mirosul de pat gol şi de periuţă de dinţi lipsă persistă
în andrele batiste ciorapi păr şi pori
în secundele de dintre bigudiuri
în pleznetul de buze pe pahar
în foşnetul paginii
în fine
arunc pumnalul
mă spăl şi pe mâini
în mine fâlfâie o arteră ruptă
între capulets şi montagues nu se mai poate face nimic
Notă: textul de mai sus a fost rearanjat în pagină de Adrian Firica
care şi-a dorit pentru o fracţiune din timpul lui (şi aşa preţios) să devină fie regizor fie o chestie de agăţat pe perete. Avem nevoie de oameni flexibili. May God grant his wish...:)
After a whole year of waiting and hoping this night will come it finally happened…
Halloween has arrived.
The above pumpkin hand picked weighed and eye-measured in Sainsbury has finally met his destiny: the scariest carved vegetable to ever be displayed on my door step.
Passers by? …terrified.
Cats?...terrified (including the one recently adopted)
Little boys and girls?...forgot their names and screamed for their Mummy
Their Dads?...screamed for their Mummy and asked for beers.
Sweets filled up the house, my kids faces, the kitchen has become a decayed tooth prior to extraction.
In a word?
BLOODY GREAT SUCCESS!!!!!!!
(whatever, 3 words!)
But I ask you, readers, followers, time wasters and accidently comers to this blog.
What the hell did the carvers bellow think?
I mean, can they not tell the difference between hallow-art (see above) and their poor attempts to create scary pumpkins? It seems embarrassing to even display them as, you can all tell, the following vegetables have been massacred chopped and beheaded for no other reason but …boredom.
I shall let you judge this, for I know, in my heart and in my silly pretty head that there is one winner and one winner only…
...and as I return from France , rounder round the hips of course, (they eat carbs down under, you know?) and smelling a lot more like Jean Paul Gaultier than 'fish and chips' I feel already light headed...mmm...something to do with the cheese? (NO - fat is beautiful!)...or maybe with the pain au chocolat consumed in huge amounts every morning (pain through chocolate?: NEVER!) ...so it must be the number of miles from Chateau Lez-Eaux, Normandy to London via the P&O wobbly ferry (driving on the wrong side of the road never helps!)....or no, no, no...let's be honest here: it has got to be the wine - and in France the cheaper the better 'vin de table rouge'...gimmie gimmie gimmie...and they did...for about 1 euro/ bottle (funny that, as they charge 50 cents for using the toilets in some restaurants with lights on sensors on/ off)...
...so I could not resist filming myself and my best friend Patsy trying the 'crem de la crem' of French wine and its consequences...
sweety darlings, je ne regrette rien....
losing and knowing how to is a Mona-Lisa painted with every feeling you own onto a canvas you never knew you had
the more you will stare into its smile the less you understand reason and purpose integrity dissolves like an aspirin in a see-through glass on your kitchen table nights turn into days days turn into nothing
your universe cracks slowly at first then faster and faster until nothing else stands on its feet
the only person you have in the whole world is Y O U don’t lose it when you lose!
din prima, fără să bîlbîi în mijloc de scenă cu reflectoarele albe lingîndu-mi gleznele ca un labrador nu mi-a tremurat vocea nici nările braţele s-au ţinut de trup ca doi cavaleri de arcul întins
şi ca aţa prin ac am împins atent gîtul subţiat înainte prin golul de aer ce se căsca de jur împrejur cît un colac de salvare apoi bărbia, nasul, ochii, unul cîte unul pupilă prin pupilă/ iris prin iris pînă cînd limba a trecut dincolo şi s-a înfipt
sala se ridică, vui, se umflă ca un plămîn ieşit din mare şi încremeni cu palmele lipite eu nu mă mai ţineam de nimic, zîmbeam şi adunam florile
atunci tăcerea mi-a luat craniul în mîini, l-a dat pe spate şi cu degetul mare mi-a şters încet şi apăsat buzele de roşu
rochiile cu buline se deosebesc de toate celelalte rochii
ele îşi poartă femeile cu (mo)tivul pe faţă indiferent de ce le e scris fiecare bulină este un punct pe I dilatat într-o pereche de buze ţuguiate perfect un crater pe suprafaţa inimii descoperit din greşeală de gloria unui bărbat profesionist cu lunetă
rochiile cu buline nu pot fi comparate nici între ele şi nici cu cele în carouri (carourile sînt un fel de hotare mici şi nervoase) pot fi în schimb uşor confundate cu pojarul ori alte chestii din copilărie dar nu...
vezi bulina asta? aici a fost înfipt ultimul steag de exemplu
it’s not for me to say when my sun shall set in your heart it’s a clock’s job God is checking it out on his wall and pushes the mary-go-round of time with his finger sipping seconds and months from the cup of eternity
I’m lucky on my wall there are no clocks no paintings no posters or pictures of you but a long list of people I’d rather be right now
mîinile tale se strivesc în poala unui trup inert cu obraji palizi aripile, ochii, buzele da autentice ‘Made in heaven’ de unde probabil ai şi căzut ori alunecat ori te-a împins cineva
cînd înghiţi, mărul lui adam se zbate între moarte şi viaţă şi imediat de sub pielea scorojită de ură a pămîntului izbucnesc vulcanii ca un hohot din coşul pieptului împroşcînd lavă peste iarba proaspăt cosită
vuietul încă se mai aude într-un punct fix mai sus de tropicul cancerului pe care razele nu mai cad incandescent şi perpendicular de mult
pe planeta asta cuvintele sînt mai rare ca aerul nu au voie nu ştiu nu pot să pună mîna pe steag să-l fluture să spargă craterii de gheaţă ci doar să îndemne la luptă şi haos iar pămîntenii mei incă nu au descoperit curajul
eu îţi privesc miinile strivite în poală din spatele lor tu înghiţi şi lava urcă ne ajunge pîna la rotule, pînă la bărbii, pînă la lumina ochilor de unde numai soarele ne mai poate orbi
Stuck for two hours or so with popcorn and two little boys in the dark...(make that three)... A list of things-I’d-rather-do-on-a-Sunday pops to mind: reading, listening to classical music (found a bunch of CD’s in a box under my bed the other day), washing my hair, pairing up socks, watching the magnolia tree grow, counting the marathon runners... But no, they insisted I come along...
Damn!
Oh, well: 3D glasses/ tickets/ soda/ popcorn/ premier sits. So far - so good, let’s get through the hard bit...I'm bracing myself...
So, 10 minutes pass – I’m not bored... 30 go – this is actually ok... 1.00 hour – I like it. 1 hour and a bit - I love it!! Towards the end I was fascinated, in tears, cheering, and shouting at the kids to be quiet...
So...
Not everything that looks and behaves ugly is bad...people always resist change...and if you haven't got what it takes to kill...you probably have something better up your sleeve...use it! If you can't beat them, join them...
perhaps is not all that bad perhaps the way I see it and the way you see it are just two poles of the same Earth spinning around a dying sun for its survival in other words the going backward and the going forward the yesterdays and the tomorrows are just coordinates you a dot on God’s graph following the unpredictable trajectory of fate on some wall in Haven
A Sunday when all should have been about eating cucumber sandwiches, drinking Cabernet, watching telly, browsing the net, browsing the net, browsing the net, browsing the net, reading the paper and generally nagging.
However, as things are not always what they seem, people were lost, then found then lost again...missiles and rockets launched and red buttons ...(well, to press or not to press?).
Anyhow, today was pretty much like the video with the pigeon impossible (see somewhere above).
An army of people has been involved, their efforts not spared and as much as I would like to put their names here (or their address, bank details and dates of birth) they are my secret agents, therefore they shall remain nameless and forever praised (by my Government, anyway).
I appreciate your patience while I am blubbering about 'stuff', I’m sure you want to know who was lost and who was found? Right? I can now confirm that is all about one person only...and not any person either, but my Mum travelling from Greenwich (London, UK) to Galati (Galati, Romania).
Due to extreme weather conditions, a lost telephone directory,its panicky owner, cheap airline (should they/ shouldn't they, depart/ land, today/ ever?), unable-to-cope-with-stressful-situations-or-without-someone-to-take-charge-mother and a few thousand miles between the countries where the action was taking place (i.e.Roamnia - UK), I can assure you that the MI5 and Scotland Yard were on 'code red' doing everything in their power to calm things down.
Though 'British are a great nation because they can laugh at themselves...By themselves we mean others and by laughing we mean invade...'(I heard this on a commercial break, while waiting for the computer to bleep and the phone to ring).
So all being well, we would like to report no registered life losses (not to my knowledge, anyway) and, while continuous monitoring shall remain our primary concern, I would like to dedicate a little song to myself, before the wine going into me as we speak should dig deeper into one's system...for a while to come.
I would like you to help me here, so stand up! Go on! Wipe that smile of you face as a start! Put your right hands (only one if you have it free, it would do!) to your hearts (for the ones who haven’t got a heart aim for the left nipple) and look straight ahead (or bored with a hint of hope!). Now, do not mumble the words, the song was written for me (and my predecessors)a few centuries ago, have a little respect, for God’s sake! (Ready? Now press play...)
You had enough of me? I often seem to wonder Sometimes I cry, my face turned to the wall I know, it’s silly yet I can’t stop but ponder The little things like: Does he care at all?
I then run to the mirror and turn my lips blood red I take out the mascara, the blushers and instead Of trying to forget you...Oh, I am such a fool I’m rushing to your door-step, breaking another rule.
I count to three, a thousand and sometimes I loose count I lean, peek through your key hole without making a sound All I can see is darkness and dust: an empty place For you must always have been my favourite waste of space
my hands are freezing unlike the river flowing through me pebbles and lava fire and hell sliding from one heart chamber to the next a snake melting all that I am in its way
my hands are freezing you hold them too tight perhaps and I can’t stop thinking that there’s nothing colder than my hands right now but your gaze
some people driving on motorways do unexpected U-turns and somehow on that very split second (before you curse and call them names!) you envy them. you envy them for the pure and utter honesty spreading inside their brain like swastika in Europe 1939
and although all written-by-man laws would condemn them (and condemned they will be!) there’s that one the one no one’s talking about the one you would follow on your motorway on a sunny winter day like this for example...
No need to panic...Life is not a box of chocolates but a skating rink at the moment. I slide from one day to the next on shorter breaks of light and memories of summer and smells of BBQs.
New resolutions? Do you really want to know them? Sure:
* Happiness, if you hear me hit me as hard as you can, whenever you can, as soon as you can, as merciless as you fancy...I shall not dodge any of your punches or kicks or bullets, in fact I’ll run towards anything you throw at me. I promise! (‘call meee!’)
* A glass of Cabernet! (what do we say?) – NOW!
Thank you..:)
So, here it is…Another year!!!!!… says my calendar, my personal alarm, my mobile phone, my lap top, my passport, my husband, my children, my Mum, my diary, my friends, my microwave, my colleagues, my cousins, my driving license…
