2009.11.16-17 Altrament / Other way / Otramente / Altfel / Autrement

23:00

I look and cannot see,
I speak and talk and I don't say;
seràs i no estaràs
en cap lloc
sobre el mapa del meu jo -
un camp d'afectes,
un camp on la meva inquietud pastura.

I començo des del fi,
dic "ara", després ahir,
per tant - per què?
per què no acabem al principi?
per què no quedem sols?
per què pugem?
per què hi ha aquest per què?
digué el cervell penjat
en la terra del rat-penat.

00:33

2009.11.14 Menos que mas / Más "de vez" que "en cuando"

16:00 Ahir (13 nov) fou un dia quan vaig aprendre que el valencià és: sigui la mateixa cosa que el català, sigui una part/dialecte/variant del català, si voleu *; que aquí la gent diu "Bona nit" com un procediment del silenci sepulcral; diu "Buenos días" com un comiat, a menys per uns dies; a Barcelona el matí dura fins les dues, la tarda fins les 8 [una mica sense perspectiva en comparació amb "3/4 de (no se quant)", oi?]; que no haig de preparar tant la forma de l'expressió, sinó mes el contingut; per això, no importa tant si "aquesta paraula existeix" mentre sigui compresa.

16:00 Yesterday (13th of Nov) was a day that I learnt the Valencian is: either the same thing as Catalan, or a part/dialect/variant of the Catalan, if you wish *; that here people say "Bona nit" as an anticipation of the tomb-like silence; that they say "Buenos dias" as a farewell, at least for several days; that in Barcelona the mornings end at 2 PM, the afternoons at 8 PM [a little without perspective compared to the "tres quarts de nou e.g." (which means "3/4 an hour of 9"= 8.45), huh?]; that I am not supposed to prepare so much the form of the expression, but the content; therefore, it doesn't matter a lot if "this word exists" as long as it is understood.

______________________________
*cosa que s'explica pel fet que no sé quin
gobern vol amagar la dimensió efectiva
de Catalunya.
*that can be explained by the fact I don't
know which government/other form of
power wants to hide the actual dimension
of Catalonia.

2009.08.27 AB OCCVLTO

AB OCCVLTO

Videbo quo dii me concellant?
Videbo quod sacri viderunt?
Profanus manebo at sperans,
Vel sempiterne sine divo aliquo?

Iam tempestas non venit,
Nisi aura et simulacra fugientia

~1:00 PM

2009.09.24 De Nihilo

· És el vint-i-quatre de setembre de dos mil nou, 12:00 / migdia=> ¡Festa! ¡Anem per a celebrar La Mercè! or

· Hi! It’s twelve o’ clock. “Do you know where your brain is?” (© YIM) – ‘cause I don’t.

Bon dia, Bonjour, ‘Neaţa, or however you want, because I can still find it confusing speaking even Romanian; I someday after three weeks of no contact with Romanian had the opportunity to speak it, and the weird. I should use Catalan (as it has fewer syllables, and that would be environmentally friendly after I conceive my perfectly successful book that people all over the world will be buying), French (because I have some francophone contacts at times), or maybe Romanian (because I’m supposed to know it the best, while people tell me “You should forget it!” or “I don’t want to hear foreign accent from you on Romanian!”), or maybe Spanish (well, even though la Generalitat de Catalunya pretends they are autonomous); instead, I use neither of those.

I really should enjoy the celebration of La Mercè now, but I am rooted here, ‘cause you know how a hangover is. ¡Anem a la ciutat per a celebrar! Yeah, sure, let’s sleep again.

Oui, c'est vrai, je seulement écris maintenant pour vous dire rien, o jo crec que això és només una grafomània, com a alguns els agrada dir. Est-ce que quelqu’un a quelque fois écrit sur Rien? C’est productif dans la même manière qu’un magasin donnerait aussi d’argent quand les produits seriaient vendus. C’est vrai, je vous conterai sur le Rien; comme je disais,

Jo sóc el no quan tu dius “yes”.

No passa res

si no m’entends.

Només flors negres

Sobre el cementeri de la meva men

I get to believe that I am my worst enemy.

2009.09.30 Encara em sona en la ment

QVO VADO?

(Encara em sona en la ment)

Encara em sona en la ment

la veu del meu pais

i no se on o quan hi haura

el meu futur raiz,

sobre quin terra estara

la sombra del meu ego.

Pero si se que esta vegada

ja no soc jo mateix,

ja no em conec gaire.

Qui ets? Que fas? On vas?

I vinc tambe de no se on,

d’un univers tancat.

Cada vegada em dic

‘aixo passara aviat’,

com si fos nomes el temps

un molt gran enemic,

i no jo qui s’abissa

poc a poc

mateix en se mateix.

Donc discuteixo mes d’aixo

quan trobo aquesta clau.

2009.08.17,18 Ars PROSAICA

"Poetry for prose is like a film frame for cinematography".

So this hypothesis, which is partially true, affirms that a poem is just an instant of a poet's ego. But how long can this instance be? Or its echo? Couldn't it span across more frames? Anyway, from my angle, a "standard" poem is a longer or shorter state of mind (an epic is an exception hence; or let's take The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, where there's a long series of events too)

I said "partially". Because we can either take Aeneid, or a poem with two lines. At the upper extreme, an epic national poem cannot express solely a frame of the lyrical ego's thoughts. It cannot be only a moment, a temporary feeling for the poet. On the other hand, at the lower extreme, an "I woke up/ and the Sun was smiling at me" poem is definitely a transient moment though; it only marks fugitive states of mind.

My thesis is:
Poetry is enclosed by its form (prosody, rhyme, verse etc.) and its usual sizes: there are more leftover parts of the poet's mind than he managed to express in the poem. And this limitation leads to hermeticism/esoterism.

2009.08.13 Fulfilment of the Revery

I've always seen you more attractive
Than you had been seconds before.
You've always made me recollecting
All my best times I could explore.

You never lie, you never cheat,
You gave yourself to me complete;
You filled my dreams just as you are,
You quenched my thirst sweetly bizarre.

You've always drawn me into frenzy
In moments that I hadn't hoped
To bring me into ecstasy;
I only now know how I coped.

I've always found you more attractive;
You never lie, you never cheat,
You gave yourself to me complete,
Guitar of low-pitched dreams I've had.

2:10-3:00 am

2009.07.27,31; 2009.08.02, 08 My Brain on the World Vol II: Egotism>Socialising>Relationship>Lyrism>Kitsch

How to Get from Selfishness to either Friendship or Love, or towards Lyrism or Kitsch

-De amicitia (On Friendship) - (I don't wish to rewrite Cicero's work)

Premise: Friendships = simply the sums of intersections of interests.

Maybe I'm one of the infinite ones who told that, but I'm only trying to check beliefs, as this is wanted to be an essay. Anyway, it would help for those who disregard that friendships are relationships based only on advantages to be obtained by one from each other; for those who try to over-civilise the actual meaning of true human relationships and to categorise and standardise them into books dedicated especially to good manners, do-it-like-this and don't-do-it-like-that, the Bible, ethics (a very bad-defined relative concept for me) a.s.o.
There are two sides along the barricade: extreme Christians who pretend disinterested love and disinterested friendship and the others who see any kind of human socialising as strictly depending on clear true interests. I could say there are some other people who reproach the socially/ erotically related ones with a concealed profit. And that is the ridiculous and blamable matter. Personally, I am more towards the second side. How could they doubtedly ask their selves whether his lover has an advantage of the relationship? Of course it's the sexual need which has to be satisfied, the financial safety both sometimes mixed with less and less estimated feelings. Or perhaps I'm misled not seeing that the question is on money, whether one partner wants the other's money or not. If that were the worry, then it's a matter of expressing how they conceive love's benefits in their mind. And that was only a concern that minuscule people have, as if there were two categories of humans: those who seek advantages, and those who are careless about their own lives; as if only evil minds were selfish while honourable spirits had no trajectory of life.
I once heard a teacher of logic who told us that we all are selfish, an idea that I have been quite influenced by since.

* *
*

-Ars amandi (The Art of Loving)- sung in stanzas, put on staff for millennia

At times, the abysses between us shout so heavily and loud, that some people get hurt. And our selfishness does the same and crumbles the apparent similarities that we have, making us more dissociated; finally ending up paranoids.
While we are remote universes, we tend to isolate our selves from society. Some are despairproof, some are not given a shield against life lessons by whomever force or deity you want. The latter ones might be considered they don't have enough experience.
When two abysses cross each other, one of the happiest results is lyrism, maybe all we remain with after a true relationship. From a later point in life, we notice that all those who have loved make poems. We might ask ourselves sometimes "Hmm, would grandpa create something artistic?" And we discover that this ability is rather common. It's not that popular belief about a poet who is a mad genius; they might be like that, but the most of them - trust me - are regular beings, as far as I can tell.

Kitsch vs. Art

A problem is that some people vulgarise art, reducing it to the expression of a business, like "I give something, I certainly have to receive something". Even though the equation can be reduced like this, it is actually a kitsch, like we can see out of the post 90's so-called R & B, then rap, hip hop, last, but not least - generally Balkanic jack ass manele and genres like these, where the poetry of the songs is perverted or absent; and it's no surprise they fit major audience, since they contain easy and shallow lyrics, adapted to lazy minds. How could there be art that only speaks of fame, wealth, sex, pretended respect and wisdom, foolish pride? It's mostly the same motif dressed with a more or less similar coat adapted to local (sub-)culture in order to simply be sold. And that would do for a definition.

Or there can be original artists - on the other side - that are motivated whether by money, fame, vanity, the wish to impress someone else. For instance, Tolstoi wrote for money at a certain point, some musicians compose for the sake of a beloved one (or more than one at a time, that corresponds no longer to love, you know); and it would also be a stupidity to deny that many artists start from poverty; (but that's the principle of deep art from misery - a painkiller, an eraser for those negative experiences out of the conscience).
In some other cases, people dislike showing off they are lyric or metaphysical, especially men, as they feel their selves more pragmatic.

And above these all there comes freedom: of being an introvert, an isolated freak, a so-called musician, an emo, an anonymous artist, a great poet, singer, instrument player; or just applying the principle ignorance is bliss:

Would that be a solution to an unsatisfiable knowledge?

{I don't know why I'm answering it myself or if there's going to be someone who dare [sic!] to read this. It's also just an alternative}
"Maybe" Nietzsche wasn't happier than an old country woman who has a sufficient perfect crop and her man and children close. {Well I know I have a mania to contradict many ideas and also myself, but... This also raises another giant question from a huge field of thinking: what kind of happiness are we talking about? Maybe not the religious one, but some simpler one, and if people perceive it as welfare then they don't ask their selves "hmm is my happiness what I should seek?" I'm saying this as a result of one of my recollections about echoing typical voices like "Well, if I don't have food how can I enjoy art?" which actually concretes in "You can't understand what money is" ("Tu nu stii ce-i ala ban"); though, why should we accuse those people for their way of thinking? Actually, I've been hating this type of ignorance. Instead, I'm applying the above statement in learning - and I'd apply it in teaching if it were the case - like some kind of passive tolerant acquisition of knowledge; not uninterested, but more self-planned: e.g. regarding my "efforts" of learning Catalan and Spanish I would do it like in fact children acquire them, with no teacher}

Which one do you choose?

2009.08.07 It's Present day (Satyr for "nemo")

Pass the concrete jungle (x4 whispered)

Pass the concrete jungle
If you find escape.
Seek your roots eternal,
Unless you wanna ro_______t

Let your mind decay,
Throw your thoughts away,
And on your birthday
We'll buy you a brain.

When thinking is painful,
Throw your thoughts away,
Don't mind about the city,
It buries you each day.

Let your mind decay,
Squeeze your thoughts enchained,
And on your birthday
We'll buy you a brain.

Let your body stink,
And your skin will choke;
On the Child's Day
We'll buy you a soap/ All you need's a soap.

Let your mind decay,
All your thoughts unchain
And on your birthday
We'll buy you a brain.

~ 1 AM

(possible attempt of lyrics for a song inspired by a guitar-drum-bass line made by a friend)

2009.07.24 Non-sense Longing

You'll be still for one more moment,
Fairy of the dreams I had.
We'll be true one to each other,
Let me chase you like I wish.

Widow chasing is far better than reaching their flesh, when they can sting, you know. But now I'm chasing extravaganza.
And that was the "poem" about nothing; the absolution of zero; the objectivation of the null. If there were a productive absurd/ non-sense, then let's say:

'That takes my thought to a non-sense place'
'I'm already there', said the lad,
'I am the ghoul beneath your pillow,
I am the ghoul under your bed'

Let's assume I go on with this absurdity; but to me it's like a fear of the non-sense. I'm one of those "oameni cu frica de ridicol" ("people who fear the ridicule") from an essay of Mircea Eliade. I had been wishing to make a kind of experiment with absurd ideas, like a vertigo of non-related words, just to see what it leads to, like a thought salad I had been lately concerned with. And it really represents an important question for me.

And you, haven't you been wandering around these questions? Haven't you thought of experimenting that vertigo of thoughts? Or haven't you felt that fear of the absurd the further you grew old?

2009.07.01 July Morning Erotophilosophia

-(just another) erotophilosophia-

Moto (sic!): love is more retarded than blind

again at little hours,
when the stream neurons devours

I am the blind who finds himself
In cages of deep locked damnations
Putting true love on a dusty forgot shelf
By never thought abominations.

I am too deaf for caring,
I mute the cares that start from their very root,
It's just that I cannot recall
how to care.

The blind who doesn't see the ocean from the tides,
Who seeks emotion when emotion hides,
Who sought black widows when widows cannibalize,
Who'll never ever learn their dirty prides.

I must be too me,
When I look at ye,
I must be too decayed,
A moth ever hitting the glass
Through which he knows he ain't gonna pass.

The moth just felt the glass oh so intense,
That when he hit the glass he thought he'd get a recompense,
He never learns the voltage could be harming to the wing
He'll always masochistically swing
For the volupty on love's string.

I'm overburdened with homework poetry
Cause, after all, I'm still alive!
And absolution is not a way to be,
It has to follow a decay

I got the license for the feelings firewall
Remember:'God told me I don’t deserve a licensed feelings firewall because I'm too young and I've got to learn from them'?
__________
Or not? Ain't I lying to myself? OK, that's really the end... of this chapter. When will the thrill be over? I hope this not be an original way of saying something typical.

Again, the stream. I guess the thrill is gone... for now

The thrill is gone. The creeps are in their bed.

The final question(s) for you: don't you need a philosophy of love? And haven't you felt at times the vicinity of love and death, when you feel in the same amount that the beloved one needs your love and death at the same time?

2009.07.23 My Brain on the World: Science, Religion, Culture, Art Or What Romania Borrowed Worst from the West and East

2009.07.23 My Brain on the World*: Science, Religion, Culture, Art
Or What Romania Borrowed Worst from the West and East

I can neither ignore, nor agree, or disagree to how our parents and grandparents were indoctrinated with beliefs and appearances of the Romanian socialism ¹; a few have a nostalgia on their impossible communion with the Church, but the thinkings of the most of them became pseudo-pragmatic to sceptical ones: something like I know religion isn't going to bring me my daily bread. Art or books won't either do... OR: I am a Christian, I believe in God, except I don't go to church, but how come Virgin Mary had a child without a Man to... be there in the equation? Then with a kind of pretended satisfaction: Oh, but I liked Russian novels a lot; and Eminescu, and Sadoveanu. We also studied more intensively at school ("Pe vremea noastra... se facea carte.") a.s.o. Isn't it natural to leave books when there are computers, if we don't mention the already old-fashion TV? How would a developing child quit a beautifully coloured PC game or cartoon - which are more at hand for him - and head to the bookshelf? When I say natural, I'm not at all pretending this is the normal way to raise a child, but on the contrary this is simply the logical phenomenon for some generations since the 90's. It is excusable for a child, but not for the parents too. Now I'm not in the mood for child psychology; what I'm trying to reach is that before our so-called 1989 Revolution people simply had less activities (even though the TV programme was exaggeratedly little ²), and in that era of pseudo- scientific progress we really had a more imposing series of intellectual personalities - oppressed as they were, but with greater contribution; though this very oppression led, as suffering leads, to great artistic works. I don't happen to know - to be sincere - what the great figures/ models there were (except, perhaps, the cult of the dictators); I guess it's terror that shaped people's fates, an anti-mechanism through which people formerly differentiated by capitalism had afterward been sharing poverty. I made this calque inspired by one of W. Churchill's great quotes: "The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings; the inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of misery." I invoked this socialism argument because at that times religion was in a big conflict with science. (Yes, it sounds childish; more precisely, it was the so called scientific development of our country that was supposed to nullify people's beliefs and belief's symbols because they were supposed to only follow the dictator.) The indoctrinator scientist puppets were writing brochures or books like Science and Atheism. This tells all about what they hated most: the believers (and also intellectuals). You could call me Captain Obvious, but these ideas are very expressively described in the essays from Despre lucrurile cu adevarat importante (On Really Important Issues), by Alexandru Paleologu, essays that I really liked in the past few days. The author explains for instance how a society that loses its faith is most likely to be ruled by a tyrant; and it's not about exaggerated belief led to fanaticism. Some of those essays describe how Romanian post-'89 society still suffers a handicap after over half a century with titles such as The Triumph of Oligophreny. A reflection of our current culture status can be reflected in some quotes like this:

Favorite Books
nu prea am pt ca toate care le citesc imi plac (~ I don't have so many 'cause all I read I like~ I'm not able to perfectly translate that, but it's a relative pronoun disagreement)

The book also gave me an interest in finding more information about our last king, Mihai I of Romania, one of the imposing figures that national propaganda made Romanians forget of. And that is all for now about Romanians' fake and blind transition from religion towards exact sciences. And this was the Religion - Science conflict.

Now, I start describing the conflict Science - Art.
Lately, I started creating a repulsion towards those who embrace only exact / experimental / realistic or however-you-like-to-call-them sciences; I must refer to one of my past notes: Those who are set on ground (from the sciences sphere i.e.) tend to transpose their selves into a virtual dimension, for instance in a utopia, in an imagined future. They might sometimes try to get even higher, with the help of addictions and may become junkies. Though, the higher they tend to get, the lower they sink.
Those who live in the clouds (from the humanistic sphere i.e.) tend to return to Earth, to reality. They might sometimes quit addictions, quit being junkies. It is them who, despite trying to settle with their roots deeper into the ground, they might rise on peaks never imagined before... Maybe. And this also springs from Paleologu's op. cit. that had an impact on me, making this discrepancy between realistic and humanistic people more obvious for me. He quoted stereotypes of the 90's like "With philology you couldn't get a job nowadays, the most important is electronics/ mathematics etc. (<In ziua de azi> e nevoie de electronisti. Nu mai faci nimic cu filologia.)" Partially true. He hated that "in ziua de azi" (=nowadays). After the 2000's, I guess, this became "Informatics (which means IT or computer science) is the future. You won't earn your money from philology/art etc". Also partially true.

Regarding philologists, artists or other similar people, the truth is you have to be really, but really good, if not a genius; if you are a mediocre artist, you are just another clown between clowns. You'll shake your tricks in vain if the audience throws with mud at you. Like one of my notable friends said: when you're a musician, you have to release a good song. After that, if you don't want to remain in the shadow, you have to release something remarkably better. I believe the audience needs the "clowns" too. Unless you are a national talent, the saying with the starvation warning will remain an axiom. And that is how that "partially" could be defined. Maybe I'm over-pleading for philologists, because I feel like being in front of a culture tribunal.

Regarding another branch of art, writing, I lately created a sort of repulsion towards poems too. Yes, you could freely call me ignorant, but it's a temporary belief; I think I'll be in a belief change for all of my life. The repulsion is explained in something like this: I think poetry makes ideas and feelings hide behind the stanzas and lyrics and words. During creation, the poet loses a noticeable quantity of what he/she had wanted to express.

During those times I would also hear people saying "That who knows two or three foreign languages will easily find something for a living". Oh, but I like hearing that; because I liked English; French started being more familiar to me, people would warmly then recommend me an ambassador, diplomat - or something like this - job. The truth is it only remained an enthusiasm.

These days I also personally know educated people from the realistic sphere (I don't want to sound like speaking about aliens) who present a paradox, I could say. They also belong to the majority that asks "So... Why did you choose the Faculty of Philology? You'll definitely become a teacher, am I right?" And again this same obsessive imperative, which sounds like a nightmare.

The conflict Homo universalis - Specialization states: "You must have cultura generala³" or "What will you do when someone asks you what the capital of West Samoa is?" In my first school there was a quote "It is far better to know something about everything than to know all about one thing." On the Internet I found that it is of Blaise Pascal: "Puisqu'on ne peut être universel en sachant tout ce qui se peut sur tout, il faut savoir peu de tout. Car il est bien plus beau de savoir quelque chose de tout que de savoir tout d'une chose; cette universalité est la plus belle. Si on pouvait avoir les deux, encore mieux" It intrigues me: what is this Romanian "cultura generala" that parents and mediocre/average teachers praise so much? The truth is I would like to be an expert in music, linguistics, literature, religion, philosophy, all together, but I'll never be able to. Though, I would agree to the last part: avoir les deux = to be universal and also specialist. "What if you meet someone in the street, and he/she asks you for how long Stefan cel Mare reigned?" First of all, I know his reigning years, because my first school is named after him and in the center of my native city we have his statue. Second, why should someone feel concerned about such a virtual situation?

The conflict Culture - Money or How to be a fool with diploma just for making money. "You must learn in school and graduate a faculty in order to do something for a living" our dear parents would advise us. But not for the sake of culture, but for money. Because some of them repent they didn't achieve goals like these.


____________________________________________________
*The title traces me to a short text that I had to translate in my second semester for an English language course, with an ignorant professor. It sounded like My Brain on God I guess.
1. I couldn't call it communism, as this is an utopia that was supposed to emmerge in West Europe.
2. about two hours containing: news on the Romanian Communist Party's achievements, propaganda for the dictators, and then eventually some bit of entertainment. Then, in weekends, I guess, extra hours of entertainment and a pretty good documentary, http://ro.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teleenciclopedia.
3. I won't translate it because it is too rooted in Romanian culture.

2008.09.18 The Shore, My Relief

Thank you for allowing me to put the foot of my heart on the shore of your soul; even after floating on your island of hope; 'cause there had been harder times when I'd been drowning on land! So I'm now on shore, thanks to heaven, fate or any other superior spiritual forces, and I'm hoping to slip no longer.

2008.09.03 withered feelings

It is 'a rose on the snow', or sometimes an orchid at the peak of the growing period or a carnation. It grows or it withers. At the beginning it is an orchid and it grows gradually because people use to water it; for they can't wait to see it (turning) in bloom. In time, it might become a bigger orchid or a veritable carnation. The first case is that of the real gardeners, who have a lot of things in common or who have little pride, and the second one of the cucumber cultivators, who are able to water, to cultivate, or rather to raise/breed strictly carnations; these are most likely opposite or rather too self-fulfilled, vain-glorious or arogant.

the beast

Hither cometh the beast:

FRA Un mal nécessaire et un frisson, un froid inconfondable. Froid? Non! Il y a beaucoup plus... Un mal nécessaire pour ma formation dans la vie, pour que la sort me trouve préparé :-j Mieux, je parlerais sur le plaisir. *Shiverescalofroid* je le pourrais appeler. Je suis content en plus; bien que... je ne pourrai accepter que les moments comme ceux-ci viennent en petites quantités. Il fut une expérience comme quelque chose totale, quand une persone sent qu’il n’y avais encore quelque chose „si complète” et si... chargeante, qui te contradise les margines de ce que l’âme avait pu embracer. Et je dis qu’il s’agit seulment de chair? Il y a plus, plus que j’attendais.
Il fut un froid des plus forts. Il est inutile apprecier ses limites. Quelque chose qui tombe parfaitement sur le corps et sur l’âme, qui se fait un el le même avec l’autre corps et avec l’autre coeur; qui sont de l’enfant, du garçon qui ne sait pas quoi sont la Fortune, le Destin. Il y a une obscurité de cette nuit-là qui m’a fait voir combien de lumière et force peut porter une jeune-fille dans ses bras et embraces, dans ses baisers, dans sa bouche pésante, qui tirait fortement l’essence de mes lèvres. Probablement que fut cette même force qui m’a tenu jusqu’à ce moment dont j’écris.

ESP Un mal necesario y un escalofrio inconfundible. Escalofrio? No! Hay mucho mas... Un mal necesario por mi formación en la vida, para que la suerte me encuentre preparado :-j Mejor, hablaria sobre el placer. *Shiverescalobrivido* lo podria llamar. Soy contento ademas; aunque... no podre’ acceptar que los momentos como estos vienen en pequenas cantidades. Fue una experiencia como algo total, cuando una persona siente que todavía no había una cosa „tan completa” y tan... cargante, que te contradiga los margines de lo que el alma había podido abrazar. Y digo que se trata solamente de carne? Hay mas, mas de lo que espere’.
Fue un escalofrio de los mas fuertes. Es inutil apreciar sus limites. Algo que cae perfectamente sobre el cuerpo y sobre el alma, que se hace uno y lo mismo con el otro cuerpo y con el otro corazon; que son del nino, del muchacho que no sabe que son la Fortuna, el Destino. Hay una oscuridad de aquella noche que me ha hecho ver cuanta luz y forza puede portar una muchacha en sus brazos y abrazos, en sus besos, en su boca pesada, que agarraba fortisimamente la esencia de mis labios. Probablemente que fue esta misma fuerza que me ha tenido hasta este momento en lo que escribo.

ITA Un male necessario ed un brivido inconfondibile. Brivido? No! C’e` un po` di piu`... Un male necessario per la mia formazione nella vita, al fine che la sorte mi trovi preparato :-j Meglio, parlerei sul piacere. *Shiverescalobrivido* lo potrei chiamare. Sono contento inoltre; benche’... non potro` accettare che i momenti come questi vengono in piccoli quantita`. Fu una esperienza come qualcosa totale, quando una persona sente che ancora non c’era una cosa „completa cosi`” e... caricante cosi`, che ti contraddica i margini di quello che l’anima aveva potuto abbracciare. E dico che si tratta soltanto di carne? C’e` piu`, piu` che ho aspettato.
Fu un brivido dei piu` forti. E’ inutile apprezzare le sue limiti. Cualcosa che cade perfectamente sul corpo e sull’anima, che si fa uno e lo stesso coll’altro corpo e coll’altro cuore; che son del bambino, del fanciulo che non sa cosa son’ la Fortuna, il Destino. C’e` un’oscurita` di quella notte che mi ha fatto vedere quanta luce e forza puo` portar’ una fanciula nelle sue braccia, nei suoi baci, ed abbracci, nella sua bocca pesante, che stringeva fortissimamente l’essenza delle mie labbra. Probabilmente che fu questa stessa forza che mi ha tenuto fino a quest’istante in cui scrivo.

LAT Malum necessarium et frigus inconfundibile. Frigus, tremor? Non! Aliquid plus est... Malum necessarium mea formatione in vita, ut Sors paratum me inveniat :-j Melius, dicam de voluptate. *Shiverescalobrivido* id possem appellare. Plus, contentus sum; quamquam... admittere non potero momenta ut ista parvis quantitatis venire. Experientia ut quidquid totale fuit, quando persona sentit iam non fuisse quidquid „tam completum” et... tam onerante , quid tuas limites cuius anima potuerat abbracchiare contradicat. Et dico id esse solum de carne? Plus est, plus quam exspectavi.
Frigus potentissmorum fuit. Inutile est huius limites appreciare. Quidquid cadens perfecte supra corpus et supra animam, quid unum et idem alio corpore et alio corde se facit; quae pueri, infantis sunt qui nescit quid Fortuna, Sors essent. Est obscuritas illius noctis quae me fecit vedere quantam lucem et fortitudinem potest puella portare suis bracchiis, suis basiis, et abbracchiis, sua ore ponderosa, quae fortissime essentiam mearum labra stringebat. Fortasse eadem ista fortitudo quae me usque ad hoc momentum quo scribo tenuit.

2008.06.17 Carpathian Aphrodite

Carpathian Aphrodite
(Aesthetics of the Ugly)

Gorgons, hormones, come ignite
the child’s white coat at midnight!
When the clock’s bell tolls twelve hours
snake’s tongue whistles ‘He is ours’.

But he liked it, always does.
Even if he’s drenched, he has
all the times enjoyed their pleas:
‘Come and take some cookies please!’.

Drenched with pleasure, almost cries,
For daemonic flesh he squeezed.
She wonders at no surprise,
for some moments he is pleased

till he heard ‘I want to sleep!
out from my nest, do it quick!
Or my creatures come and eat you,
My blonde genius needs to chew.’

Werewolves, owls, spiders came out
from below the nose at her shout;
fleas ran crazy, lazy louses were in doubt,
asked if they’d been living there.

‘Now I see’, said the Flea King
I was now about to sing,
or to laugh when I saw
that all she needed was a saw

or a razor and a mirror
to look clearer to her face
and to notice the snail trace
she’s been having there for days.

Little child, you don’t know
what you’re talking now. You’re low
to my extreme charms I have,
just that… beard and moustache grow

That is all… Oh, I forgot
all the qualities I’ve got.
Have I told you I’m so pretty?…
Oh, for Venus I feel pity.

2008.06.16 Sweet Sunk Venom

Sweet Venom

…an experience of heaven when swimming through the offered pieces of flesh and something satanic by the disguise of a white soul. Who could possibly bring this?

A fragile blaze into my soul
sit in relaxed while hormones rolled.
Body crawled,
Soul drooled…

Thy blaze hath been returning,
while its ice master’s burning
in the wish of laughing
to the eternal man of … nothing compares to your game
Deception stands next to your name

He watches her smile
to the boat that they float for a while.
She drives them on and on,
to his eyes a black veil’s upon.

“Our carrousel is not for children – she says –
Now you are high,
then you sank.
Here you’re with me, there you’re not!
Oh, I’ll let the string free us.
I’ll be swimming; while… you’re dreaming.
Wind shall let our boat slip through.
That who needs a saviour’s YOU!
Ha ha ha !
I’m Charon’s daughter…”

And if destiny is backwards,
then I want to slaughter all the mariners
who are going to sail along my sea!
They’re still catching fish.
Still have hooks that all men wish,
tentacles have they developed,
sucking with their lips of venom.
LUST is now thy name
DESIRE for which I crave

Spreading venom through their trumps,
spitting poison with their tongues,
creatures hide in their moustache,
in their brain
resides blonde trash.
Open wide trumps
ate pure children once,
poor elder their mask knows:
now they’re angels, then Gorgons,
snakes dwell well below their nose;
new child sought to undress their hose.
16 iun. 2008

2008.06.12-16 Parental Advisory Carrousel

The Carrousel (P.A. / free ride)

…I feel like I had forgotten something but that proves to be the expectations or the feelings I let there sunk in the river of one body rather than a soul: the sweeter it seemed, the bitterer now tastes…

The carrousel of destiny has rocked me,
I’m puzzled in fate’s maze.
Just music might have freed me
from rolling the last days.

And writing does the same;
still there is none to blame.
The ups and downs go on.
Man’s thoughts get wrong and wrong,
While Fortune drives him wild…
12 iun. 2008
As far as I can see,
Our fate is upside down
soul’s power’s driven me
backwards to that of reason

All that we try to compensate
is an ant’s tear in the Jurassic ocean.
But all’s not useless and non-sense.
Though, facts are upside down.

It’s the absurd of hope:
It fuels yet our life’s fire
Hope is the reason for the downs,
It makes us all the times stand higher.

Still there is no return,
It’s a one-way highway till the end,
as the flowing water
that doesn’t see the spring again.

Fate is totally reverse and blind
when we see the power of the heart
overcoming, being backwards
to the power of mind.

Neither did Zeus, nor can the time-machine
pass over Fate.
Now I run hither,
then comes another sailor
who steals my soul and tears it up.
The pieces go now towards each will,
or wherever Fortune wishes.
16 iun. 2008

A.A.

Seeek my soul in wildernesses,
So I can love, bring it to me,
Teach me what tenderness is
To shrink our path to infinity,

Take me up from obscurity
And light my way through,
Help me when I want to fall,
Love me so I can see at least you
Have a soul!

By A.A. (translation)

2009.06.10 the antidote

The Antidote

The antidote to a poison
Is at times the poison itself
Dripped drop by drop
On the wound till it fades.

2009.06.03-04 Desire in Velvet Cuffs

Desire in Velvet Cuffs / Metallic States of Soul / The Tin Prison

Are your cuffs made of velvet?
Is their key made of tin?
Why aren't they as hard as metal?
If we unlock the cell is it sacrilegious?

Why do you keep me in tin cuffs?
Deliver me in pleasant metal cells
Where Thanatos with Eros dwells
And doors are shut under lead bolts.

Drip me vibrating metal feelings; I need a heavy shiver.
Your prison cells are closed with clay padlocks.
Our land is molten mercury
It's not going to last a century.

Feed me with heavy feelings
Take me to your volcanic mountain metal fortress,
And I'll write down a symphony of steel,
Play it with roaring screaming axes,
And you'll inspire a bass line of titanium.

Feed me with metal feelings
Then while my tin strings sing of leisure
You'll come and stir my senses with electric kisses.
I feel the heavy lead melting in the heart's furnace

Give me metallic uncast feelings
Now let's imagine the iron in our forge
Waiting to be dripped in heart-like shapes
Like casting heavy lyrics on the symphonic staff.

Isn't it ironic how we can't touch
The cores of our iron fortress?
Our furnaces are not in the same realm
You must hence give me the coordinates
To where your soul dwells in the velvet cell.

Why can't I think of Earth
And I try to embrace the stars?
Why can't I do it the simple way?

2009.06.23 End of Eternity

End of Eternity

who are you and who am I?
what lead our universes to
when they collide?
what is next to pass through?

you said we are one single soul
like we'd been here
for a thousand years
yet getting mazed I can't control.

did we pay the ticket?
did you put your seatbelt?
if not, I anyway push it
we're in like blinded held.

here ends eternity
and starts another chapter
...
...

2009.05.14 Lupus

Homo homini lupus. Et lupus semper bestiarum oculos vidit et novit.
Today I've chosen the beast.

My mind draws me to the ground, to the roots, while my heart drives me high.

This is why I've been lying to myself lately. (~12 a.m.)

2009.04.14, 18-19 HELLen

In nebula temporum viridissimae meae animae


And that was how it started:
Back in the mist of my young heart,
I invite you on my magic carpet
Once, when I'm at your window
To kidnap you to my Universe you once loved.
Once...

Now I tell her: 'Miss,
Ain't you moody for a kiss Iasi,
On the red carpet 14 apr 2009
I call you to step on?' 8:32 pm

'Maybe' -
The only word
That can define my feelings:
Presuming all day long
Is all I've done so far.

I'm the blind in the haze,
I check with my stick
Whether I caught a feeling in my net
That rots if I don't fuel it.

I'm at a crossroad of my neurons
I let myself led far and far
I'm at a crossroad of my neurons
And I got to a corner of my mind.

I'm intricate and tangled
Annihilate me from your angle,
Some find theirselves superior
Based on their pure truth.

I am barely a slave
To what's been written,
Humanity's thoughts are carried to the grave
After they're caged and hidden.

I've paid my tribute to myself,
I've chiselled words on my paved destiny.
We're universes farther deep
Than what we think.

It just happens at times,
Coincidence makes it,
To fill our everlasting loneliness
With another's spark.
We only have to lit the torch sometimes.

My lyric can be all you want to hear,
Or nothing.
There's been no judge to art, to souls.
I guess not even God can do that;
God knows if God exists.

I know love is retarded,
We all know it. I feel
We find somehow each other
In the same lost childhood.

Just you don't like admitting
You can lose it completely,
I see you drowning, sinking,
Forever not returning.

You could only accuse me
I cannot look objectively
To what your soul encages;
You too can't feel effectively.

Maybe I liked your open way,
Maybe your open heart.
Maybe an image did obsess me, I could say
Maybe a cold ghoul from body apart
Or maybe it is only lips that froze.

I also could name it
A half-fulfilled obsession,
Or, as you say by now,
Just a 'springtime obsession'.

I'm out of time, kept still,
(La donna è mobile, l'uomo immobile?)
Our times are dusk, a crumbled day,
Desyncronised I feel us. 20/04/2009 1:20 AM

After these years, Bumbata,
Two years 18->19 apr 2009
Of loving one through another... 11:20 pm
That's really been a theory

And just like the dog 19 apr, ~ 23.00...
Which bites the hand that fed him
You now call it an error.
I'd tell her:
Assume your lust!
'Cause the two sexes have two different ways
Of saying 'All I want's not sex'.


You've been counting the days
To see your Prince Charming.

Tragedy is the most painful
When you get it drop by drop:
Why don't we find out earlier
That our beloved is gone?

Why do we have to bear
Pain by pain - nightmare,
Little by little, drop by drop,
Days and not instants? 22/04/2009 12:10 AM

So fulfilment of the pain becomes concentration of the pain, a new ideal, instead of dripping it; we should have no pain lost into drops. Why doesn't it come into higher amounts?
Half a year ago I was myself; I was enjoying life. Now it's vanity. It's like I were trying to fill this cannion with a grain of sand, of hope, of happiness; filling the blackness with the green - it just blackens all the tries, it nullifies them (apparently). The grain means this little group of people who care, want to care or pretend to care and make my life happier, willingly or unwillingly, and also those who are to come to fill it on; the cannion is this hole which started half a year ago, that enlarged almost day by day; it would be an exageration to consider it was only void; but it mainly led to this void...
And why do we try to describe the affects by matterial terms? Do we feel more pragmatic?
Anyway, this is what I now call vanity. It all depends on the effort of the cannion, which is not considerable - in balance with that of the drop of happiness that has to be at least the void's size; and it can't be. 22/04/2009 12:15-12:27 AM

2009.04.14 H TABEPNA

H TABEPNA


VIVERE EST BIBERE aut
NON EST VALERE, SED BIBERE VITA,
Even though we remember the wounds here,
It is music too that heals them.
Or at least this is what we wanna think.
It's like a temporary happiness forever lasting.

Back in the mist of my young heart,
I once invited you on my magic carpet
When I will have been at your window
To kidnap you to my Universe you once loved.

Now I tell her: Miss,
Ain't you moody for a kiss Iasi,
On the red carpet 14 apr 2009
I call you to step on? 8:32 pm

Iam sentio fumum aeris etiam nunc
Primum cum audio Tabernae musicam
In otiosa hodie
Ubi tempus stat immobile.
Qvamqvam saepe me interrogo
Quid tempora haberent commune materia(Abl.),
Illud iam nos delebit ex hoc spatio.

2009.04.14 Annihilation

I'd like to see you in a chapter, (I'm torn between the centuries: 1990-2012)
Lost between the pages:
That of my birth,
And of my childhood,
In the Middle Ages of my book.

2009 apr 14, ~ 10.00 am, Iasi.

2009.04.05 DVPLICITAS

DVPLICITAS?

QVIA UNAM SOLAM
PAREM EADDEM NON MI VIDETVR:
QVIS FVIT TVNC?
ET QVIS EST NVNC?
QVAMQVAM TIBIAE CITHERAEQVE
CANENT DE PACED
ETERNITATED
MINIME IDONEVM MANEBIT
MARE ISTIVS ET FORS SVAS ALEAS IACEBIT.
INTERROGATIONEM VOBIS HABEREM:
QVID AGETIS SCIENTIBVS INFEROS ME EUVNDVM
QVAMQVAM PERIVI PAVLO IAM?
5 apr 2009, 14.00

2009.03.29 Thê Maurospera or Thê Anonomatê

Thê Maurospera / Thê Anonomatê


Vere - annitempore maxime idoneo meis Cupidinibus
In quo nec unquam amorem quamquid habui
Vere hanc nugam scribo:
Simul ac nox et dies nos habemus
Ergo: pro quo fini rursus dare affectus?
Ab solis resurrectione usque ad illius casum
Ne quaeras puellas quibus tempus vano occidas.
Sol - ut Catullo dictum - levabit cadebitque;
Tu autem ad finem irrevertibile apposueris;
Tamen tempus est autem odiendi sociationes oppulentes,
Quia res non facit te apponere in medio vere!




Putna,
29 mar 09
23:50

2009.03.10 overall satyr of read books

One life -
An opened book she exposed.

Gouls
Make me read
With blurred black glasses
I never ended their misty tale.
Nor have I ink to drag them to an end,
Never will I have it,
Cause their (cota~) is in another library.
Their pale blue shivers of mist
Have always encrypted the tale.

New pergaments knock on my pencil's door.

~18.00-18.30