vineri, 26 martie 2010

Când inima-și desface toți nasturii


A tiny spider came out of it.. of my heart
Then came a frog, and ate the spider.
My heart watched..

Then came a man, who spoke only in despair
And tortured the frog part by part
It was hard to bear.. but again, my heart watched

Then raindrops fell on the spider's web
And the man's thirst was eased.
My heart? It was there. It still is.
It can't watch, but is she pleased?

And then was I,
the one that takes her lips and cry with them
and makes it rain..
In the mouth of man.




marți, 23 martie 2010

Days of night, days of light

Days of simplicity in an insecure room of laughter
Which yesterday lasted forever, and ever after,
Days not followed by some rules of sensuality,
in this passive way for us, now, to see reality,
Days which now have a number, a sense.. a quality for hearts..
Are just days, not moments, not thoughts.

sâmbătă, 20 martie 2010

Qualities of hearts


..are to be seen in every inch of our bodies.
Everything outside me speaks.
Lips are silent. Fingers swear. My neck begs.
My back, when it is naked, tells the story of my legs.
My breasts are freaks, they seem to hate my lips.
And my arms.. My arms are my heart. Truly.
Always open, never empty.

Who am I to believe I'm nothing?
I'm not mine, nor anyone's decision to be.





marți, 16 martie 2010

"When the rest of Heaven was blue"




Tender souls
are the ones who lost and sinned.
Tender us because we wander
and the life in us.. struggles with hunger..
To live, to break things.. to make, you there, feel alive.
To starve for dreams, to write a while
..some love, some hate.. some fingers
Trying to escape beneath your skin.
And still, we sing..

Poems






Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
(Dreams by Langston Hughes)


Annabel Lee


It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Edgar Allan Poe

sâmbătă, 13 martie 2010

Cafeaua de la miezul nopții


- Ce faci?
- Tu ce ai crede că fac acum?
- Mda..
- Nu serios, cred că știi ce fac.
- Adică?
- Adică mă gândesc.
- A, din nou intrăm în asta.
- Care din nou? N-am vorbit de mult. Și știi ce înseamnă o
conversație la ora asta.
- Bun atunci. La ce te gândești?
- La ce e dincolo de ce cred eu.
- Mai explicit te rog.
- La oameni, la idei ce-mi pot ridica părul pe șira spinării, la un cățel care să mă înveselască permanent, la mine într-o rochie elegantă, la un film foarte bun pe care n-o să apuc să-l văd vreodată, la ce inseamnă Mona Lisa, la cum e să simți toate vibrațiile unei melodii clasice, să comunici prin muzică, la cum e să fii actor, să cuprinzi o parte de viață pe o scenă de cinci metri pătrați, cum ar fi să găsești străini cu care să dezbați pe o bancă, și toate astea să te ridice și să nu mai ai tangențe cu Bacovia la modul profund.
- Cam greu.
- Atâta timp cât asta nu-i și dorința ta, e normal. Dar tu ce vrei?

luni, 8 martie 2010

Pixul, Pielea si Pistolul - Despre fericire


"Câte lacrimi au curs pentru cuvântul fericire! Fără el am trăi mai liniștiți.." (Flaubert)

Stăteam pe malul râului amândoi. Inn, ca de obicei, uita de mine și începea să se gândească. I-am spus că ar trebui să simtă și el măcar odată apa curgând fără a se gândi la lipsa de originalitate a acestei fapte, despre care știa că până la urmă va fi scrisă.
În fond, de asta stă el mereu fără să scoată prea multe vorbe.. pentru că prin cuvânt nu are nimic de spus, iar tăcerea, pe lângă faptul că e un izvor de idei interesate.. e.. originală.
Eu, plictisită, am decis. Îi voi cânta în strună.

-Ce-i fericirea, Inne?
Acolo.. sub fruntea lui eram acum.. între breton și ochelari.. și mă privește. Știe la ce mă gândesc. Știe ce vreau să fac.

Și totuși n-a spus nimic..

duminică, 7 martie 2010

Mind algorithms

The real world isn’t reducible to a set of propositions.

“It is clear that there is no classification of the Universe that is not arbitrary and full of conjectures. The reason for this is very simple: we do not know what thing the universe is.”


There’s no encyclopaedia which can contain all possible facts about any situation. You may have good heuristics and terrific search algorithms, but when you’re up against an uncategorisable domain of infinite extent, you’re surely still going to have problems.


Aren’t they right to emphasise the potential value of introspection? Isn’t it the case that introspection is our only source of infallible information? Most of the things we perceive are subject to error and delusion, but we can’t, for example, be wrong about the fact that we are feeling pain, can we? That seems interesting to me. Our impressions of the outside world come to us through a chain of cause and effect, and at any stage errors or misinterpretations can creep in; but because introspection is direct, there’s no space for error to occur. You could well say it’s our only source of certain knowledge – isn’t that worth pursuing a little more systematically?

vineri, 5 martie 2010

Scraps


Ce-i scrisul? Chemare. Ce-i muzica? La fel. Cine scrie si cine canta? Talentul. Si cui? Celor netalentati, fara chemare. Celor ca mine. Ratiunii. Cea care nu se supune intuitiei. Pentru ca nu are intuitie. Instinctul ma indeamna sa condamn instinctul. Pentru ca nu il am eu. Ci el, el care nu si-l poate reprima.

Nu, chemarea nu e un instinct.


Cine e de condamnat? Nu cei nestutori, ci aceia care stiu si nu accepta. Cei ce cred intr-o singura certitudine.