Every thought you have sleeps in your blood.
Rational, coagulated states of living.
And every time you swallow world and mud,
I feel like I’m getting away with stealing.
Every secret you keep prays for a flood.
Broken gates with intense fear of pain.
And every time you taste the blood,
You annihilate the human strain.
M-am trezit de dimineata ca orice alt om. Adica am deschis ochii, ca urla alarma langa mine, si-am zis
„pfoai, ce tarziu e, cat e ceasu’?!”, intr-o criza totala de neuroni si timp. Si m-am intors frumos pe partea cealalta.
Intr-un final, am binevoit sa-mi ridic fizicul dintre asternuturi si, bai, ce fizic! Ce asternuturi! M-am indreptat frumos spre baie, unde oglinda imi arata o persoana atractiva la primele ore ale diminetii, persoana pe care am spalat-o si pieptanat-o frumos, ca sa fie decent de aratat la lume.
Am servit o cafea facuta de mana mea indemanatica, adica un zem de apa chioara cu niste ness si zahar (nu mult, ca ingrasa), pe care am savurat-o privind cu interes un post de muzica (nu zic care, ca nu facem reclama, dar era VH1).
Cand s-a facut timpul, mi-am ridicat fizicul (care intre timp a devenit fabulos) de pe canapeluta si am plecat de-acasa. Se vede treaba ca fizicul meu instiga si intriga, caci maidanezii cartierului m-au alergat, probabil ar fi vrut sa-mi ofere flori de camp udate de urina lor si a altora. Fizicul meu fabulos a alergat un pic mai repede, unde se observa treaba aia rusinoasa cu adrenalina.
Am reusit sa ajung cu fizicul in stare buna in statia de autobuz, unde am bagat un sprint ca lumea, de zici ca am fost la semimaratonul din weekend. Am urcat rapid pe treptele intesate de oameni (reprezentati, in majoritate, de cetateni aflati la a multa tinerete), cu scuzele de rigoara („Pardon, imi dati voie?”) rasplatite cu priviri pline de pizma. Toti reprezentantii venerabili ai varstei a treia imi daruiau coate si genunchi in diverse parti moi ale fizicului meu impresionant, asaltandu-mi in acelasi timp nasucul fin.
„Bai, astia lucreaza pe doua cai, si fizic, si psihic”, mi-am zis, dandu-mi seama de strategia care ii ajuta pe cetatenii respectabili ai urbei sa ajunga la timp la piata. La Piata Romana sau la Piata Victoriei, nu stiu inca, dar undeva pe-acolo.
Inspirata fiind de vorba din popor, cel mai destept cedeaza, am zis ca acum e momentul sa fac miscarea inteleapta. La prima statie am coborat, luand-o la pas repejor spre birou, bucurandu-ma ca i-am fentat pe batranei.
Concluzia? Bucuresti, capitala europeana moderna, unde esti alergat de caini, mirosuri si pensionari…
I am love, the Wind speaks to me.
I smile and trust and play like a child, and my Wind takes me in his arms.
I am love, the Wind speaks to me.
And then there’s only silence. And love. And Wind. And I am gone in a second, because my time passes when I don’t want it to and because my time doesn’t pass at all when I want it to.
I am love, I speak to the Wind.
But the Wind doesn’t smile, nor does it trust, nor does it play like a child.
And I am left with no one to take in my arms.
In the end, I’m not even love.
Today I took the road back to Memory Lane, reading old poems and stories and old articles about the music in my life.
Back in 2008, when I started this blog, I never thought I’d go this far with it. Actually, I took a break from blogging and writing all together, in 2010, if my memory serves me right.
It’s funny reliving all these thoughts and feelings and I find it amazing that the same songs still move me.
May 26th was the first day I ever wrote something on my own, not a forum run by idiots. So this year I will celebrate this little thing called blog, since it’s its 5th anniversary. 5 is also my favorite number and my lucky number.
I’ll go back to reading my memoirs. I’m on page 24 out of 32, but I started reading it backwards.
Let’s be weird together,
Share some gum
And spit it out.
I want nothings,
I want doubt.
Share a shower,
Share some food,
Make me feel misunderstood.
Take a blanket,
Cover us.
Hold me in your arms because…
People are not always their skin.
It’s not always dark,
Not always hard.
On the outside we’re all ugly,
On the inside we’re all bloody.
People are not always their dreams.
It’s not always a god,
I’m not always flawed.
On the outside we’re all cold,
On the inside we’re all gold.
People are not always their screams.
It’s not always rage,
Not always a locked cage.
On the outside we’re all blind,
On the inside we’re all mind.
People are not always their deeds.
It’s not always the plan,
Not always the man.
On the outside we’re all static,
On the inside we’re ecstatic.
It came with night and wrath,
It came cold and it unwrapped
The foils of my lonely soul.
How I wish I’d have it all!
I take easy steps and I guess
That God’s not here, for me to bless,
So I dive right in the holy waters
And I won’t hear all of the slaughters.
Feathers and swords and mines around me,
They cut and tear and blow inside me.
This war of one, it sheds my skin.
This war of mine, it lives within.