tracks

patinaj viteza

2009-01-04T13:04:00.001-08:00

m-am intors de la berlin cu o deficienta. mi-am adus aminte de zilele de acum multi ani in care imi imaginam ca exista linii invizibile prin lume, si faceam experimente ca sa le surprind, inca inainte sa ma ating de orice fel de substante. scrisesem intr-o zi ceva cu rosu pe o bucata de hartie dar imi era frica sa citesc ce am scris. pe urma am gasit hartia cu doua pete ca si cum ar fi fost doua picaturi de apa sau doua lacrimi, cerneala se intinsese si se modificase, mai intai am crezut ca a gasit mama hartia, ca a citit-o si ca a plans. sistemul lui d. de coincidente mi-a adus aminte de wonderlandul din capul meu, si o apropiere de cineva pe care il simti cumva ciudat ca tine intr-un fel care te face sa respiri usurata. sa-ti fie usor totul, ca un fel de patinaj. chestia cu "ne dam" prin lume, valabila ca atatea altele. in berlin nu te poti duce sa faci si sa costruiesti chestii, e alta paradigma. acolo chestiile se fac de la sine. tu nu ai decat datoria sa te prajesti cum trebuie. internetul e live. linkurile se autogenereaza. acum doua ierni aveam si tripul cu linkurile. intre timp am uitat de el pentru ca am inceput sa imi editez experientele in lume si sa fac chestii. cand te uiti insa inapoi la lumea aia, iti vine o presiune in tample de parca ai sta mult timp cu capul sub apa. stii ca de fapt amalgamul ala e singurul adevar, iar eforturile tale de editare sunt la fel de paranoice in efortul lor de a crea sens ca, nu stiu, incercarile imbogatitilor de a-si face case la corbeanca. patinaj artistic, patinaj viteza si o colcaiala intensa prin care plutesti dand din coada gen ca un peste de prada. cu gura deschisa si ochisorii bulbucati, wow. wow. wow. ce mare e lumea. experimental, optional, daca as inota o luna asha prin berlin, nu as mai face dupa aia altceva decat asta. sau mai stii? sunt pofticioasa si nesatula si imposibil de oprit. daca imi opreste cineva petrecerea, vreau sa caut alta. vreau sa ajung la o petrecere in care sa ne explodeze fizic creierele la un switch, vreau sa-l cunosc pe dj-ul care o sa faca asta si sa ma plimb cu el prin berlin o zi intreaga. caci daca e vorba sa facem autosondaj, nu merge cu tedi si nici cu omleta. daca chiar vrei sa faci sondaju, sa intri in tine cu sonda, nu poti sa pui altceva in ea decat exploziv.

u

2008-10-28T16:46:00.001-07:00

say a little prayer for you. unde ar trebui sa fiu in mintea mea? ai filmari. esti la zeci de kilometri departe si nu pot decat sa activez amintirile. sa activezi amintirile. in acelasi timp- stii, ok. reluam- sunt in londra. tu esti in alta parte. scriu in romana pentru ca nu vreau sa citesti asta. treci prin zi cu atatea haine. vrei ca in miezul zero al noptii sa iti scoti toate hainele astea. nu poti face asta singur. tu erai punctul meu zero. cand plecam de langa tine, incepeam sa ma duc inspre chestiile pe care le fac gen in lume, stii? scriu in romana pentru ca NICIODATA n-o sa intelegi limba asta. fizic, tu erai punctu meu zero. momentu in care ma trezesc, stii? ca in cantec. si dupa ce ai plecat, am ramas singura. the moment i wake up i say a little prayer for you. acuma pe bune, unde altundeva as putea sa te gasesc? crezi ca ajunge? crezi ca e ok? ai un fel asa eroic de a face fata lucrurilor ca ma faci si pe mine sa o ard gen sandra bullock intr-un film in care nu stiu, face 100 de tractiuni pe zi ca sa fie in stare sa survive. da nu sunt genu. ba da, sunt genu. imi e dor de tine. nu stiu cum sa deal with that, stii? imi e asa dor de tine. nu stiu ce sa fac, nu stiu cand o sa te vad, nu stiu nimic. cineva mi-a zis ca trebuie sa uit si gen sa imi aleg oameni din zona mea, stii, din apropiere. nu inteleg nimic. nu inteleg nimic din ce ar trebui sa fac. deci teoretic mai bine nu era nimic pentru ca oricum chestia asta nu duce nicaieri, nu? adica we won't have any outcome, asa cum zic englezii. it's like nu poti sa investesti sentimente in ceva care stii ca nu o sa te duca nicaieri, ar zice orice capitalist care se respecta, nu? fuck off. de unde atata sentiment al investitiei, adik cum? adik iubesti in functie de ce rezultat ai, in functie de ce-ti iese, sau cum??? sunt megafericita ca te cunosc. si ca te-am intalnit. si ca esti acolo, undeva. si ca stiu ca tu ma faci fericita, si eu te fac fericit intr-un fel sau altul. sunt atat de singura cand nu esti aici si nu-mi dau seama de asta decat dupa ce ai fost aici. cu tine sunt ca in cantecu ala, stii? the origins of love. it's like complete.

active art

2008-08-16T02:50:00.000-07:00

art.

action.

rePRESENT.

PRESENT.

dreptul nostru la replica

2008-08-12T03:53:00.000-07:00

ce faceti voi cu cristi neagoe ne priveste pe TOTI care suntem tineri si incercam sa traim printre dinozaurii din romania. fosti securisti care ascund crime si mineriade explodeaza din cauza unui ponei roz de cativa centimetri. oameni si care nu sunt la curent cu ce s-a intamplat in cultura romana in ultima SUTA de ani interpreteaza texte literare drept realitate si sunt atat de inculti si ingusti incat DAU PE POST niste afirmatii care demonstreaza ca ar trebui sa paraseasca in masa aceasta tara si sa ne lase pe toti in pace. nu mai avem nevoie de propaganda, de paradigme securiste si de cenzura. ASTA E ALTA GENERATIE. cu generatia asta nu aveti cum sa va puneti. suntem copiii care la 8 sau noua ani aflam ca pe mami au batut-o domnii din mina cu bulanu la universitate pentru ca avea ochelari. suntem generatia care a vazut revolutia live la o varsta la care oamenii nu pot fi mintiti. suntem generatia exploziei informationale si a descoperirii ca AI DREPTUL SA GANDESTI SI SA TE EXPRIMI LIBER. astea pentru noi nu sunt adevaruri invatate din carti. sunt traite si experimentate pe pielea noastra si a parintilor nostri. asa ca domni precum JOHN GABRIAN MARINESCU, domnul VACAROIU, domnul ILIESCU, si toata gama lor de prieteni care au uitat si au ascuns cat rau au facut ar avea un singur lucru de facut in momentul asta: sa-si ceara scuze. si sa taca. si sa plece. e incredibil si absolut SF tot traiectul scandalului diplomatic declansat de expozitia de street art la ICR NY (nu o mai rezum acum, o gasiti pe net), care a ajuns saptamana trecuta la balacareli si mai jenante pentru orice om de bun simt- vezi emisiunea de la antena trei in care o ora s-au facut afirmatii false despre cristi neagoe, coordonator de comunicare al ICRNY- din nou, pentru cine nu stie- poate sa caute pe net, nu vreau sa promovez in nici un fel afirmatiile facute pentru ca mi se pare ca abia tipul acesta de reactie si de scandal face de ras romania. acesti dinozauri nu reprezinta romania. noi o reprezentam. noi reprezentam cultura romana. nu aveti ce sa faceti. nu aveti ce sa NE faceti. libertatea exista. si voi nu mai aveti cum sa schimbati asta. nu trebuie decat sa recunoasteti ca ati imbatranit si ca razboiul vostru a trecut. voi stiti asta si de asta va e frica si de asta va zbateti atat de tare. lasati-o jos. it's fuckin OVER. am auzit ca aseara a avut loc si dreptul la replica al lui Cristi pe antena3. nu am apucat sa il vad. am gasit in schimb un drept la replica pe net pe care il puteti citi aici. si pana cand lumea nu va intelege despre ce e vorba, toti cei care simtiti ca aveti ceva de spus in povestea asta, si sumteti implicati indirect prin faptul ca sunteti romani si traiti acelasi cosmar propagandist si scuristo- mascat si cenzurator care va poate afecta in orice moment libertatea si viata, puteti reactiona. e nevoie de asta ca sa se inteleaga clar ca acesti mineri ai culturii nu ne vor da si noua in cap ca in iunie 1990 parintilor nostri.

vera ion,
regizor si dramaturg ROMAN

older stuff from older notebooks

2008-06-04T18:16:00.000-07:00

din nou agende mai vechi. ma rog. probabil asta e una din noptile alea in care te uiti mult in spate. "ma rog" a fost pus de fapt de complezenta. chiar e una din noptile in care stai si te uiti mult in spate. nu-mi vine sa cred cate povesti, cati oameni. am gasit scrisori de la oameni despre care nu numai ca nu mai stiam ca exista, dar nici acum nu imi amintesc exact cine sunt, desi gasec teancuri de 20 si de scrisori. decat foarte vag. si gasesc scrisori ale mele, multe, scrisori pe hartie, din perioade - iarasi- arhivate si bagate la zipp. perioade in care imi e acuma aproape imposibil sa inteleg cat de mult puteam sa iubesc pe cineva, si cat de simpla, clara si pura putea sa fie chestia asta. un exemplu:
o scrisoare de aproximativ acum zece ani. zece ani, my fuckin god. tot nu imi dau seama ce inseamna zece ani in timpul meu interior. zece ani in timpul exterior mi se pare ingrozitor de mult. intre mine si punctul din care scriam scrisoarea aia, mi se pare intr-un fel ca nu a trecut asa mult. intr-un fel. intr-un fel a trecut mult, in alt fel nu a trecut asa mult. intr-un fel au trecut cinsprezece sau douazeci de vieti intregi de atunci. in alt fel... ok. mai citim o data. transcriem:
(transcriem cu x. in loc de numele real, pentru protectia martorilor. ca sa imi aduc aminte ca scriu pe un blog- public. chestie care intr-un fel mi se pare mai cinstita pentru ca aproape intotdeauna cand scriam in jurnale aveam dorintza hipersecreta ca intr-o zi cineva sa descopere si sa citeasca tot. si sa descopere ce sensibila sunt eu. ) deci, scrisoarea:

"mic si cocarjat vei iesi din dragostea mea, nici eu nu te voi mai recunoaste si oricum va fi prea tarziu te vei lua de mana si vei fugi, nu pot cuprinde TOT cu ochiul, si daca pot misca muntii, pe tine nu te voi misca niciodata iubindu-te atat de tare incat mica si cocarjata voi fi dupa ce dragostea asta va fi altceva, nimeni nu te va mai recunoaste, nici chiar tu.

asta e ritmul. x. se zbate in sine. x. roteste scrumiera. x. face ca un urangutan. Veronica e fascinata. Veronica de fapt nu vrea sa se opreasca scrumiera, de fapt nu vrea sa se termine coniacul, Vasconi ne fura mintzile, x. o pupa pe frunte si deci Veronica nu poate fi decat fericita o secunda poate chiar mai mult. Apoi o apuca rasul aiurea pe strazi si e bucuroasa ca iubirea- concept general ar putea-o salva de la moarte, ar putea -mai stii?- sa-l salveze si pe el de la moarte, desi nimeni nu poate concepe ca x. ar putea sa moara vreodata prin urmare Veronica inca poate sa rada aiurea pe strazi si sa aiba 18 ani, nu ca asta ar insemna ceva. dar e reconfortant, inca sunt tanara. veronica trece prin mai multe persoane si ar vrea sa fie mai mult decat e, ar vrea sa ia premii si sa alerge la x. si sa-i spuna ca e desteapta, e premianta, e ceva de capul ei. x. mai zambeste din cand in cand si atunci chiar e frumos totul, atunci nu mai e frig si nici praf pe strazi. veronica stie ca ar trebui sa fie mai serioasa, ca ar trebui sa fie altfel dar x. exista si asta nu poate fi decat un lucru bun, un lucru care cere neaparat multa dragoste, iar Veronica e facuta pentru asta.

Sunt multe lucruri ciudate pe lumea asta. Unul din ele ar fi ca Veronica il iubeste pe x. de trei ani si ca acum este foarte fericita, stie ca sunt prieteni si asta conteaza cel mai mult."

nu. m-am inselat. acum sunt foarte departe din momentul scrierii acelei scrisori. atat de departe ca nici nu imi vine sa cred ca exista, si ca lucrurile puteau fi asa simple si curate atunci.

puii mei. o fi din cauza exploziei informationale ca nu mai esti atent la oameni? acum cred cu convingere ca lumea e fututa dincolo de orice limite. acum zece ani, scriam despre Dumnezeu. pana si aceste doua afirmatii arata cat de mult se pot schimba lucrurile in timp.

inseamna oare ca nu mai credem in nimic? nu. credem in tot felul de chestii. numai ca intre timp am constientizat (inca nu pe deplin, dar procesul de constientizare se intampla day by day by day) o chestie pe care tot x. a zis-o, acum multi ani: "tu o sa mori nebuna si singura."
doamne-ajuta.

(ps- acum am primit un IM de la cineva pe care il ignor: "e trist ca ma ignori". ce sa raspunzi la asta? )

chestii mai vechi de prin agende

2008-06-04T13:52:00.000-07:00

1.lacurile pe care ne plimbam se umfla si coboara
te-ai descaltat pe marginea lacului si stai cu picioarele in apa.
luminile casei scanteii.
muzicile amestecate de la petru terase diferite.
o conversatie. noi. un caine alb.
aerul se umfla si coboara. ne curg balele.
n-am luat suc. n-avem apa. cine se duce sa ia un suc.
daca treci pe dalele din cleshtar din mijlocul parcului
s-ar putea sa intri in alta dimensiune
s-ar putea sa te strecori prin cea mai stramta fisura ca o
frunza lunga de lotus care imi sectioneaza memoria.
pamantul e plin de astfel de gauri. mii de ochisori ne privesc
din fiecare unghi al pamantului.
o pasare trece pe cer ca o cometa.

2.criminalistica descompusa
picioare taiate
ochiul tau de tigru ma izbeshte-n spate.
merg pe dunga alba
pe autostrada
si musc din pancarta.

pancarta intrarii in oras poarta amprente.
stii cine a trecut pe aici. poti recompune totul.
da o limba pe rugina de la "bine ati venit" ca sa
simti gustul orasului
sudoarea muncitorilor
femeile gravide care au implantat
cate doi prunci in cate un apatament
cosurile lor cu cumparaturi
simti freamatul de la primul caine care trece
pe langa tine
scaietii din blana lui
laba din fata vopsita
ochiul cu cataracta
si intra si intra
nimic nu te impiedica sa vii
la noi in bucatarie.

new

2008-05-27T15:25:00.000-07:00

Melancolie baby melancolie orasul asta ar fi atat de dragut
Daca am gati impreuna si am iesi pe balcon la o tigara sa privim
Mallul care se construieste vizavi pana cand rasare soarele si noi strigam betzi
Hituri pop la munictorii in veste galbene.

*

Melancolie baby sa ne tinem de mana pana cand imi transpira palmele
Si eu ma sterg pe shest de blugi si itzi dau mana inapoi
Palmele tale nu cred ca transpira
Terorist cipriot arab gay(ish) cu nume de erou
Probabil ca in cel mult doua saptamani pana si amintirile mele despre tine
O sa fie o amintire
De exemplu cand ne-am cunoscut tu te spalai pe maini
Eu faceam pipi in cabina de langa si
m-am gandit hm ce chestie intima un tip sa se spele pe maini si tu
sa faci pipi langa ca si cum nu s-ar intampla nimic deosebit

*

Fantezia mea secreta e sa-ti fac o poza – sa-ti pozez palma
Si sa-mi pun poza asta background pe telefonul meu nokia3110.

*

E bine daca ma inspira sa scriu texte
Chestia asta- chiar inseamna ceva. Pana maine cand ajung in expirat
Si e cu totul alta zi
Si te scufunzi din nou in bucuresti si te intalnesti
Cu cel putin cativa fosti care iti dau sa fumezi. Running against time.
Pana maine scriu textele astea si ma gandesc la tine.

old

2008-05-27T15:16:00.000-07:00

1.M-am saturat de amintiri. Ca in filmul ala cu jim carrey vreau sa te parasesc in amintiri.
In toate filmele din ce in ce mai destramate
In toate bucatzile de memorie in care ai ramas vreau sa-ti dau un picior
Cu cate membre mai am in bucatzile alea de amintire a mea
Vreau sa fug asha schiloada
Inspre alte imagini din capul meu.
M-am plictisit de filmele cu tine si
De putrefactia lor
Nu poti sa regenerezi amintirile am incercat in photoshop
Cu bucatzi de imagine peste alte bucatzi de imagine
Esti o garantzie putrefacta a faptului ca timp de o luna am fost fericita si nu mi-a mai trebuit nimic altceva
Si paianjenii si viermii au inceput sa iasa din aceasta luna
Ca dintr-un caine calcat de tir
Creierii lui lassie si ai tuturor cainilor din copilarie
Storcoshiti de pavaj
Nu, daca ai vedea toate astea nu ai merge cu mine de mana
Pe aleile pline de caini morti si de miros de camera inchisa
In care cineva a tot borat de aproape doi ani de fiecare data
Cand ii era dor de tine. Obiectele pe care mi le-ai dat sunt si ele niste cadavre.
Bratzara pe care ai gasit-o pe plaja intr-o zi insorita si mi-ai dat-o
Si pe care am purtat-o un an
Acum e o mortaciune si plaja s-a umplut de oameni schiopi
Sangeranzi si cu ochii scurshi pe fatza cu carnea dezlipindu-se in
Nisipul de 100 de grade.

2.aseara casa mea era atat de trista incat ma simtzeam ca bukowski
singur cu un pahar de alcool pus in echilibru pe marginea fotoliului
si cateva haine la uscat inghesuite pe calorifer.
cand a sunat de dimineatza telefonul l-am urat
cu o greatza de betziv singur. ash fi vrut un barbat care sa ma iubeasca
pana dimineatza si in schimb am stat alaturi de laptopul meu stricat si impotent
si m-am uitat la otv.

3.Cv limba romana.
Sunt asa dragutza in fata webcam-ului ca aproape nu vreau sa ma uit la mine.

cate contexte atatea pretexte

2008-02-21T05:33:00.000-08:00

poate spatiul in care te misti e de fapt doar in capul tau- imperii si imperii de harti- deschizandu-se pe orizontala- nu stiu de ce dar asha le vad, pe orizontala, ca taramuril magice din jocuri; ca pajistile pe care zburda cate un copil pierdut - reminiscentza de imagine din atonement, filmu, campii inca inainte de a incepe orice razboi. poate spatiul dureaza din momentul in care aprinzi kibritul si pana cand focul atinge capatul tigarii- poate ca spatiul incepe abia dupa. dupa primul fum. sau se termina. ash vrea sa vad cum se insiruie in cap ca niste folii transparente toate imaginile si proiectiile si luminile si cum arata cand cateva din foliile astea imprimate foarte foarte fin se suprapun. cred ca sa te plimbi prin toata marea asta de imagini si de umbre ar fi suficient pentru o viatza intreaga. alimentat cu ce se intampla in the real world, de care nu poti sa te rupi si nici n-ai avea de ce- si apoi back in the fukin laboratory. nu-i asha, totzi avem cate un mic dexter inside.
stiti la e ma gandesc? m-am gandit mult la asta. daca poti intelege cu adevarat ca exista crima pe lumea asta, atunci esti si tu un criminal.
suntem complici. suntem cu totii complici. ignorantzi cat sa putem sa construim si noi, ashea, un trai cat de cat. daca toti am realiza pe bune in ce cacat s-a ajuns in lumea asta, daca am realiza asta, cred ca ne-am imprastia toti ca bilele de mercur dandu-ne cap in cap si urland- nu se poate.

stiti ce e funny? reactia pe care o ai cand te uiti la un film cu razboi si simti asa senzatia aia de boring, iar un film cu razboi, undeva gandul ala apare in cap si te dai un pic in spate. lumea se plictiseste la filme sau la documentare cu razboi. a, iar se omoara aia acolo. iar sange. iar cu baioneta-n piept. sa-mi fut una, ce imbecili am ajuns. e plictisitoare o imagine cu inca 100 de cadavre dezbracate semiputrezite intr-o groapa comuna. e plictisitoare imaginea nu stiu caruia impuscat in frunte, cu puntuletzul, bulina aia rosie stacojie si firicelul de sange care se scurge din ea. e boring. cat de complet idioti am ajuns. cat la sute folosim din creier? un cacat. ce folosesti? un cacat. cacatul si superficialitatea din mine. talking through me. suntem niste complici dragalashi. suntem varza.

nu mai stiu de la ce am pornit. cat iti ia de la a intelege ca exista crima, pana la a ucide pe cineva?

totul tzine de context, mi se va raspunde de undeva din off. sa nu-ti dea domnu cate contexte poti duce.

.

2008-02-20T19:23:00.000-08:00

aici nu exista scapare
esthi prins exact aici- orice itzi vei aduce aminte
orice itzi vei imagina in viitor
nu exista.
nu exista amintiri
nu exista imagini in capul tau
nu exista decat
mirosul de aici
lumina de aici
ora de aici
mobila si oamenii
si geamurile care ne inconjoara.
sau strazile care ne inconjoara.
contextul creierului nostru
pulverizat
explodat
maxim
pana nu mai ramane nimic
nici macar cum ar trebui
sa te uiti la ceilalti conform
identitatii tale
oricum de cacat.
aici. no chance to escape.
aici. no way round.
aici. no memories. blow those fuckin
polaroids away.
blow those fuckin parasites away.
blow your eyes away.
blow your face away.
blow every fuckin memory
and any way of thinkin
about what
or i don't know
about what
you dream in future.
there is no future. no tomorrow. nothing
except
aici
acum.
aici si aici si
aici si acum. in marele gol din jur.

.

2008-02-13T12:36:00.000-08:00

situatie context reprezentare
acuarele si hartie creponata intrebarea- si daca nu vede nimeni telefoanele fosforescente
pe care le desenez pe hartia creponata
ce rost au
ce rost are daca nu ai the reward o bratzara gay primita de ziua mea si
ar trebui
sa luam o pauza in care sa plutim ca nishte fiintze gelatinoase prin atmosfera gri a bucurestiului
intersectandu-ne fara reguli unul cu altul
daca toate fobiile noastre adunate mai suporta vreo intersectare.

.

2007-11-19T17:37:00.000-08:00

baga muzica baga baga
click baga baga net baga
baga poze baga baga
muzica baga linkuri baga
facebook baga wordpress baga yahoo.360
sau cum s-o chema baga baga tags art smart
baga sms im sm s
baga baga mess baga baga
coffee and cigarettes baga mailuri
mail mail baga
text baga 20 de pagini la ora 3
39 de pagini la ora 5 baga
liniste play baga baga muzica
nu liniste baga parazitii baga ms. soda
baga cibo matto baga 12 days of christmas baga
facebook baga blog baga abitir baga monged baga
esemeses s
si skill si stil baga trupe noi
in concert
the key safety match the key
the k
the e-bay who may
harm or protect or delay
your stay

.

2007-11-19T15:41:00.000-08:00

road trip in mintea ta uneori cuplat cu lumea alteori nu
filmele care se fac in cap ah le-am avut de la un an dar atunci
nu stiam ce inseamna sa-ti faci filme atunci ca si la 5
ca si la 8 ca si la 16 prindeam mai multe posturi si vedeam mai multe filme suprapuse dar nu stiam ca asta nu inseamna nimic altceva decat ca ai tu filme in capul tau
abia acum am inceput sa mai inteleg abia acum am inceput sa mai fac diferentele acum exista nuante si atmosfere si cadre si sepia sau pop-ups sau explozii
in capul meu despre care stiu ca e un multiplex
despre care stiu ca e un wembley plin de 10000 de oameni care urla in cor pe aceeasi muzica
si toti oamenii aia sunt eu
mi-e frica uneori sa ating oamenii
ceilalti si sunt
si ei
atat de multi

.

2007-11-02T09:30:00.000-07:00

cata gratie

2007-10-04T04:53:00.000-07:00

sensibilitate
altercatie
rezistenta
rezolutie
solutie percutie
permutatie
combinator combinatie just justitie revelion batalion revolutie
scursura democratie
acid
somn gaura neagra semnal lichid
fese
trompa uter
dans ba da ba nu
toamna monument parc funerar
lamurire lamurit mort murit senzatie
maine va fi o zi maine este o zi maine este
pe drum
cu viteza sexului
goliciune pat
des bracat
des bracare
baraca gol gol gol
fereastra deschisa post de radio
gatlej psihopedagogie pedriatie
perdut pierdut tunel tunel
intuneric
mucegai muraturi cascaval.

o senzatie de frig imi cutremura oasele.

la scena, 13 septembrie

2007-09-04T09:49:00.000-07:00

luni 3 septembrie ora 19:00

2007-09-02T03:52:00.000-07:00

other trips

2007-08-25T05:59:00.000-07:00

google trip

2007-07-01T10:53:00.000-07:00

"Floarea soarelui"

(- un mic experiment. gasesti o formulare, propozitie, fraza, expresie, alaturare de cuvinte, gen "floarea soarelui". dai search pe google imagini mai intai un cuvant, primul, si alegi o imagine din multitudinea de imagini de acolo. apoi urmatorul cuvant, si alegi o imagine care sa se potriveasca intr-un fel sau altul cu prima. singurul criteriu ar fi cumva intuitiv. precum se vede mai sus, floarea soarelui creeaza o un sir de imagini- asta fiind tripul pe care l-am facut eu, evident ca fiecare "autor" are un trip diferit pentru aceeasi expresie. altele, mai jos.)

"Hai hui"

"La dracu"

"Te iubesc"

(ps- de ce nu mai scriu in engleza?- pen ca asha e-n vieatza. lol.)

remember 2006

2007-02-20T16:42:00.000-08:00

yes i remember. i remember the smell of the streets and the smell of the subways and the smell of you. i tried to forget, to keep it clean, to keep it clear. i remember everything just as accurate and as clear as camden town at sunset. i remember the people and chelsea kitchen. k. my mistake, trying to erase all these. trying to borrow another personality, the one from my country. it doesn't suite. i remember you.
u2.
ok.
i know now i want to go back to london,
and i know that all this is just a way of getting through. i know i'll never find you there, and probably never again. and i miss you like shit.
i will smoke ganja in every park of london just for you, you know.
and i will walk on the streets near south kensington and buy me sandwiches and johnny walker. what more could you want from me. what more could you pretend would be FAIR and smooth, and with...
fuck.
i never know why i write here.
i missed you a lot. i still do.
i want to be pathetic and kind and weak, just like you are. i wanna go back there and feed the pigeons though everyone says do not feed them.
i wanna trip, i wanna write again in hyde park in silence, i wanna go with you again at peter pan. and i can't share this with anybody, and i can be afraid and i can stay here but not till the end of time.
i find my friends transforming and i feel estranged and i think when the moment comes, when you feel estranged in your own homeland, then you have to go.
you know, when i came back here there was always a feeling that something is missing. when walking on the streets, i always had the feeling that i have to look left and talk to you, but i was just alone. then i learned to get over it, i learned to fall in love, i learned to get busy. i worked at monged, and this kept me alive. but now monged is over, and i can't do it again. i tried to fool myself that i will work here at other stuff, i begun writing another play. i tried to keep in touch with romania. but here, you know, i don't know why, there is a moment when everything goes wrong. there is that CERTAIN moment so fucked, so wicked, so absolutely non-ok, so absolutely wrong, that you keep on asking yourself if you are on the right track, or the train has left the station many hours ago...
yes, i want to go back. i don't want to bullshit myself anymore. there is nothing here to keep you ALIVE. i die here day by day. waiting, forgetting, understanding, forgiving, swallowing unnatural shitty things.
i want to keep everything as alive as it can be.
you changed me. a lot.
maybe someday at 90 years old we will have breakfast together again.
bacon and eggs, huh?
and lots of coffee.

...

2007-02-12T03:55:00.000-08:00

love love love what can i do
gotta work and keep myself
up
but the thought of you makes everything pop.

(which is one of the nicest and shiniest love poems ever )

it's an unnatural spring

and, as they say, i got a head with wings.

no no no

2007-02-04T08:07:00.000-08:00

I hate power trips.

closer?

2007-02-02T09:52:00.000-08:00

A huge need for searching is messing my stomach heart and all the physical and spiritual organs up. I feel like I have a little "google search" somewhere in my spiritual organism. I search for something, feel that some people are links for me for something else, some moments become links for other moments, meeting certain people can open a door to something else but i don''t know what that something else is. and sometimes some other people don't open any doors and then you just feel like it's no use to see them or talk to them.
I don't even feel like wanting to be in love, i just dream from time to time about somebody but don't want to see him because anyway life is complicated and dreams are better. i would define all these mixed stuff by "strawberry fields forever", i would like all these days be like strawberry fields forever, a mix. sometimes the sound is stronger (when the screen is getting more colorful, and you get closer to something ), sometimes it's just a little whisper in the back of your mind, when you act like being stuck and you are not really alive and "searching", and you only do stupid shitty things like going to an exam.
well, well, well. little amelie me.

stand by

2007-01-08T06:27:00.000-08:00

i am sooooo fucked.
hard to recognize myself after 4 days of fuckin' our brains out.
I don't understand how people dealt with pshychological terror during the communist regime, and now we are not able to deal with the bad-luck and bad-will and stuff like that. Last night, after we canceled the show, i was like getting so drunk and even now my whining ego says that it's so much easier to junk yourself out, but you know, with fury and despise, you know the feeling, russian-like despair... such a cute little way of being your own perfect outraged victim. but i can't believe in it.
anyway, to junk yourself out is always a solution but not to defy the destiny, fuck it, the world we live in is so mixed up that strong emotions like that can't last more than a few hours for real- and after that it's just social disguise.
i want to write the perfect fairy tale for a city like this one and play it with puppets.
this is the next project.
urban superheroes and urban fairytale, urban and more.
have to find... i forgot what.
the music of felix kubin is very good for the starting point of this story.
and i talked to kostea about internet theatre upgrading.
writing different versions for a play, and upgrades and giving free license for everybody.
fuck the copyright and fuck the license. mironghiu said it so nice, that internet is the new communism of information. http://miron-ghiu.blogspot.com/
well, then no property. only intellectual moral property.
what i don't understand is what the fuck will happen with monged? It seems like a nightmare, first we could't have the proper preview because the teachers could't come, anf after the holidays, we couldn't even rehearse properly because the heating system broke down at the casandra studio.
and now we have to wait another week.
crazeeee.
demented.
wickeeed.
and rock'n'roll.

make the show shorter?

2007-01-03T15:18:00.000-08:00

this city is like a beast. sometimes it crushes you sometimes you can keep it friendly near you like a huge dog. a white one. or a huge golden retriever.
i will start the rehearsals again tomorrow. but the news is that the casandra studio is under water now. hahahahahahahahaha. soome pipes exploded. that's what the manager of the theatre told me today.
back to redbull and rehearsing.
had the time of my life on 31. fireworks and drunk people on the streets but no tension. no stress. dancing until the next day and the next night and wearing my new friendly hat in the few hours i slept, in a bed with (i think ) snow white's dwarfs. no kidding. i will leave this as the mistery between years, but i swear i had the impression that we were 4 of the 7 dwarfs from the story. but snow white had left the building.
i discovered that i use very much even in my romanian-language ego the word "friendly". a friendly city, a friendly hat, a friendly sweater, a friendly music... does this mean that i somehow have the fear of being agressed in some way or another? maybe i have some problems. some freak longing for balance and turning the music or the tv off everytime she goes into her own house? maybe i'm just sensitive. i mean, i can listen to music, but only my music. no tv, no radio, and especially no fuckin' adriano celentano or stefan hrusca.
well, that's it. but no problem.
as nadia bowers would say- "we just kept on walking!". nadia is a great blonde russian american human being and actress and i'm sure i will have her among the readers of this very helpful source of security and balance which organizes your thinking into pixels and cold harmless fuckin' internet waves. my psychological terror explodes with every Ctrl+S and every Enter pushes me into a realm of calm and contemplation.
damn. i should go to sleep. tomorrow long hard day. tomorrow be responsible. i have to cut the text (to make the show shorter) and this will really hurt.

velvet goldmine one more time

2006-12-29T02:32:00.000-08:00

grandfather with a knife haunting us all and we running in fear after trying to keep him alive. stories about spiderman and d'artagnan and chaos messing my mind up and a lovesick feeling which makes me hide away in the house and never get out again,
although you can't be sick of love and the word is not good but you can be genetically modified for a period which means not really you which of course can scare you off for good, the inner transmutation, the change, like when spiderman puts his clothes on and he is not himself anymore or whatever any example would do,
chrismas and new year's eve and parties and big cakes with so many levels for too many people, so many people gathering around and friends talking with their mouth full about politics about snow white about my life about nothing.
wandering around in the bucharest fucking city and tension in the air and headaches.
kent ultralight, i defy you. you are not my friend anymore.
the sky is full of my friends' faces. of my parent's face. of the surreal great heroes of the humanity. of spiderman and kim-ki-duk.
electric fear. emotion.
emooootion and fear. new years eve always messes things up. this is what i'm afraid of. that we always try to glam ourselves up and fuck it all. all that it is.
i have a white dress, i have a black dress, i have a green dress. i have to survive these holidays and get back to work. sometimes i feel like grandfather- too much emotion and too many people and too many lights and everything trying to look so smart and dressed up that i can pick up the knife and accuse them of criminal intentions.
and of course above all, the best movie for these days- velvet goldmine one more time.

monged

2006-12-20T11:08:00.000-08:00

home now. holidays, chrismas, laziness, emptiness, strange-ness. we had the show today, first performance with audience.
it was cool. people liked it. the show is not ready though, but it's about to "fly away"- and the feeling of emptiness close by. in the closet.
i miss other cities now, when i don't have my rehearsals, and i am like in a strange period on not-really-being-in-my-life, but somewhere with so much time to loose/use/abuse, that you don't really know what to do with it.
so. family. chrismas. celebratiiing. i could use a smoke.
family. night. evening. no new subjects.
gonna wash some dishes now, ladies and gentlemen. gonna keep the touch with the material world.
people said that they got emotional during the play last night. it was very long, 2 hours and 45 minutes, but they still liked it and someho felt it. there's not much happening, just 3 guys who get more and more stoned, and you can see how the trip goes for them. the play is a trip, ,and that's how I should work on it further. sorin is soooo good in what he does, i really felt that he opens himself and discovers many new levels in acting. i know him pretty well, and i know how he was some years ago, when we started school. he grew up and he is very talented.
monged.
monged.
didn't contact gary duggan yet, damn it. I should take this in charge.
gary, mails for everybody i love, and some wine with my familyt, and maybe tomorrow go out,
and time to read a book, and maybe cut my hair, and some shiny stuff for the christmas tree.
that's how the sun comes back in my life again. :-)

ditch

2006-12-10T12:49:00.000-08:00

brush my teeth mom, show me how to do it. someday when I'll be like all my friends predict me, so fucked and wasted and waiting in a ditch for the rain to stop, oh yes bacovia i know your depressive poetry and i used to love it, someday mom i'll be waiting for you to help me brush my teeth but you won't come anymore.
can you be happy with your mouth full of bacteria? can you be happy with other people's shit draining on you? can you can you can you.
i can i can i can.
i have the little white wire that connects me to the whole world and i love it. i have it cry for me laugh for me eat for me. virtual, eh? take care, girl, you are getting vir-tu-aal. today alejandro and dodou wrote me. alejandro asking how am i doing, dodou the same. i'm fine. i love you all. i'm why do i have the impression that if you have a blog you tend to be more depressive in what you write that your actual thoughts are?
soo fine and happy.
so you are a father now. at least it's a wonderful thing, to have a child.
love. stupid.
angels and hearts and all those beautiful boys, All those beautiful boysPimps and queens and criminal queersAll those beautiful boysTattoos of ships and tattoos of tears
http://www.lyricsmania.com/lyrics/cocorosie_lyrics_3007/noahs_ark_lyrics_15945/beautiful_boys_lyrics_184512.html
i sang a christmas carol alone on the street today, in loud voice, in remembrace of you.

i'm a little Frankenstein

2006-12-06T01:18:00.000-08:00

Yep, this is a strange one. Today I cheked out an older blog because a friend of mine reminded me of it. It was called me and my monkey and it was in romanian. Fair enough. And I was about to tell this friend that I have another blog now, and give him the nick and all, but I didn't do it because I was thinking- well, this one is in English, and he will make fun of me BIG TIME if he sees that.
So, fuck. Why am I writing in english? It came so natural when I made this blog, and it still is so natural, but, I mean, why the fuck am I writing in English?
I guess I'm feeling better this way. Estranged. You know, sometimes even my language seems messy and non-ok. So I guess this is happening to me, this story that you see in movies, or you read about as an interesting psychological phenomenon- the feeling of estrangement and the need to leave your country. The lack of love for your country. Sometimes the despise for your contry. The pity- really, the decorations for Christmas this year are sooooo pityful, so poor, so sad, like a duty someone had to do, the mayor or so, like a- oh, well, it's Christmas, let's put the fuckin' lights on, and the lights are (surprise, surprise!) blue and with white stars, like the E.U. flag. Brilliant. Super. Great.
I don't know. I wasn't like that some time ago, but now I think I'm just tired of not getting enough from here, of the constant mood I was also talking about in previous posts, of the I-don't-know-what that floats upon these people.
And here is the answer for my writing in english, I guess. This is the answer. English makes me feel protected. I'm an immigrant-to-be. I'm a fuckin Frankenstein now, in continuous transfomation. I don't recognize my old values, I don't know my new ones, I look at my past, and my friends, like they are someone I will leave soon, but at the same time I'm not sure of it, because all these may be a post NY/London/Wiesbaden trauma, as it is when you come back and it's hard to get used to things. Sometimes I feel that things here just don't ever change. My friends are just the same, my family is just the same, everything moving so slowly, and everybody like- not knowing what the fuck they really want. I don't either. But I try to find out. I really want to make THAT difference. Between you do what you do and you choose what you do.
The rehearsals will be over soon. I got a bit tired and messy and I felt that yesterday it wasn't such a great thing happening on the stage, and I also feel that this show will be kind of long, but then again I've never seen a run trough, whch is really important. It will be ready on the 16th of December.
Well...
And I'll go now to figure out what I have to do next.
Bye.

2006-12-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

I'm black and sad and melancholic and depressive. Like in the 8th grade.

fuck this city

2006-11-28T13:23:00.000-08:00

... and back from the USA. I'm dizzy. Sincerely, I'm fucked up. I miss walking on that streets and the spirit of the city, and the way people are there. There's so much to say about that, that I can't really describe the poor provincial fucked up spirit in this messy grey dusty and so pathetic Bucharest, in which everybody is afriad of something or somebody, and everybody is in a continuous conflict with the others, no, not conflict, but COMPETITION, oh yeah, you fuck me or I fuck you, and I don't mean fuckin' as in an act of attraction. FUck, I'm so tired of all this mess that I simply try to act like I'm in a holiday here or smth like that, like this is a bridge, this Bucharest thing is a bridge between London&USA experience and something else. It's not for real. The old workers from the thatre are not for real. My professors are not for real. Only the joy from the rehearsals is for real, and that's the only thing that keeps me connected. But what else? Nothing.
So I watch movies, drink, and think about the show. Today, they told me that it's a must that the show is ready by 16th of december. No questions, just like that- yoube ready. I don't see no fuckin interest in these people for what we do, and they call themselves teachers. Fuck that. The mood, the vibe in Casandra, the studio I'm rehearsing at, is killing. lethal weapon. Everybody waiting, linegring around, hanging, crossing by, yawning, lying on the floor, talking at th phone... Fuck, man. makes you feel laike a freek when you want to rehearse something. I'm not talking about the actors, buut there are so many people who happen to linger around, that they drag you down big time. today, because we didn't have any music also, I sometimes felt just like in a kind of hallway, you know? A fuckin' hallway between buildings.
Anyway...
AND I try to get myself dunk so I go to sleep earlier.
So goodnight to everybody, this is the sincere poison from a full-of-poison society that I respectfully advice you to avoid, sincerely yours,
vera
aka
a former ceburashka in the london fields of real interesting creative and never exhausting real life.
and just trying to get herself THROUGH this hell of neverending tension and frustration that floats upon Bucharest.

stop rehearsals

2006-11-10T00:14:00.000-08:00

Washing my clothes for NYC. Will be there on Monday. I will stop rehearsals today and get drunk tonight. I'm not sorry but VERRRY sorry that I stop my rehearsals for more than ten days. Bogdan wants to make a stop in Amsterdam and we probably will, for two days. On the other hand, I can't wait to fly again. The show I'm rehearsing now is really hard. It needs energy and brain from the actors, to control their effort. It seems good until now, but a little bit long ?!? I'm talking about "Monged", by Gary Duggan. Trippy!!!!!!!!!! A really good text. I was at Miruna's rehearsals last night, she's doing "Some explicit Polaroids" by Ravenhill, and another revelation with the text- that it's so brilliantly written. Especially the three "trash" group, with Tim, Victor and Nadja- and their meeting with Nick who was emprisoned in 1984, and now he got out and meets "the happy world". Beautifully written, this with the happy world, and their brainwashed happiness. When Tim says "Ecstasy", you understand everyhting about their lives. I think people will be quite dazzled with this generation of shows at "Casandra"- there are things that they don't fucking know at all, or recognize. The 40-50 audience will be like "wow, I think the end of the world is near, and this young generation went sooo crazy". Drugs and clubs- this is what is "Monged" also dealing with, among with other things. Drugs, clubs, Ecstasy, and streets in Dublin. "Oh my God, they killed Kenny!". This will be the name of the show. And I hope I find Gary to talk to him about that. It's incredible that it's so hard to find someone's mail adress. Anyway... cheers. I'll be back probably tomorrow.

2006-11-08T03:42:00.000-08:00

Because I simply lost my password to another blog I've created, I come again with another name and another skin, and with free tracks to my life and unfortunately other's. Nice game, blogging. And about algocalmin- this is the romanian name for a medicine that prevents headaches. Glad to be here again... And that's it.