Tribute to Eni

When you first came into our house, I was dead scared. I was like: "oh my god, what have i done flo will kill me." I thought that you were the last thing on Earth that would fit with us. God, an alien would've fit better (you know, they copy personalities and they behave like you. Then they abduct you - isn't that right, dude?). And in the first two days i found out how incredibly different you were from us, yet how marvelously completing. You are just like that stuff you don't know you need until you actually have it, and then you cannot live without it. And when you are bereft of it, your life just ends. Poof! Emptinesssss. Just like that. You know, like internet. Or chocolate. Or best friends.

I said a nasty thing to you a few days ago. That night, at three o'clock in the morning, I was sky-rocketing on one of those swings outside. Then I took a walk in that stupid, deep parking lot, thinking "How can she give me that shit? After all the things i endured agelessly without saying anything. All those slippers she took away from me... and now, look at her. God, i'm so sorry i said that."

I will never learn this from you. You say it to Flo more than you say it to me: "don't say sorry to me, don't apologize so much". This, i will never learn. I did learn a few things, though.

I was too careful with people, even with some that didn't deserve it. Your way taught me to relax. You told me that there are other beigns on this planet that have the same issues that i have. And this is not so important, at least not as much as the fact that you shared in, into those issues. I'm not saying I've fixed them. It's just that i feel so differently about them now. And it helped.

Remember that time when you hugged me? Us? No, of course not. They were too many.

You taught us goodness in all its ways. You don't really see this on every street. In fact, every street in this city shows us the dark side of life, and you are just not there, not there at all. You're on the good side. On the fun side of the island. On the FUN side... And guess what, we're not counting your stripes.

Yes, I know i'm not too good at movies, but i am good at some things, and you are very good at silently pointing them out.

I sit here, thinking what to write, because i really don't want any cheese in this; i don't know how to say that you're beautiful.
No, really. Stop your "aaaw"-ing. Wipe that smirk. Wiiipe it! Wiipe! God, you never listen, do ya, brat? It's true. You have a few masks you like to show(off :P), and you're in the process of creating a brand new account-exec one. The mighty account that wants to be a copy. You don't believe this now, but you will be a copy. You will? OK? If not...you know, sentimental blackmail, cheesy-type: "you'll do this for me, if not for anything." Or Flo-type: (do NOT mention this)"pliiiiz".

Oh yes, the masks...everybody has'em. When you take them off, only one mask remains, and that is one of beauty. Don't ask me how i know, it just feels, you know: your floating movements, the dance in your eyes, the mistery haze of well-being around you...it all happens when you're a bit tired, a bit sad and a tad bit depressive. When you profoundly think in nice ways. Don't lose that. I know it's not a pleasant thing to read. You'd lose that when there will be no more people to see it. And maybe there will be someone really special that will want to see this, and to that person and for that person you should show it. So let people see it and don't lose us. It's pretty straight n' simple, right?:P

There are a lot more to say, i think. That's why i'm saying goodbye. So that i can leave them for some other time.
Love and admiration,
Buh-bye.

PS. Am i good? Yeah, i'm good. I know i'm good. I'm good. Shut up, dude!

Tribute to Flo

There are 23 entries here that, more or less, describe who we are through some timeless moments we shared or we thought we might share. And this entry is born to celebrate a few of them, written by Flo (America, he's a guy!). He's not here to see this, i wish he would be, cause i'm all alone, but he will.
However, I want to add a few others to this (hopefully) never-ending list. I want to think about that time when we read Flo's work and were so deep into it than we forgot to breathe. That candlesoft night when he told us such a marvelous story that ended so goddamn kinky the sky cracked open and the clouds went right inside the crack. And that evening when he covered me in words about you-know-who and i was so sleepy, yet so interested.
One night, when we went to buy water, he tried to reveal to me his utter ugliness. Which he didn't succeed, of course, for the simple fact that he has nothing of that quality to reveal. Yet, he was so deep in the thoughts of his ugliness, no one could have gotten him out. I'm sorry I couldn't, i'm sorry i still cannot. But I cannot, for I am ugly too, and such ugly things cannot diminish each other, for they are untrue. Ugliness simply doesn't exist.
One day we bought you a nice journal in green velvet wrapping and we wrote nice words in it. You know we like to make presents. But compared to how you made us feel afterwards, our glee for giving was nothing. Remember you were working with your team, and you went to them instantly and read them every single word we wrote, and you couldn't believe it, and neither could we?
Oh, last night when you chose Worms only because you knew you could beat me :P And the other night, when we talked, and you said that you don't want to go, that you wanted to stay here with me... and i said "that's not true and we both know it" and you liked it. Admitting it, of course. And the night before that, when you didn't say anything to me, because you knew my silence (doll, shut up on this one, ok? - nu ca ti-ai aduce tu aminte :P).
I simply have to say it here: all those signs we make behind her back... and she never gets it...all those whispers and "yeah, right"s... All those things are because we share a common knowledge: the knowledge of the doll. Which is also some sort of passion, which somehow binds.
By the way, do you remember another one that binds (in a bad way though), a sleepful, slimy creature that unwillingly gave us many laughs?
My mails, you always liked my mails i sent you when you were beyond the sea(to some, you still are:P). Just like then, i cannot stop writing. The ones i got in reply represent the first few times when i realized you gave something back to me. Not something, Something. The first few times I truly realized. I'm sorry, maybe I was a little slow. You know what they say, the good stuff reveals itself after the end.
And you filled a three-month gap in a second, and that is indeed your miracle, the miracle named Flo.
And the little things in this post that only us two know about(yes, yes, you too, yes!)
Remember that time you told me an "event", a week after it happened! You're unbelievable sometimes. No, you're unbelievable all the time. Ya know? When you malevolently used me to make your poster(you also manipulated Alex, but this is between you and me, fella). Next day, you told us about your teacher smiling, probably praising a student for the first time in his life. And it was great.
And there was last New Year's Eve, which was very trepidating. You knew you're a sweaty bull, but that was the first time I found out. And what a bumpy ride that was! The skinny creature was so pissed. Five instead of two. And late!

Needless to say more than this. I can't even directly call you my friend, because that word just doesn't mean anything. No, no word is this semantically engulfing.
And then there will be that time today when you'll get back home. I won't be there. There will be that time when I will get home, tomorrow. And the time you read this. And another entry, months from now, resuming more great stuff ...

Don't take my sunshine away

Mi-a fost intotdeauna frica sa ma gandesc la oceanul de persoane prin care trec in fiecare zi. Sunt prea multe vieti care trec pe langa mine, si toate sunt pline de tragism atat de adesea trait cu inconstienta. Frica aceasta o cunosc prea bine. Flo zicea ca a trecut dincolo de ea, ceea ce ii permite sa vada lumea cu alti ochi, si nu il pot contrazice, pentru ca exista momente in care cunosc si eu acea perspectiva. Insa frica de insingurare ma face sa ma intorc inapoi de fiecare data.

Nu exista nimeni care sa poata patrunde prin tine si sa te vada. Insa exista atatia oameni care ar vrea sa o poata face. Cred ca acest sentiment este suficient pentru a spune ca te simti apropiat de un om. Cred ca aceasta dorinta de a fi "celalalt" doar pentru a putea intelege in felul lui sau al ei este singura definitie fezabila ce i se poate da iubirii unui om.

Ea imi stia anumite probleme pe care le aveam, pentru ca statea in fata mea, la distanta de cativa pasi, mancand linistita impreuna cu prietenul ei. Stiu ca a ascultat o parte din problemele mele, pe care mama mi le insira ca pe-un rand de matanii, si ca a vrut la un moment dat sa-i spuna si lui. Avea in ea un mod frumos si natural de a-si arata frumusetea. O priveam si stiam imediat ca radia dinauntru, ca frumusetea fizica si interioara era pentru ea un mod de viata simplu si elegant, la care nu putea renunta, tocmai pentru ca era profund autentic. Imi placea felul in care statea, privind mici detalii din lumea din jurul nostru; imi placea cum parul castaniu se aseza mereu perfect, oricum si-ar fi intors capul. Era prins usor la spate si cobora pana dupa gat.

Era intr-adevar foarte interesanta. Chipul era aproape oval, aproape rotund, cu trasaturi compacte, aproape bine definite, aproape sterse. Nu mi-am permis sa o privesc, iar ea avea alta treaba, desigur. Insa atunci cand mi-a auzit problemele, mi-a vazut probabil expresia aceea pe care o am mai mereu, cea care ma arunca intotdeauna intr-una din depresiile incontrolabile. Atunci ne-am incrucisat privirile, dar numai pentru putin timp - era totusi cu cineva si mi-a placut modul in care s-a purtat apoi cu el, desi nu era prea vorbaret. Stiam ca o ascultase pe mama insirand necazurile pe sfoara, stiam ca fiecare dintre ele mi se vedea pe fata, si mi-a placut atunci ca si ea stia. Nu pot sa empatizez decar foarte rar cu cineva care este trist, insa ea a putut, si m-am simtit imbratisat de o privire. Nu era o privire vesela, nu erau ochi fericiti, ci ochi poate la fel ca ai mei, care stiau ce inseamna. E foarte ciudat, nu ma gandeam ca asa ceva exista.

E greu sa cunosti o persoana, impreuna cu suferintele ei. Sunt doar cateva pe lumea asta care mi-ar putea oferi o astfel de privire...

Happy bunch

I'm starting to have memories. No, i mean every day. I'm starting to need you. Flashbacks have me turned upside down. They keep crawling from dark corners or white lights, always from the extremes. Yesterday i felt i remained out of air. Today they started again, they want to push me out the window. But I can't find you guys there. And it hurts so much deeper.
The glass would shatter though. I would fall. If only you'd catch me. Say you'll catch me one more time...

It was a pretty good year. Nice summer, torn from the happy bunch. Can we get back in? I don't need to get back in. You don't, either. Bad influences, good times...we want to get back it. Our lives don't need it. We don't need it. It's not a necessity, but a choice. And what a choice this one is...

It was a pretty good year. They will say you had been something in those formative years. What will come of us? I want to be something and I hate myself for that.

I was thinking...i want another one. Just this last one. I want another fix.

Why don't i talk to her?

Why do i need this last fix? Cause it will be so fucking addictive.

How's life?

I don't want people to ask me "how was life?"

I want people to fuck my brains out to pride's death and never really touch me.

Loneliness is within me.

PJ Harvey sings so much more violently than you'd expect.

Portishead is much more relaxing that i thought.

And the dude is much more closer than before.23.

But the dudess is not with me anymore. I've failed her. Somewhat, just a little, a tiny bit. Admit it. And it's good, because i care. I'm not a heartless pimple. My blades are tearing me apart, but it hurts me when they tear others. Such as you. And a few others, one handful of good men. Good men that will fight and win this endless night through.

And in the morning they shall raise three flags of victor!

Teh blog. Abandoned

Hey, u didn't post on the blog today, fuckin lazybone!!

I ... I am taking care of the blog, while YOU dumb asses....

AAH!! You're posting! Oh...you're not posting... WHY THE FUCK AREN'T YOU POSTING BIATCH?

How come you get to post that? *spank*

You only have two entries, dawg. Write some more...and MAYBE someday you'll be just like me!!

Unbelievable! Fucking unbelievable.

-The blog has to be in romanian...because I say so.
-Noo. I haaate romanian. Let's do it in english, so i can say FUCK all the time.
-Fuck...u have a point.

That's sooo fucking nicee...uuu..come look at my post!!! Yours sux dude, you have no pics. You always suck. *background noise: You suck more than I do.*


Yeah, a blog can be nice...
P.S....post something, don't make kitty hurt you, okay?

Everything's a pineapple

It's true. Every single person you ever seen or touched is a pineapple. Why, haven't you noticed? They all look so big, with those green thingies on their head... leaves i guess they call them...big leaves that help them feed and think. Some of us think too much. In this dread place of ads and promos and tv, we all forget to feel.

But let's continue the analogy, shall we? What do you do with a pineapple? It's simple, there are only two ways. The first one is tearing them up and eating their succulent pulp. The same way we do to all around us - all those we love. We tear them open and eat every piece of their love and attention for us, being careful to give some back... just like we are careful to keep the fruit in a nice basket. And after we finish eating, when it's all over, we go to the store and get another one... just like we do with people. Don't you think you change friends too often? I wonder how many of us found a pineapple for life...

The second way in which we consume a pineapple is by squeezing it and drinking pineapple juice. Isn't that so, mister husband? Wife? Pineapple juice lasts longer to drink than eating a pineapple. We keep it in a cool bottle in the fridge and take a glass every day, until we drink every drop... but even then, husbands and (occasionaly) wives still keep the bottle, empty as it is. Despite the fact that they wander off to some other bottles, from time to time, they come back to the bottle at home, tossed in a corner, sometimes tripping over it, sometimes decided to throw it away...

Ever thought you were a pineapple? Yes, you are! You Fucking Bet You Are. Can't you sense your brown, think shell that you grew around you, to protect you from all those eaters and drinkers? You can't even see other pineapples because of it. And you're alone...

But there are other ways...Painful, yes...but with a chance that, someday, you'll be far away from any pineapple drinker or pineapple eater or pineapple squeezer or pineapple whatever...

In name of The Pixel God

We hereby declare this blog open. And, as any element contributing to the natural order of this world, we have to enroll this blog into a religion. But, hey, why not create one? Since every religion on this blueish hell is accused once in a while of being created from scratch by the one we love and hate the most(mankind, yeah...).... well it is true...i mean no offence.
So I hereby declare this blog as a disciple of the Pixel God.

There is, in fact, a Pixel God. And his religion is one of forgetfulness. Of giving without getting praise or reward. Of being special while nobody notices. Of wanting, but not getting. Of laughing just because it's lame to cry. The Pixel God is life.

Blissfully ignoring and kindly rewarding in many holy wars everything that's different ... or taking every form of damage that you can find, thinking about a new life in *heaven* while praying your pain off in church... or thinking about doing that, but, hey, you're not the pope, so why bother...or wasting your life protesting over that...(oh, and almost forgot, watching tv all your fucking life)...

...that's not the religion of the Pixel God.
The Pixel God commands you to glow in annonimity like a pixel on a screen. More than a pixel: to have a will and choose any fucking color you want, any fucking time you want it, and move near other pixels with the same color, and don't give a fuck about anything else.

I hereby bow to my Pixel God that once fixed my pixel-on-the-screen and gave me light to see :P (this shit's really true, man...)