dumnezeul meu m-a facut din bucati de satana,
mi-a dat si sange rau si rele – o gramada,
si fara bine, fara stele si fara lumina
el m-a lasat, acum cine-i de vina?
cand dumnezeul meu se joaca cu supusa,
mie imi sta pe limba si nespusa
injuratura de podoaba de sihastru
offf, doamne, cerul tau e prea albastru.
si mult prea gri de mult prea multa zare,
mai du-te dracu, tu cu-a ta carare!
tu, cu talentul tau de-a face bine,
in special atunci cand uiti de mine…
Oscar, who’s a good boy?
Who licks my face
and wins the race?
Who eats up all my chocolate
before having the latte,
and who the fuck barks for no reason,
other than it’s the fucking season?
Oh, Oscar, when will you be mine?
It seems like there’s so much time
that has to pass between now and then,
and time and time again
all I can think of is
hairy paws
and smiley jaws,
the crooked teeth of love and
oh, the smell of piss.
I wanna laugh and just be awesome, but when I forget how to do that, I just stare blankly at the reflection in the mirror and drool.
But why do I drool?
Know won noes, Carl. No one knows.
I wanna drive like a maniac, but I don’t wanna maniac like a drive. I just want to speed up, speed down, and wear the crown of a crazy person in dire need of a life.
Dammit, Carl. Why are you being such a prick?
I guess it’s because you have mommy issues, or maybe it’s because your mom has issues with you. You fucked up, Carl, and you are a fuck up. So who the fuck cares?!
OMG, Carl! Grow up already! And stop sucking your thumbs. And stop chewing your mom!
I keep my kings in little boxes,
the littlest of the littlest,
and strangest of foxes,
and every desire I have I hid it in houses
of unsung mystery and of rockets.
I keep my kings in little boxes,
but do you wonder about the causes?
Cause I never do, and all of my closets
are filled with desire and I’m unconscious.
I keep my kings in little boxes,
the littlest of stories, the strangest of axes,
and after they get out they smell like the chocolates
I always forget to eat when the watches…
„I wonder where this disappearing act is from. It started long time ago, when lights went out, when freezing time was on, when only bad stuff could happen. Under the rocks of incredible cold, there was nothing, and under that big pile of nothing, there was me. And I was young, and scared, and now I’m old and scared, and who the fuck cares, right?!
Right!
All those bitches, all those fuckers, they mean nothing. A little more nothing than me, to be honest, but still nothing. Words fall in and out of me, everything cuts like a knife, and this radio is zooming me out.”
Carl’s book was of great misunderstanding. His 16 years meant nothing for all that hate and bitterness, and he couldn’t understand why he had to read this shitty text for school, when girls were in order. Like, girls with pink panties, and thigh-high boots, even if they weren’t allowed. Girls with ponytails and girls that rocked the goth trend with such an ease.
Mostly, girls with boobs.
Carl wasn’t stupid. He knew that most of the girls had boobs, and even some of the boys. He didn’t have a type yet, he usually liked the perky and alive variety, so anything that walked on their own two feet was deemed to be at least acceptable.
Carl, however, was no prince. He wasn’t even a frog. He was short and stout, with yellow, crooked teeth, and ginger hair. He could’ve been the Ron at his school, but there was no Harry cleaning his glasses. As for Hermione, let’s just say she was busy doing someone else.
But Carl wasn’t phased out by this. No, au contraire, my friend. He was just as obnoxious and boring as before, albeit a little bit more smug and, under that mask, a little more scared. Carl was just asking for it, but he didn’t knew it at the moment. Cue evil laughter.
Bogdana n-a fost intotdeauna mare si tare, ba dimpotriva. Cand era tanara, era chiar mica si moale. Bataia de joc a cartierului, cu un tata betiv si o mama curva, cu frati mai mari care stiau deja ca din droguri si fetite poti obtine bani si cu surori mai mari care deja procurau banii aia.
Nu stiu cum s-a facut, ca Bogdana n-a reusit niciodata sa adere la viciile familiei ei. Atata doar ca, urata de ei si respinsa de restul lumii, s-a vazut la marginea cercurilor, in aparenta mari, dar in esenta foarte mici. Si cumva chestia asta a motivat-o pana intr-acolo incat a ajuns cineva smecher.
Cineva-ul asta smecher s-a luptat cu lumea si cu toti, dar intotdeauna cu ea insasi, pentru ca nu avea dusman mai mare sau mai aprig. Furia ei nerecunoscuta cu voce tare, tremurul mainii atunci cand gresea ceva, privirea pierduta in cercuri mari de oameni, hotararea cu care lua decizii – toate s-au nascut si crescut in ea din nimic, ca un caracter proaspat pe o planeta stearpa.
Cand a cunoscut-o Vlad, Bogdana deja era crescuta si inraita. Oamenii o lovisera destul de tare, dar nu atat de tare precum a facut-o ea.
A invatat ca viata e dura, asa ca s-a decis sa-i dea o lectie. Pe gratis – ceea ce, in lumea ei, e o mare realizare.
A calcat pe toate cadavrele disponibile, si cand n-a mai avut cadavre, si-a facut rost de altele proaspete. Barbatii au fost in viata ei multi, si fiecare din ei o oprire necesara. Asta s-a intamplat constant pana cand Bogdana n-a mai avut nevoie de opriri, ci doar de cuceriri. Dupa aceea, barbatii au devenit niste versiuni mai slabe ale barbatilor care au fost opririle ei pana atunci, si pe cei care s-au transformat in cuceriri a stiut sa-i tina la distanta, sa ii modeleze si sa-i captiveze, fara ca vreunul din ei sa realizeze. Fara ca ea sa vrea sa fie ceva mai mult.
nu mai miroase a cafea.
miroase-a căpșuni sălbatice
și-a căldură de zăpada,
a curți pline de praf
și-a fire de iarbă.
și nu miroase a lene,
și nu miroase nici a furtună.
nimic din tot ce-i negru
și mucegăit
nu are loc în viața mea.
totul e soare,
chiar și ploaia grea,
pentru că am găsit pereții ce intră sub umbrela mea.
Poza.
