Tacere

Cautand printre foile raspandite prin camera (deh..nu sunt cea mai ordonata persoana) gasesc un jurnal de vara trecuta...e incredibil cat de departe imi pare persoana care a asternut pe hartie toate acele ganduri...ca si cum timpul ar fi separat doua fiinte cu conformatii sufletesti distincte si ar fi reusit sa stearga asemenea unui burete memoria...citate din carti, teme de reflectie dintre cele mai ciudate, detalii atat de precise desi acum lipsite de orice semnificatie...e surprinzator in ce stadiu te poate aduce plictiseala...sa analizezi pana la cele mai marunte aspecte ca si cum de ele ar depinde totul...sa faci din secunde o eternitate si din eternitate o clipa concentrata, un moment suspendat in abisurile cele mai intunecate ale mintii...

"Practica pitagoricienilor de a tacea imi placuse cel mai mult la ei. Nedand expresie gandurilor care ti se imbulzesc la poarta vorbirii, ele se retrag de la sine si descoperi cu o mare bucurie ca exprimarea lor nu era necesara"

Tacerea e asadar solutia...atunci cand cuvintele devin niste substituti ingrati ai gandurilor, caci inevitabil, in aparent insignificantul moment de ezitare ce preceda exteriorizarea se strecoara o eroare...dispare puritatea, asa cum fusese ea conceputa de creier ori de inima...si chiar ajungem sa renegam propriile spuse pentru ca aerul contaminat de viciile dialogului distruge esenta, ne cufunda intr-un echivoc al mentalitatii, de-a lungul modelarii ei atat de vulnerabile, supuse contemplarii critice ale interlocutorului...nu suportam dezacordul...un alt exemplu de intoleranta care ne conduce spre izolare sau spre alaturarea unui grup ce pare a indeplini toate cerintele...de cele mai multe ori criteriile sunt dintre cele mai absurde, dar ne conformam si totul pentru ce?...pentru a nu dezamagi, pentru a percepe o pretinsa compatibilitate si a ne desfata cu elogii, aprobari emfatice...or totul se reduce la sentimentul de apartenenta atat de placut, comod pentru aceea nedispusi sa infrunte prejudecatile, atat de ancorati in realitatea altora incat se vad neputinciosi in fata perspectivei de a-si construi propriul adevar, acela care nu ar putea fi tagaduit de nimeni, pentru simplul fapt ca deslusirea lui este individuala, captiva in intimitatea unui singur suflet...pentru ca singuratatea totala, intrinseca nu e o reflectie pustie in oglinda, nu iti arata ca esti singur, ci singurul...atunci tacerea devine calm, meditatie, starea fireasca a lucrurilor, o alternativa la aceasta nefiind decat risipa de sunete...

Am uitat sa tacem...percepem "nezgomotul" - in fond atat de necesar pentru echilibru- ca un handicap, stanjeneala ce trebuie numaidecat sa ia sfarsit pentru ca altfel ne socotim neimpliniti, neinteresanti, incapabili sa rezistam presiunii unei conversatii...asadar ca niste roboti care trebuie sa isi demonstreze calitatile de socializare, cautam cu nesat subiecte, imagini diverse impanzesc creierul obosit, agitat, umilit...si totul pentru a demonstra ceva...mereu avem ceva de spus despre noi insine de parca aceste biete cuvinte ar putea compensa vulnerabilitatile fiintei...am uitat cat de expresiva e tacerea, pentru ca ea presupune contemplare, analiza, rabdare...or minutele socotite atat de pretioase incorseteaza timpul si ne transforma existenta intr-un cronometru...si ce e mai ciudat stabilim un timp limita, netinand cont de imprejurari, transformandu-ne in niste marunti si infatuati demiurgi, pentru a constata ca planurile sunt abia o manifestare a orgoliului nostru ce nu suporta intarzierea, confuzia, ezitarea atat de umana...

Tender

I will tenderly unveil your soul, caress of devotion,
Staining your umblemished curves with inquisitive motion,
When the hourglass dissipates time into grains of infinite patience
Lingering...relishing insatiable shiver of exhausting indulgence.
The desire that melts in our eyes - rivetted on each other's scars
Is a silent testimony of our journey - destination is Mars
I am gently, ardently crawling your skin...escaping, exploring the abyss within,
Memoryless breaking the stubborn barrier...ignoring thy vanity, the shame...all the fear
Epidermical pallor - transcendence of most hesitant emotion
Contrasting with hectic embracement, like an anxious ocean,
Whose aquatic incoherences violently cover the flames of the sand
Kisses of passion estinguish the blaze of the land

The smooth curve of your lips - bittersweet evidence of resemblance
It strangely makes tomorrow another way to whisper "never"
As the mirror is a vivid confession of numb countenance,
Silence becomes ether, void..a better answer..the most clever

Inertie

Timpul ne e calaul...secundele precum termitele sfarma osul,
Carnea putrezita e abia regretul unei dare stacojii
Si cand Selena isi dezvaluie chipul de ceara,
Privindu-ne chinul reflectat in cer de sticla,
Zvacnirea vietii apune...caci umbra pangareste un cadavru,
Un om sfarsit, vesnic tanjind nemurire ori cautand neantul,
Ratacind in abisul cosmarurilor...mai abrupt cu fiece aripa...cade
Nepasator...un biet manunchi de oase,
Captiv in octogonul firii sale moarte,
Cade in somn adanc...
Nu indeajuns..
Un corb isi intinde aripile, jelind blonda mireasa,
Dar doliul ii pare vesmant de voiosie...
Dar vai! o cruda utopie!
Uitarea infinitului, a clipei suspendate...uitarea ca-i o clipa doara
Nevrednica a fi numita eterna,
Caci roua de cristal devine lacrima de smoala...

Sub Rosa

underneath the crust of his bruises
the emerald-eyed serpent hums the sinful requiem...
mortal, he sees...the repulsiveness of his reflection...
nauseated, as reaching zenith makes borderline frightfully tangible

nostalgic for spring - when he could kiss the grass
and anxiously wait for gnomes' anthem...
farewell, my beloved myth...the marsh of uncried tears
swallows human vestiges, as feeble as rough...

the curtains are closed - giant numb lids,
crushing the bones, embracing grievious solitude...
protective mantle, concealing the naive desire of reaching the moon,
the same moon that he could once deceive hiding behind a finger

Within myself

The corner of incoherent remembrances, three-dimensional solitude,
The calm arouses torment towards the most stubborn unforgettability,
Numb at the outside of the shell ,yet the shiver is inceaseable
For there's nothing left within, not a single cell immune to the venin of your memory...
Becoming fluid, craving for your veins to be my protective shelter,
Vanishing... frustrating transparence of myself with an inquisitive glance,
I become the shadow, the hesitating eyes behind the curtain,
Contradictorial ...scatter-observative, searching yet reluctant to confront your countenance...
Tormented by remorses, their reason - obscure, but not less overwhelming,
I blame the blank of the attitude- blotter of emotion,
I hanker forgiveness towards my ungrateful self, towards my pitiful self...so noticeable
Catalyser of your indifference, guide of both my estrangement and eternal devotion.
Am i healing?i wonder ...what if... that is... if only...
Absurd... still rummaging my so-called high expectations...
Find an answer in the haste of impulse, steal the kiss and leave the lips craving for the smoothness,
Ignore prejudices then endorse the religion of forever...

Endless A

mere ashes revived by a precocious ray...
Lucifer baptises the nocturnal shadows with the name of Phoenix,
for what seemed the epilogue becomes A - lurid sand
crawling within an opaque hourglass...
suicidal shadows metamorphose into inertial resignation
concealed by the prophecy of a lucent better,
feigning the paradox, hypnotizing vision,
injecting the vigour-draining morphine which benumbs emotion...
not leaving anything but dust... and blurred senses...
Breathe dust - the hypocritical lungs pretending to inhale a fragrance of jasmine,
while reddish mirrors display a corpse bewilderingly running through the corridors...
blind target...
the intimacy is profaned by ubiquous eyes
invisible...but to the selenar darkness...

for those who still believe tomorrow is another day

So close no matter how far*Couldn't be much more from the heart*Forever trusting who we are*And nothing else matters*Never opened myself this way*Life is ours, we live it our way*All these words I don't just say*And nothing else matters*Trust I seek and I find in you*Every day for us something new*Open mind for a different view*And nothing else matters*Never cared for what they do*Never cared for what they know*But I know*So close no matter how far*Couldn't be much more from the heart*Forever trusting who we are*And nothing else matters*Never cared for what they do*Never cared for what they know*But I know*Never opened myself this way*Life is ours, we live it our way*All these words I don't just say*And nothing else matters*Trust I seek and I find in you*Every day for us something new*Open mind for a different view*And nothing else matters*Never cared for what they say*Never cared for games they play*Never cared for what they do*Never cared for what they know*And I know*So close no matter how far*Couldn't be much more from the heart*Forever trusting who we are*No nothing else matters

Om

ce este omul?
atat de greu de spus, poate ca de cele mai multe ori acele lucruri aparent banale sunt cel mai greu de definit... de ce? pt ca nu ni s-a dat pana acum ocazia de a le explica, de a le transforma in adevarate provocari pt abilitatile noastre de exprimare...revenind la intrebarea noastra...
si a zis Dumnezeu: "Sa facem om dupa chipul si dupa asemanarea Noastra, ca sa stapaneasca pestii marii..." Asadar, omul este o copie, o aspiratie catre perfectiune sortita unei frustrari eterne- aceea de a nu o atinge niciodata...sau poate ca tocmai constientizarea acestui lucru , sau mai bine zis scepticismul asupra acestei posibilitati de evolutie, este un impediment in calea desavarsirii... asadar materialul genetic divin a fost alterat ireversibil...si zadarnice sunt oare straduintele noastre de compensare a leziunilor morale? mediocritatea, plaga si simultan caracteristica definitorie a umanului am putea spune, ne face sa sustinem cu toata taria aceasta conceptie care atenueaza intr-o oarecare masura constientizarea esecului, confruntarea cu acesta fara traume...ba chiar, in optimismul sau inepuizabil infiltreaza in adancurile constiintei ideea ca defectele sunt printre cele care ne individualizeaza...dar ce folos a vorbi de o individualitate care nu a necesitat efort, sudoare? poate ea oare a fi pretuita in adevaratul sens al cuvantului?ba chiar exista o tendinta indignanta de alaturare turmei, pastrandu-se pretentia conservarii specificului...a nu se intelege ca incerc sa blamez normalitatea ...nicidecum...ba chiar in societatea de astazi este o forma impresionanta de rezistenta la influentele nefaste din exterior, de darzenie chiar, bineinteles, atata timp cat termenul nu se confunda cu banalitatea, cu monotonia, stereotipia , cu platitudinea...asadar, scopul meu este acela de a o pune in opozitie cu naturalul... de a remarca diferentele existente intre cele 2 notiuni....ce este normal? ceea ce asigura respectarea normei, ce se conformeaza regulei fara sa crasneasca ...( asta nu inseamna neaprat ca si devine sclavul acestei norme, se adapteaza atata timp cat la randul sau este constient de motivele acestei delimitari a libertatii )... naturalul ,pe de alta parte, se adapteaza acelei asa-zise norme, care in fapt nu este decat ,la randul sau, o adaptare la directia urmata de majoritate, de turma...acesta merita a fi blamat...caci presupune imbecilitate, paralizie mentala, flexibilitate nejustificata si comoda, care permite modelare, fara opunere, fara straduinta de conservare a propriei opinii, chiar daca aceasta modelare nu este decat un alt mod de a numi deformarea...
omul este carne, oase, materie, animalitate ale carei instincte au fost slabite, pt a fi compensate de o superioriate intelectuala, de gandire, ratiune, limbaj articulat, dar care de multe ori ii sunt inutile pentru ca , ingrat, uita menirea acestora, le dispretuieste fara sa-si observe ignoranta...aceasta asa-zisa superioritate imbraca forma arogantei, a dispretului si chiar a unei agresiuni nejustificate indreptate catre cei mai putin inzestrati, catre formele mai putin evoluate...gandirea se transforma in frustrare, dileme interminabile si cauzatoare de ganduri depresive... ratiunea - substituient al credintei, scepticism ce lasa un vacuum moral in urma, ce in aspiratia sa utopica de a justifica totul , de a explica inexplicabilul, nu conduce decat la vid sufletesc, o obscuritate distrugatoare de suflete... limbaj articulat - cuvinte de prisos, goale si inexpresive, ori taioase, brutale.. caci de cele mai multe ori gandurile ce merita a fi dezvaluite nu trec de bariera diplomatiei, a pudorii ori a vanitatii...sumbra aceasta perspectiva a superioritatii umane...ma vad tentata a tagadui apartenenta la aceasta specie...glumesc!!!...de fapt aceasta critica disimuleaza cat de flatata ma simt. de asocierea cu aceasta stranie creatura...pe cat de incompetenta, pe atat de privilegiata...oare de ce nu mi se pare atat de absurd? sa fie oare din cauza faptului ca aceasta situatie imi pare atat de cunoscuta, atat de similara societatii actuale incat am devenit imuna la paradoxul ei, incapabila de a-mi manifesta revolta...dar nu... revolta exista, insa e una mocnita...

Estetica

ce naivitate absurda...blestemat paradox al gandirii ce-i face pe unii ca afirme cu dezinvoltura ca frumusetea fizica nu are importanta, si totusi creierul lor, inima, ochii resping uratul, o notiune abstracta si totusi atat de concreta pt acei care in simplitatea lor reusesc sa o defineasca atat de bine...si totusi ce este uratul? o opinie banala a privirii a carei cruda experienta starneste comparatia cu chipurile cunoscute anterior, provocand repulsie sau admiratie, dispret sau chiar iubire, nicicand indiferenta, caci goliciunea acestui sentiment nu va fi intalnita niciodata de sufletul uman mereu dispus sa observe, sa comenteze chiar uneori nepasator la insemnatatea analizei sale, la gravitatea unei vorbe spuse in vant fara o indelunga meditatie...e mult prea greu, prea fara sens sa mai gandesti uneori cand gandurile iti pulseaza in ritmul sangelui, captive intr-o inchisoare a diplomatiei, se revolta si uita uneori ca poate ceea ce unii numesc lipsa de tact altii ar numi-o sinceritate... dar de la aceasta asa-zisa sinceritate pana la o ofensa distructiva e doar un singur pas... si uneori un singur pas e de ajuns pt a atinge capatul abisului...
Si daca totusi frumusetea fizica nu conteaza de ce atrage, vrajeste,incatuseaza vointa si devine de cele mai multe ori debutul unei relatii indiferent de ce tip, de ce Quasimodo, bietul cocosat cu suflet nobil s-a indragostit de frumoasa Esmeralda? de ce nu a ales pe oricare alta femeie a carei noblete sufleteasca sa compenseze un chip nu tocmai perfect?...dar mai ales de ce nu i-a fost impartasita iubirea?

Insomniac

Delusive creatures imbue the sky with their blueish ink,
Drowning numb souls within the abyss of subconscious,
Tormented by inceasable remorces, their unfufilled desires gradually sink
Into the depth of a nightmare - feverishly experienced, ferocious...
Nearly imperceptible whispers hum the incoherences of nocturnal symphony
Of dancing crickets, prophets of the most dreaded misfortunes,
The gloomy moon conceals lovers' poetical insanity
Or mourns with sparkling tears the most shattering loneliness...
Insomniac...inquisitively searching answers within the wisdom of obscurity,
Despondency blaming the speechless dark for my bewilderment,
Thick lashes gradually mesmerised by an enchanted melody,
Yet paradoxically enclosuring the vision of a flaring sentiment.

Masochistic

stereotypical verses moisturise the cobweb of her lids,
mesmerising pearls concealing vulgus, disembling sublimity...
with every breath of lullaby, the slashed heart writhes and bleeds,
as it perceives a silent echo lingering within her candid memory...
the voice - protective thunder and tinkling of a fairytale,
ingenue neophyte dares hankering its abject, barren poetry,
entirely devoted, endorses his belief, ignoring heaven, hell...
contradictorial...she gradually plunges into the shadows of insanity...
the utterance of his thoughts becomes the utmost guidance,
the flavour of his lips- a fragrant touch of bitterness,
his scrutinizing glance -contemplative cold silence,
the visual embrace of cruel harsh tenderness...

Chaos

blur..everything ghostly experienced as if the shadows were dissolved creatures
hunting the pandemonium brain...the recondite castle with arms hanged to the sky...
oh...mother nature how could such sons have dwelt within your sacred womb
and claim the justice of their vanity by simply being fragments of mankind,
displaying lofty meaning through earnest bigotry, stifling the voice of reason,
preaching tolerance despite crusades, inquisitions, Socrate's cup of poison,
others pretending nothing happened, yet boasting about their monstruous deeds
as if their murders were sheer epilogues of agony- rightfully executed -
our individual shoah promotes this self-sufficiency- genetic purity of nazism within a world of hybrids,
mesmerising the shadows within our mind, converting them into blinding light,
it seems the answers are crawling at our feet...nevertheless the questions never reach an end,
tormentuous - bloody evidence of those for whom consciousness is everything but obsolete,
I keep this silence...for tears are vulgus, cowardice, tendance of oblivion,
I keep this silence for those who care, for those who suffer, for those who live in perfect ignorance,
I mourn celestial grief, as silent witness of a shortened or painfully prolongued history,
I blame it for not spitting ardent rays of divine justice...for not reproving earth to open and swallow the chaos...

Ephemeral

Grief will vanish...
as shivers of you are scattered among the sculptures of my retina
Lingering...in thy absence...
I most hysterically place my expectations in a cruel mirage,
As love is not smooth touch, but a hot bullet penetrating the carved ice...
Then pain becomes nourishment
and soul - a greedy monster whose repletion is a mere utopia...
Three words were my stairway to heaven...barren words...
Mocking self-sufficiency and leaving a blue corpse hanging,
Not able to touch the gound yet kissing the soil you defiled...
Grief vanishes...
as every minute is another year and every year is another emotion that runs dry
As rabid eyes, dwelling of vivid remembrances,
Become inertial evidences of pulse,
trapped within this hologram of comfort,
Grief has vanished..
and I wonder...is it still me who bares this heart?

Hopefully (naive reflection)

How did you penetrate the shell?...abnormal welding of bones and decayed flesh
without even cracking....guided from within by the kicking bewailing,
shouting...silently - dreadful lullaby begging for complementary response yet lacking interrogation,
fearing thy forgiveness, for conceited perception equalizes it with pure symphathy...
there is no light to cure their blindness, yet hezitant obscurity - no longer a fake guidance...
floating within the depth, sinking at the ephemeral surface of two gleams,
you seal desire with a fusion of breathings, as I pray for the approach to outshine imperfection,
for painful scars to be no longer mirror's cruel reproaches, but grains of your adulation.
i confess the tremble is inceasable, for you might never contemplate marble, but vulgar sand,
but couldn't we just build the castle and dwell within it till the end of time,
endorse our own religion and spend the rest of our existence walking hand in hand?

Human

fragments of ephemeral...menial termites vomitting withered pages of life,
devouring instants within a matter of never, and manifesting avidity for intangible tomorrow,
faking the simple fall of an apple - either hanging from the burdened branch or violently kissing the soil,
deaf we are... as we cannot perceive neither its tantalizing ballet nor the vibrations of falling despondency,
stupid we are...as we know nothing but causes and effects, and praise machiavellic justifications,
what for?...is conscienciousness quieter or just numb-we cannot perceive the difference
are we blind also.?..
then why are we still living and claiming superiority- just for being two-legged ?
human-flesh and bones, animal with weakened instincts, compensated by thoughts and articulated vocabulary,
just to convert superiority into conceitedness,
thoughts into bedeviling voices and frustrations,
reason into faith's substitute and scepticism,
language into barren cruel or inexpressive words,
uncapable of unchaining themselves from the tirany of bashfulness or diplomacy
are we indead superior for living in a plaintive past or an utopian future?
or just pathetic puppets in the theatre of time,
robots of virtual speed and lacking poetry ..
.moreover transforming it into the target of our mockery towards... ourselves,
senseless...automatic and rigid...more and more indifferent- excuse to helplessness

Haggard

words seem sharp, cutting haggard veins hitherto pulsing the scarlet sap,
which violently exposed becomes loathsom clot, pathetic remnant of vulcanic drop,
confronting wrath through denial and self-destruction - masochistic despondency,
idiotically vain, metamorphosing grains of language into interior bewailing, lugubrious fantasy...
keeps bleeding, the torrent is inceasable, more grievous with every notch and scream,
abolishing the early embrace of lashes harbouring the awareness which follows a tormentuous dream,
yet lurid cold reality becomes the dreadful nightmare of her unavailing endeavour,
she finds it hard to quench her thirst as every drop becomes a tear and the scorched throat still sore.
eternal expectation has proven her patient wisdom, yet triggered insanity by waiting a never
and now she faces two sarcastic replicas- the blade or the bullet- which one is more clever?
the solace of polthronery is the general tendance of whispers , but have they ever worn her fetid skin?
enduring the slash of the feeble fibre, sniffing the odour of living putrefaction through lies and through sin?
guilt for losing innocence, naively hankering its sweet revival in order to outshine the guilt,
remembering a purple rose within the wormeaten pages of her bible - a sacred confession concealing the filth.
the words have been drained from her trembling lips but still linger within her memory,
remembrances are like voices keep humming the mesmerising lullaby- the hymn of her savagery,
bitterness covers her countenance, hinders aproach and touches the edge,
while her pathetical blindeness towards hypocrisy hankers revenge
omnia vanitas...the soul itself a void, brittle dust in the breeze of ephemera
haggard within the pallor of the shell... termites devoured voraciously the stamina
she wonders...oh how she wonders every night through the insomniac scourging,
whether the voices will ever cease or keep reminding mockery, hysterically singing...