER: Imi pare rau ca ma holbez.
MICHAEL: Nu, te rog, inteleg perfect. Seman?
SALTER: Da, bineinteles
MICHAEL: bineinteles, vreau sa spun
SALTER: nu, nu, nu vreau sa spun
MICHAEL: Cred ca voiam sa spun, cum
SALTER: pentru ca, bineinteles, nu esti, nu exact
MICHAEL: nu, bineinteles
SALTER: nu v-as confunda
MICHAEL: nu
SALTER: sau s-ar putea, intamplator
MICHAEL: bineinteles
SALTER: dar nu, daca as privi atent
MICHAEL: nu
SALTER: nu
MICHAEL: pentru ca?
SALTER: din cauza ochilor. Nu ma privesti in acelasi fel.
MICHAEL: te privesc ca pe cineva pe care nu cunosc, bineinteles.
SALTER: Poate imi poti spune cate ceva
MICHAEL: despre mine
SALTER: daca nu te deranjeaza
MICHAEL: nu bineinteles, este normal, deja stii ca sunt profesor, matematica, stii ca sunt casatorit, trei copii, ti-am spus asta
SALTER: da, dar nu mi-ai spus
MICHAEL: o fata si un baiat, doisprezece si opt ani, si acum un bebelus, optsprezece luni, asa ca merge... si a inceput sa vorbeasca, nu am nicio fotografie la mine, nu m-am gandit, nu e nevoie de fotografii, nu-i asa? nu-i ca si cum vezi pe cineva tot timpul
SALTER: esti fericit?
MICHAEL: ce? acum? in general? Da, cred ca sunt, nu cred, sunt. Slujba ma oboseste uneori. Lumea se cam duce de rapa, bineinteles. Dar nu te poti abtine, o dimineata insorita, frunzele care isi schimba culoarea, o plimbare in parc cu copilul, nu te poti simti altcumva decat minunat, nu-i asa?
SALTER: Asa e?
MICHAEL: Pai se pare ca eu asa sunt.
SALTER: Spune-mi. Iarta-ma
MICHAEL: nu, continua
SALTER: spune-mi ceva despre tine, care te reprezinta pe tine, personal, ceva intr-adevar important
MICHAEL: ce fel de?
SALTER: orice
MICHAEL: este greu sa
SALTER: da.
MICHAEL: Pai este ceva ce ma fascineaza, sunt oamenii aia care obisnuiesc sa traiasca in gauri, in pamant, in tunele si camere sub pamant, si uneori ca sa ajungi la o camera trebuie sa treci printr-un labirint de pasaje, iar tavanul devine din ce in ce mic, din ce in ce mai jos, si trebuie sa mergi in patru labe si apoi sa te tarasti pe burta ca sa ajungi la camera asta care e destul de departe si care are o aerisire ca un horn ca... da, ca o aerisire, pana sus, catre cer, si stai in camera, in vagauna asta, in pestera asta, cum s-o numi, si privesti in sus prin gaura aia mica prin care vezi cerul deasupra capului tau. Si cand cineva moare, ei acopera camerele astea mici, asa ca oamenii astia sunt ingropati pe acolo. Si poate ca uneori au ingropat oameni vii, se poate, pentru ca se cunoaste dupa pozitia ramasitelor, dar bineinteles ca sunt morti acum. Si
SALTER: nu cred ca asta este ceea ce voiam sa aud
MICHAEL: oh, imi pare rau
SALTER: pentru ca ceea ce imi spui este despre altceva si eu speram la ceva despre tine
MICHAEL: nu prea
SALTER: Imi pare rau, nu stiu, speram
MICHAEL: Vrei sa stii despre crezurile mele, despre politica mea, despre ce parere am despre razboi, asta e? Nu imi place razboiul, nu sunt deloc incantat cand oamenii spun ca facem mult bine cu bombardamentele, nu m-am simtit niciodata prea comfortabil cu asta. Razboul este una dintre chestiile alea, nu crezi, in care toata lumea crede ca este in tabara celui bun, ai observat asta? Nimeni nu spune niciodata noi suntem baietii rai si o sa-i batem mar pe baietii buni. Ce crezi despre asta?
SALTER: Speram, nu stiu, ceva mai personal, ceva din profunzimea vietii tale. Daca nu sunt prea indiscret.
MICHAEL: Cum ar fi, poate despre urechile sotiei mele?
SALTER: Da?
MICHAEL: Pentru ca seara trecuta urmaream stirile si eu ma gandeam ce urechi frumoase si destul de ciudate are, sunt mici dar cu lobul mare, mare in comparatie cu urechile ei mici, si sunt putin ascutite la varf ca ale unui pitic de la disney sau ca ale unui animal, si au fost dintotdeauna acolo, dar stii cum deodata observi asta? si observand asta, vreau sa spun cum o iubesc eu pare ceva, este ca si cum mi-ai spus sa iti spun ceva foarte personal. Sau copiii, bineinteles, as putea vorbi despre asta, este asta ceea ce vrei sa auzi?
SALTER: nu prea este
MICHAEL: nu
SALTER: pentru ca descrii alti oameni iar eu
MICHAEL: da
SALTER: nu pe tine insuti
MICHAEL: dar sunt oameni pe care ii iubesc, asa ca
SALTER: nu este ceea ce caut. Pentru ca oricine poate simti
MICHAEL: da, bineinteles, nu vreau sa spun
SALTER: cumva, speram
MICHAEL: da
SALTER: mai degraba
MICHAEL: da
SALTER: doar despre tine
MICHAEL: despre mine
SALTER: da
MICHAEL: cum ar fi poate ca stau intins in pat si e foarte confortabil, apoi nu mai e asa de confortabil, si imi misc picioarele sau chiar ma intorc, si apoi e
SALTER: nu
MICHAEL: nu
SALTER: nu asta
MICHAEL: da, asta e ceva ce toata lumea
SALTER: da
MICHAEL: pai atunci nu stiu. Imi plac sosetele albastre. Inghetata de banane. Asta te ajuta?
SALTER: Cainii?
MICHAEL: Sunt ok cu cainii. Fiica mea vrea un catelus, dar nu stiu. Cainii sunt ceva despre care vrei sa stii?
SALTER: spune-mi cum te-ai simtit cand ai aflat?
MICHAEL: Fascinat.
SALTER: Nu furios?
MICHAEL: Nu.
SALTER: Nu inspaimantat?
MICHAEL: Nu, pentru?
SALTER: Pentru viata ta, pentru ca ai putea sa o pierzi.
MICHAEL: Viata mea inca imi apartine.
SALTER: Dar sunt acesti, sunt acestia, care sunt ceea ce... la fel ca tine, cred ca eviti
MICHAEL: da, poate ca
SALTER: pentru ca apoi s-ar putea sa ti se faca teama
MICHAEL: Nu cred ca
SALTER: sau sa te infurii
MICHAEL: nu prea cred
SALTER: pentru ca ceea ce-ti face este sa, adica sunt acesti ceilalti, care merg peste tot, pe strazi, ce-mi face mie este... nici macar mie, dar s-a intamplat, asa ca... cum poti pur si simplu sa... trebuie sa ai o parere despre asta.
MICHAEL: Cred ca e amuzant, cred ca e incantator
SALTER: incantator?
MICHAEL: toti acesti oameni similari, facand chestii similare sau putin diferite sau orice fac ei, ce incantare pentru profesorul batran si nebun, daca ar fi trait sa vada asta... eu pot sa vad frumusetea din asta. Stiu ca tu nu este incantat deloc.
SALTER: Nu am simtit ca l-am pierdut cand l-am abandonat, pentru ca am avut a doua sansa. Dar cand al doilea, al doilea fiu al meu a fost omorat, nu a fost atat de rau pe cat am crezut, pentru ca mi s-a parut cinstit. Eram cu primul, ca la inceput.
MICHAEL: Dar acum
SALTER: Acum s-a sinucis
MICHAEL: acum te simti
SALTER: acum l-am perdut, l-am pierdut
MICHAEL: da
SALTER: acum nu pot s-o mai indrept. Pentru ca a doua oara, vezi tu, am avut somnul usor, am dormit cu usa deschisa.
MICHAEL: Asta e cel mai rau lucru pe care l-ai facut, ca nu ai iesit in noapte?
SALTER: Nu, bineinteles ca nu.
MICHAEL: Atunci?
SALTER: Lucrurile pe care le-am facut nu sunt atat de triviale ca inghetata cu banane si unifuckingversale ca intorsul in pat.
MICHAEL: 99 la suta dintre genele noastre sunt la fel, la toate persoanele. 90 la suta dintre gene sunt la fel cu ale cimpanzeilor. 30 la suta, cu ale unei salate. Asta te inveseleste vre-un pic? Pe mine ma face sa simt ca apartin.
SALTER: Imi e asa de dor de el.
MICHAEL: Mai suntem nouasprezece.
SALTER: Nu e acelasi lucru.
MICHAEL: nu, bineinteles ca nu. Faceam o gluma.
SALTER: Si, esti fericit? spui ca esti? Iti place viata ta?
MICHAEL: Da, imi place, imi pare rau.

Anunt: Vand Femei! ... fara mine

2010-12-31T03:05:00.003+02:00

In timpul in care eu imi faceam bagajelul ca sa ma car pe plaiuri mai ploioase, Dan - impreuna cu toata trupa Teatrul Nou - isi vedea linistit de treaba. Si bine facea. Pentru ca, voila, dupa patru luni primesc pe mail afisul de la ceea ce urmeaza sa fie a treia punere in scena a piesei 'Anunt: Vand Femei'. Nu pot decat sa ii felicit pe toti, cu miliarde de emotii pentru ei si cu un dinte cat casa poporului impotriva oamenilor de stiinta care nu au fost in stare, pana acum, sa inventeze dracului clonarea, sa fiu si eu cu ei la repetitii chinuitoare si la momente de - stiu eu - maxima fericire. Of, aia e, imi tin pumnii stransi, ca sa ploua si pe strada mea cu soare si sa pot sa ajung la premiera.
Stiu ca mi-am cam batut vantul de Mos Craciun si nici in lista de Anul Nou nu mai cred, dar asa ce mi-as dori sa pot ajunge...
Noah, pana una alta, eu lucrez la alte piese - sper eu, la fel de bune - in celula mea din Londra, cu inima cat casa la gandul ca dragii mei au premiera uite-acus!
Felicitari, bai, once more!

Ii gasiti pe Facebook: Teatrul Nou

Cine l-a omorat pe Moise?

2010-12-24T19:27:00.003+02:00

Moise a asteptat sa se faca intuneric. Si-a adunat lucrurile si gandurile si le-a pus intr-o valiza jerpelita. O pereche de tenesi, doua tricouri, 32 de ani, o pereche de sosete cam rupte, cateva cute pe fruntea lata, o grimasa impachetata elegant si legata cu o funda cu urme de dezgust, o geaca gri, roasa de molii si de prea mult purtat, o pereche de chiloti. Totul intr-o valiza maro, de piele, care mirosea a apa statuta si a lipsa de speranta.
A inchis valiza si a asezat-o pe pat. A ramas gol, in picioare, asteptand intunericul sa il imbratiseze.

L-am cunoscut pe Moise in facultate. Era tipul care nu vorbea niciodata, care nu asculta si care avea privirea absenta. Uneori mirosea cam dubios, dar am pus-o mereu pe seama faptului ca nu prea-i pasa de nimic. Student la filosofie. Mie mi-a placut tocmai pentru ca nu il interesa nimic. Mi-am propus sa il interesez.
Dupa o lectura prea lunga, in sala de curs, i-am blocat iesirea.
'Ce faci, dude, incotro?'
Era prima data cand vorbeam cu el, insa asta nu l-a surprins cu nimic.
'Ma duc acasa. Vii?'
'Aham.'
Am plecat impreuna, mergand unul langa celalat. Era ceva foarte firesc la tabloul ala, noi doi mergand asa, catre o destinatie pe care nu o cunosteam. Nu simteam nevoia sa il intreb nimic, nu il simteam stanjenit de prezenta mea, nu ma intrebam ce gandeste si eram sigura ca nici pe el nu-l framanta asta.
'Ai abonament?' m-a intrebat.
'Ihi...'
'Bine, nu vreum sa inselam statul cu actiunile noastre carpite de studenti care se vor rebeli.'
Am ras. O gluma! Moise putea sa fie si hazliu, fara nicio chinuiala chiar.
'Ti-e frig?' m-a intrebat.
'De ce, vrei sa-mi dai haina ta?'
'Nu.'
Insa si-a pus mana osoasa pe umarul meu, m-a intors dintr-o miscare si m-a luat in brate. Era... surprinzator de bine. Surprinzator!
In autobuz am stat in picioare.
'Cat mergem?' am intrebat.
'O vreme...'
Nu puteam sa imi mai ascund curiozitatea despre ciudatenia caracterului lui.
'O sa mergem asa, la infinit, fara sa vorbim?'
'Putem sa vorbim, daca vrei. Insa nu sunt cel mai bun interlocutor. Si nici nu stiu ce ai putea avea in comun cu mine. Adica, nu stiu ce ar putea avea cineva in comun cu mine.'
'Oricum, te macina curiozitatea de a afla, ha?'
'Nu.'

Intunericul i-a intrat in oase. Si frigul. Si-a refuzat orice urma de reactie asa ca statea asa, in picioare, langa pat, ca o statuie. Prin fereastra fara perdele intra putina luma de la felinarele si panourile publicitare de peste strada. Suficienta incat sa-l lase sa-si observe degetele de la picioare. Degete lungi, neingrijite, cu cateva fire de par negru. Nu s-ar putea spune ca avea picioare urate, erau insa diferite... Ca o pereche de picioare desenate de un student care nu stie cum sa se joace cu proportiile. Si-a miscat degetul mare si o urma de surprindere i s-a nascut pe chip. E viu. E inca viu. Inca poate face ce vrea cu corpul lui. Sub acelasi gand si-a miscat degetele de la mana dreapta, incet. A zambit. Se simtea ca un demiurg. Se simtea ca un gand in interiorul acestei masinarii imense, propriul corp. In capul lui s-a nascut o noua forma de protest. El a fost, dintotdeauna telecomanda cu vointa proprie? Nu s-a gandit niciodata la asta. Nu s-a gandit niciodata sa-si foloseasca corpul ca pe un mijloc pentru a-si atinge scopul. Mii de imagini se derulau sub ochii lui inchisi. Ar fi putut... ar fi putut face atat de mult bine in raul in care se afla, iar el nu s-a gandit decat la cea mai josnica dintre metode. Sa distruga ceea ce ar fi putut sa foloseasca. Sa-si foloseasca. Sa se foloseasca!

Cand am ajuns in camera lui Moise m-a izbit un miros de mort.
'Ce dracu' tii aici?'
'Imi tin parintii, in pungi de plastic.'
Am incremenit.
'Poftim?'
'Esti prea terestra, esti prea pe lumea asta. Pute de la tevile de sub camera, e scurgerea...'
'Si tu traiesti aici?'
'Nu, aici imi iau doar cina si ma las imbaiat de servitori. De ce intrebi?'
'Bine, bine, scuza-ma...'
'Bei ceva?'
'Ce?'
'Va.'
'Da.'
'Vin, bere sau votca?'
'Alb sau rosu?'
'Asta o sa vedem cand o sa jucam dansul miresei, nu?'
'Parca nu erai prea vorbaret...'
'Nu sunt.'
'Ihi...'
S-a dus in bucatarie si a spalat doua pahare. Le-a umplut pe jumatate cu vin rosu si s-a intors la mine.
'Alege, unui, doi sau trei?' mi-a spus.
'Ce-s astea?'
'Alege!'
'Unu. Ce e asta, un joc?'
'Nimic.' S-a asezat pe pat. 'Vino langa mine...'
M-am dus. M-am asezat langa el si mi-a intins paharul de vin.
'Bea-l pan' la fund. Si, ai grija sa nu te ineci.'
'Sante!'
M-am inecat. Am deschis gura larg, am lasat vinul sa-mi curga pe gat pana cand am simtit un obiect tare, care nu avea ce sa caute in paharul meu cu vin. L-am scuipat in palma. Un inel micut, de argint, cu o piatra verde. Smarald? O piatra ca un ochi de soparla tulburata de ceva ancestral. L-am privit pe Moise intrebator. El nu zambea. Mi-a facut semn sa il probez. L-am pus pe degetul pe care trebuia sa-l pun. Mi-a luat mana in a lui si a privit inelul indeaproape, as putea spune ca l-a examinat. Parca voia sa vada cum vine inelul ala pe mana unei femei.
'E bine!' a spus.
'Este?'
'Da.'
Apoi m-a privit. Pentru prima data cand m-a privit. Asa. Sprancenele cazute spre exteriourul ochilor dadeau iluzia unor ochi de mii de ani, care au vazut totul, care stiu totul, care inteleg totul.
Apoi m-a intins pe pat...

Ca trezit dintr-un vis, Moise a desfacut valiza, s-a imbracat in graba si a iesit. A plecat in noaptea groasa. Mergea ca si cum stia unde trebuie sa ajunga. Cu pasi grabiti, dar apasati, mergea in noapte. A urcat intr-un taxi. A spus adresa in graba si si-a intors privirea catre oras. Orasul in care a trait 32 de ani, orasul care i-a fost dusman mai mult decat i-a fost prieten. Niciuna din luminile pe care le vedea nu ii era cunoscuta, fiecare apartinea unei povesti si niciuna nu era povestea lui. S-a gandit o vreme. Apoi si-a alungat gandul. Taxiul s-a oprit iar taximetristul i-a cerut banii.
'Eu voi cobora din masina si tu vei pleca. Daca vrei sa traiesti. Daca nu, spune-mi acum.'
'Ce pula mea faci, ma?'
Acestea au fost ultimele cuvinte ale omului. Moise i-a apucat capul cu doua maini si l-a sucit. Pur si simplu. S-a impins in fata, a atins usor cheia si a oprit masina. S-a asezat din nou pe scaunul din spate si a lasat un zambet sa-i penetreze indiferenta tapetata pe chip. A coborat.

A fost frumos. A fost natural si adevarat. Mi-am cautat hainele imprastiate pe langa pat si am inceput sa ma imbrac. M-am intors sa ii caut privirea. Era trista. Analiza tavanul.
'Ceva interesant, acolo sus?'
'Straini.'
'La etaj?'
'Da, la etajul superior.'
'Sa plec?'
'De ce sa ramai?'
'Pentru ca mi se pare ca...'
'Nu te ingrijora. Nu ma poti ajuta.'
'Despre ce vorbesti?'
'Despre ce nu stiu. Vino langa mine.'
M-am dus. M-a tras mai aproape de el si mi-a mangaiat parul, fara sa ma priveasca. As fi vrut sa ma iubeasca, in clipa aceea. Eram geloasa pe toate gandurile care ii macinau fiinta, eram geloasa ca nu le impartaseste cu mine, ca nu...
'Vreau sa omor pe cineva' mi-a spus. 'Nu zice nimic. Vreau sa omor pe cineva pentru ca nu stiu despre ce este vorba. Vreau sa vad cum se scurge viata dintr-un om si vreau sa stiu ce sentiment imi trezeste asta. Apoi... apoi vreau sa omor pe cineva pe care iubesc.'
'Iubesti pe cineva?'
'Ramane de vazut..'
'Ai pe cineva in gand?'
'Nu te ingrijora...'
'Ihi...'
'Urasti pe cineva?' m-a intrebat el.
'Nu indeajuns incat sa comit o crima.'
'Nu asta te-am intrebat.'
'Da.'
'Eu nu. Nu am pe cine sa urasc. Nu am pe nimeni. Nu am parinti. Nu am matusi sau unchi. Nici bunici. Nici prieteni. Nici cunoscuti. Te am pe tine.'
'Astazi.'
M-a privit. Nu am putut sa ii sustin privirea. Intreba atat de multe iar eu nu aveam nici unul din cuvintele pe care ar fi trebuit sa le rostesc, la mine. Chipul lui era de piatra, nu puteam sa vad nimic in spatele ochilor lui, nici macar un muschi nu i se misca pe fata. Nimic. Gura intredeschisa incremenise, legata fedeles intr-un singur gand.

A ajuns in fata unei cladiri cu apartamente. A ciocanit usor in geanul scarii. Portarul somnoros a deschis ochii si i-a facut semn sa sune la interfon. A inchis ochii la loc. Moise si-a inclestat pumnii si si-a intins zambetul pe chipul incremenit. A batut din nou in geam. Iritat, portarul s-a ridicat si a pasit spre usa.
'Trebuie sa suni la interfon.'
'Nu stiu la ce numar sa sun. Am numai adresa asta, nu si apartamentul...'
'Pe cine cauti?'
'Familia Tudor?'
'La domnu' doctor? Pai e tarziu sa-l deranjezi la ora asta.'
'Deci aici locuieste, nu am gresit...'
'Da, aici, la 74, dar stai sa-l sun intai...'
Moise a impins usa cu piciorul, iar tocul de metal greu a lovit capul portarului cu un zgomot infundat. A cazut. Moise a intrat in scara blocului. A trecut pe langa portar si a cercetat masa mica, din hol. Un cutit si o furculita stateau murdare, pe o farfurie, alaturi de cateva resturi. A luat furculita, s-a intors catre portar si i-a infipt-o in gat. Apoi a luat liftul.

L-am sarutat inca o data si am plecat. Am auzit usa inchizandu-se dupa mine. Apoi am auzit-o deschizandu-se din nou.
'Stai.'
M-am intors.
'Da...'
'Tocmai am realizat ca astazi a fost ultimul curs. Nu o sa te mai vad.'
'Nu.'
A ezitat. Ce-ar mai fi putut sa spuna? Am plecat. Nu am mai auzit usa inchizandu-se. Banuiam ca ma priveste. Oare ma privea? As fi vrut sa vorbesc cu el. Sa-i povestesc totul, totul vazut de unde statam eu. Insa cuvintele nu au incaput. Pacea si firescul dintre noi nu ar fi putut fi distruse de niciun cuvant. Mi-a spus ca sunt prea terestra... Nu eram atat de terestra incat sa inteleg sensul lui 'prea'.
M-am gandit la Moise multa vreme. Ceva ma tot chema inapoi la el. Nu m-am ascultat niciodata. Mai priveam inelul cu piatra verde si imi tulbura gandurile. In el statea linistea mea toata, zdruncinata, si timpul tuturor timpurilor.
'Oare Moise ce-o fi facand?' si chipul lui serios mi-a aparut in gand. 'O fi omorat pe cineva?'
Bate cineva la usa. Ma uit la ceas. E destul de tarziu. Ma duc sa vad cine e...

Haruki Murakami - After Dark

2010-12-21T17:19:00.002+02:00

Dupa primele randuri m-am panicat, crezand ca lectura acestei carti intr-o limba nu chiar apropiata mie, va fi mai mult decat pot eu duce. Dar, usor, am trecut de prima pagina, de a doua, si cand am inchis cartea (file'ul, sa fiu mai precisa, ca o am pdf pentru viitorime) era 6 dimineata si mie imi parea, din nou, rau.
Cum sa zic ca este 'After Dark'? Fireasca in structura, fantezista, reala in exprimarea fiecarei trairi, simpla in subiect, complexa si grea in intrebarile pe care le ridica...
O sa fiu nevoita sa fac un eseu pe marginea ei, dar este atat de bine legata, in copertele care iti curg printre degete, incat deja ma ingrijoreaza gandul.

Murakami zice, prin personajul sau, Takahashi:
"After I'd been to the court a few times, though, and
observed a few cases, I started to become strangely
interested in viewing the events that were being judged
and the people who were involved in the events. Maybe I
should say I found myself less and less able to see these as
other people's problems. It was a very weird feeling. I
mean, the ones on trial are not like me in any way: they're
a different kind of human being. They live in a different
world, they think different thoughts, and their actions are
nothing like mine. Between the world they live in and the
world I live in there's this thick, high wall. At least, that's
how I saw it at first. I mean, there's no way I'm gonna
commit those vicious crimes. I'm a pacifist, a goodnatured
guy, I've never laid a hand on anybody since I was
a kid. Which is why I was able to view a trial from on high
as a total spectator.
As I sat in court, though, and listened to the testimonies
of the witnesses and the speeches of the
prosecutors and the arguments of the defence attorneys
and the statements of the defendants, I became a lot less
sure of myself. In other words, I started seeing it like this:
that there really was no such thing as a wall separating
their world from mine. Or if there was such a wall, it was
probably a flimsy one made of papier-mâché. The second
I leaned on it, I'd probably fall right through and end up
on the other side. Or maybe it's that the other side has
already managed to sneak its way inside of us, and we just
haven't noticed. That's how I started to feel. It's hard to
put into words.
So once I started having thoughts like this, everything
began looking different to me. To my eyes, this system I
was observing, this 'trial' thing itself, began to take on the
appearance of some special, weird creature.
Like, say, an octopus. A giant octopus living way down
deep at the bottom of the ocean. It has this tremendously
powerful life force, a bunch of long, undulating legs, and
it's heading somewhere, moving through the darkness of
the ocean. I'm sitting there listening to these trials, and all
I can see in my head is this creature. It takes on all kinds
of different shapes—sometimes it's 'the nation,' and
sometimes it's 'the law,' and sometimes it takes on shapes
that are more difficult and dangerous than that. You can
try cutting off its legs, but they just keep growing back.
Nobody can kill it. It's too strong, and it lives too far down
in the ocean. Nobody knows where its heart is. What I felt
then was a deep terror. And a kind of hopelessness, a
feeling that I could never run away from this thing, no
matter how far I went. And this creature, this thing
doesn't give a damn that I'm me or you're you. In its
presence, all human beings lose their names and their
faces. We all turn into signs, into numbers."

si Mos Craciun este barbat...

2010-12-21T13:08:00.003+02:00

Figurile masculine, mai mult sau mai putin parentale, s-au perindat prin viata mea din frageda pruncie. I-as alinia pe toti, ca pe un sirag cu margaritare, dar mi-e teama ca ar fi mai mult 'tare' decat orice alt calambur pe care as putea sa-l gasesc in aceasta dimineata. Plus ca sunt inca in stare de soc: de ce suna lumea la ora zece, cand esti in vacanta si ora de culcare e sase (am)? In fine, nu are 'lumea' de unde sa stie...
Imi amintesc cand spuneam cu mandrie, colegilor de clasa, ca eu am doi tati. Unul mai mult sau mai putin biologic si unul mai mult sau mai putin prezent. Eram optimista, privind de sus direct in paharul plin pe jumatate, care din unghiul ala parea plin si atat. Intre timp, s-a ridicat paharul, s-a coborat unghiul de unde observ, nu's ce dracu, ca pare-mi-se ca nu mai e nimic in paharul ala. Nici macar apa chioara cu care sa ma imbat.
Intreaba-ma acum despre 'cea mai parentala figura' si o sa raspund pe nerasuflate Moise, bunicul meu mare si bun. Nu stiu cat de bun a fost pe parcursul intregii lui vieti, insa eu - ca toti nepotii nascuti la timplu care se cuvine - l-am stiut batran, intelept si bun. Dar si el s-a strecurat afara din viata mea, pe nesimtite, cand am dat cea mai putina importanta faptului ca bunicii nu stau pe-aici pentru totdeauna. Cu o umbra de umor, uite-asa am mai scapat de inca o figura parentala.
Apoi au venit ei, cu soaptele si declaratiile infinite in dimineti devreme. Never ever? Never ever? Hm... ca sa zic asa.
In dimineata asta m-a 'palit' realitatea dezamagitoare, pentru ca suntem in preajma Craciunului si pentru ca - na - nu ai cum sa lasi asta asa, sa treci pe langa si sa inghiti in sec. Nu te lasa beculetele colorate, colindele si zambetele celor din jur. Incotro se indreapta lumea asta, daca si la radiourile targhetate pe hip-hop auzi, una din trei, un colind...
Dar, din nou, sa nu ne imbatam cu apa rece. De ce sa fim mai buni, mai darnici, mai iertatori, mai umani sau cum vrei sa-i zici, daca si Mos Craciun este tot barbat si, imediat dupa ce isi face 'treaba' (care, sa fim seriosi, e mai mult pentru propriul orgoliu; daca anul asta Mos Craciun ar decinde sa nu mai aduca niciun cadou, nimanui pe planeta, pun pariu ca anul viitor nu ar sti nimeni despre batranelul asta imbracat in costum ciudat) o sa isi ia talpasita fara un singur gand ca cineva i-ar simti lipsa. Asa e randuiala, dom'le, unii sunt facuti sa vina si sa plece. Si sa mai vina la anul. Si apoi sa plece din nou.
Asa ca am decis: ma lipsesc... si imi astup burlanul, nu pentru ca nu mi-ar placea sa primesc ceva dragut de la el, ci pentru ca nu mai suport sa il vad, si anul asta, cum vine si pleaca.

Reteta de gatit fericirea intr-o viata

2010-12-15T22:43:00.003+02:00

Ingrediente:
1. O mama iubitoare, inteleapta si destupata.
2. O prietena definitiva.
3. O familie care, desi imprastiaia prin lume, sa te intrebe din cand in cand de sanatate.
4. Un suflet pereche, fie si in absenta, la care sa te raportezi.
5. O gascutza relativ mica de prieteni de incredere.
6. Bani, dupa gust.
7. Principii impartite in categorii (bine stabilite; flexibile; indoielnice).
8. Carti, muzica, filme, plimbari fara sens si shopping.
9. Acceptarea unei entitati (relativ) divine.
10. Bun simt.

Mod de preparare:
Se aduna ingredientele in ani, se lasa la macerat in nopti lungi, cu luna plina, se adauga scop si determinare. Se serveste calda.
Voila!

Nefirescul drum catre 'nepersonaj'

2010-12-08T08:28:00.009+02:00

S-a trezit in noapte si in frig. Cineva bate la usa. S-ar duce sa deschida, dar drumul e asa de lung. Si e asa de frig. Bate din nou. "Cine o fi batand, asa devreme, la usa mea?" Un sentiment de teama i-a amotit simturile. "Mai stau putin, poate pleaca..." Dar bataile se aud din ce in ce mai tare. Bum! Bum! Bum! "Au innebunit cu totii. Ce-o fi in capul lor, sa bata asa, cu pumnii, in usa mea subtire ca un timpan care nu a auzit decat harpa, pana acum." Bum! Bum! "Linistiti-va, ca treziti vecinii! Vin!"
Pe scarile inguste, albastre, care dau spre intrare, e intuneric. Nu vrea sa se duca. Dar bat asa de tare. Cum sa nu raspunda? Cum sa se faca ca nu aude? Cum sa ignori ceva atat de intens? Se gandeste ca echipajul din dotare face mai mult rau decat bine, in unele cazuri. De ce sa ai ochi, daca nu vrei sa vezi? De ce sa ai urechi, daca nu vrei sa auzi? De ce sa ai constiinta, daca nu te lasa sa dormi?
De ce sa dormi, daca ochii tai vad, urechile tale aud si constiinta ta iti bate in tample, cu degetul aratator, sistematic? "Mai e mult pana la usa?" Se simte ca intr-un vis urat, in care oricat de mult ar merge, nu va ajunge niciodata acolo. Sunt o mie de scari. Una, doua, trei, patru, cinci, sase, sapte, opt, noua, zece... "Poate o sa adorm pe drum, numarand scarile ca pe oi. Si poate ca o sa cad. Si o sa ma rostogolesc pana jos. Si o sa-mi rup o mana si-un picior. Si ochiul. Si urechea. Si pe ea. Poate o omor!" Ii place ideea. Ii place la fel de mult ca ideea cealalta care i-a placut. Prima idee. Nu, isi da seama ca greseste. Prima idee a fost buna. A doua idee, de a pune prima idee in aplicare, ii da batai de cap. Si batai in usa.
Una, doua, trei, patru, cinci, sase, sapte, opt, noua, zece... Bum! Bum! Bum! "Vin! Ce, credeti ca este usor?... Trebuia sa nu-i fi chemat. Sunt sigura ca eu i-am chemat, fara sa ma gandesc ca ma vor trezi noaptea. De ce nu vin si ei ziua. Cand sunt numai doispe scari. Din doua salturi le dobor. Am argumente. Dar asa, in mijlocul noptii... Nu e corect." Noaptea, numarul soldatilor in doua armate diferite, una numeroasa si una nu prea, devine egal. In noapte, gandul bun isi creste colti iar gandul rau mananca din tine. S-a verificat la canini. Totul e bine. Nu e asa. Totul e bine inainte sa fie rau. Sau. Totul e bine cand se termina cu bine. Dar cand se termina cu rau? Eh, atunci totul e rau. "Vreau sa fie bine! Pentru a mia oara, vreau sa fie bine!" S-o fi gandit cineva pana acum la cate dorinte isi pune omu' pe parcursul vietii? Cand ai o geana pe obraz iti pui o dorinta. "Vreau sa fie bine!" Cand rostiti acelasi cuvant. "Ah, a murit un drac, vreau sa fie bine!" Cand e fix. "Vreau sa fie bine!" De cate ori sa-ti doresti ceva ca universul sa lucreze pentru tine. Vreau sa zic, se vede ca vrea. Se vede ca, cum se spune, isi doreste mult...
Una, doua, trei, patru, cinci, sase, sapte, opt, noua, zece... "Sa fi ajuns macar la jumatatea scarilor?" Bum! Bum! Bum! Si-a amintit. Poate pentru ca s-a trezit de tot. Ea i-a chemat! I-a chemat pentru ca, intr-o seara, atarnand obosita de coltul unui birou, si-a imaginat. Si i-a imaginat frumos, ca-n carti. Ca-n filme. Ca-n piesele de teatru. Si i-a imaginat vii, cu dorinte si chestii care nu le face placere. Cu personalitate. Cu nazuri si imbracaminte diferita. Te-ai fi gandit ca si i-a imaginat imbracati la fel. Ntz! Imaginatia are o minte a ei. A Ei. Si i-a imaginat asa cum ar fi vrut sa-i cunoasca. Bunul. Actorul. Bogatasul. Prostul. "De ce mi-am imaginat si prostul, nu ma prind... Ca sa ajung sa imi fie teama de prost? Nu era mai simplu sa nu mi-l fi imaginat? Ca sa nu existe?".
Una, doua, trei, patru, cinci, sase, sapte, opt, noua, zece... Apoi a aflat ca exista. Si ca ii poate chema. Si a trimis o scrisoare. Ei trebuie sa fie! Atunci, de ce ii este asa de frica? Atunci de ce lungeste drumul pana la usa cu inca noua sute optzeci si opt de scari. "Poate ca inca visez, daca pot sa fac asta! Ce bine-ar fi sa visez. Ba nu, nu e bine! Daca maine imi dau seama ca am visat, o sa le scriu. Si o sa-i chem. Apoi ei or sa vina, in mijlocul noptii, si-mi vor bate la usa. Bum. Bum. Bum."
Este ea. "Sunt eu. Ochii mei au vazut. Urechile mele au auzit." Ea a ales sa vrea, ca sa inteleaga cat de loiala ii este imaginatia. Loiala realitatii, nu ei. Ea nu are nicio notiune despre realitate. Sau despre lipsa ei. A trait atat de fericita in atat de multe universuri aproape reale, incat acum vrea sa vada. Ca in filmul ala cu DiCaprio. Dar ea nu va cadea pe scari. Ea va ajunge la usa, va deschide si... S-a oprit! "Si dupa ce deschid, ce fac?" Bum! Bum! Bum!
Noua sute nouazeci si sapte, noua sute nouazeci si opt, noua sute nouazeci si noua, mia! Cine nu-i gata, il iau cu lopata!
In fata usii. Ei, de o parte. Ea, de cealalta. Atinge clanta rece. "Esi o gaina. Tu ai vrut, deschide macar sa vezi despre ce este vorba. Daca nu iti place, inchizi repede usa. Si gata. Alergi inapoi si s-a terminat.
A descis usa.

Lovitura de stat in cautarea unei tigari

2010-12-08T00:13:00.002+02:00

Gand de la un prieten drag, pentru a treia toamna si a douashaptea primavara...

Doar ma stii...
Imperiu mi-am fost.
Trupele mele cucereau
cetate dupa cetate,
supuneau popoare de suflete
si trupuri stigmatizate de suferinta.
Noaptea fumam facand rotocoale
de dor catre tine.
Si-ti trimiteam nori
mustind a tequila
si-a cafea amara.
Apoi semnam ordinul de atac
pentru a doua zi.
Pana la lovitura aceea de stat,
cand celalalt a preluat puterea.
A masurat de 23 de ori,
taind o data.
Mi-am devenit mai mic,
dar mai stabil si pacifist.
Mananc la pranz felul 1 si felul 2.
Inchei cu desert si doua tigari.
De dupa.
Semnez doar acte de aprovizionare,
condamnari minore la sex
si orare de functionare
ale librariilor pline cu "memorii".
M-am ingrasat,
produsul intern brut
s-a marit simtitor,
supusii par senini si multumiti.
Doar eu nu pot dormi noaptea ca inainte.
Planuiesc o alta lovitura de stat.
Am pregatit osteni fideli
si arme necunoscute celuilalt.
Colturi indepartate ale fostului imperiu imi cer ajutorul.
Le e dor de asuprire
n-au aflat ce sa faca libere
de mine.
La noapte voi fuma o tigara
cu gandul la tine.
Si-n zori voi da ordinul de atac.
Sa-mi tii pumnii!
Sau, cine stie, te vei ruga sa fiu invins.
Se insereaza.
Patreaza-mi o tigara.
De nu mor, voi veni dupa ea.

In a saptea zi...

2010-12-07T00:20:00.003+02:00

I
M-am trezit in aceasta dimieata si m-am surprins fata in fata cu Gandul. L-am impins, ca sa pot respira. Dar Gandul mi-a spus:
"Dumnezeu, saptamana asta avem de facut o lume!"
"Serios? Nu puteai sa-mi spui de ieri, sa-mi trec si eu in agenda?"
Dar Gandul m-a privit pe sub sprinceana, a scapat un zambet si s-a asezat pe scaunul lui regesc.
Pana sa inteleg cine sunt, la picioarele Gandului s-au asezat Teama si Speranta. Teama la stanga. Speranta la dreapta. Cand am terminat de baut cafeaua, o armata de Vise isi instalase corturile in sala principala. M-au salutat promt si si-au continuat lucrarea.
"Hei, Gandule, vrei te rog sa discutam despre asta? Cred ca este prea devreme sa..."
"Dumnezeul meu, odihneste-te sase zile si lasa-ma sa ma nasc. In a saptea zi ai voie sa regreti!"
II
A doua zi, cand m-am trezit, erau asezati pe scaunele, langa patul meu. Cu totii. Gandul, Teama, Speranta si armata de Vise. Toti, in camera mea mica.
"Buna dimineata, Dumnezeu, cum te simti astazi?"
"Odihnit. Ce-mi planuiesti?"
Gandul s-a ridicat si a pasit mandru printre cei prezenti. S-a indreptat spre fereastra.
"Bunul meu Dumnezeu, ce vezi?"
"Londra", zic eu, fara sa vreau sa vad 'panorama desertaciunilor' de la fereastra mea.
"Despre Renuntare o sa discutam alta data. Raspunde-mi, te rog, la intrebare..."
Privesc pe fereasta. Si acolo sunt eu, ca intr-un film mut, fluturandu-mi zambetele in patru zari. Si simt cum se naste in mine, ca un manunchi de clipe transformate in fluturi. Gandul imi mangaie trupul si o lasa sa iasa.
"Doamne, ea e Dorinta. Ea o sa fie mereu in preajma ta, uneori inaintea ta, tragandu-te catre ea, alteori in spate, impingandu-te."
"Catre?"
"Maine, Doamne..."
III
A treia zi m-am trezit tarziu. Si singura. Ca o pasare pe care n-ai cunoscut-o dar pe care ai admirat-o, in zbor, am pierdut cele doua zile care au trecut. La cafea mi-am amintit! Ceva nu este bine. Saptamana asta aveam de facut o lume. Ce sa se fi intamplat? Sa fi renuntat Gandul? Sa se fi decis ca nu sunt un Dumnezeu atat de bun pentru planul lui? Sa-si fi gasit un alt Dumnezeu? Sa ma fi lasat aici, cu cafeaua si nazurile mele, sa... sa... sa...
"Pst..."
M-am intors si Frica era in spatele meu.
"Am un cadou pentru tine, Dumnezeul meu!"
"Ce bine ca esti aici, ma speriasem putin..."
Dar n-am apucat sa termin ce aveam de spus, ca Frica a luat o secure grea, aramie, si mi-a infipt-o intre sprincene. Am cazut. Am sangerat. Cana mea de cafea a sangerat si ea... Am vazut armata de vise cum pierde batalia asta despre care eu nici nu stiam ca va avea loc astazi. Si erau atat de multe. Intinse pe linoleumul murdar din bucatarie, le vedeam murind... Visele mele...
"Da!" imi spune Gandul. Ea este Durera!
"Mai scuteste-ma, nu m-ai anuntat ca nu e distractiv sa fii Dumnezeu... Nu-mi place jocul asta..."
"Ne vedem maine, Doamne!"
IV
Aproape ca imi e frica sa ma trezesc. Ce imi mai pregateste Gandul astazi? Degeaba. Pana sa imi dau seama daca vreau sau nu sa ma trezesc, ochii imi sunt larg deschisi si rosii. Am spus ca sunt un Dumnezeu care doarme intr-un pat de o persoana? Care mai are si gratii... astazi. Sunt in mijlocul lumii. Adam si Eva digera la mere stricate, intr-o parte. Cateva curve arunca cu pietre una in cealalta, doua girafe ma privesc, cu ochii inalti si umezi, Mos Craciun isi mangaie tamplele albe, incercand sa-si aminteasca adresa mea din copilarie. Stop. Nu mai misca nimeni. Apoi incepe sa ploua cu lumina si toti alearga, rad, traiesc. Numai eu stau in patul meu de o persoana, imprejmuit de gratii groase.
"As vrea sa fiu libera. Gandule, orinde ai fi, gata! Gata cu tampeniile. Nu poti sa ma faci sa urasc o girafa pentru ca e libera. Nu poti sa ma lasi sa nasc..."
In drepata mea e Gandul.
"Care era prajitura ta preferata?"
"Siretul"
"Asa arata?" si musca din bucata aia de biscuite glazurat de care nu m-am mai bucurat din copilarie.
"Stai, lasa Siretul, nu imi pasa, priveste acolo. E cumva EL?"
"Cu ea! Ce simti, Dumnezeul meu?"
"Ca sunt lipsita de scapare. Si nu simt. Vad!"
"De ce nu-mi raspunzi la intrebare?"
"Simt... Simt sa intru adanc in sinele meu si sa urlu atat de tare incat sa se zguduie lumea!"
"Incearca, Doamne!"
Sprinceana gandului nu s-a miscat. Am tipat. Am tipat atat de tare incat m-am oprit in toate vietile in care am trait si in care voi mai trai de acum incolo. M-am oprit. Am deschis ochii. Nimic nu se schimbase...
"Si asta, Doamne, se numeste Invidia. S-ar putea sa crezi ca-ti da o putere mare, insa nu te va ajuta sa schimbi nimic. Niciodata. Acum dormi!"
V
In ziua a cincea Visele mi-au facut o surpriza. Un cos cu fructe coapte. Fara cafea astazi. Si fara Durere. Cineva lasase radioul deschis. Asa de mult imi place muzica, ei toti stiu... Mananc struguri care miros ca podul bunicului meu, nuci si portocale de Craciun. Si fereasta mea deschisa primeste soare si claxoane de masini vesele. Visele au plecau, pash, pash. Teama nu e, Sperante nu-mi trebuie, ce sa-mi mai doresc, pe cine sa invidiez, de ce sa ma invidieze cineva? As lucra putin astazi. Imi deschid agenda. Vineri - Impacarea! Ba mai bine sa nu lucrez...
VI
Ziua a sasea. Mai am putin si termin saptamana. Ce sa mai fie? Ce sa mai fie?
"Buna ziua, Doamne!"
"Buna ziua, Gandule!"
"Cum te simti astazi?"
"Pregatita..."
"Bine."
Si m-a luat de mana. Si am plecat. Paseam, si cu fiecare pas Ganul se transforma mai mult. Mai inalt, mai frumos, mai viu, mai cald, mai bun, mai al meu.
"Doamne, astazi iti voi schimba numele. Astazi vei fi..."
Si era el, si eram frumoasa pentru el, si eram vie pentru ca voiam sa-i arat ca nu sunt moarta, si eram pura ca sa-i arat ca nu sunt patata, si eram desteapta ca sa nu creada altfel, si eram eu ca sa nu creada ca nu e el... L-am privit. Si pamantul contina sa se invarta. Si soarele continua sa ma intrige. Si raul continua sa existe pe pamant. Dar el era aici!
"...iubirea mea!"
VII
Astazi este Duminica. Mi-am facut o lume. Am multe de care sa ma ingrijesc. Am Gandul, Teama, Speranta, Visele, Dorinta, Durerea, Invidia, Impacarea si Iubirea mea. Sunt Dumnezeul propriilor mei Asi, o sa joc. Astazi o sa ma joc.

Las usa deschiata

2010-12-02T01:38:00.004+02:00

Pentru ca nu am mai scris de foarte multa vreme despre asta, pentru ca inca ninge la fereastra mea si pentru ca am descoperit un radio ca un topogan catre o stare avansata de melancolie, o sa scriu despre dragoste.

Am cunoscut-o intr-o zi de septembrie. Sau sa fi fost iunie? Sau ianuarie? Nu mai stiu... Nici nu-mi pasa cum era afara. Nu cand am vazut-o! Mi-a clocotit sangele intr-o secunda, mi-a izbit sufletul de calcaie, mi-a inrosit obrajii si mi-a deschis ochii. Am inspirat-o ca pe o poezie care ma reprezinta. Char asa! Am privit-o si am simtit ca sunt eu, in oglinda ochilor lui. Ea. Sincera, adevarata, cum nu a mai fost si cum nu avea sa mai fie. Niciodata pana acum. Sau pana cand?
M-am asezat la o masa, cu umerii goi (umerii nu ma tradeaza niciodata) si cu ochii acoperiti. Am comandat o cafea. Ea statea goala, intinsa pe masa, intre noi. Dragostea noastra. Mi s-a parut putin prea erotica pentru gustul meu, dar atat de senzuala incat nu i-am putut rezista. Asa ca am mangaiat-o pe coapse, pe talpile cu urme de ani petrecuri cautandu-ne. A gasit si ea, pentru o clipa - sa fi fost numai una? - victimele. Eu si el, de o parte si de cealata a mesei.
Dupa o viata, ne-am ridicat de la masa. Am privit-o cu coada ochiului cum ne urma indeaproape. Ne-am oprit, sa vedem daca am ramas singuri, doi oameni intr-o oarecare conjunctura, sau daca am devenit partasi la caratul unui sentiment atat de puternic, invelit intr-o femeie goala, frumoasa, a noastra. Dragostea noastra.
Poate ca a trecut o zi, poate un an, poate cinci, nimeni nu mai stie. Din pacate am incetat sa mai privim in spate, am incetat sa ne mai intrebam daca suntem atat de norocosi incat sa ne urmeze. Am inceput sa stim.
Probabil ca atunci nu s-a mai simtit confortabil in pielea ei alba, care o imbraca perfect.
Apoi m-am simtit singura. Singuri? Singura. Am dat drumul mainii care ma tinea, ca sa ma pot intoarce cu totul. Sa privesc in urma. Sa caut urma ei in urma mea. Sa fi fost vantul, sa fi fost gandul, cel care i-a sters urmele? Nu pot sti...
La fereastra mea ninge, ea nu mai e, el... El.
Mi-a ramas amintirea, bucuria ca am cunoascut-o si o usa inchisa, in spatele meu. O sa ies sa ma plimb in iarna. Port cu mine o cheie cu care vreau sa imi incui usa. O cheie mica, argintie.
Mai bine mi-o agat de gat, sa nu o pierd. Si las usa inchisa... dar descuiata. Poate ca o sa i se faca dor. Poate o sa se intoarca...

Ea... sau El?

2010-11-30T22:41:00.003+02:00

Doctorii i-au spus ceva complicat, cum fac doctorii de obicei... Niste cuvinte lungi, fara sens. Uneori te intrebi de ce nu vorbesc si doctorii limba noastra. Poate ca limbajul doctorilor a fost inventat tocmai pentru ca ei anunta - de cele mai multe ori - vesti pe care nu vrei sa le auzi. Asa ca iti spun cateva cuvinte care suna a mancare frantuzeasca cu toping indian, pe un ton grav. Asa putem sa ne dam seama daca e ceva grav sau nu, din tonul dotorului.
A iesit in holul aglomerat, ametita si conguza. Avea foaia cu diagnosticul in mana. Sa intrebe o asistenta? - pentru ca asistentele sunt calea de mijloc intre oameni si doctori, cum sfintii sunt calea de mijloc intre oameni si Dumnezeu. Mai sunt si ingerii, aka anestezistii, banuiesc...
Nu a oprit pe nimeni. A iesit in strada. Aerul rece i-a palmuit fata. Ar fi vrut sa isi ridice gluga, insa a realizat ca avea haina nepotrivita.
A mers. Prin frigul unui noiembrie tarziu totul parea la fel. Oamenii si cladirile nu se diferentiau, copiii de batrani, fetitele de baietei, copacii de pasari. Totul apartinea lumii asteia. Numai ea avea sa moara. Sau sa continue sa traiasca in mizerie si boala. Grea alegere.
S-a asezat pe o banca. A decis.
"Aceasta este ultima banca pe care ma voi aseza!"
A inchis ochii si a privit cerul - ceea ce ea va decide sa fie ultima amintire a cerului. Apoi s-a lasat sa cada in sus, ca un spirit mult mai usor decat aerul. A alunecat in sus si s-a izbit de nori.
"Ce strangi cu atata putere?" a intrebat-o o voce necunoscuta. A deschis ochii si a vazut un barbat intre doua varste, cu ochelari de soare, privind-o cu curiozitate.
"E diagnosticul meu..." a raspuns instinctiv.
"Pot sa vad?" a spus domnul, in timpul in care ii smulgea hartia din mana.
"Ouch..."
"Da, asa credeam si eu..."
"Se pare ca vei pleca inaintea mea..."
"Spune cat mai am de trai???" a tipat ea, dupa ce si-a recuperat hartia...
"Nu, plus ca nu se moare din ovare polichistice. Insa eu am cancer... Si ma gandeam ca o sa te ridici repede de pe banca asta pe care o imparim, dupa ce iti voi spune..."
A atins din nou norii, numai ca - de data asta - ei au cazut peste sufletul ei...

M-am lasat (si eu) de gandit!

2010-11-17T17:35:00.003+02:00

Citesc (ca sa-mi mai spal neuronul ) articole pe care femeile le considera interesante, si nu ma refer la glumele din revistele pentru adolescenti, ci la cele adevarate, si ma crucesc...
"Cum sa-l faci sa te iubeasca mai mult" este titlul unuia, cu jenant de multe vizualizari. In aceasta epoca in care femeia pretinde a fi egala barbatului, continuam sa citim idiotenii scrise de pseudo'psihologi plictisiti de cumparat servetele de postat pe mesele joasa, din cabinetele cu lumina studiata.
Chiar crede cineva ca toti barbatii sunt la fel? Chiar crede cineva ca se pot cumula toate personalitatile (nu foarte complexe, ce-i drept) oamenilor si ca se gasesc zece reguli care sa le vina de hac?
Si eu care ma chinuiesc sa inteleg intretaierea dintre axa orizontala si cea verticala... Stupid me :))
Poate ca sunt amenintator de aproape de partea mea masculina, dar - pana la urma - nu femeile au fost cele care au dus greul civilizatiei pe umeri (ele fiind sotii si mame, sa ne intelegem...)? Probabil ca nu. Probabil ca plangem pentru ca avem abundenta hormonala si ca ascultam piese de dragoste petru ca suntem soft. Nu mai inteleg nimic. Asa ca, m-am decis sa ma las de gandit si sa continui articolul asta. Poate chiar sa-l pun in aplicare. Si, cine stie, poate-mi iese si descopar ca gresesc eu. Desi ma indoiesc...

Intamplari din Londra, partea X (files...)

2010-11-11T20:02:00.004+02:00

Ieri am fost la inca un interviu. O agentie de marketing. Ziceau ei. Dupa ce am asteptat cam o ora, timp in care am vazut 3 episoade din Friends - ceea ce a fost marfa - am fost invitata in sala de interviu. Un nene turc mi-a intins o mana paroasa si puternica si mi-a explicat ca ceea ce fac ei acolo e important. Asta trebuie sa tin minte! "Deci, Diana, esti pregatita pentru ceva impostant?" Damn, yeah! Intrebari de interviu pentru urmatoarele cinspe' minute si apoi: "Uite cum sta treaba, te plac. Esti nebuna, efervescenta, inteligenta, o sa-ti dau o sansa. Te angajez! Vino maine sa vezi cum decurge o zi de munca, sa intelegi limbajul si principiile si daca esti ok, incepem!"
O inima cat o paine, iuhu, calcand pe nori pana acasa.
Astazi, prezenta in sala de asteptare. O ora de Friends si apoi o dudie dragutza, destul de ingrijita si cu o engleza perfecta mi-a spus ca astazi voi sta cu ea. Mergem pe teren. Pe ce teren? O sa vad... M-a intrebat daca am luat pranzul, pentru ca putem sa mancam impreuna. Wahau, ce civilizat, imi place! Ne-am urcat intr-un metrou, am schimbat metrourile, am iesit de la metrou, am luat un tren si am ajuns undeva in estul Londrei. Corinne m-a impins intr-un magazin de unde sa imi cumpar o napolitana sau ceva sa mananc, ca luam pranzul in mers. ??? Ok, I guess...
Apoi m-a intrebat cine sunt, ce asteptari financiare am, ce timp liber am, daca vreau sa lucrez intr-o companie de marketing pentru bani sau pentru ca vreau sa imi cladesc o cariera... In tot acest timp am incercat sa nu fiu idioata si sa intreb: "Dar, exact, cu ce va ocupati voi aici?", am zis ca ma prind pe drum. Apoi ne-am oprit in fata unei casei, Corinne a scos din poseta o vesta d-aia fosforescenta - de vandut ziare in strada, gen - si a batut la usa. Aici am cam inceput sa ma prind...

"Buna ziua, sunt de la ____ si am cateva intrebari pentru dumneavoastra. Sunteti iubitor de animale? Noi strangem fonduri pentru centrele de animale si pentru a ajuta promulgarea unei legi esentiale pentru civilizatie - inchiderea celor care intr-un mod malitios, ranesc animalele. Vecinii dumneavoastra fabulosi au (traducand cuvant cu cuvant) sarit in barca noastra si au donat 2 lire pe saptamana, pentru urmatorul an. Dumneavoastra o sa ramaneti indiferent?" Zbang! usa in nasul nostru.

Iar eu am lasat-o pe Corinne sa isi continue ziua de lucru si mi-am cautat drumul (lung) spre casa.
Well, still on it...

Despre ce n-am voie sa scriu

2010-11-09T19:45:00.002+02:00

N-am voie sa scriu ca mi-e dor de casa. N-am voie sa scriu ca mi-e dor de mama mea, de garsoniera mea (care nu este a mea, de fapt), de baiat, de Bucuresti, de prietenii mei, de fetzele innegrite de griji, de parcul care trebuie sa arate tare frumos acum, de muncile care devenisera mai mult parti vii ale sufletului meu decat domenii concrete din care scoteam bani, de micul dejun, de Razvan si Dani, de Badea, de NU OTV, de traficul imposibil de la ora sase, de porumbeii de la geam...
Asa ca nu o sa scriu.

Sa uiti este un dar. Sa iti amintesti, insa, este o arta...

2010-10-22T01:04:00.004+03:00

S-a imaginat batrana. Atat de batrana incat sa mai tina minte, inainte de a se aseza in vesnicul fotoliu de la fereastra, doar cum arata cand s-a privit ultima data in oglina. Atat de tanara...
Cine zicea ca intelepciunea vine odata cu varsta, vorbea aiurea. Intelepciunea este atat de asemanatoare cu intretinerea fizica! Muncesti mult sa o obtii si, intr-o zi, iti dai seama ca s-a dus dracului si ca - in locul ei - au aparut cute dubioase in zone de care, odata, erai mandra. Si parca ieri te afisai cu trupul zvelt, de balerina nerealizata, dupa care tanjeau majoritatea barbatilor.
Langa fotoiu are o carte, un caiet si un pic. De o vesnicie. O carte din care citeste. Un caiet in care isi noteaza, cu pixul, unde a ramas.
Si o mare de vid.
Asa ca, de fiecare data cand termina cartea, o incepe din nou. Nu pentru ca i-ar placea atat de mult - desi probabil ca ii place mult...- ci pentru ca uita mereu despre ce era vorba. Despre ce era vorba, chiar asa?
Sa uiti este un dar. Sa iti amintesti, insa, este o arta... Ea uita totul si isi aminteste ce vrea sa-si imagineze. Noroc ca are asta de partea ei...
Isi deschide caietul si noteaza.
"Pagina 83. Despre domnii din cartierul meu nu stiu nimic."

a Saturday to Aspire to

2010-10-13T20:19:00.003+03:00

ASPREDRAMACLUB.COM

Intre feet job-uri si cecuri dubioase

2010-10-13T17:54:00.003+03:00

Daca despre unul dintre primele mailuri pe care le-am primit de la potentialii angajatori nu am vorbit, pentru ca a fost atat de ciudat incat am preferat sa nu o fac, despre cecul dubios trebuie sa scriu...

Acum doua saptamani am primit un mail lung de la un nene care imi spunea ca vrea sa ma angajeze ca asistent personal. Imi scria ca este din Londra dar ca nu sta prea mult pe aici (natura jobului lui) si ca are nevoie de un om de incredere, care sa-i rezolve chestiile relativ urgente. Totul cool, nu? Mi-a cerut cateva date, cum ar fi numele intreg, adresa, varsta... nimic care sa-mi ridice intrebari. Insa, in momentul in care mi-a scris ca urmeaza sa primesc cecuri si cadouri, mi-am pus cateva intrebari. De fapt, i-am pus cateva intrebari. Una a fost asta: de ce sa primesc cecuri - adica bani, right? - daca nu am muncit nicio clipa pentru el. Mi-a ignorat cu eleganta mailul si a continuat sa imi spuna ca a vorbit cu compania lui si ca ei imi vor trimite tot ce am nevoie sa stiu si ca, apoi, vom vorbi. Am cerut un interviu cu... cineva... cu oricine... insa nici la acest mail nu am primit niciun raspuns concret.
Iar astazi am primit un cec. La adresa. Un cec de la o banca. Un cec cu o valoare mare. Am trimis o poza cu cecul la niste prieteni, cu intentia vadita de a primi un raspuns cum ca e fals sau ca e o gluma proasta. Cecul - cica - nu pare a fi fals, insa nu am nicio intentie de a merge cu el la vreo banca. Din mai multe motive, dintre care unul ar fi ca nu am de ce sa primesc o astfel de suma de bani de la un nene cu care am schimbat cateva mailuri.

N-am sa ma gandesc la asta mai mult de cateva minute, insa nu imi iese din cap ce chestii dubioase se pot intampla in Londra.
Parca ma intelegeam mai bine cu Bucurestiul, din punctul asta de vedere. Anyway, aia e, strange things happen...

Children in action!

2010-10-05T17:15:00.002+03:00

aspiredramaclub.blogspot.com

www.womenlife.co.uk

2010-10-04T20:48:00.003+03:00

Pentru ca, de cand cu facebooku', care btw e suspendat acu :|, blogul a ramas ca un jurmal unde rar si cu sens mai scriu, imi pun aici primele trei articole pe care le-am scris in engleza, ca voluntar, pentru un site de femei. Cum ar veni, in aminirea unei perioade minunate la Lumea Femeilor...

www.womenlife.co.uk

Pregnancy Loss
http://www.womenlife.co.uk/pregnancy%20loss.html

Do you have Acne?
http://www.womenlife.co.uk/do%20you%20have%20acne.html

Teeth Whitening
http://www.womenlife.co.uk/teeth%20whitening.html

In teorie as sti sa fac linkurile astea utilizabile, insa nu azi, se pare ca blogspotu' pur si simplu nu vrea.
E o luni dificila, what can I say...

Malorie Blackman - Noughts & Crosses (the Kiss)

2010-10-01T22:15:00.005+03:00

Jessie mi-a imprumutat aceasta carte (usurica; in engleza, fireste), unde am gasit Pasajul: un tablou care, pentru mine, novice in curburile limbii, a parut a fi de o sinceritate si o naivitate desavarsita. Ma intreb cum o sa-l citesc peste cativa ani...

"Can I kiss you?"
My smile faded. I stared at my best friend. "Pardon?"
"Can I kiss you?"
"What on earth for?"
"Just to see what's like," Callum replied.
Yeuk! I mean yeuk!!! I wrinkled up my nose - I couldn't help it. Kissing! Why on earth would Callum want to do anything so... so feeble?
"Do you really want to?" I asked.
Callum shrugged. "Yeah, I do."
"Oh, all right then." I wrinkled up my nose again at the prospect. "But make it fast!"
Callum turned to kneel beside me. I turned my head up towards him, watching with growing curiosity to see what he'd do next. I titled my head to the left. So did he. I titled my head to the right. Callum did the same. He was moving his head like he was my reflection or something.
I put my hands on Callum's face to keep it still and dead center.
"D'you want me to tilt my head to the left or to the right?" I asked, impatiently.
"Er... Which way do girls usually tilt their heads when they're being kissed?" asked Callum.
"Does it matter?" Besides, how should I know?" I frowned. "Have I ever kissed a boy before?"
"Tilt your head to the left then."
"My left or your left?"
"Er... your left."
I did as asked. "Hurry up, before I get a crick in my neck."
Callum licked his lips before his face moved slowly closer towards mine.
"Oh no you don't, " I drew back. "Wipe your lips first."
"Why?"
"You just licked them."
"Ok! OK!"Callum wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I moved forward to resume my original position. Keeping my lips tight together, I wondered what I should do with them. Purse them so they stuck out slightly? Or should I smile to make them seem wide and more appealing? I'd only ever practiced with my pillow. This was a lot different!
"Hurry up!" I urged.
I kept my eyes wide open as I watched Callum's face move down towards mine. Callum's gray eyes were open too. I was going cross-eyed trying to keep my focus on his face. And then his lips were touching mine. How funny!I'd expected Callum's lips to be hard and dry and scaly like a lizard's skin. But they weren't. They were soft. Callum closed his eyes. After a moment, I did the same. Our lips were still touching. Callum's mouth opened making mine open at the same time. Callum's breath mingled with mine and felt warm and sweet. And then without warning his tongue was touching mine.
"Yeuk!" I drew back immediately and stuck my tongue out, wiping it with my hand. "Why did you do that for?"
"It wasn't that bad, was it?"
"I don't want your tongue on mine." I shook my head.
"Why not?"
"'Cause..." I studded at the thought of it, "... our spit will mix up."
"So? It's meant to."
I considered that.
"Well?"
"OK, OK!" I frowned, adding. "The things I do for you! Let's try it again."
Callum smiled at me, the familiar twinkle in his eyes. That's the thing about Callum - he looks at me a certain way and I'm never sure if he's laughing at me. Before I could change my mind, Callum's lips were already on mine - and just as soft and gentle as before. His tongue flicked into my mouth again. After a brief moment of thinking ugh i found out it wasn't so bad. In fact it was actually quite nice in a gross-to-think-about-but-OK-to-do sort of way. I closed my eyes and began to return Callum's kiss. His tongue licked over mine. It was warm and wet but it didn't make me want to heave. And then my tongue did the same to him. I began to feel a little strange. My heart was beginning to thump in a peculiar, hiccupy way that made me feel like I was racing down a roller-coaster, roaring out of control. I pulled away.

Dau o nota aici, cand termin cartea. Mai am jumate, dar deja lucrurile sunt complicate intre cei doi :))))!
7, pentru originalitatea ideei de baza. Yeah, right! :))) As if....

Robi si clopotelul bunicii

2010-09-27T01:54:00.004+03:00

A trait in casa asta, cu gradina mica, aproape toata viata. In prima zi de scoala, pentru ca era atat de timida, s-a ascuns intr-unul dintre vasele mari, pentru flori. Tremura ca varga la gandul ca va intalni o multime de copii de varsta ei. A stiut mereu cat de rai sunt copiii... Si asa a fost. Dupa ce au gasit-o parintii ei, dupa ce au fortat-o sa imbrace uniforma in doua culori, a fost dusa la scoala si asezata in ultima banca. Baietii, mult mai mici de statura decat ea, aruncau cu creioane si hartii motololite inspre banca ei si o strigau "paluga"...
Acum priveste gradina mica si isi aminteste, zambind. Acum este in siguranta. Are un job important, intr-o cladire importanta, se imbraca cu haine de firma... Iar baietii de atunci au reusit sa mai creasca nitel. Asa ca nu mai e "paluga", ci o tipa foarte sexy. Pe dinafara. Inauntru, insa, a ramas acelasi copil timpid. Aceeasi fetita careia ii este teama ca cineva s-ar putea sa se prinda de masca ei si sa o recunoasca...
Se aude clopotelul bunicii. Ce burgheza este bunica Lela! Nu a reusit niciodata sa se dezobisnuiasca de servitori. Urca treptele invelite in mocheta moale, pana la camera bunicii.
"Stai langa mine!" spune bunica, inca cocheta.
"Ce e, buni Lela?"
"Ma gandeam ca a sosit momentul."
"Momentul?"
"Da, da-mi cutia de sub pat."
S-a asezat in genunchi, la capatul patului, si a scos o cutie mare, de lemn, inchisa cu lacatel. A pus cutia pe pat. Bunica Lela i-a inmanat o cheita mica, argintie.
"Haide, deschide-o!"
"Ce e inauntru?"
"Ce-ar fi sa te uiti singura, a?"
A deschis cutia veche si a gasit inauntru... copilaria. Uniforma in doua culori. Cateva caiete, un penar vechi, de metal, o coronita cu pampoane ingalbenite. Si o foaie.
"Iti amintesti de unde e scrisoarea asta?" a intrebat bunica cu blandete.
A despaturit bucata de hartie veche, pe care erau scrise, cu litere mari, tremurate, cateva cuvinte.

"Cand o sa cresc, o sa te caut si o sa te fac nevasta mea."

"Iti amintesti?" a intrebat bunica.
"Da, Robi, statea in a doua banca. Ai pastrat asta, pentru mine?"
"Nu, draga mea, am pastrat-o pentru el..."
"Pentru Robi? Cum asa? Mai exista Robi?"
"Exist eu, exista casa asta, existi tu... De ce sa nu existe Robi?"
"Ma refeream la..."
"Daca mai stiu ceva despre el? Nu. Parintii lui s-au mutat in urma cu zece ani din oras. Nu mai stiam nimic despre ei..."
"Nu mai stiai?"
"Da. Robi a trecut pe aici zilele trecute. Si a intrebat de tine. Este un tanar destul de aratos. Ma gandeam ca, poate, ai vrea sa il revezi."
"Bunica Lela, sa il revad? Cum sa il revad? De ce sa il revad? A fost o gluma copilareasca, la ce te gandesti? Ce as avea sa ii spun?"
"Spune-i ce vrei tu."
Bunica Lela a apucat cu gratie clopotelul de metal si a lasat clinchetul lui sa invadeze casa mica, ingrijita.
"Sunt aici, nu trebuie sa mai chemi pe nimeni."
In usa camerei a aparut un tanar inalt, brunet, cu ochii... cu ochii lui Robi.
"Draga mea, ti-l amintesti pe Robi, nu-i asa? Dragul meu, intamplarea face ca, in clipa asta, ne aminteam de tine. Care ar fi putut fi sansele?" si a chicotit ca o scolarita, dupa primul sarut.
"Ia te uita, dar vad ca ai crescut putin..."
"Te-am amenintat cu asta, imi place sa imi tin promisiunile!"
"Da, m-ai amenintat cu multe lucruri, iti amintesti? Si cu un creion, la un moment dat..."
"Bunica Lela, zise Robi, o sa facem o plimbare prin gradina, daca ne permiti..."
"Lasa, draga, menajamentele astea. Singurii melancolici de pe-aici sunt eu si clopotelul meu." si le-a zambit complice.

In gradina, soarele le-a regizat lumina portivita pentru o intalnire corespunzatoare.

"Ce faci, Robi, cum esti?"
"Pregatit!"
"Poftim?"
"In urma cu multa vreme ti-am facut o promisiune. Am venit sa te vad."
"De ce?"
"Pentru ca... intotdeauna am crezut ca... pentru ca as fi ramas toata viata cu regretul ca, daca nu m-as fi tinut de promisiune..."
"Robi, eram copii..."
"Stiu, insa..."

O melodie placuta a rasunat ca un greiere, din buzunarul ei. Telefonul.
"Imi pare rau, trebuie sa raspund..."
Robi a ramas singur, scaldat in soare, in gradina mica. O vreme. Parea ca o statuie ce a fost acolo dintodeauna. Ea vorbea la telefon si il privea prin geamul mic de la terasa. Robi, e chiar Robi...
Dar ii aducea prea mult aminte de ea, de aceea de care nu ar fi vrut sa isi aminteasca, pe care nu ar fi avut curajul sa o infrunte. Era char Robi!
A urcat scarile si a vazut-o pe bunica Lela motaind, cu mana pe clopotel. A sarutat-o pe obraz si a coborat repede. Pe strada pustie, vantul primavaratic cauta cotloane umede, pe care sa le usuce. Si-a inchis mai bine jacheta si a mers. A mers.

Isus si furculita lui

2010-09-18T15:05:00.004+03:00

Nu-mi amintesc daca era in ziua in care il uram pe proprietar sau in aia in care doar radeam de el: in metrou am vazut cel mai interesant (sa-i zicem asa) tip eva'. Mi-ar fi placut sa-l pozez, insa nu stiu cat de elastica era notiunea de prietenie, in ceea ce-l priveste.
Cateva dreduri, in spate, ca o chica (pentru ca era chel in rest), o placuta de serif atarnata la gat, pe care scria ostentativ ISUS, un tatuaj (de altfel foarte tare) rosu, care reprezenta un desen (o mazgaleala) gen Spanzuratoarea (jocul).
Iar cea mai tare chestie, la care nu stiu de ce nu m-am gandit niciodata, avea o bratara confectionata dntr-o furculita indoita. Acum nu stiu unde va duce pe voi imaginatia, dar mie mi s-a parut tare. Cel putin nu am mai vazut pe nimeni care sa puna in aplicare asa o idee. Ma gandeam ca daca furculitzele ar fi din argint, ca sa vina cu un plus de valoare, ideea se poate - cu usurinta - transforma in moda, right?

Ah, am si blog proaspat frezat :)

Face or book?

2010-09-18T04:32:00.003+03:00

Se pare ca intrebarea asta ma chinuieste din ce in ce mai mult. Care e problema mea cu Facebook'... Pai, ma asez la calculator, incercand sa pun in cuvinte ceea ce, in poze, ia forma altor cuvinte. Coplesita, dor, nerabdare, anxietate si "un peut de"...termination.
Deci mai tin facebooku' o perioada, pana incep cursurile, iar daca mi se pare ca nu imi iese, il... (nu ma cred in stare, but whatev :))
So, face or book???

Hey, what's burnin'?

2010-09-13T02:33:00.002+03:00

Prima dintre (probabil) multele povesti din Londra (care este mai mult o povestire, decat o poveste, but...)

Aveam o vizionare de casa la 4 p.m., asa ca, pe la 2 - cand s-a trezit JJ -, eu si Irinuca eram pe punctul de a iesi din casa (orele sunt scrise bine, insa noi suntem precaute cu intarziatu' la intalniri, nu e profi :P). Dar nu ai cum sa pleci asa, tam nesam, cand se trezeste omu'. Am mai ramas putin la vorba. Domnisoare, hahaiala intr-o engleza oarecum (?), soare mult in camera amortita.
Voua nu va miroase a fum?
Atunci JJ a sarit ca "arsa" din patul unde se mai tolanise putin, direct catre cuptorul care fumega. Pusese niste lipie la incalzit... Cand a deschis usa de la bucatarie, un fum dens (sper sa nu folosesc niciodata expresia "de-l tai cu cutitul", dar era in zona aia) a invadat toata casa. Alarma de fum a inceput sa piuie, JJ a inceput sa agite niste prosoape pe langa ea, prinsa intre tristetea ca i s-a stricat micul dejun si veselia ca a facut o fapta tare haioasa. Nu s-a panicat nimeni. Ba dimpotriva, ce ne-am mai veselit noi de intamplare, nevoie mare. Am zis ca asta ne-a facut ziua, ne-am luat Bye-bye-vedere si am coborat.
Doi (sau trei?) domni bine, imbracati in costume de pompieri, cu mastile pe fata, ne-au deschis usa de la scara si ne-au salutat din priviri (se pare ca people do that). Am stiut in clipa aceea ca veneau la noi. Am ramas inmarmurite in fata blocului, pentru ca am vazut mai multi pompieri si doua masini mari (d'alea de pompieri, fireste) cu echipaje pregatite sa intervina. Nu stiu de unde au aparut, ca abia ce mi-am revenit dupa piuitul de la alrma de fum.
A trebuit sa asteptam in fata blocului pentru deznodamant, n-aveam cum sa ratam asa ceva. Unul dintre cei doi (trei?) pompieri a coborat la scurt timp. JUR ca am vazut tristete pe chipul lui cand am intrebat daca totul este bine.
False alarm...
JJ, de la etajul doi, a scos capul pe fereastra si a strigat, foarte mandra, ca la noi au fost!
Banuiam...
Nimeni nu a primit nicio amenda, pompierii au plecat la fel de repede cum au venit si gata, end of story.
Nicio stire la un post tv local, nicio injuratura, nimic.
Ciudat de nimic pentru mine. Da' ma obisnuiesc :)

Doi

2010-09-05T19:17:00.003+03:00

Ca intr-o clipa de fericire :)

Da' Yellow Mood

2010-09-03T22:44:00.003+03:00

Cata dragoste indreptata inspre mine, in perioada asta... E aproape covarsitor. Gata. E (hiper)decis. Incerc...
Si nu, inca nu pot vorbi. Nu'sh ce ma tine, dar ma tine ceva. Asa ca o sa pun poza asta draguta si o sa scriu altcandva.

Despartirile sunt grele...

2010-08-23T22:56:00.003+03:00

Mai ales cand nu vrei sa dezamagesti pe nimeni.
Imi amintesc cat de greu mi-a fost sa ma despart de Lumea Femeilor. De sedintele de coperta, de rutina pe care o respectam cu strictete, pentru ca imi dadea o anumita ratiune de a fi, de toata gasca aia colorata, numita Ringier, cu oameni albi, negri, gri, veseli, tristi, cu har, in cautarea muzei... A fost greu.
Azi am trecut, inca o data, printr-o despartire similara. Si ce greu a fost!!!
In primul rand, e greu sa te desparti de diamante. Fie si pentru o scurta perioada... Dar ce sa mai zic despre pachetul complet: diamante, program flexibil (ca Nadia la Olimpiade), salariu atragator (la propriu - cu fund bombat si silicoane) si niste "sefi" care nu lasau sa treaca ziua fara sa imi spuna ca sunt: cea mai buna, ingrozitor de talentata, creativa, inteligenta... si restul cuvintelor de care avea atat de multa nevoie.
Sunt putin catranita (sn. suparata, ca sa nu-l mai DEX-iti ), dar stiu de ce am decis sa inchei aceasta (chiar frumoasa) colaborare. Ma asteapta - sper eu - un master al dreacuh de interesant, care ma va transforma (inca putin) intr-un om mai bun.
Up-grade-urile sunt obligatorii ca sa evoluam, right?
Right?

Irina's weekend... in ureche

2010-08-17T13:29:00.002+03:00

Ca niste adolescenti iresponsabili, asa am plecat vineri noapte catre mare. A fost de "visul unei nopti de vara", atat ca au fost mai multe nopti. Am baut, am facut plaja, am mai baut putin - doar a facut si Irina 13'14 anisori - am inotat in stilul titanic si m-am dat pe wireless intr-o camera care avea poliester in loc de pereti. Portocaliu. Sau galben, cum ar zice Gab.
Oricum, a fost cea mai frumoasa vacanta ne(totally)programata, in sensul in care m-am relaxat atat de tare...
Some nice pics HERE

CAMERA VERDE

2010-08-12T15:05:00.004+03:00

Piesa intr-un act
Pentru prima grupa a cursului de actorie Teatrul Nou
CAMERA VERDE

Coordonatorul
Secretara
Katty
Betty
Gargarita
Lupu
Eminovici
Ada

Coordonatorul: Ok, toata lumea este pregatita?
Secretara: Este toata lumea pregatita??
Coordonatorul: In cateva minute incepe cel mai vizionat concurs de televiziune de pe planeta!
Secretara: Am putea spune “din univers”, pentru ca nu avem dovezi palpabile care ar putea sa ateste existenta altor specii, pe alte planete.
Coordonatorul: Nu stiu daca realizati cat de important este acest moment, in vietile voastre.
Secretara: Traiti ceva ce nu veti uita niciodata. Nicioodaata!
Coordonatorul: Sunteti pregatiti?
Secretara: Sunteti pregatiti?
TOTI: Da!!!
Coordonatorul: Ok, aveti lista aici. Va rog sa nu iesiti din camera pana cand nu sunteti chemati.
Secretara: Respirati.
Coordonatorul: Relaxati-va!
Secretara: Respirati!
Coordonatorul: Va asteapta… iadul! Asa ca (striga, isteric), sa incepem!!! (Iese. Secretara nu il urmeaza. Intra din nou si striga la ea) Sa incepem, am spus!
Secretara: Repetati, concentrati-va. Nu! Nu! Relaxati-va. Trageti aer in piept. Trebuie sa plec…
Gargarita: Au plecat…
Lupu: Stiti gluma aia cu energizantu’ in loc de apa, nu?(cu referire la coordonator)
Batty: Nu. Ne-o spui tu?
Lupu: Nu, e prea proasta. E stupida.
Gargarita: Ce sa spun, atunci, despre cei care te intreaba ceva doar ca sa te faca curios, iar apoi arunca subietul pe fereastra. Seamana cu gluma ta?
Lupu: (Gargaritei) Ai spus ceva? Mi s-a parut ca am au…
Intra din nou Coordonatorul si Secretara.
Coordonatorul: Am uitat sa va anunt ca EU…
Secretara: El!
Coordonatorul: Duc fiecare concurent catre scena, da? Eu…
Secretara: El!
Coordonatorul: Nimeni altcineva in afara de mine. Priviti-ma bine, pentru ca EU…
Secretara: El!
Coordonatorul: Va voi duce, pe fiecare dintre voi, la… scena! Nimeni altcineva. Va spun pentru ca sunt escroci prin’preajma.
Secretara: Escroci care abia asteapta sa va rapeasca pentru o suma frumusica de bani.
Coordonatorul: Asa ca, Eu si numai eu. Am iesit!
Coordonatorul pleaca. Secretara ramane si se aseaza pe un scaun.
Secretara: Si… aveti emotii? Eu as avea, in locul vostru. Pfai… sa ma priveasca toti oamenii aia despre care se spune ca au capetele “burdusite”, adica ca-s destepti, sa ma priveasca ei cu ochi critic? Oricum, sa nu aveti emotii, seara e asa de lunga, nu aveti idee.
Intra coordonatrorul. O priveste pe secretara cu furie. Secretara se ridica. Coordonatorul iese. Iese si secretara repede, facandu-le din mana concurentilor. Coordonatorul intra din nou:
Coordonatorul: Ati retinut, sper. Sa nu iesiti. Nu care cumva sa va rapeasca… infractorii.
Coordonatorul iese.
Eminovici: De ce ar incerca cineva sa ne rapeasca?
Ada: Nu a incercat nimeni, niciodata, sa rapeasca niste tineri care participau la un concurs national. Nimeni. Niciodata.
Eminovici: Atunci de ce ar spune domnul acesta asa ceva?
Kitty: Ada, ai nevoie de ajutor! Dragule, domnul acesta este un angajat pricajit, un neica’nimeni cu o moara stricata in loc de gura. Un bufon, un “zece pe alee”, un om care nu poate duce la bun sfarsit niciun fel de plan, un… ins prea nesemnificativ ca sa crezi ce spune. (Adei) Cred ca nu ii puteai explica mai bine.
Ada: Ai un arsenal intreg, sub denumirea “Kitty, afurisita dracului”, nu?
Katty: Am incetat sa te ascult de… ieri. Sa trecem la lucruri serioase. Lista! (o aduce, citeste din ea) Ordinea este urmatoarea: Eu, prima, fireste! Apoi, Eminovici, Betty (go Betty!), Gargarita, Ada si (Au, auuu) Lupu, in coada.
Eminovici: Pai, mai este putin. Trebuie sa ma pregatesc. As vrea sa se faca liniste aici, as vrea sa ma concentrez.
Ada: Si eu as vrea sa fiu o lebaduta si sa fiu admirata, intr-un parc din Amsterdam. Dar ce sa-i faci, nu putem avea tot ce ne dorim.
Eminovici: Nu-mi pasa mie de… Plus ca, s-ar putea sa-ti fie frig. Iiarna.
Ada: Ce?
Eminovici: Desi lebada e inzestrata cu niste pene speciale, ca toate penele – stii, penele sunt speciale, nu dau voie apei sa ajunga la piele…
Betty: Suuuper. Bine ca esti tu intreg la minte.
Intra secretara.
Secretara: Ceai de levantica. V-am adus… pentru emotii. Ceaiul de levantica are o capacitate extraordinara de a calma emotiile. Luati, luati! Vreau sa imi spuneti daca mai aveti emotii dupa ce beti. Beti, beti!
Lupu: Va striga. Nu auziti, va striga domnul…
Secretara: (alergand spre iesire) Beti, beti!
Betty: Katty, dam o repetitie?
Katty: Anytime! Asta ca sa ma distrez putin. Banuiesc ca e clar pentru toata lumea ca nu am concurenta.
Ada: Ai dreptate, daca stau sa ma gandesc, asa e! Tu esti cea mai nepregatita concurenta.
Betty: Liniste, se poate?
Gargarita: (tipa)AAAtentie! La semnalul meu, incepe toata lumea. Doua, trei si (nimeni nu spune nimic, stop cadru).
Katty: (repeta) “Era o noapte geroasa. Din odaia lui putea vedea mai bine de jumatate din sat. Vedea fumul care se scurgea parca in sus, il vedea cum intepa cerul grizonat. Noaptea era atat de linistita, incat a putut auzi cum calca Voicu zapada. Pe vremea aceia nu stia ca o sa-l cheme Voicu. S-a uitat mai atent pe fereastra si s-a trezit nas in nas cu lupul, cu un geam intre ei, ce-i drept. Nu s-au speriat unul de altul. Amandoi erau singuri si amandoi ar fi avut nevoie de putina companie…”
Lupu: Sau ceva de mancare. Unul dintre…
Gargarita: SHTtttt!
Katty: “… Pentru ca baiatul nu a plecat de la fereastra, nu a plecat nici lupul. Au stat asa, unul langa celalat, fiecare cu gandurile lui, dar fara sa se mai simta singuri. Nici cand baiatul a adormit, lupul nu a plecat de la fereastra. A doua zi s-au intalnit in spate, la lemne. Pe baiat parca l-a incercat un sentiment de teama – pana la urma statea fata in fata cu un lup, un animal salbatic despre care a invatat ca este periculos-, insa Voicu s-a apropiat… iar ochii lui Voicu… vindeca suflete. “
Ada: (o imita pe Kitty)“De atunci sunt nedespartit, iubirea – limbajul universal, sunt cea mai talentata, sunt cea mai frumoasa, nu ma mai suport, impuscati-ma!” (lui Kitty) Scuze, erai aici?
Betty: Uneori uitam de presupusa evolutie. Au murit oameni pentru pacea mondiala. Faceti si voi un efort. Mic.
Pauza.
Ada: Ce inseamna cand cineva spune ca ceva incepe “imediat”. Inseamna ca mai dureaza… cat? Cinci minute? Zece minute?
Eminovici: Banuiesc ca pana in sfertul academic este suportabil. Pana la urma si “academic” are o greutate anume, nu?
Ada: Multumesc ca-mi amintesti mereu de ce sa nu gandesc cu voce tare.
Eminovici: Placerea este intotdeauna de partea mea.
Gargarita: Pana la urma, ce dureaza atat?
Lupu: Sunteti prea stresati. De aceea nu o sa castige nici unul dintre voi. Poate Betty, pentru ca e dulce si cuminte (ii trimite o bezea).
Betty: Multumesc. Stiu ca suna lipsit de imaginatite, dar, imagineaza-ti, si mie mi-ar placea sa castigi tu. Ce zici de asta?
Lupu: (se gandeste) Esti o faptura diafana. (apare, ironic) Ce bine ca femeile se impart dupa culoarea parului. Asa nu devenim confuzi.
Intra secretara
Secretara: Cum sunteti cu emotiile?
Lupu: Ce dureaza atat?
Secretara: Tocmai am fost trimisa sa va anunt ca spectacolul se mai intarzie.
Lupu: Futu-i…
Kitty: Ce, Lupu, aveai si alte planuri pentru seara asta?
Secretara: Da! Eu merg sa dansez in seara asta. Daca vreti, va iau cu mine. Ah, putem pleca impreuna, am venit cu dubita. Dar, pentru intoarcere, unul dintre voi trebuie sa se sacrifice si sa nu bea, altfel o sa luam o amenda, mai mult ca sigut. Party!!! Munca in televiziune iti da multa adrenalina! AAAA! Ce se intampla aici? Toata lumea petrece?
Toti stau linistiti pe scaune.
Kitty: De la levancita. Ne-am linistit…
Betty: De tot.
Secretara: Ce-mi place sa stau cu voi. Cat de tare ma distrez! Dar, stiti, sunt in timpul programului… Trebuie sa mai apar si eu pe acolo, din cand in cand. Acum plec. Putin!
Gargarita: Eu spun ca putem profita de timpul asta. Cine repeta? Repede!
Eminovici: Daca ar fi sa urmam lista de concurs pe care am primit-o de la “domnul acela”, eu.
Gargarita: Nu fi timid! Trupa (semn de inceput)!
TOTI: OFOfofoo…
Eminovici: “Sunt un om nefericit. (Pauza) Voua nu vi se pare amuzant? De ce, ati vrea sa intrebati, sa ni se para amuzant? Pentru ca v-o spun in fata. Sunt nefericit! Si, spunandu-v-o in fata, va responsabilizez. Deveniti, fara sa constientizati, responsabili de nefericirea mea si raspunzatori de fericirea mea, cum este firesc. Iar din clipa in care v-am spus, pentru a treia oara, “Sunt nefericit!!!”, s-a zis cu voi! Asa ca, va mai intreb inca o data. Nu vi se pare amuzant? Mie da. Parca déjà incep sa ma simt mai bine. (Pauza) Ce loterie cu prognostic nefavorabil. Pe cine incerc sa pacalesc? Nu in voi - nu va flatati aiurea – ci in mine sta alegerea de a fi sau nu fericit. Alegerea, sper ca s-a retinut…”
Ada: Auzi, poetule! Esti sigur ca vrei sa le vinzi rahatu’ asta cu nefericirea fericirii e fericirea insasi? Celalt moment chiar imi placea!
Eminovici: Serios?
Ada: Serios. Si nu, asta nu inseamna ca ma dau la tine.
Intra coordonatorul si secretara. Secretara le face din mana.
Coordonatorul: Ceva de groaza! Asa ghinion n-am mai avut de cand am deschis canalul ala de moda in Madrid.
Secretara: Ceva de groaza?
Coordonatorul: Au cazut doua aparate, au strivit – strivit la propriu – un om… si un copil!
Katty: Si un copil?
Secretara: Vai? In ce tara? Tot in Haiti?
Coordonatorul: Pe platou! Acum liniste! Cand vorbesc eu…
Secretara: El!
Coordonatorul: Voi nu vorbiti! Asa… Doamne, Doamne ce tragedie! (si-a revenit) Ideea e ca se mai intarzie show-ul cu NISTE minute. Nu as sti sa va spun cu exactitate.
Secretara: (recita ca pe o poezie) Tot ce trebuie sa stiti este ca nu aveti voie, sub nici o forma, pentru nimic in lume, sa iesiti de aici. Sunt paparazzi, este politie, sunt fanii.
Coordonatorul: Daca iesiti, va iesi haos. Iar eu nu iau asupra mea o responsabilitate ca asta, pentru nimic in lume. Mai bine va omor cu mana mea. Va strangulez. Cu mainile mele. Acestea. Nu iesiti!!! Trebuie sa plec. (iese)
Secretara vrea sa se aseze pe un scaun. Intra coordonatorul. O priveste furios. Ies amandoi, repede.
Katty: Si un copil…
Betty: Este ingrozitor…
Ada: Hai lasa, Angelina, copiii in pace. Cum ii explici unui copil negru ca baiatu de peste strada, cu ochii migdalati, cu parul stralucitor, mirosind a orez and shit, e fratele lui?
(aparte Lupu si Gargararita)
Lupu: Despre ce vorbim aici?
Gargarita: Nimeni nu stie…
Ada: Sau ca, desi esti un somalez care abia s-a vindecat dupa o boala rara, ii zici “mama” celei mai frumoase femei din lume. Fazele astea lasa copiii confuzi. Unde sunt cei de la Drepturile Copilului cand ai nevoie de ei?
Betty: Si uite de-asta se zvoneste ca esti… cucu! Eu sunt la rand. Este toata lumea pregatita?
Toti: Da! Cla clo cla clo…
Betty: ”Cand eram mica, tata m-a intrebat ce mi-as dori, ca sa fiu fericita. Iar eu i-am raspuns ca mi-as dori in cal. Alb. Un cal cu care sa ma plimb toata ziua, printre vaile si dealuri astea. Un cal puternic si frumos cu care sa ma inteleg din priviri. Stiti ce am visat eu, intotdeauna? Ca voi avea un cal atat de… calul meu… incat el ma va ajuta, intr-o zi, sa-l salvez pe cel ce-mi va devein sot.”
Lupu: Nu te uita la mine. Eu nu ma asez la casa mea pana cand nu verific toata plaja de…
Gargarita: “SHShhhh!”
Betty: “Insa nu am primit niciodata un cal adevarat. Nu as fi avut unde sa-l tin. Tata a incercat sa suplineasca visul meu cu zeci de cai. Din lemn, din table, din plastic, mici, mijlocii, mari, albi, patati, negri, cu picioarele mobile, fara… Insa un cal alb, viu, care freamata, cu care sa-mi salvez iubitul, n-am primit… Imi dau toata nefericirea pentru un cal.”
Gargarita: Suficient!
Betty: Era finalul…
Gargarita: Timpul este limitat. Acum este randul meu. Ar fi neplacut sa vina coordonatorul isteric chiar acum, nu?
Intra coordonatorul.
Coordonatorul: (este transpirat si arata de parca ar fi alergat) Duuumnezeule! Ce situatie. Ce situatie. Rezolvabila, vreau sa…spun.
Intra secretara, arata impecabil.
Secretara: Domnule coordonator, nu aratati prea bine. Ce ati facut in cele cateva minute, cat am mers sa imi reimprospatez machiajul?
Coordonatorul: M-am luptat cu flacarile. Am insfacat un stingator de pe perete si mi-am facut treaba de barbat.
Secretara: Si, s-au stins?
Coordonatorul: In totalitate! Acum, daca imi permiti… (se adreseaza concurentilor) Situatia este rezolvabila. Insa nu chiar acum. In cateva clipe vin sa va iau. Of, dragii mei, as vrea sa va iau pe toti, insa trebuie sa va iau pe rand. Si, sa nu ne certam. O sa va iau pe rand in functie de hartia pe care am lasa-o la voi.
Gargarita: Kitty, Eminovici, Betty, Eu, Ada si Lupu. Daca n-am uitat pe nimeni si daca mai dureaza, am vrea sa ne lasati sa repetam. Multumim.
Coordonatorul: (cu un zambet larg) Cu mare placere. Mare placere, va zic. Ma bucur sa vad tineri, tineri constiinciosi, tineri muncitori, tineri…
Lupu: Sunteti un om important…
Betty: Nu aveti nimic important de facut la scena?
Coordonatorul: Copii exceptionali sunteti. Fug, revin cu vesti, acum trebuie sa plec. Insa revin, dupa cum, se pare ca spuneam. (secretarei) Sa-i lasam sa repete. Dragii de ei! (iese)
Secretara: Imi amintesc, cand eram tanara, ca voi! Poate nu mai mult de douazeci si ceva de ani. Lucram intr-o televiziune, ca asistenta unui coordonator idiot care nici nu stia cum ma cheama. Dar imi placeau concurentii. Mereu tineri. Mereu plini de speranta. Mi-ar fi placut sa concurez si eu, insa nu am crezut niciodata despre mine ca am talent. Dar, uneori ma incearca o pofta de a fi pe scena, de a fi impartita in zeci de bucati, sub ochii atenti ai oamenilor…
Toti copiii o fixeaza cu priviri furioase.
Secretara: (realizeaza ca a intrecut masura) Trebuie sa plec, nu? Da. Trebuie cu siguranta sa plec. Am plecat.
Gargarita: Sa incercam sa ne concentram. Gata. AAAtentie!
Toti: Ucicici Ucicici ucicici…
Gargarita: “Ma duc la Paris! Asta e statementul meu. Sau cum se spune in pariziana, “merde!” Merg la Paris pentru ca ma simt romantica. Poate ca nu par, poate, insa ma simt romantic..a. Si pentru ca am o matusa acolo care mi-a promis ca ma gazduieste o saptamana, poate doua, pana imi gasesc un rost. Pentru ca orice om trebuie sa aiba un rost. Un “quelque chose” motiv pentru care a fost lasat pe lume. Iar eu, cand aud muzica frantuzeasca, ma topesc in sinea mea. Asa ca mi-am zis, daca rostul meu se ascunde pe undeva, Paris este locul. Ma visez plimbandu-ma pe stradutele inguste – trebuie sa fie inguste stradutele, nu?-, vai, o sa fiu fericita ca un trandafir inflorit!”
Kitty: Puteam sa jur ca esti cactus… inflorit!
Gargarita: Frumos! V-am executat, ca sa dam cartile pe fata. V-am nimicit!
(nimeni nu spune nimic)
Gargarita: Sa stiti ca si eu, ca oricare artist, apreciez aplauzele.
(Betty o aplauda)
Betty: Ai fost foarte bune.
Gargarita: Multumesc!
Betty: Dar nu cea mai buna…
Gargarita: (zambeste) Invidii…
Eminovici: (Adei) Ma gandeam ca s-ar putea sa nu refuzi, desi s-ar putea sa accepti, privind situatia ca pe-un experiment. Insa, ma gandeam ca, dupa ce iesim de aici…
Ada: Te dai la mine?
Eminovici: Daca tu vrei sa folosesti cuvintele alea… Vorbele mele sunt, poate, mai catifelate, mai sensibile, mai calde. O caldura pe care o vad si in ochii tai, nu are sens sa negi…
Ada: Nu o mai face!
Eminovici: Poftim?
Ada: Nu o mai face!
Eminovici: Ce sa nu mai fac?
Ada: Treaba asta cu galantul trabantul. Nu-mi place.
Eminovici: Ce nepoliticos. Si, de ce, ma rog?
Ada: Pentru ca… nu esti din secolul asta. Cu mustata aia si cu papion.
Eminovici: Iti plac oamenii insesnibili?
Ada: Nu!
Eminovici: Necioplitii?
Ada: Nu!
Eminovici: Fanfaronii?
Ada: Ce? Nu! Nici macar nu stiu ce inseamna fanfaron! Inceteaza!
Eminovici: Este randul tau, la repetitie, daca…
Ada: Multumesc. Nu stiu sa fac reverente si, sincer, mai bine invat sa mulg o vaca decat sa invat sa fac ceva ce stiu ca ti-ar placea tie (zambeste).
Eminovici: Inteleg.
Ada: Gata? “La inceputul lumii era un singur crez, in care credeau toti oamenii, inainte de a deveni oameni. “Cred in mine”. Cred in puterea mea. In forta cu care pot sa rad, in intensitatea cu care pot sa sufar. Cred in auzul meu. In vibratiile in ritm de tango ale sufletului meu. Cred ceea ce vad. Culorile fantastice ale celei mai frumoase opera de arta, natura. Da! Cred in verdele copacilor! Cred in ceea ce degetele mele simt. Catifelat, ud, fierbinte, cred, cred, cred. Cred in mirosul de primavera, de pamant negru si ud, cred in miile de parfumuri care mi-au tatuat flori vii in suflet. Cred in mine. Cred in ceea ce simt. Si-mi simt credinta. Iar acesta este singurul crez pe care il cred. “
Lupu: Cata adancime…
Eminovici: As spune ca aveti dreptate. Sunt in respectivul text cateva intrebari, dar si cateva adevaruri de care nu ar trebui sa ne fie frica.
Betty: Sigur, acum, daca stim ca nu trebuie sa ne fie frica, suntem mult mai fericiti. Poti sa te cari? Te rog?
(Eminovici se indeparteaza, Betty si Lupu sunt pusi intr-o situatie dificila)
Lupu: Betty…
Betty: Lupu…
Lupu: Betty?
Betty: Lupu?
Lupu: Betty???
Betty: Lupu???
Lupu: Acum cred ca trebuie sa ne sarutam.
Betty: Pentru ca stim cum ne cheama?
Lupu: Nu, pentru ca avem o legatura speciala. Crezi ca eu nu simt? Intre mine si tine e o caldura, un culoar de caldura. Chiar asa! Daca stau in camera asta cu spatele la voi, toti, stiu unde esti tu, pentru ca din partea ta vine o caldura…
Betty: Poate pentru ca nu te pierd niciodata din ochi, de frica sa nu ratez vreo vorba spirituala. Esti atat de spiritual!
Lupu: Acum sunt sigur ca trebuie sa ne sarutam.
Betty: Nu. As vrea sa fie intr-un moment special.
Lupu: (o ia de mana) Hai sa-ti spun ceva, momentele nu sunt special, oamenii le fac.
Betty: Atunci programeaza-ti momentul special dupa concurs, cand nu o sa mai fiu atat de stresata.
Katty: Care concurs. Asteptam de prea mult timp, cineva ar trebui sa mearga sa intrebe ce se intampla.
Ada: Mi se pare normal. De ce sa nu mearga cea mai desteapta, cea mai talentata, cea mai iubita, pupicei, iu, hu! Daca va fi cineva eliminat, mi-as dori sa fii tu. Esti surprinsa?
Katty: Stii ceva, ai dreptate! Ma duc eu.
Ada: Poftim?
Katty: Ai dreptate. Daca tot ma cred cea mai tare, sa ma comport ca atare, nu? La asta nu te-ai fi asteptat.
Eminovici: Spiritul omului drept nu moare. Slavit fie cerul.
Lupu: Inca putin, fetelor, si imi descopar sensibilitatea. Va rog, luati-va in brate si sarutati-va. Va rog! Va rog! Nu? Ok, atunci o sa raman acelasi ticalos curd si… fioros.
Katty: Atunci ma duc. Tineti-mi pumnii.
Ada: Bazeaza-te pe asta.
Betty: Kitty, stai. Nu te las singura, merg si eu cu tine. Daca tot am ajuns la mometele emotionante ale serii, atunci nu-mi pot lasa sora se se puna in pericol… singura. Sa megrim!
Katty: Nu, nici sa nu te gandesti. Daca se intampla ceva, eu voi fi descalificata. Iar asa poti castiga tu!!!
Betty: Stii ca nu te las singura, oricat de important ar fi concursul.
Lupu: Chiar cautam un moment special. Un moment pe care sa-l fac special, vreau sa spun. Eu merg cu Betty. Are nevoie de un barbat!
Gargarita: Hei, nu ne putem imparti asa, trebuie sa mergem toti.
Eminovici: Sau sa ramanem toti.
Betty: Dar trebuie sa stim ce se intampla…
Gargarita: Mergem toti!
Ada: Credeam ca nu mai zici. Sa mergem sa-i… Ce le facem, de fapt?
Betty: Nimic, aruncam un ochi.
Lupu: Cate unul, fiecare. (catre Eminovici) Frate?
Eminovici: Eu cred ca… adica… ar fi mai bine sa raman. Pana la urma trebuie sa fie si aici cineva. Si… as mai dori o repetite, daca voi plecati ar fi liniste…
Gargarita: S-o crezi tu. (Tipa)AAAtentie! Sus. Mergi cu noi. Sus. Sus. Suuus.
Eminovici: Ai niste maniere cel putin indoielnice.
Kitty: Iar tu esti o gainuta fricoasa, sub costumul asta de cocos impaiat. Sa mergem!
Ies, toti. Scena goala. Intra Secretara.
Secretara: Mai am un pic si adorm pe holuri…
Intra coordonatorul.
Coordonatorul: Aproape gata! Copii?
Secretara: Nu sunt aici.
Coordonatorul: Zi-mi ceva ce nu se vede, cu ochiul liber, de la distanta!
Secretara: Vezi prima masina? Aia mov? E vopsita. Nu e culoarea ei din fabrica. Desi nu se vede cu ochiul liber…
Coordonatorul: Ce? Ar trebui sa te concediez! Unde sunteti? Copii? Nu! In ultima clipa??? (secretarei) Du-te si cauta-i! Acum!
Secretara iese.
Coordonatorul: Avusesem planul perfect. Ce-au facut? O sa se afle! O sa scrie ziarele, stirea asta o sa faca inconjurul lumii. Oh, ohhh, ce fac? O sa fiu mai celebru decat Britney. Nu, comparatie gresita. Decat Elton John. Ce treaba are Elton John? Ah! Ce-o sa fac cu atata atentie? Stiu, o sa am o emisiune la tv. In prime-time. O sa fiu noua Oprah. Noul Oprah. Ma furnica pe sira spinarii, hm, fiorii celebritatii, viiin!
Iese. Pauza. Intra copiii, dezamagiti, cate unul.
Eminovici: Nu-mi vine sa cred.
Ada: Descalificati.
Betty: Pentru neprezentare.
Gargarita: De ce ar face cineva asta?
Lupu: Ca sa poata rade de noi acum.
Kitty: Ti se pare amuzant?
Lupu: Aratam ca niste looseri. Am fost pacaliti ca ultimii fraieri. Daca il prind pe parlitul ala ii sucesc gatul, il nimicesc intr-o secunda, cu degetul mic. Stiu o tehnica de la taica-miu. Numai sa fiu fata in fata cu…
Intra coordonatorul.
Coordonatorul: Unde ati fost. V-am cautat peste tot. Juriul este furios.
Lupu: Si noi suntem la fel de…
Betty: Nepasatori. Daca ai planuit asta, imi pare rau sa te dezamagesc. Nu ai reusit sa castigi nimic facandu-ne pe noi sa aratam ca niste caraghiosi.
Eminovici: Exact asa aratam.
Ada: Tine-ti gura, prietene!
Coordonatorul: N-am reusit nimic? Asa credeti?
Gargarita: Suntem siguri.
Coordonatorul: As mai sta sa va ascult, sunteti simpatici. Serios. Insa…Imi pare rau, trebuie sa ma duc sa dau o proba.
Kitty: Ce proba?
Intra Secretara.
Secretara: Chiar, ce proba?
Coordonatorul: Nimic de care voi sa va stresati. Tocmai ati fost descalificati. Ceea ce inseamna ca eu nu mai am competitie. Ceea ce inseamna ca EU…
Secretara: (incet) El.
Coordonatorul: Voi castiga. Ceea ce… stiti si voi ce inseamna. Nu e amuzant?
Eminovici: Stii ce ar fi mai amuzant, stimabile domn?
Coordonatorul: Ce?
Eminovici: Sa nu va lasam sa iesiti.
Betty: Si, stim exact cum sa facem asta.
Betty aseaza un scaun in mijlocul scenei. Lupu si Eminovici il aseaza pe coordonator pe scaun. Secretara nu vrea sa participe la inceput.
Coordonatorul: Hei, tu, ajuta-ma. (incearca sa isi aminteasca numele ei) Sue? Liza? Emma?
Secretara: Ar fi fost mult mai usor ca, dupa atata timp, sa stiti cum ma cheama. Nu-i asa, domnule “Gagaune”? (Lui Katty) Sunt sfori in dulapul din spate.
Coordonatorul: Ce faci? Te dau afara? Iar voi nu o sa mai participati niciodarta la niciun concurs. Ba mai mult, o sa faceti si… (ii pune sotch pe gura)
Katty si Gargarita cauta doua sfori. Le gasesc. Il leaga pe coordinator pe scaun. Ada ii deseneaza mustati.
Katty: (Adei) Esti chiar talentata.
Ada: Multumesc.
Lupu: (o ia pe Betty de mana) Este momentul destul de special?
Betty: Suficient de special pentru asta. (il pupa pe obraz)
Eminovici: Domnule coordonator, se pare ca nu a castigat nimeni astazi.
Gargarita: Nu-I adevarat. Eu am castigat o gasca de prieteni, alaturi de care ma simt mult mai puternica. Si poate ca nu sunt cea mai buna, dar impreuna SUNTEM CEI MAI BINI!
(pauza)
Toti: Suntem cei mai buni, iu, huuuu!
Coordonatorul incearca sa tipe. Secretara are o masca in mana.
Secretara: Acum banuiesc ca aveti putin timp, sa-mi urmariti si mie numarul.
Secretara canta si danseaza cabaret. Copiii intra in dans. Coordonatorul incearca sa tipe.
Cortina

Cu Pruncu' pe burtoi

2010-08-11T14:30:00.002+03:00

Pentru ca sunt pe HBO tot timpul, ieri am prins o replica care suna ceva de genul: El era un tip nu'sh cum, iar eu eram tanara domnisoara care il citea pe James Joyce".
Vreau si eu sa citesc James Joyce, mi-am zpus.
Zis si facut. Asa ca, astazi, am plecat la pas prin caldura din Bucuresti. La Tineretului am vazut un homless imbracat intr-un tricou negru, pe care scia "Sunt virgin!". Am zambit.
La anticariatul de la Universitate ma astepta un nene bronzat si ridat, despre care as putea sa jur ca mirosea a spirt. Am cerut Ulise. Mi-a adus cele doua volume ale lui James Joyce si mi-a cerut mai multi bani decat as fi crezut. Pentru o clipa mi-a trecut prin cap sa negociez. In ultimul timp am invatat sa fac si asta, as fi vrut sa incerc. Apoi am privit cele doua volume vechi, dar care aratau impecabil. Plus ca, nu poti negocia pe marginea lui Ulise! Nu se cade. Am multumit si am zambit pentru a doua oara.
Dupa inca doua ore de mers prin soare, banci, contabila, Nicki in casti, am ajuns, din nou, aproape de casa. In fata pietii Timpuri Noi am mai vazut un om interesant. De fapt tipul era scarbos, cu parul dat cu gel, cu burta mulata pe tricou sau invers. Insa pe tricou scria "Thank got i'm a vip", cu o icoana imprimata in josul mesajului. Maica Domnului si Pruncul. Am zambit. Din nou.
Romania e frumoasa, rili! Luata in sine, vreau sa zic, don't get me wrong :D!

Omul si fericirea

2010-08-10T14:09:00.002+03:00

* Fabula mazgalita asteptand metroul.

"Nu urca cu gandul
Mai sus decat privirea.
Nu pica, cu mintea
Mai jos de amintirea
Cea mai vie!

Asa spunea un intelept, raspunzand,
Dupa cum pare
La deloc usoara intrebare
Despre fericire.

"Si, astfel, in tihna si pace
Alaturi de ale lumii dobitoace
Vei trai, vei vietui,
Fericit te vei numi!"

Zice bine, mi se pare
Daca omul e tot una
Cu oricare
Lighioana ce apare
Fara'a-si pune-o intrebare
Pe Pamant.

Insa omul e mai mult.

Everyone Needs a Mom'

2010-08-03T22:49:00.003+03:00

Titlul postului asta suna destul de "a film" or smth, insa eu l-am scris pentru adevarata lui semnificatie. Chiar asa, fiecare dintre noi are nevoie de o mama. Un om care sa te sprijine, care sa te ghideze, fata de care sa nu iti fie jena sa te comporti ca un balaur idiot, care sa te certe si care sa te ierte (ca'n cantec), care sa nu se zgarceasca cu "te iubesc-urile" dar caruia sa nu ii vina pe dos sa te traga de maneca/ureche si sa te aduca pe drumul cel bun. Stiu ca am spus-o de un milion de ori, insa mama mea este exact omul asta. Si, desi nu pot spune ca m-am bucurat de prea multa prezenta paterna, mama a reusit sa suplineasca asta. Cu varf, ca inghetata la cornet. Si acu, la aproape... da, exact atatia ani, mama inca imi demonstreaza ca am un suflet de copil, ca am sprijinul, iubirea si intelegerea ei. Great, sa mor... Pur si simplu fantastic.
Luv ma mam! (cu toata nevoia de a face din asta un statement)

De una...

2010-07-30T20:43:00.003+03:00

Da, am aflat si raspunsul, sunt de-o pruna. Nimic mai mult. Concret, sunt la nivelul "genunchiul broastei" la engleza, ceea ce ma deranjeaza dintr-un singur motig: defectul meu de vorbire mi-a facilitat o pronuntie corecta... In fine, i suck big time. Si, pentru ca-mi curge Caragiale prin vene, de suparare, m-am urcat intr-un copac.
Eh, exagerez, copacul a fost asediat inainte de a afla tristul rezultat. Damn...

Intre cursuri si prune

2010-07-29T22:59:00.004+03:00

Pana maine, cand aflu daca sunt de-o pruna sau de doua, stau lipita de scaunul din fata calculatorului. Mi-am imaginat (mai devreme) ca ies sa ma plimb, dar nu, n-am crezut in asta destul de mult incat sa-mi doresc, pe bune, sa ma ridic. Asa ca, stau cumintica si ma bucur de montajul video de la primele cursuri de actorie. E foarte distractiv (totul?) la cursurile TeatrulNou, iar asta se vede din imagini.
De-o pruna, de doua? Asta-i intrebarea. Sau, poate ca nu e asta, insa, acum ma intereseaza mai mult intrebarea cu pruna.
Si peste dilema prunii mai vine si curajosul meu act de a ma lasa de fumat, asa ca poate sunt un pic irascibila, insa numai putiii(cu tziuit de urechi)iiiiiiin :).

Poza si agenda

2010-07-25T21:29:00.005+03:00

Azi mi-am schimbat, pentru a mia oara, agenda. Noroc ca mai aveam una, de buna - ca batraneii -, pe care mi-a facut-o Dan cadou. O agenda eleganta, din piele neagra, care arata ca un portofel/trusa de niste chestii. Si cand o deschizi, ta-tam. In fine, azi, dupa un an si inca doi ani (nu mai stiu dar daca as vrea sa imi amintesc m-as opri) am scris... in ea. Cu pixul. Si cu scrisul meu urat, de doctor ginecolog sau de persoana instabila psihic. Am scris luni/26 iulie. Iar acum ma simt mult mai linistita, pentru ca terminasem cealalta agenda si eram stresata ca nu am pe ce sa scriu orice idee care mi-ar fi venit, idee legata de ziua de maine, luni/26 iulie. Dar si prost (ma simt prost, sa reluam textul) pentru ca i-am promis lui Dan ca voi scrie o piesa in ea. Piesa pe care am scris-o, si de data asta, in laptop, ca un om normal din anul 2010.
Si, ca sa ma ierte, am pus poza asta cu noi, desi el nu prea se vede!
Nu, poza imi place mie, iar treaba cu agenda e tot a mea, he doesn't care!

Cursurile de Actorie TeatrulNou

2010-07-24T00:33:00.003+03:00

Acum 4-5 ani "predam" actorie la o scoala de film destul de dubioasa, cu o imagine celebra, insa. Plecam in fiecare weekend intr-un oras (destul de departe de Bucuresti, daca imi amintesc de Zalau, Baia Mare, Cluj), Lacra stie mai multe :)! Astazi, cand incerc sa invat tinerii de la grupa de actorie (http://www.teatrulnou.ro/actorie.html) despre teatru, imi dau seama ca atunci eram o pustoaica de 22 de ani, cu foarte, foarte mult curaj, putine notiuni si putina nebunie(...probabil), care abia acum incepe sa se maturizeze.
Teatrul a ramas la fel de frumos ca atunci, iar dorinta de a impartasi cu oamenii din jurul meu bucuria pe care mi-a adus-o, neschimbata!

Pentru mai multe detalii: TEATRUL NOU
Pentru mai multe poze: FACEBOOK TEATRUL NOU

"Nobilii gunoieri de Romania" sau" Diana, naiva creatura!"

2010-07-20T15:05:00.002+03:00

Ma plimbam agale, azi, prin soarele cu prea multa personalitate. Priveam strada de langa mine, masinile, cautam un magazin de unde sa imi cumpar niste apa rece, mai vedeam un fund de femeie, mai o ceafa transpirata de barbat, d-astea...
La un moment dat, din directia opusa mie a aparut un gunoier (cu uniforma adecvata, cu culoarea pielii specifica etc) cu o carte in mana. O carte deschisa. o carte deschisa din care citea!!! Nu am pareri preconcepurte, cum ca gunoierii nu citesc (Doamne fere') insa asa ceva n-am mai vazut niciodata: un gunoier care nu a mai putut astepta sa termine programul, sa faca un dus si sa se aseze confortabil intr-un fotoliu, ca sa citeasca. Un gunoier caruia nu i-a pasat de mine sau de lume si care a facut exact ceea ce a simtit.
Gandurile astea, toate, au trecut prin capul meu intr-o sutime de secunda. Pentru ca, in urmatoarea, gunoierul a inchis cartea si a aruncat-o. Intr-o gradina. INTR-O GRADINA!!! Adica mi-a desfiintat orice idee buna as fi avut in secunda precedenta si, mai important, a aruncat cartea intr-o gradina, adica a facut mizerie, adica nu isi respecta nici macar munca, adica dracu' sa-l ia, ca s-a comportat ca un prost.

Right?

2010-07-17T00:24:00.002+03:00

Cred iar in povestile cu final fericit. Desi sunt abia la inceput... Uite d-aia nu-i inteleg eu pe cei care citesc carti ..."din domeniu". Nu pot sa dezvalui CE citesc (nu e Sandra Brown insa are aceeasi notorietate) dar povestea de iubire a reusit sa-mi trezeasca starea de nerabdare vizavi de cursul povestii lor, sirpopase de altfel, de iubire (nu astept raspunsul la ghicitoarea asta). Oricum, love is everlasting, right?

A diamond freak

2010-07-12T16:09:00.002+03:00

Mi-am dat seama ca sunt un hibrid autentic si ca, pana la urma, pot sa fac absolut orice vreau eu, in viata asta. Si aici ma refer la zona profesionala. Adica ce conteaza ca am o diploma de actrita, asta nu m-a oprit sa fiu jurnalist cu carte de munca, expert pr, manager, brand adviser, ca sa nu mai amintesc de chelnerita, barmanita, agent vanzari, animoator pentru copii, director de program artistic, prezentatioare tv; ah, ah, sa nu mai mentionez de talentele capatate de la bunici, care m-au consacrat in croitorie si frizura. Iar acum, ca sa pun cireasa pe tort, sunt "a diamond freak"... nu de alta, dar nu mai stie nici dracu' ce fac eu pentru minunatul brand Rafael & Sons, d-apoi eu. Ah, si a inceput sa mearga si scolita de teatru(www.teatrulnou.ro).
Si mai rade lumea de mine ca n-am memorie. Ba da, dar mi-am incarcat-o cu inutilitatile mai sus mentionate...BTW, am uitat ceva?

Sa uitam de ploi...

2010-07-09T14:31:00.002+03:00

Sunt invidioasa pe oamenii care nu se gandesc prea mult la deciziile lor, care privesc in stanga si in drepata lor si reusesc sa discearna albul, cand e alb, sau negrul, cand e negru.
Sunt invidioasa pe cei care dorm linistiri, pe cei care baga metaforicul cutit, fara sa sa se gandeasca la durerea pe care o pot provoca, pe cei care se pot privi in oglinda din baie (fara lumanare), pe cei care nici nu cugeta, dar nici nu se lase baturi de vantul trestiilor.
Si gata.

Literatura maculatura cu Danielle Steel

2010-07-01T16:00:00.004+03:00

Pentru ca am capacitatea de a vedea frumosul, chiar si cand este ascuns intr-un maldar de gunoi, am vorbit (in mare parte) de bine despre cartile cu care am luat contact.
Insa am avut parte de o premiera: primul roman citit in limba engleza. Pentru ca nu sunt (inca) o experta in engleza, am vanat cartile "usurele" de la anticariate. Si am gasit una, pe care - cu toate temerile mele ca o sa stau un an la o pagina - am citit-o jumate. Ieri. Este vorba despre o autoare care scrie maculatura (cum imi place sa spun), dar care a vandut in draci, in State. Stim cu totii de ce :)!
Insa, am fost surprinsa sa o citesc foarte usor si, la un moment dat, sa uit ca "romanul" (pun ghilimele pentru ca ii stiu valoarea, iar ea nu se ridica foarte mult peste genunchiul broastei) este scris in engleza.
Asa ca m-am trezit cu o intrebare fara raspuns, cel putin pana nu dau peste un adevarat expert. Sunt cartile de consum scrise in cel mai banal stil, au ei o limba care nu poate fi exploatata foarte tare, sau am avut eu nenorocul de a da peste o carte foooarte proasta si foarte usurica? Daca as vrea, as putea sa o si povestesc si mi-ar lua numai doua randuri. Dar e prea proasta.
So, Danelle Steel asta a facut o gramada de bani scriind shituri de Acces Direct, fara sa se chinuiasca ca gaseasca niste amarate de sinonime, sau chiar stiu engleza? Oricat de mult as vrea sa fie a doua varianta, ceva imi spune ca tipa e o Sandra Brown fara penisul literar...

Tel Aviv by Rafael & Sons

2010-07-01T15:49:00.003+03:00

Mai multe poze AICI

Am petrecut cateva zile interesante in Tel Aviv, care au avut ca rezultat un numar app de 1600 de poze cu Iulia Albu, Ambasadoarea brandului international Rafael & Sons, de care ma ocup de ceva timp.

Tel Aviv-ul e un hibrid interesant, unde vezi opulenta de nedescris langa casute modeste, tineri rebeli langa evrei sadea, unde auzi toate limbile pamantului, de la rusa, la... (as mai pune ceva, daca as fi reperat radacinile P:), unde oamenii fac yoga pe plaja, la 6 dimineata si batranii isi taraie izmenele in incercari bine intentionate de a ramane fit... Unde oamenii merg cu pusca incarcata pe strada si unde mi s-au luat amprente la intrarea in fiecare institutie.
Insa am cunoscut oameni deschisi intre urechi, cu care mi-a facut placere sa lucrez.
Un singur regret am, ca nu am ajuns in(la?) Ierusalim. Dar niciodata nu e prea tarziu. Decat atunci cand e prea tarziu. Si nu este cazul:D!

Jurnalul Ascuns - Sebastian Barry

2010-06-16T14:54:00.003+03:00

Era maica-sa ,ma!
Dupa ce am citit cartea asta cu sufletul la gura, pentru ca mi s-a parut ca are o scriitura inedita si plina de sens, finalul m-a doborat iremediabil. Deci, da, era maica-sa!!!

Jurnalul Ascuns al lui Sebastian Barry, carte care a fost nominalizata pentru Booker Prize 2008, ascunde o poveste halucinanta. Intr-un spital de boli mintale, supravietuieste o batrana de 100 de ani. Este de peste 65 de ani internata si, cu fiecare pagina, ii descoperim povestea. Frumusetea este ca atat ea, cat si directorul spitalului in care este internata, tin cate un jurnal in care isi povesteste, fiecare, viata.
Povestea femeii este incredibila. Ea, cea mai frumoasa fata din oras, a trebuit sa patimeasca pentru famila ei, pentru intunericul care stapanea inceputul secolului trecut; si pentru o iubire neinteleasa. El, doctorul, la randul lui, are multe de povestit, multe de observat, multe de trait.

As fi dat nota maxima cartii, daca nu era sa ma deranjeze finalul de telenovela. Doctorul era chiar fiul femeii, fiu care i-a fost luat de la pantec imediat dupa ce a fost nascut. Se pare ca moartea a intarziat sa apara, tocmai pentru a se face aceasta descoperire. Stupid, stiu, insa este scrisa atat de frumos, cu pasaje care te poarta intre poveste si realitate, cu transpuneri ale prezentului prin mintea unul bonlav mintal, cu sensibilitate si mister.

O sa uit ca am citit-o pana la capat si o sa cer sa nu ramaneti indiferenti, cand o vedeti pe rafturi.

Roseanne
"E ciudat, dar incep sa imi dau seama ca omul fara povesti pe care sa le cultive de-a lungul vietii si care sa dainuie, se pierde fara urma, nu doar pentru istorie, ci si pentru cei care vin dupa el."
"La urma urmei, lumea este cu adevarat frumoasa si, de-am fi orice alta creatura in afara de om, am trai o fericire vesnica"

Intre stres si nu prea

2010-05-24T21:29:00.003+03:00

Desi mi se pare ca cele "multe" proiecte in derulare ma imbatranesc cat pentru urmatoriul deceniu, sunt sigura ca o sa iasa lumina si in incalceala asta.
Modelul, ca sa ma mai aeriseasca la cap, m-a scos la munte. Again! Ceea ce a fost divin. Cred ca merit :))! Pam Pam.
Mai multe poze pe facebook.

Out & Up

2010-05-17T12:20:00.004+03:00

Nu stiu daca eram aproape adormita sau ma strambam (ca am invatat sa ma stramb de la Eric, numai ca el e mult mai frumusel cand se alinta:P). Am fost pana la Sinaia, Busteni, d-astea, sa "servim o ciorba" cum se spune. N-a mancat nimeni ciorba, ba dimpotriva, ne-am aruncat in niste pomana porcului cu mamaliguta. Oricum, muntele arata intr-un fel pe ploaie.

Superiubshii, cu ochelarii aferenti. De remarcat asorteul ochelailor, care (nu) este!

Dragutii nostri prieteni de la Metropotam:

2010-05-17T11:14:00.003+03:00

Scoala de arte Teatrul nou: cursuri de actorie, pictura, body painting, chitara si televiziune

Ne bucuram cand aflam ca se mai deschide in Bucuresti o scoala (alta decat cea de... la scoala) unde iti poti dezvolta aptitudinile artistice.
De data aceasta e vorba despre Scoala de arte Teatrul Nou, unde poti urma cursuri de:

- actorie, cu Diana Vlase si Dan Ursu, pret 150 eur, durata: 10 saptamani, curs care se va termina cu punerea in scena a unei piese de teatru cu participantii.
- pictura, cu Iulia Claudia Dumitru, pret 250 eur, durata: 10 sapt
- face & body painting, cu Irina Trinca, pre 100 eur, durata: 4 saptamani (aviz clovnilor in devenire, aici inveti inclusiv cum sa faci figurine din baloane)
- chitara, cu Stefan Mihailescu
- introducere in televiziune, cu Dana Gont, pret 120 eur, durata: 4 saptamani, despre ce inseamna sa fii prezentator, reporter sau producator de televiziune, cum sa redactezi stiri sau sa iei un interviu.

Detalii mai multe despre fiecare curs in parte si despre echipa Teatrului Nou gasesti la ei pe site, unde ai si o sectiune foto cu imagini din salile de curs si o sectiune cu prezentarile spectacolelor Teatrului Nou (Ti-am spus vreodata ca ma iubesti? de Puiu Jipa, Josephine, inca o tarfa trista, Anunt: Vand feme si Tango, de Diana Vlase).

Detalii de contact:
Scoala de arte Teatrul Nou, strada Leonida 28, sector 2, Bucuresti (harta aici)
Inscrieri la adresa de mail: teatrulnou@ymail.com
Telefon: 0720 066 684
Ii mai gasesti si pe Facebook, Twitter si youtube, desi la ultimele doua inca n-a inceput activitatea.

Aseara la Targoviste

2010-05-10T14:50:00.003+03:00

Aseara am avut spectacol la Targoviste. Cu un public interesant. Niste baieti care stateau pe locurile din spate (vreo 3), in sala atelier, si care aveau constant ceva de comentat. La un moment dat mi-au raspuns la replica adresata Lacramioarei: "Cum te cheama?" cu "Zor de Zeama". Pe mine nu m-au deranjat foarte tare, insa baiatul de la lumini a iesit, la finalul spectacolului, suparat tare. "Ce oameni!", zice el. Eu spun ca e ok, e bine sa dai oamenilor voie sa se exprime si tine doar de abilitatile actorului sa actioneze in consecita pentru salvarea spectacolului. Puiu Jipa ne-a spus ca el ar fi putut opri spectacolul, insa nici eu si nici Lacra nu suntem de aceeasi parere. Mai ales cand vorbim despre o piesa contemporana in care iti poti permite sa mai si improvizezi.

"Eu as scrie o piesa despre TEATRUL", Lacra stie!

Inca o data, multumesc publicului din Targoviste, pentru caldura cu care ne priveste de fiecare data!

Vreme trece, vreme vine...

2010-05-07T21:14:00.003+03:00

N-am mai trecut de multa vreme pe aici. In ultimul timp am avut de verificat atat de multe adrese de mail, a trebuit sa bag materiale pe atatea site-uri, incat mi s-a cam sucit perechea de neuroni si am uitat de blogusorul meu.
Noah, am reusit sa deschid "scolutza", ba chiar sa fac niste lucruri pe care nu as fi crezut ca le voi putea face ever.

Teatrul nou este, in continuare, un vis indraznet. Am cea mai frumoasa gasca de profesori din lume, cel mai micut si mai cochet spatiu din lume, cele mai frumoase ganduri pentru viitor.
Ce facem noi acolo? Mi s-a pus aceasta intrebare. Ne dezvoltam! Si, mai mult, asteptam toti oamenii care au chef de o infruntare cu ei insisi, sa aleaga una din caile (sau cursurile) noastre. Hap!
Ceea ce ma bucura cel mai mult, legat de Teatrul Nou, este ca am reusit sa demaram cu mai multe cursuri deodata, in zone diferite, si ca, desi cursurile au un procent didactic destul de mare, nu se pierde distractia!

Si mi-am mai dezvoltat si un hobby. Se numeste Rafael & Sons si este cel mai mare importator de diamante in Romania. Sa mai amintesc ca "diamonds are a girl's best friend"?

Si m-am prins ca pot sa filmez. Cu camera. Nu minunat, dar las' ca ma perfectionez eu, in timp. Am facut sapt. asta doua mini-interviuri cu intrebarile in gand si cu privirea in camera. Si am vazut cea mai inalta pereche de sandale (31 cm) si pe Iulia mergand cu ele...

Si nu stiu de ce incep fiecare fraza cu si. Si gata:)

2010-05-04T17:36:00.001+03:00

Mi biutiful gift!

2010-05-03T17:31:00.003+03:00

Plecaciuni Andrei si tone de pupaturi Sanzianei, cu mana ei de aur cu tot. Si cu toate chestiile fantastice pe care stie sa le faca. Oricum, Sanzi, imi pregatesc un set de zece intreb ari la care nu o sa stii sa raspunzi:D!!!

La Dana, profesoara:))

2010-05-02T19:01:00.001+03:00

Multumesc celui care a inventat montajul. Si celei care a taiat cafeaua fierbinte:P!

Via Galati...

2010-04-30T13:03:00.002+03:00

Asa am primit plangeri, cum ca nu mai scriu pe blog. Mi se pare dragut cand primesc asemenea reactii, asa ca o sa pun statusul ultimii luni, spre linistire:)).
So, muncile interminabile au tinut (si motivul pt. care nu prea am fost p-aici) de construirea Teatrului Nou. Spatiul este gata and wanderful, racoros, pentru vara, in culori dinamice si echipat cum se cuvine. Firma este gata, cu ajutorul Andreei si al Denisei (care a iesit in calea mea ca ingerul pierdut pe holurile Registrului Comertului. Am spus ca birocratia din Romania trebuie impuscata in cap, intre presupusii ochi cu care vede neconcordantele infinit nesemnificative?)
Site-ul este dat spre descoperirea unei personalitati proprii, vii, interactive, la mama Andra, iar noi toti, ceilalti, mai facem cate un smileyface si il lipim pe cate un geam. Ne pregatim, mai exact, pentru a transforma demisolul in puntea de trecere catre o lume mult mai frumoasa.
Duhhh, gata, am zis tot. Aproape tot. Mai am de multumit unor oameni, dar astept Marea Deschidere din micul spatiu, ca sa ma dau in spectacol!

Top 5 Versuri... de toata jena

2010-04-27T13:22:00.002+03:00

Preluarte MuzicaBuna.ro

Daca tot s-a dus buhu cum ca muzicabuna.ro este un site de afurisiti, m-am gandit sa continui pe aceeasi idee si sa iau la puricat versurile din topul celor mai difuzate melodii romanesti.

Locul 5 - Deep Central - In love
Pentru ca exista site-ul www.roversuri.ro, care ma scuteste de a traduce versuri compuse de artistii romani, in engleza lor furculition-ista, am apelat la el. Dupa ce mi-am strans materialele pentru acest articol m-a traznit si revelatia. Artistii romani fac versuri in engleza ca sa nu mai fie nevoiti sa se foloseasca de... logica!!!
Spre exemplu:

Sunt in dragoste, in dragoste, in dragoste cu tine
Sunt in dragoste, in dragoste, in dragoste cu tine

Noi nu putem niciodata, niciodata sa fim doi straini
Doua suflete cu un singur drum
Nu pot sa-mi traiesc viata fara ingerul meu
In dragoste ... ca niciodata inainte.

Noi nu putem niciodata, niciodata sa fim doi straini
Doua suflete cu un drum
Nu pot sa-mi traiesc viata, fara ingerul meu
Intoarce-ma, intoarce ma, intoarce ma

Sunt in dragoste, in dragoste, in dragoste cu tine
Sunt in dragoste, in dragoste, in dragoste cu tine

Un exercitiu de concentrare, va rog! De ce ar avea el nevoie sa fie intors (Intoarce-ma, intoarce ma, intoarce ma), daca este infipt "in dragoste" atat de adanc incat o repeta obsesiv? Si, inca o contradictie: "Nu pot sa-mi traiesc viata fara ingerul meu", acelasi inger pe care il roaga sa il intoarca, pentru ca ... gata, am incercat cu logica, dar se pare ca ar fi mai bine sa ma batzai pe ritm si sa nu mai incerc sa gasesc mesaje in piesa asta...

Locul 4 - JerryCo feat. Tataee & Simona Nae
Cel putin ei au avut curaj sa faca altceva decat piesele trase la indigo pe care suntem nevoiti sa le auzim constant la radio. Tataee face versuri bune, dintotdeauna, fie ele si presarate cu cuvinte mai putin crestinesti (haha), insa JerryCo... omg, ca sa zic asa. Sa vedem:

Apari in club imbracata sumar pe langa bar
Cu un suflet calduros ca gheata ce sta-n pahar
E fiara ce-atrage prada cu un zambet inocent
Licoarea cea letala cand cauti un sentiment
Un inger cu facturi te lasa fara un ban
Cu o precizie de ceas elvetian
In postura ta de sot iei actu de divort
Tu abia te-ai logodit (frumos) fii serios
O vipera ca ea, cand te-a muscat
Ii dai tot ce iti cere pe pilot automat
Cand n-ai lacrimi de plastic cad din ochii ei
Si-o prinzi intre cearsafuri cu unu dintre ai mei
E business nu e nimic personal
Intai de toate sa ceri un prenuptial
Ca e virusul perfect, otrava ce-omoara lent si
Drumul spre faliment

Poate stiti voi (ca eu, nu!) care e faza cu licoarea cea letala, cand cauti un sentiment? Ce treaba are una cu alta? Adica ea e licoarea letala, ok, dar nu cand iti e sete? Nu cand ai trage ceva la masea? Care-i sensul urmatoarei actiuni: sa gusti dintr-o licoare (fie ea letala sau nu) cand tu ai o treaba cu sentimentu`?
Cat despre: "drumul spre faliment", ma intreb ce mai conteaza falimentul daca femeia "ti-a dat-o letal"? Sau, care dintre ele e metafora. Sa-l intrebam pe Jerry...

Locul 3 - Cabron - Letz be friends
N-am cum sa nu apreciez parodia facuta de colegii mei de la un alt site, va rog sa o cautati pe youtube si sa "va radeti", merita!
Cabron, acest baiat de cartier care a avut, la un moment dat, success cu Nico, s-a intors in brigada Hahaha Prod. cu indemnul de a deveni prieteni. Pai, nu vrem, mai draga, ca nu ne place cum scrii. Ia sa vedem:

Imi place ca unde mergi esti numarul`1
Ai atitudine cand iti vorbeste vreunu' ..
Ne potrivim perfect ca doua manusii
Ca Jasmine Rus , nu lasi urme de ruj .. de ruj
Si n-am de gand sa te mai las curand ,
Si totusi ma crezi pe cuvant , chiar daca o iei razand
Si nu ca iti pasa , dar la mine acasa ..
Stiu ca o sa iti placa treaba cand o sa devina groasa

Nu stiu daca mai are sens sa luam la puricat textul, e dubios rau. O singura remarca: Wahhhtttaaa f***??? Nu mai iau greselile gramaticale in seama, insa sper ca "treaba groasa" se refera la vreun joint sau ceva, pentru ca daca se refera la barbatia lui, e ciudat sa se laude, dat fiind faptul ca n-a avut c***e sa se mentina in topuri. Zic si eu...

Locul 2 - David DeeJay - Tempations
Desi cei de la David DeeJay sunt deja un nume in zona asta clubbin, nu am stat niciodata (pana acum) cu urechea ciulita la versurile lor. Si bine am facut! De ce? Voila:

Tentatie in limuzina,
Te simti ca o vaduva
Daca ma privesti,
Simt cum ma prabusesc

Te ating un minut,
Ia-ma, tine-ma aproape
Viata este ca o inchisoare
Daca nu esti in preajma mea

Limuzina, vaduva, cinci, paisprezece, prabusesc. Stop! S-a strigat BINGO! Asta este singura legatura pe care o pot face, nimic altceva nu imi suna logic. "Viata e o inchisoare daca nu esti in preajma mea" este o formidabila declaratie de dragoste. Tu imi dai libertate, care va sa zica, tu esti combustibilul pentru ca sufletul meu sa zboare nestingherit. Traducere corecta, sens zero. Felicitari, cei de la Devid DeeJay sunt castigatorii locului 2, versuri proaste.

Locul 1 - Inna - 10 minutes
Nu sunt aici pentru a-i contesta Innei succesul international, ci pentru a detecta prostia din piesele semnate de "artistii" romani. Si, cine poate ocupa prima pozitie daca nu cea care surclaseaza tot, de la mari artisti pana la fufe dispuse sa faca orice pentru "15 minutes of fame".
Ce canta Inna, de fapt?

Misca-ti corpul, hai toata lumea!
Cineva sa ma opreasca, cand dansez imi pierd controlul!
Hei, ma vezi, asta e stereo!
Vreau sa-mi aud cantecul inca o data la radio!

O voi face pas cu pas, o voi face oricum,
Trebuie sa-ti simt iubirea,
Voi incalca chiar si legea gravitatiei
Ca sa te vad dimineata.

Lasa-ma sa-ti vad corpul miscandu-se pe podea ca acum 10 minute,
Misca-ti, misca-ti misca-ti corpul, misca-l pe podea ca acum 10 minute,
Castig in fiecare loc pentru ca tu esti asul meu norocos, dj opreste bassul.
Castig in fiecare loc pentru ca tu esti asul meu norocos, toata lumea sa faca asta pe podea.

Am ales primele trei paragrafe ale melodiei si, dupa 10 minute de holbat la ele, tot nu ma prind ce a vrut Inna sa spuna. Ce legatura are faptul ca Inna vrea sa-si auda piesa, stereo, la radio, cu promisiunea ca-si va intalni iubirea, cu cele 10 minute si cu asul norocos? Va spun eu, nici una! Absolut nici una. Va provoc la un exercitiu. Vreau ca fiecare dintre voi sa se gandeasca cate un minut la subiectul piesei "10 minutes". Stiti, ca la comentariile din generala. Ce a vrut autorul sa spuna? Autorul n-are nici o idee, acesta este micul ei secret!

Bonus!
Imi plac doua versuri din muzica romaneasca. Le-am descoperit din greseala, ascultand piesa lui Connect-R, la radio - Murderer: "Now I`m falling down / But you have no words to catch me", in traducere libera: simt cum ma prabusesc, iat tu nu ai cuvinte ca sa ma salvezi...

Asa incepem...

2010-04-26T22:54:00.003+03:00

A fost odată, ca niciodată, o gaşcă de oameni creativi şi nebuni, care a decis, într-o bună zi, să pună bazele unui teatru underground. Am făcut spectacole fară egal împreună, turnee, am trecut prin victorii şi eşecuri cu zâmbetul pe buze, pentru că, dincolo de tot, arta merită orice sacrificiu.

De atunci, însă, gaşca s-a mărit, ni s-au alăturat oameni frumoşi, talentaţi şi creativi din alte domenii, cum ar fi pictură, muzică, televiziune, face&body painting etc şi, împreună, am format Şcoala de Arte “Teatrul Nou”.

Poţi intra şi tu în lumea minunată a teatrului, îţi poţi perfecţiona aptitudinile pentru a deveni o imagine pe micul ecran, poţi desoperi cât de frumos este să rupi o oră din timpul tău, vindecându-ţi sufletul cu terapia prin pictură, poţi invăţa să cânţi la chitară sau să transformi chipuri şi corpuri în adevărate opere de artă.

Teatrul Nou şi-a deschis portile! Intra şi tu şi experimentează întâlnirea cu arta!

www.teatrulnou.ro

Ciara loveste din nou!

2010-04-22T13:45:00.001+03:00

Preluare www.muzicabuna.ro

Desi muzica neagra nu este vazuta (de ai nostri) ca cea mai puternica miscare, vreau sa dau un exemplu artistelor din Romania. Donshoarelor, mai exista si alte artiste formidabile, talentate, cu personalitate si voce, in afara de Lady Gaga. Adica, stiu ca e usor sa-ti pui pe tine un body cu umeri din carton, insa daca vreti sa dovediti ca sunteti altceva decat niste epigoni tristutzi, copy this!

Acest videoclip este un exemplu din mai multe puncte de vedere. Fara sa exceleze in idei regizorale, transmite exact ceea ce publicul trebuie sa retina, adica pe Ciara. Mai explicit, spectatorul se delecteaza cu imagini in care artista arata extraordinar de sexy, se misca mai bine decat dansatoarele profesioniste, canta fara greseala (desi eu n-as nominaliza vocea Ciarei printre cele mai bune, la momentul actual).

Piesa este un featuring cu Ludacris, un artist pe care il respect si a carui muzica imi place, asta pentru ca l-am urmarit pe parcursul carierei sale. Pot sa imi spun frustrarea vizavi de el: m-a dezamagit putin pentru ca a facut featuringul ala idiot cu Justin Bieber, un copilandru’ caruia i se da mult prea multa atentie. Dar americanii sunt ciudati, suntem cu totii de acord!
Revenind la Ciara si la Luda, e important de sesizat faptul ca el apare numai in a doua parte a clipului, care va sa zica, nu urmarim un featuring care sa se bazeze pe vreun trafic de notorietate, nu, Ciara nu are nevoie de asta, dupa victoriile din ultimii doi ani.

“Ride” este primul single de pe al 4-lea album de studio al Ciarei. Albumul se va numi “Basic Instinct”, iar lansarea oficiala se va intampla candva anul acesta.
Piesa a fost produsa de Christopher “Tricky” Stewart si de The Dream. Cat despre clip, el este regizat de Diane Martel.

Ce seara linistita

2010-04-19T23:30:00.004+03:00

Ma dau aiurea pe net si am descoperit (destul de aproape, daca gandesti in linkuri) o piesa... nice...

Isn't it? Poate-s boxele mele, poate-s eu... Oricum, dupa o duminica zgomotoasa si o luni cum n-am mai avut de ceva timp... vine bine.

Piesa am ascultat-o AICI

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Tan Ta... Tan! Share

2010-04-14T00:00:00.005+03:00

Pf, am si uitat cat de tare ne-am distrat vinerea trecuta in (fireste) Tan Tan. Noroc cu Irina, ca-i mai tanara. The "Interior Desigh Deputy! Well..

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Pietre la temelie

2010-04-09T14:04:00.003+03:00

Cam asta facem de ceva timp, punem pietre la temelie. Pietre gri, pietre mov, bucati de materiale colorate si mocheta visinie. Ce frumos o sa fie!

Daca ma bucur de ceva, legat de minunatul demers, este ca facem totul singuri. De la acte, la dat cu bidineaua, de la alegerea culorilor pana la spalarea peretilor si a linoleumului. Mi s-au rupt unghiile, mi se exfoliaza degetele si merg ca o batranica. Dar oboseala este una dulce, linistitoare, care ne multumeste.

BTW, o sa gasesc un pat, pentru Dan, ca sa se simta implinit in viata:))!

Mortii ei de Romania...

2010-04-06T16:53:00.000+03:00

...sau "Politia, inamicul numarul unu!"

O sa scriu o povestire, nu una inchipuita, ci una care mi-a dat peste cap tot ce as fi considerat eu drept, in viata asta.
Ma intorceam ieri de la Galati, pe pranz. In drumul meu spre Bucuresti sunt nevoita sa trec prin Braila. Nu ca mi-ar fi facut vreodata placere sa fac asta, dar trebuie. Ca sa nu mai povestesc despre un alt capitol, in care eu ma invarteam intr-un sens giratoriu (ca blonda din bancuri), in Braila, si am oprit langa un taximetrist ca sa-l intreb atat: "Sa o iau pe la stanga sau pe la dreapa?". Dar el mi-a raspuns ca ma scoate cu placere din oras, pentru o suma oarecare...
In fine, mai aveam 100 de metri pana la iesirea din oras, cand o masina de politie mi-a facut semn sa opresc.
"Politist X", s-a legitimat el galant. Intrebarea fireasca era "Ce am facut?". Organul s-a simtit atacat in orgoliu si a ridicat din sprincene: "Cum, domnisoara, nu stii ce ai facut? Ai trecut pe rosu!".
Nu aveam cum sa trec pe rosu, pentru ca eu venisem de pe o strada laturalnica. Si am incercat sa ii explic ca, pur si simplu, nu am trecut pe rosu. Dar nu aveam cui. Politistul stia mai bine decat mine, iar legea era de partea lui, nu? Organul, ranit a doua oara in orgoliul de taranoi idiot, mi-a spus scurt ca imi da amenda (300 de ron) si ca imi ia carnetul. M-am albit. Cum sa imi ia carnetul pentru ceva ce n-am facut?!?!?! El s-a dus la masina si eu am ramas, ca traznita, in piticuta.
M-am consultat cu baiatul si m-am dus peste politist. Sa ii mai explic, sa fac, sa dreg. Cu insul, in masina, mai era o curva (de politista) blindata cu aur, cu contur peste buze, extensii si unghii false, evident rosii. "Hai domnisoara, nu te mai smiorcai, daca ai trecut pe rosu iti luam carnetul si asta e!" Am zis curva dracului? Pf....
Politistul ofta intr-una. Vai, ce sa facem? Sa nu imi ia carnetul, veneam eu cu solutia. Si, am spus astfel (ah, nu pot sa dau spaga, sa ma iertati, dar nu stiu cum sa fac, mi se pare ca jignesc omul, daca fac asta...), va platesc amenda, dumneavoastra ma certati bine (mai si glumeam...) si ne vedem de drumuri. Au dat din cap, afirmativ, si ne-am pus pe treaba. Politistul mi-a scris amenda, eu i-am dat banii, buna ziua, buna ziua. Numai ca, in momentul in care mi-a intins amenda, dupa ce i-am dat banii, mi-a spus ca amenda trebuie platita la Bucuresti si ca e de 60 ron, pentru centura (pe care o aveam, cand m-a oprit). Iar despre cei 300 de ron, se subantelege ca au devenit spaga pentru ceva ce nici macar nu am facut. Ca in filmele cu prosti, ca in romanele absurde, ca in Romania, in a doua zi de Paste am ramas fara niste bani, m-am enervat teribil, am plans, nu am inteles nimic, doar pentru ca Politia din Romania face ce vrea ea, fara sa existe reguli, legi, fara sa existe logica sau vreo notiune de bun simt. Adica, macar daca voia sa ia pielea de pe un om, nu putea sa opreasca o masina luxoasa, care ar fi fost condusa de un tigan borat, cu burta si cu portofelul gros?
Se pare ca nu, ca aia ar fi avut si tupeu.
Suntem in tara nimanui, acolo unde supravietuieste cel mai prost, mai parsiv, mai tupeist...
De astazi voi dormi mult mai bine, stiind ca politia vegheaza asupra bunurilor noatre...

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Aseara am jucat "Ti-am spus vreodata..." la Hard Rock

2010-04-02T00:52:00.001+03:00

Pentru ca nu as fi avut cum sa povestesc mai bine decat Lacramioara, las cuvintele ei sa vorbeasca si pentru mine.

"Am jucat aseara pentru prima oara in Bucuresti piesa Ţi-am spus vreodată că mă iubeşti?, productie a Teatrului Tony Bulandra din Targoviste A fost o proba de foc la propriu pe care am trecut-o cu bine.

Sa incepem cu inceputul. Hard Rock Cafe este o locatie splendita. Arata excelent, e scena, sunt lumini, e muzica, sunt chelneri draguti, sunt cabine de vis, oameni parolisti, seriosi carora le dau nota 20 pentru profesionalism.

Dar a juca o piesa acolo este un soi de sinucidere placuta cu miros de tocanita scumpa. Pai hai sa vedem… Diana, la jumatate de metru de mine urla si eu nu o auzeam. Am reusit sa ajungem cu piesa la jumatatea salii – jumatatea activa – prin doua microfoane si o durere de gat aferenta.

Oamenii si-au vazut de treaba lor. Au venit sa manace, au mancat, s-au simtint bine au ras, au vorbit, au spart pahare, au venit pentru un moment intim, l-au intrebat pe Puiu cat mai dureaza spectacolul. Cam asa a fost… dar sunt multumita!

Da, e un mare semn de exclamare pentru ca experienta de aseara este un castig. Nu l-as mai repeta desigur, dar am invatat despre mine si despre noi ceva minunat. Avem acest instinct fara de care nu supravietuiesti pe scena, de a adapta conditiile jocului tau si nu invers. Nu locul ne-a dominat ci noi am dominat locul. Si treaba asta s-a intamplat cu dorinta, cu a deschide cuferele resurselor ascunse dar existente in noi pentru a fi bine, pentru a domina, pentru a conduce.

Si am condus si am castigat. Am facut lucruri noi, am improvizat, am descoperit noi sensuri ale spectacolului, am fost o echipa extrem, extrem de sudata. Avem acest instinct in noi, artistic, de supravietuire si asta m-a facut sa dorm bine dupa spectacol, sa aud si acum forfota de aseara dar sa o primesc cu un zambet si cu fruntea pan’ la cer.

Da, sunt mandra de noi, ca am fost noi, actrite.

Imi pare bine in acest moment ca am jucat in aer liber, in parcuri, printre tigani care s-au gandit sa bata actorii, printre oameni care pur si simplu nu se lasa deranjati de o piesa si o calca in picioare, in locatii cu fum de tigara cat sa te sufoci pe scena, cu oameni ambetati pusi pe scandal, in mai putine cuvinte, am gustat aceasta parte din meserie.

Ma bucur ca am facut treaba asta. Pentru ca la inceput am respins total, dupa care m-am speriat de impactul pe care il are genul asta de abordare artistica, m-au indignat dupa aceea lucrurile si riscurile la care te expui si acum ii multumesc Celui de Sus ca am invatat sa fim actori.

Da, nota 20 pentru mine si Diana aseara."

http://lacramioarabrecea.wordpress.com/

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Butonul albastru

2010-03-30T18:38:00.000+03:00

Sunt foarte mandra, pentru ca am reusit sa inserez micul buton albastru in blog. Cu putin ajutor, ce-i drept, pentru care tin sa multumesc. Si cica-s atehnica! Nu-s, sunt doar mai iiinnnccceeeaaatttaaa :)

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Wanderful Time

2010-03-30T16:58:00.006+03:00

Dupa ce am trecut (sau inca incerc sa trec) peste faza ca am renuntat la job, pentru a face ceva magic pe pamant, am reusit sa ma adun si sa ma bucur si altfel de diminetile mele, decat sa indeplinesc eterna rutina (spalat, dejun, cafea, imbracat si valea). Care va sa zica, acum le fac pe toate, mai putin "valea", care s-a transformat in: sa ma asez confortabil la calculator si sa raspund politicos la mailuri.
Am sperante frumos desenate in creieru-mi si dorinta de a dezvolta o structura solida, sprijinita pe dragoste de munca, respect si prietenie. Suna bine, nu? Mai mult nu zic, pentru ca-s destul de paranoica...

Astazi am fost in parc, cu baiatul si cu mingea (altfel spus, in 3!) si am jucat, pentru prima data in viata mea, tenis de picior sau cu piciorul, nu's cum se zice. Sunt varza! Big time! Si cred ca mi-am zgariat si sosonii. Apoi am trecut la volei (cu aceeasi minge de fotbal), apoi la basket, la trantit aiurea pe teren si la alergat dupa caini (Cainele era la vreo doi km de noi, dar eu alergam in directia aia. Se pune, nu?).
E minunat sa n-ai un program, in afara de cel pe care ti-l stabilesti singura. Asta spun acum, dupa ce mi-am varat gandurile in aer curat si bine-meritata transiratie.

Daca tip dupa job de la primul pumn in gura pe care mi-l va da viata, va rog sa nu ma ajutati! Mi-am propus sa-mi iasa de data asta.

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Autoproclamare - 2 Nice People :)

2010-03-29T19:20:00.001+03:00

Ce ne mai place... Romaneste!

2010-03-29T19:10:00.005+03:00

www.muzicabuna.ro

Hip-hop-ul, unul dintre genurile muzicale care isteriza publicul mult inainte sa apara astia cu "piuitorile" lor, a intrat, la un moment dat, intr-un con de umbra.
Aceea a fost perioada terifianta in care unii cantareti de hip-hop s-au ingropat in cartiere si - de atunci - nu s-a mai stiut nimic de ei (fericitii!!!), altii si-au stramtat pantalonii si si-au lasat breton, ca sa poata produce house, iar altii (multi? putini?) au inceput sa cante despre cat de naspa suntem.

Care dintre cele trei categorii a avut succes?
Pai, primii mai stau si acum ascunsi prin cartiere, cu dorinte mari mascate in spatele fricii de public, care - zic ei - nu-i mai asculta; despre cei care s-au "transformat", stim ca fac parte din clasa activa a producatorilor de house (desi suspina amar dupa prima dragoste); iar a treia categorie, well, ei se numesc Puya si GuessWho.
Nu arunc cu pietre in cei din urma, ba dimpotriva, ii laud (cu vocea sugrumata) pentru ca au gasit ceea ce se numeste calcaiul lui Ahile sau al romanului, in cazul de fatza. Am vazut, de dimineata, clipul piesei "Undeva-n Balcani" si m-am intrebat: de ce ne-am isterizat noi, cu totii, la aparitia acestei piese? Pentru ca vorbeste despre ce naspa e poporul nostru? Despre cum ne facem de ras la fiecare pas? Despre cum traditiile si obiceiurile noastre sunt luate la misto de noi insine?
Si cum obisnuiesc sa-mi pun intrebari, cu certitudinea ca se poate sa nu gasesc raspunsuri niciodata, zic: de ce GuesWho a avut succes doar cu piesa "Locul Potrivit" si nu cu "EuGen" sau cu "Tu"? Din acelasi motiv, pentru ca "Locul Potrivit" este o piesa "buna" despre cum suntem noi "naspa", pentru ca ne-am nascut in locul nepotrivit, pentru ca, desi suntem niste comori, niste oameni buni, cu principii, onesti si toate cele, avem vieti de kkt... din cauze externe (de preferat politice sau sociale).
Asta ne place, sa se cante despre noi, sa ne identificam, fie la misto, cu niste manelisti, fie, pe bune, cu niste victime. Asa "ne place de cantaretii nostri, ei este cool si merita aplauza!"

BTW, daca asculti integral albumul lui Puya, s-ar putea sa nu-ti mai placa atat de mult cele doua-trei piese de single...