little did she know(5)

So he decided to take her home, where he could just pass the responsibility to her dissembled family. He started walking, leaving her behind, a thin phantom attempting to regain power.

But she faced the water and started walking into the depth, feeling the cold water washing away all of her fears, with the wet clothes caressing her body and the mind, for the first time, free. “I don’t want to go home”, she whispered. And she gave up.

Walking with his head down, lost, he did not realize that she wasn’t following him. He reached back his arm, trying to find her tiny hand. No gentle soul was there. He turned around. “Eve…”

Little did she know (4)

Suddenly, she stood up. “Let’s burn down the sun! I feel strong enough to do it! Don’t you?”

“You had way too many beers last night”, he said and started laughing. She was indeed, a little bit woozy, “but for sure it’s not because of that”, she thought. “Oh, come on; let’s burn down the entire world! Let’s free all the souls trapped in humans’ bodies! Let’s climb the church and proclaim ourselves as the Supreme Saviors! Ah, I know, let’s learn to fly!” A pale blow of wind messed her long dark hair, covering her face. Her heart began beating faster and faster, her throat dried and her lungs felt like they were tearing apart. “No, it’s not the time yet, I am not ready!” she started screaming with a squeezed voice, like a contrabass in the trembling hands of a novice, playing lefty his new instrument. His eyes twisted from blue to gray like a frost winter storm, he was standing there, watching, with his body paralyzed and his mind barren, lovable child, not knowing what to do, where to run. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a shy, shaking voice, trying to control his trepidation. “They, they, they wanted to take me, did you see?!” He removed the frightening shady curls from her face. Her eyes were mat as a cold glass, shouting of insanity, and her skin was white as the first layer of paint in a hospital room. He slowly placed his arms around her, trying not to shatter that fragile ice figurine that she had become, wondering what to do to calm her down. He turned around and saw the old forsaken cottage filled with bitter sin, where teens gather almost every night, away from the sight, where they kill their obsessions and transform into free spirits with no God. He wanted to take her there, but he remembered her claustrophobia, just one of the many phobias she had, along with fear of water, crowded places and dark, lonely nights. He felt again like a infant, unable to do anything, with his hands tied to the failure of admitting that life is not a dream he can assemble as he want. He was just standing there, holding her whitish body in his powerless arms, with the appearance of a homeless searching for help from strangers passing by; but nobody was there, everybody was busy crawling in their own mud, with their own dirty ghosts. He sighted. He could not gather himself in order to help her.

Little did she know (3)

“I don’t want to go home”. His voice, coming somehow from another world, woke her up. She winked confused, realizing she had got lost in her memories, almost falling asleep. They have spent all night on the shore, shooting stars, telling stories about things that would never happen, catching fish with their mind and chasing the nasty mosquitoes which wouldn’t leave them alone. She wasn’t tired. She slowly moved her gaze towards the road to the town, trying to focus on the imposing church rising from all those short, brown, crowded houses starting to awake. It was already 7 o’clock. Peasants were appearing on the streets, going to the Sunday market in the centre, buying cheap things, drinking beer instead of the black, bitter coffee she loved, carrying their loud children with them, making way too much noise for her to bear at that time. She closed her eyes using his hands and slowly slipping them on her face, until they reached her small, soft mouth.

They both smiled.

Little did she know (2)

She turned towards him. In the light of this summer sunny morning, he looked even sweeter and more lost than usual. Her lips slowly designed a fade smile. She knew he wasn’t listening. He never did. But in his way, he loved her more than anybody else. In a selfish, and yet kind way, his feelings were so strong… He loved her not for what she was, but for what he was with her. She was aware that her life without him didn’t matter at all; he only cared about Their life, about her when they are together; he never asked how she feels. And still, she continued to tell him everything that was on her mind. Even though it was pointless. She smiled again, remembering how they met. And again, she would not recognize herself in this stupidly romantic movie running in her head. She was walking home and saw him standing on the sidewalk, looking almost like he was expecting something. Without any reason, she smiled; he came after her and gently took her hand; a touch that needed no explanations. “Let’s go home.” And they started walking with their eyes searching the night, wondering who they are, but in the same time knowing so much one about the other.

Little did she know (1)

She had never felt so lonely before. Staring at her blurry reflection in the lake, she realized that the deformed face she was seeing was in fact the expression of her entire life. Over put lines, without a defined shape, just attempts, beginnings without endings, painful memories of what she would never accomplish. Her whole existence has suddenly appeared as being somebody else’s. She did no longer recognize any of the memories flashing fast in her mind. The blond haired guy that she thought she had loved as a child; the story with a long hair girl coming out of the water, that her nanny used to read each and single day; the funny pompoms she was wearing in the first school day; the fast heart beatings when a boy kissed her for the first time, all those firsts, the emotion she would never relive, the chills she was missing more than anything else; the unbelievably beautiful winter morning when her mother died; all the moments she used to lie on the carpet of her room, with the door closed, trying to kill the pain without any results; the evenings when she would talk to the sea, begging it to take her; and all those questions she would never find answers for…

No, she thought, this is not me. I was just a mute witness to all these. Nobody ever asked me if I wanted to be born. They just threw me out in this overcrowded world and left me figure out my way. What if I can’t? Did anybody care about that?

“Do you think that if Eve wouldn’t have eaten the apple it would have been different?”

He didn’t answer.

I am bird but i cannot fly

I am Lady
And the boy said
I am Bird but I cannot fly

Tempestuous and mysterious, the joint project entitled Lady and Bird, launched in 2003, sends us to a unique universe, created by and for the two main characters of this strange fairytale, the Lady and the Bird, two entities that found themselves trapped in grownup bodies and are now in search of their true identity. The entire album is crossed by a fine narrative line, which strengthens the story-feeling that you get by listening to it. Song by song, you enter more and more in their dark and blurry world, where day becomes night and life is just a path towards what lies after it.

Subtitled “A Children's Story for Adults”, the album is far from targeting the kinder garden attendants. The main themes evolve around death, pain, loneliness, darkness. The combination of styles – indie, pop, psychedelic - and voices is harmonious in a painful way; the melody is simplified, and the emphasis is set on the story itself. The power, if one may say this, does not come from the rhythm, but from the unique manner in which the performers manage to compensate the slow flow of keys with strong and crescendo emotions.

Every one of the ten songs delivers strong visual images to your head, but none are as thrilling as the ones provided by “La ballade of the Lady and the Bird”, a dialog between the two characters, in which they use the voice of a little girl and a modified voice which is supposed to stand for the bird.
“Lady and Bird” continues, somehow, the melody path on which you may find albums such as Noah’s Ark from CocoRosie or Light out from Antimatter, but, in the same time, it creates new ambages for the artists that would dare to adopt this ambiguous style.

Nevertheless, despite this gloomy view that the two singers throw upon existence, there is always a shy sunshine waiting to be discovered, mostly because of the strangely sweet voice of Keren Ann Zeidel. For this reason, the subtitle is justified, with one correction: the children that they refer to are, in fact, the ones still trapped inside of each of us, grownups.

free writing

One dies without even knowing why, the other is reborn on the porch of my old house, screaming and crying, he will wander and wonder later as we all do in the grey shade of the world that we are thrown in. Do not ask yourself ever why this is, reasons unknown, words left on paper, no sender, no receiver, only questions. Blue as the sky as my eyes after a night without sleeping, on the beach with his guitar playing same old beginning, let me try, I say. Red hot chilly peppers and a lot of red wine. I am getting old, tomorrow is my birthday and I feel left out from my own party, it’s windy but I like it. I feel like dancing on the floor, we are your friends, they say, scream and dance and scream again. Left, right, left, right, in the army must be tough, I am a girl, I will never know. Maybe I will join the army some day, take a gun and start shooting stars, they will fall down around me like dead birds. Black and scary.

It’s a cruel world out there, people!

Last week, while having a beer with some colleagues, I got this message from an old friend of mine: “I can’t stand it anymore. Please don’t cry.” How could you react to such news, especially when you know that the other is quite crazy and capable of a lot of things? I started calling him, sending messages, no answer, no reply. Finally, after 1 hour of shaking like a Brazilian at the North Pole, he calls:”Oh, it was nothing important, just a joke.”

And I started thinking about all the silly things that I and my friends have done, those acts that nobody expects. Is the need of attention that makes us so crazy sometimes? Do we need the others to confirm that we exist? We are all single trees in different woods. If we fall and nobody is there to see, does it mean that it didn’t happen? When something amazing happens, we all feel the need to share it, that is graspable, but what if we begin to do stupid things only for the others to notice us? In this case, which is the limit between normal and abnormal?

Freud may say that craving attention is the result of not being able to sleep with your parents, but, all jokes aside, it represents an issue which affects your social life in a way you may not be able to control at some point.

One way to recognize these people consists in their tiresome, never-ending stories. No matter what you try to say, a noisy voice keeps bugging and interrupting. There is nothing more fascinating than what they have heard, smelled, tasted, done or lived. And of course, if they can do that while standing on the chair or a table, preferably in the centre of the room, for sure they won’t miss this opportunity.

All and all, the funny thing is that, after jiggling and wiggling around, one becomes even more annoying than he has while standing in the corner. So, next time you encounter one of these characters, please be so kind to let them now that we are aware of their suffering. And that there is no need to make us suffer as well.

Gentlemen – old fashion or just old?

They say that when a door closes a window opens. In my case, a closed door with the man that was supposed to open it will definitely mean all the windows closed for him. I am not being judgmental or anything, but, really, is being a gentleman considered old fashion? Are good manners gone for good?

Nowadays, the only ones that still take into account the Great Book of Good Manners are either veterans of the Second World War, or so uncool that they don’t realize what they are doing is considered not trendy at all.

The expression “ladies and gentlemen” makes no sense any more. They could easily transform it into “ladies and ….men”, which is probably closer to reality. Well, I have to admit that the ladies aren’t what they used to be anymore. So maybe this is a two way street. Men are reacting to women and vice versa. I won’t question myself whether the egg came before the chicken, because, frankly, I am quite afraid of what the answer might be. It’s always easier to blame the opposite sex. Not fair, but still effortless. So I will just assume that it is one of those things affected by times changing. And which, in return, is affecting our perception about the new realities. Maybe, after all, gentlemen are not gone. They have just evolved into new specie, trying to adapt to the new surroundings and the other animals around them.

some things are not for sharing

things like the purple rain when you feel blue, like the red pain inside your chest when you are so far away from home that you are afraid you might have forgotten the way back... things that you want to scream to the whole world, but nobody is there to listen... things that touched you so deep that they are sticked to your heart for ever... things that only you know, things from the past and from the future, things that never were, but you have dreamed about... things that you hate and things that you love... things that you want to forget and things that you want to relive...
tiny things that are hidden in your soul, tiny things that nobody will ever know... tiny things that could make you a better person in the others' eyes, and tiny things that would throw you from the altar...
tiny things that you will never know. because some things are not for sharing....

greva dragostei

dragostea e o chestiune tare haioasa uneori. haioasa, evident, pentu cei care privesc si se amuza de situatia unui cunoscut aflat in suferinta. se zice ca nu exista retete prefabricate pentru a face pe cineva sa se indragosteasca... si totusi, mama omida ar contrazice cu vehementa aceasta afirmatie. dincolo de orice soi de gluma, e drept ca iubirea e o ecuatie cu mult prea multe necunoscute pentru a-i putea gasi vreodata rezolvarea. ce-ar fi sa ne oprim, toti odata, sa nu mai cautam nici un raspuns. sa luam o pauza, pur si simplu, sa fumam o tigara si sa lasam calculele pentru Dumnezeu.
asadar, eu declar greva dragostei!

eden

livin' dyin' not fast enough, he says do not run for i will be forever the one who believes but there i am without a soul to talk to, stop the spinning i wanna go down from this world for i don't belong to you anymore. i feel a whisper but i am not true it's just a dream i had yesterday about tomorrow. love me if you dare, says she, laughing not understanding that nothing is like her, she is still the one i trust, the only soul left to believe in. whisper again, kind soul, i will now listen.
no more lies, please, cruel vanity!

but did you ever think of me as your best friend?

ce ma plictisesc... hai sa ma joc putin cu sentimentele celor care inca mai tin la mine... sa le dau un hint, asa, ceva subtil, sa se agite nitel, sa-si faca griji. de ce nu, la urma urmei? e foarte amuzant. ca sa le spun apoi ca nu e nimic grav, ca am glumit; de fapt, nu era serios, doar ma simteam down si am vrut sa fac si pe altcineva sa se simta la fel. ce, nu ma mai iubesti?! de ce, am facut ceva gresit? am fost prea egoist? nu, de fapt, tu nu ma intelegi, nimeni nu ma intelege, eu sufar, eu am probleme! lume, priveste-ma, iubeste-ma, fie-ti mila de mine, eu sunt cel mai suferind om de pe acest pamant!
nu vedeti?! pe mine ma doare degetelul ala mic de la piciorul stang!