vineri, 4 octombrie 2013

Patio cordobes

paradise is a closed garden
i'm with the moors on this one
sadly
kimonos can't keep me happy
but there still is some hope for jazz

vineri, 7 iunie 2013

Rautati

Este perfect acceptabil sa te plimbi prin oras pe o ploaie torentiala, impacata pe deplin cu ideea ca te vei uda complet, ba chiar cautand dinadins sa-ti simti blugii lipiti de glezne; este la fel de firesc sa faci asta la 26 de ani cum era la 20 sau 15. Am iesit in strada exact cand incepuse sa ropoteasca, iar de la biserica Armeneasca pana la Universitate, eram singura fiinta care infrunta nepasatoare bulbucii; restul se adaposteau sub stresini, statii de autobuz sau prelatele covrigariilor, lipiti de ziduri ca pilitura de fier de un magnet puternic. In pasajul de la metrou, tabloul era si mai hazliu, cu grupuri intregi naufragiate langa scarile rulante, cu ochii ridicati spre cer, asteptand, parca, sfarsitul unui bombardament. Mergeam tot inainte spre Calea Victoriei, ascultand un concert pentru pian si bucurandu-ma ca, indiferent cate responsabilitati mi-as asuma si oricate promisiuni as face pentru a multumi, pentru o clipa, pe cineva, mai pot avea momente in care nu imi pasa. Slava ploii ca mi-a permis sa uit felul in care aratam, abonamentul RATB expirat, faptul ca pisica rasturnase un ghiveci acasa, volatilitatea titlurilor de stat nipone cu scadenta la 10 ani, dezamagirile pe care le-am provocat celor din jur in ultimele luni si nevoia presanta de a face ordine in viata mea. Imi simteam constiinta atat de usoara, incat eram aproape intangibila si, oricum, gata de a ma rupe de orice fara nicio remuscare, gata de a pleca oriunde. Jumatate de ora mai tarziu, ma urcam pe o bicicleta dintr-un impuls care a durat numai cinci minute, veselindu-ma la gandul ca poate nu voi mai face niciodata asta, poate efortul de a invata sa merg va ramane neincheiat. Dar ar fi fost destul. Ideal ar fi sa ma pot ridica intotdeauna de la o masa la care conversatia este plictisitoare, sa nu cultiv decat acele relatii care-mi aduc cu adevarat placere, sa nu-mi cer scuze pentru felul cum sunt si sa critic fara teama de consecinte, daca asta este ceea ce trebuie facut. Stiu ca un asemenea egoism ar fi ajuns din urma, la un moment dat, de o nevoie disperata de oameni, dar, cumva, trebuie sa conserv sentimentul de libertate pe care l-am avut azi.
Bonusul plimbarii prin ploaie a fost, desigur, mirosul teilor copti. N-o sa ma satur niciodata de el.

marți, 29 ianuarie 2013

Mrs. Dalloway

Again.

To get that letter to him by six o'clock she must have sat down and written it directly he left her; stamped it; sent somebody to the post. It was, as people say, very like her. She was upset by his visit. She had felt a great deal; had for a moment, when she kissed his hand, regretted, envied him even, remembered possibly (for he saw her look it) something he had said - how they would change the world if she married him perhaps; whereas, it was this; it was middle age; it was mediocrity; then forced herself with her indomitable vitality to put all that aside, there being in her a thread of life which for toughness, endurance, power to overcome obstacles and carry her triumphantly through he had never known the like of. Yes; but there would come a reaction directly he left the room. She would be frightfully sorry for him; she would think what in the world she could do to give him pleasure (short always of the one thing), and he could see her with the tears running down her cheeks going to her writing-table and dashing off that one line which he was to find greeting him... Heavenly to see you! And she meant it.