Decisions

Fear, fear, fear

Whispers in your ear

It’s too hard to hear

“Fear”

Whispered in your ear

Whispers in your head

“Face it!”, “Trace it!”
You would really replace it,

Fool.

Get a grip over yourself

Stop staring emptied at the moon

Look from above

Think outside the box

Be like a steel dove

Breaking all the locks!

Break the locks, the chains, the keys

Break them and be free

Walk ahead without the road

Up above your head

Take every decision

Conscious of the fact

That every addition

To the string of life

Was, in fact, your choice.

“We all make choices, but in the end, our choices make us.”

What does that make you?

Adevarul

“Nici ratiunea singura, nici simturile singure nu pot oferi un adevar sigur. Ratiunea singura o ia razna, simturile singure sunt moarte. Lumea ce adevarata, care ne starneste impresiile, n-o cumoastem. El i-a zis lumii aceleia “lucru in sine”, numen. Numenul, acest miez al lucrurilor, nu-l poate cunoaste nimeni. Cand vrea sa ajunga la noi, el ia forma dictata de simturi si se organizeaza asa cum cere ratiunea noastra. Cand acest numen vrea sa intre in cetatea mintii noastre, el trebuie sa se supuna formalitatilor necesare, sa imbrace un anumit costum, sa pastreze obiceiurile si prescriptiile. Ratiunea nu poate sti nimic din ceea ce e in afara de zidurile cetatii, dar garanteaza pentru ordinea si siguranta celor dinauntru. Prin urmare, si dupa Kant, lumea pe care o vedem e un vis al fiecaruia din noi, dar un vis care se formeaza dupa anumite reguli, nu asa ka intamplare, dupa regulile <<casei>> adica ale sensibilitatii, ale judecatii si ale ratiunii.

Ca un vis al mortii eterne e viata lumii-ntregi”

Padfoot

Buhah, trebuie sa plec spre scoala… sunt in intarziere cu 10 minute, dar sa-ti scriu mi se pare mai important… intrand pe blogul tau -supradoza de cuvinte!!- si citind ultimul post -trebuie sa recunosc- m-au napadit amintirile…

Doamne, cat puteam sa cantam, nici nu mai aveam evoie sa iesim din banca, mai ales intr-a 8-a… mancam pe banca in timp ce voi citeati pentru ora care urma iar eu va desenam ca chibi si trageam cu ohciul in caietele voastre. Aduceam aproape in fiecare zi versuri din cantece noi, sau le scriam chiar noi insine, in timpul orei, in timpul pauzei, cand ne apuca inspiratia. La ora de sport – citeam. Fiecare cu cate ceva special, pe care apoi il imprumuta… si asa s-au citit Lestat, Armand, Interviu cu un Vampir si multe altele, asa s-a studiat partial demonologia si s-au format noi stiluri de scris si de desenat. Asa ne-am schimbat una pe cealalta… a meritat din plin… a fost frumos. Si este, pentru ca, acum, incet incet ne intalnim iar din ce in ce mai des si avem din nou lucruri in comun. Multe. Si noi. Si, cred eu super.

Bine, acum trebuie sa plec. Dar… I shall return!

p.s. Ne trebuie o varianta “updatata” a Shoebox Project. Una potrivita pentru noi de acum.

p.p.s. multumesc pentru inspiratie. Am astazi de sustinut un soi de discurs la franca. Hugs.

p.p.p.s. Asta daca ajung la timp >:P

PIC KUP L INES

… Plain and simple. (ignore the poor resolution. The pic is way too good to matter)

REM

Nota Autorului: Acest text a fost scris cu dedicatie acum aproape 2 ani pentru Emma. L-am pus pe blog ca amintire.

She sits crouched in the corner of a room. She opens her eyes and so it starts, even though the eye lashes cover her brown irises. She stands up and walks forwards, sentenced to move although so many things could bring her down. She does not believe it, but still she goes on, her mind holding secrets no other could decipher.

When have they been printed in her brain?

The tattooed symbols burn her from time to time, but she does not complain, writhing inside a cube, invisible to the world, an inheritance of endurance and pain. As she skims through the library books she finds a small one, a black one and a silver one. She lies down and touches the line. She reads and worlds erupt.

They talk about an end, they talk about life and the hiding behind power and of sacrificing one’s self for the ones she cares about. She holds pillars to temples she does not know, she sits on a rock above molten rocks and bodies and souls in flames.

In her room there is a screen. From somewhere behind her the images are projected on the translucid fabric she does not need to see. A story about promiscuous empires she had lived in, about decadence and implosion. She does not believe there could be something behind the gigantic screen. Sometimes she breaks it and then, in the moment before fright she builds it back, placing each and every piece in place with her shivering hands. She sometimes cuts herself with the shards… but every time, every single time she fails to see the mirror behind the silver frame of the screen.

She starts to run. And so she runs through impressions and deceived hearts ignoring the spikes beneath her feet. She runs to the arms held open for ages. Her eyes are always open. Still she sees more than she thinks possible. And if she tries to blink, she falls through the covers of her bed.

Cold whispers wait for her on the road but she sees the stars above from time to time. They make her feel safe and so she carries on.

Searching for the way home.

Nightwatcher

_Poezie scrisa in ora de engleza cu scopul de a scapa de razbunarea profesoarei_

Sometimes I wonder if you ever feel

All the things I whisper slowly in your ear

At night when you’re asleep, at night

When nothing’s

Real.

A song’s dry trace lingers on your brow

From last night’s slumber clinging to your face

Oh, sometimes I wonder if you ever see

How hard and painful it must be

To wipe away that trace .

When music binds your dreams

And you melt intro my arms

In sleep, in gentle floating,

In those moments it seems

That I’m the only guardian

Lonely and awake

Protecting your utopia

For you my hand to take.

It’s never easy I must say,

Let alone a leisure

But it’s my favorite way to spend the night

Which brings me pleasure.

Forever letting you be strong

And fill yourself with life

As the next day you come along

And take away my pride.

And love me.

colivia

“Cateodata esti ca o pasare intr-o colivie de matase. Atat de mica, incat ti-a devenit haina, prinsa de tine, lasandu-ti doar cateva pene sa iasa putin prin tesatura de care toti se minuneaza, orbiti de lumina, dar vai, cum napadeste tristetea sufletele lor cand, apropiindu-se, vad cat esti de strivit de firele argintii. Cateodata ma intreb daca nu ti-e greu cu vesmintele tale alese. Esti bogat pe dinafara, puternic, taios ca o sabie. Noaptea, atingerea rece a muchiei de metal ma face sa tresar, sa intru si sa ma ghemuiesc in interiorul incandescent. Incandescent, aproape fluid, pentru ca asa te vad pe dinauntru. Ma arzi, ma faci sa ma transform intr-un pumnal, intr-o bijuterie, in materia topita care se prelinge pe lama dura. Te imbrac cu cuvintele pe care le am scrise sub piele, cu cantecul din vene si cu picturile din spatele ochilor mei. Iti acopar tot corpul. Tu razi.

Oftez.Un fir se intinde usor peste buzele mele cosandu-le una de alta. Privesc aripile pe care le tii stranse sub matase, sublime, nevazute de multi. Tu simti si imi aduci privirea catre propriile-mi aripi. Cateodata suntem ca doua pasari in colivii de matase. Cu pene de otel, ascutite, stranse inte sfori pe care le taie incet, incet pana cand ele se rup. In curand, funiile vor cadea. In curand, voi putea sa-ti vad soarele interior iesind la suprafata. Ziua, atingerea fierbinte a metalului trecut prin foc ma face sa ma transform si sa te cuprind. Iti asezi mainile pe gatul meu, cu degetele mari apasand abia perceptibil sub tamplele mele si apropiindu-te. Zambim.”