I was raised up believing I was somehow unique
Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see
And now after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be
A functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me

But I don't, I don't know what that will be
I'll get back to you someday soon you will see

What's my name, what's my station, oh, just tell me what I should do
I don't need to be kind to the armies of night that would do such injustice to you
Or bow down and be grateful and say "sure, take all that you see"
To the men who move only in dimly-lit halls and determine my future for me

And I don't, I don't know who to believe
I'll get back to you someday soon you will see

If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see
Of the world outside is so inconceivable often I barely can speak
Yeah I'm tongue-tied and dizzy and I can't keep it to myself
What good is it to sing helplessness blues, why should I wait for anyone else?

And I know, I know you will keep me on the shelf
I'll come back to you someday soon myself

kiss me hard before you go...summertime sadness...

And I looked up to the sky once more praying it would save me. I was alone again, speaking to my own God, telling him his baby girl is sad, her little heart broken,,,asking him to mend it again. And then I knew, it was all child's play, and promises in vain, words thrown without meaning or purpose, I was alone. God, I was alone! And the illusion ended..and it became clear...and I could see again...I was always alone.

Baby you need to leave and I know you know that why you keep ignoring me because if you don't gonna run me down let myself go...

I'm a baaad woman

-What am I coming back to?!
-I don't know, Ana...
-...At leas I can get some cheap dental work done...
-...
-I'm not even joking, my teeth are so bad, I might die because of my cavities before lung cancer has a chance to get me.
-Well good thing you're coming back!
-.....Will you stay with me?
-I have mid terms.
-Big commitments!
-You should know. You still going to Uni?
-Surprisingly, yes.
-Hmmm...good for you. How does mediocrity feel?
-Would't know.
-Well...that makes two of us then....
-Anyway. How's the colonel?! Excited about his baby girl coming back?!
-Happy you're back so you can vote.
-...I ain't even gonna ask.
-C'mon. That's the least you can do for dear old daddy.
-...I guess...
-So heard you got a man.
-Guess I did.
-Must feel good being looked after.
-Wouldn't know....
-Oh so he's not rich! Does he at least have a
-This may come as a surprise to you brother dearest, but no.
-....Ana, are you ok?!...
-I'll let you know first thing.
-Maybe we can do a checkup when you get here. Gotta go, but I'll be picking you up from the airport so see you in a few days.
-See you in a few days.
-Oh and Ana...
-Yes?
-Bring us some rolling tobacco will you?!
-...Ok.

-Where am I supposed to start looking for it?
-Don't worry about that. You don't need to look for it.
-You mean it will find me?!
-Yes.
-and how will I know that it's it?!
-You just will.

It's very cold outside today, one of those days when you think about making love and you end up wrtting political essays.
One of those cloudy days when you feel the world is swallowing you slowly and you can only think about kissing lips and warm embraces but you end up referencing journals.
One of those days that you wouldn't think you're gonna end up crying of happiness with a smile plastered on your face.

All I wanted was to sing the saddest song  
And if would sing along 
Oh if you would sing along 
If you'd only sing along I will be happier

little story

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, a wide, almost never ending cold land where horses plow the fields, vodka runs from the sink taps instead of water and gipsies travel in caravans and build palaces from stolen gold and benefits received for not taxing any stolen source of income, lived a little bitchy princess called Countess Veronica. Countess Veronica had everything a little bitch could possibly want: a mighty fine permanently kissed ass, elitist friends and mentors, sex with yoga instructors, 70 p coffee bearing her own name in prestigious and elitist coffee shops and all the maids and babysitters and servants a princess could need or dream about. But Countess Veronica was never truly happy. Many blamed it on the fact that she was always a spoiled little brat, some said she was a becoming strong independent bitch just like her mother.
  Some said the witches cursed her at her birth to forever have a mental illness( sugarcoat for being fucked up) and that was the cause of her unhappiness, some said her father the famous, feared, bear-bellied Colonel was the source of her unhappiness, some said she was half goddess, but being only half goddess she was forever banned from the land of the gods and cursed to live amongst the mortals, where she would never feel truly at home.
Be it as it may, the countess was used to having everything and filling the emptiness of her existence with alcohol,high dosages of medically prescribed magical herbs and blowing golden money that she wasn't making or deserving. like any child of the gods, she was blessed with a bohemian figure, and the power to bullshit any mortal alive or dead. she was nonetheless what they would call-AN ARTIST. so the countess was even more so getting her way in the world, but she was still unhappy.
somehow she needed to fill an emptiness,some even believed it was a curse her believed father, the colonel, placed upon her since the day she was born. so she filled that space with a magical potion called adrenaline that she required from the evilest of witches: potions, motorised contraptions that could climb mountains and bumpy hills, long ropes swinging off bridges and all sorts of magical witchcraft . being as it is, adrenaline makes things escalat quickly so the little countess veronica found herself being climbed up a tall horse and sent away from the land of cheap construction, vodka and prostitutes posing as russian brides on dodgy websites. before she left, her servants and maids and babysitters who all loved her ass for being mighty fine and lovable told her that she would no longer be rich or bohemian or even a countess! she wouldn't even be Veronica anymore!
and so little countess veronica became Ana. Ana traveled for miles and miles and 3 whole hours it took her to get to the promised Westlands....the Westlands were like nothing the countess ever encountered, water ran from the taps, people actually queued up in actual lines to purchase what they wanted, no one spat on the streets, people drank to get drunk, prostitutes were hidden were you least expected and none were on display on the highway and the only gipsies you could find were called Indians in the Westlands. even more striking to Ana was that no one ever heard of the spirit and the mind, of feeding and heeling them. Rich, promising and hypocritical, the Westlanders build there economical supremacy on being idiots. they didn't read, they were uncultured, they lacked even the most basic skills and they believed they could die if they eat non-organic, not fair-trade chicken.
they made fools of themselves and blamed it all on the 'magical ' powers of alcohol-which are obviously far too well known to the eatlanders. they lied to others and themselves to save appearance and never even heard of Vivaldi. But the strangest thing about the westlanders was that they said sorry if you stepped on their toes! and that was supposed to a sign for you to say sorry back.....
 Ana didn't really understand the westlanders...but she was brought up not to walk naked through other's people's houses even she was brought up to do so in her own so the half-goddess learned to tolerate the westlanders, with eastlander aristocratic supremacy and a bad taste of disgust in her mouth, like the one you get after throwing up.

black sheep

I got lots of jealous lovers that all wish they had me back
Got a pistol for a mouth, my old mama gave me that
Making my own road out of gravel and some wine
And if I have to fall then it won't be in your line


I wasn't born a beauty queen but I'm okay with that
Maybe radio won't mind if I sing a little flat
I wear my boots to bed, hang a cross up on the wall
To save me from a shallow grave that wants to take us all

I'm a bad woman to keep
Make me mad, I'm not here to please
Paint me in a corner but my colour comes back
Once you go black, you never go back

Baby, you're my serendipity!

Si crede-ma , Ana ca vine un moment in viata oricarui om in care trebuie sa alegi inre a-ti sacrifica fericirea pentru orgoliu sau a-ti sacrifica orgoliul pentru a fi fericit. Si cel mai important lucru e sa decizi astfel incat sa  devii o rumegatoare: sa regurgitezi decizia asta la nesfarsit si sa te poti hrani inca cu ea mult dupa ce ai luat-o.

but I don't, I don't know what that would be...

In each individual the spirit is made flesh, in each one the whole of creation suffers, in each one a Savior is crucified.
Hermann Hesse

I feel the pieces slowly falling into place again and my life being once more traced out from outside of me, from perfect balance and equilibrium with which I will not and I cannot interfere.
I feel once more than I am being taken care of and looked after , Zeus' spoiled brat!

5 pearls os Scottis Wisdom

1. Money cannot buy happiness but…somehow, it’s more comfortable to cry in a Mercedes Benz than it is on a bicycle.
2. Forgive your enemy, but remember the bastard’s name.
3. Help a man when he is in trouble and he will remember you when he is in trouble again.
4. Many people are alive only because it is illegal to shoot them.
5. Alcohol does not solve any problem, but then neither does milk.

'Feel some inspiration. C'mon! You can do it! Feel some inspiration!'.
But the motherfucker was nowhere to be seen. So I lid another cigarette and I tilted my head backwards against the couch, just starring at the ceiling. I had many things I should have attended to, but I really didn't feel like facing reality. 'Doesn't matter!' I thought to myself, 'I'll soon face the aftermath of avoiding reality anyway'. Funny how you can't really avoid that bit.
'C'mon. A bit of luck! A bit of inspiration!'
And so I waited. I rolled myself another cigarette. I learned how to roll in the meanwhile, the proper way, not folding against the kitchen table. I lid my second cigarette and put on some Bob Dylan. A few seconds into 'The times they are a' changing' I thought to myself 'Why Bob Dylan?! Why now?!' and I let myself dreamily float away into my fresh memories. I had nothing better to after all.
And so I recalled soft touches on my skin and firm grasps of arms wrapping around me, dancing tongues, endorphins and entwined bodies. I closed my eyes and pictured it, but only for a moment 'cause the phone rang.
-You do call in the weirdest of times, you know?!
-I figured one AM would be a bit late even for you.
-Yeah... I guess.
-How are you?
'Shitting bricks, in love, afraid, homeless, alone but not so lonely anymore, damaged, worried, out of faith, full of hope.' That's probably what I should have said, instead the words that came out of my mouth were:
-I'm alright.
-Are you coming back this September?
-No.
-Are you coming back at all?!
-I'm thinking Christmas. But I'll need you to buy me the ticket for that. Anyway, we'll talk about it some other time, I still have other things to solve in the meanwhile.
-...Ok. Well I'm going home on Saturday.
-Nice. Send your sister my regards and never ending respect. Send my brother...my love.
And there it was I broke a chord inside me once more. I left him alone once more, I disspointed him and let him down. I damaged hm a bit more and made him hate life and its putrid loneliness and cold despair even more. I left my brother alone again. I had to get rid of that thought and fast.
-Will you get him a book for me?
-..Yeah. what book?
-The third volume of IQ84. Please.
-Don't worry about it.
-What have you been up to?
-Nothing much. I killed a lab rat in an experiment-chopped his head off, but at least I made some progress on that, more in 4 days than the head of the experiment in 3 weeks. So I'm not that worried.
-Sounds good. Any plans for home?
-I was talking to my sister about some business plans actually. Nothing fancy, but family runned- with my dad of course.
-Sounds pretty life-shifting to me. Sounds good.
-Yeah I guess. She didn't really like her last job either so she came up with the idea.
-Well..good luck I guess.
-Thanks!Well ...I guess I'll maybe call you from the airport.
-That sounds nice.
-You know, ...I've been thinking about family a lot more since I left.
-Of course!
-No really I might have a child of my own one day.
-I'm pretty sure you will.
-And it's gonna be joyful. I don't want him leaving me for good.
-Who does?!
-...Well..Ok then. I'll call you from the airport maybe.
-That would be nice. Have a good one.
And I hung up. No words were uttered. 

I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map
  And knew that somehow I could find my way back 
 Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too 
 So I stayed in the darkness with you

Can I catch your eye, sir
Can I be what you like, yeah
I could be the right girl
Tell me if you like your lady in my-my color
Can I be your type, yeah
I could set you right, whoa
How are you tonight, sir
I'm living my life, ooh
Hope you feel alright, yeah!

Baby you need to leave
'cause I'm getting drunk on your noble deeds
It doesn't matter that they don't get done
When I feel this cold they're like the fucking sun.

The Rat’s First Letter

            (Postmarked December 21st, One Year Ago)

            So how’s everything?

            Seems like an awful long time since I saw you last. How many years is it now? What year was it?

            I think I’ve gradually lost my sense of time. It’s like there’s this impossible flat blackbird flapping about over my head and I can’t count above three. You’ll have to excuse me, but why don’t you do the counting?

            I skipped town without telling anybody and maybe you had your share of troubles because of it. Or maybe you were upset at me for leaving without a word to you. You know, I meant to set things straight with you any number of times, but I just couldn’t. I wrote a lot of letters and tore them all up. It should’ve been obvious, but there was no way I could explain to others what I couldn’t even explain to myself.

            I guess.

            I’ve never been good at writing letters. Everything comes out backwards. I use exactly the wrong words. If that isn’t bad enough, writing letters makes me more confused. And because I have no sense of humor, I get all discouraged with myself.

            Generally, people who are good at writing letters have no need to write letters. They’ve got plenty of life to lead inside their own context. This, of course, is only my opinion. Maybe it’s impossible to live out a life in context.

            It’s terribly cold now and my hands are numb. It’s like they aren’t my own hands. My brains, they aren’t like my own brains either. Right now it’s snowing. Snow like flakes of someone else’s brains. And it’ll pile up deeper and deeper like someone else’s brains too. (What is this bullshit all about anyway?)

            Other than the cold, though, I’m doing fine. How about you? I won’t tell you my address, but don’t take it personally. It’s not like I’m trying to hide anything from you. I want you to know that. This is, you see, a delicate question for me. It’s just this feeling I’ve got that, if I told you my address, in that instant something inside me would change. I can’t put it very well.

            It seems to me, though, that you always understand very well what I can’t say very well. Trouble is I end up being even worse at saying things well. It’s got to be an inborn fault.

            Naturally everyone’s got faults.

            My biggest fault is that the faults I was born with grow bigger each year. It’s like I was raising chickens inside me. The chickens lay eggs and the eggs hatch into other chickens, which then lay eggs. Is this any way to live a life? What with all these faults I’ve got going, I have to wonder. Sure, I get by. But in the end, that’s not the question, is it?

            In any case, I’ve decided I’m not giving you my address. I’m sure things’ll be better that way. For me and for you.

            Probably we’d have been better off born in nineteenth-century Russia. I’d have been Prince So-and-so and you Count Such-and-such. We’d go hunting together, fight, be rivals in love, have our metaphysical complaints, drink beer watching the sunset from the shores of the Black Sea. In our later years, the two of us would be implicated in the Something-or-other Rebellion and exiled to Siberia, where we’d die. Brilliant, don’t you think? Me, if I’d been born in the nineteenth century, I’m sure I could have written better novels. Maybe not your Dostoyevsky, but a known second-rate novelist. And what would you have been doing? Maybe you’d only have been Count Such-and-such straight through. That wouldn’t be so bad, just being Count Such-and-such. That’d be nice and nineteenth century.

            But well, enough of this. To return to the twentieth century.

            Let me tell you about the towns I’ve seen.

            Not the town where I was born, but different other towns.

            There really are a lot of different other towns in the world. Each with its own specific features, incomprehensible things that attract me. Which is why I’ve passed through my share of towns these past few years.

            Wherever I end up, I just get off at, and there’s a small rotary where a map of the town is posted and a street of shops. That much is the same everywhere. Even the dogs look the same. First thing I do is a quick once-around the place before heading to a real estate agent to see about cheap room and board. Sure I’m an outsider and nobody in a small town will trust me right off, but as you know I can be decent enough if I put half a mind to it. Give me fifteen minutes, and I can generally get on good terms with most people. That much accomplished, I’ve found out where I can fit in and all sorts of information about the town.

            Next, I look for work. This also begins with getting on good terms with a lot of different people. I’m sure this’d be a comedown for someone like you (and believe me, I’ve seen enough comedowns to last me) because you know you’re only going to stick around for four months anyway. But there’s nothing hard about getting on good terms with people. You find the local watering hole where all the kids hang out (every town has one—it’s like the town navel), you become a regular customer, meet people, get an introduction for some work. Of course, you come up with some likely name and life story. So that by now I’ve got a string of names and identities like you wouldn’t believe. At times I forget what I was like originally.

            In the work department, I’ve done all kinds of jobs. Most have been boring, but still I enjoy the work. Most often it’s been at a gasoline station. Next is tending some rinky-dink bar. I’ve minded shop at bookstores, even worked at a radio station. I’ve hired out as a day laborer. Been a cosmetics salesman. I had quite a reputation as a salesman, let me tell you. And I’ve slept with my share of women. Sleeping with women each time with a different name and identity isn’t half bad.

            You get the picture, in all its variations.

            So now I’m twenty-nine, turning thirty in another nine months.

            I still don’t know whether I’m cut out for this kind of life or not. I don’t know if there’s something universal about wanting to be a drifter. But as somebody once wrote somewhere, you need one of three things for a long life of wandering—a religious temperament, or an artistic temperament, or a psychic temperament. If you have one but only on the short side, an extended drifter’s existence is out of the question. In my case, I can’t see myself with any of them. In a pinch, I might say … no, better not.

            Otherwise, I might end up opening the wrong door some day, only to find I can’t back out. Whatever, if the door’s been opened, I better make a go of it. I mean I can’t keep buying my kicks for the rest of my life, can I?

            That’s about the size of it.

            Like I said at the beginning (or did I?), when I think of you, I get a little uneasy. Because you remind me of when I was a comparatively regular guy.

            Your friend,
The Rat

            P.S.: I enclose a novel I wrote. It doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, so do whatever you want with it. I’m sending this special delivery to make sure it reaches you by December 24. Hope it gets there on time.

            Anyway, Happy Birthday.

            And by the way, Merry Christmas.

N-am mai scris pe limba mea de ceva vreme , dar noroc cu Irina ca mi-a amintit de unde vin si probabil unde o sa ma intorc- asa ca postare tip jurnal.

Vorbeam cu 'baietii' despre viata de liceu. Intr-o lume in care chiulitul e o infractiune, se studiaza maxim 5 materii pe an si fiecare e cu pizda masii e destul de greu sa explici conceptul de diriginte. e incredibil de greu sa te faci crezut in momentul in care povestesti despre cum te duceai la sus-mentionatul si spuneai: dirigu, e ora 12 am plecat la o cafea!
Nu are niciun sens conceptul de profesor care te iubeste suficient incat sa-ti cumpere cafea si sa-ti ierte greseli. Nici macar iesitul la tabla nu are sens intr-o lume in care notele si progresul intelectual sunt absolut confidentiale.
Asa ca 'baietii mei' ma priveau perplecsi in timp ce incercam sa-mi amintesc cum am chiulit atunci de la fizica in Ilusion la cafea, cum m-a sunat el Nea Nelu si mi-a spus ca el nu ajunge la ora si ca sefa clasei sa am grija sa nu iasa nimeni la bataie cu zapada. 'Da Nenea Nelu!' e dureros de intraductibil. in aceeasi masura e dureros de greu sa explici ca ai primit telefoane ora aia de la colegii tai care erau in clasa, ca totul a fost o farsa de-a profesorului tau de fizica si ca te-ai ales cu un 3. Nici daca explici ca e din 10 si ca iti trebuie macar 5 ca sa treci nu are nicio relevanta nota 3. Inspectoarea de fizica pe judet-iarasi nu spune nimanui nimic intr-o limba straina, asa ca nu prea are importanta ca doua saptamani mai incolo ai fost prezentata sus-numitei de catre acelasi intraductibil Nea Nelu drept 'cea mai buna eleva a mea...dar e o lepra'.
Cum sa explici ca ieseai la beri cu profesorii, ca dupa ce ai terminat cei mai frumosi 4 ani din viata ta ati jucat fotbal si ati organizat meciuri ca fiind a doispea ati organizat si un bal al bobocilor si ca acolo, unicii 2 baieti din clasa s-au travestit pe Single Ladies.
Intr-o lume in care a fi dat afara de la ora e o tragedie, nu poti sa explici cand i-ai spus profei de franceza ca daca nu te lasa sa-ti bei cafeaua la ora 8 dimineata n-are decat sa-ti puna absenta si tu te duci linistita si o bei in Illusion, peste drum , in fum de tigare.
Cum sa explici ca profu' se sport te-a trecut pentru o vadra de tuica?! Sau ca jucai bridge in loc sa programezi in c++?! Ce dracu e ala bac?! Ce insemana 3.75 cu 3 din oficiu la o lucrare la mate?! Nici macar'ba' nu se poate traduce?! Cum poti sa descrii ca proful tau de chimie era omul pe care-l iubeai si-l respectai ca pe un parinte?! omul care iti dadea cafea, se facea ca nu vede si oprea un intreg autocar pe Valea Oltului ca sa fumezi tu o tigare?!
Si multe zambete in lumea asta sunt dureros de intraductibile ...si multe amintiri as vrea sa le fi pastrat mai bine, mai intacte, mai vii.
M-am oprit la un moment dat incercand sa-mi dau seama ce s-a intamplat cu poza aia facuta intr-o fosta sala de sport cu o tigare aprinsa, un picior de masa de tenis rupt si o trupa de teatru.

-Domsoara' Bunaiasu! pana si asta e dureros de intraductibil.......

***multumiri speciale don'soarei Ana Irina :))

I guess being religious on Wednesdays pays off!

Guess who's got a pregnancy test scheduled in 3 weeks due to very bad medical history  and not wanting to pay 30 pounds for something that was most probably useless and only costed me a track down of my medical history and a scheduled pregnancy test?! Overall, I decided to get my revenge for all that and made Nurse Debbie give me pills for lots and lots and stuff I don't really suffer from  .
Nurse Debbie also decided the sensible thing to do when an eastern European comes in asking for a morning after pill is to force prescribe 3 MONTHS WORTH of anticonceptionals . I couldn't say no to that! you know how susceptible I am towards someone who's only doing the sensible thing!
Nurse Debbie  also asked some of the most uncomfortable and private questions that literally to me are of no medical relevance, but that is not the point. I didn't know what to tell her. I was either too tired, either I was so out of it I just lost my ability to shortly bullshit my way out of these things, I was thinking I'm hearing the voice of my own subconscious- I don't know- but I found myself thinking of what she just asked me and not knowing what the fuck to say . Nurse Debbie bless her! assumed I was trying to bullshit her instead of just saying I got drunk and shagged a guy who's name I can't remember - only sensible to give me 3 MONTHS WORTH of pills! truth is, I really didn't know what to answer her and all that hesitation and actual thinking made it a hilarious scene  . Debbie must have loved it!
The pharmacist was very nice - probably a pedo himself - told me in the most natural way : I probably shouldn't tell you this AND LET YOU PAY THE PRICE OF YOUR MISTAKE but you can get this for free!
My jaw dropped! I wanted to add he was gay as fuck and taking it up the ass is most likely the only reason he's so high and mighty, but I knew he was about to point me to the NEAREST medical centre so I let him finish and said thank you. judged by a fag- who would have thought?!
overall- a funny experience I'm not looking forward to living anytime soon. at least till the pregnancy test I'm surely gonna attend just to set Debbie at ease.

“Sometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.” - Jerry Seinfeld

“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.”

Mark Twain

“Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.”

Brian Gerald O’Driscoll

se cheama licenta poetica

De-as fi salcie pa mal
M-as pisa in rau vietii....

And then it hit me I knew this was bound to be the beginning if the end of my life, or at least my life as I knew it. The moment I realised I wish I was someone else.
I found myself crying out on a bench in front of the It Service building, starring at the Asian kids in front of me. I never knew Korean from Chinese or Japanese. Somehow I'm not ashamed to say it. I care not for political correctness. Even if I'm in England now.
And there I was, eyes in tears wishing I was one of them. I didn't even knew what they were but my God in that second I would have given anything to be one of them.
Not even someone in particular, not a name, not a face, not even a gender, I had them in front of me so in my racist, small and unfitted Eastern European mind I wanted to be one of them. Anyone but myself. Anything but myself.
I got up thinking 'the fuck with all this!'. As expected, that didn't help. I walked two feet away and rolled a fag, eyes still in tears, still wishing I was someone else. Anyone else, anything else. I wanted to call my mother and tell her everything. Everything? No, not everything.
'Who the fuck am I?!'
I started walking around aimlessly, thinking about the storm inside of me, the pain in my chest and the blood. All the blood.
And I was trying to figure out who I was and what I should do and I tried to remember I had faith and I tried to remember all the wise words but it was all a blank.
Who the fuck was I?!

me again

• • I thought I did that already........I don't really know how to make it even simpler than that.
    I'll read through it again...but I think the best things to do is for you to tell me what are you confused about?
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  • I read through and it all seems pretty clear to me. But maybe this bit made your heart stop :
    
    I can keep my distance, although it's hard - kinda like quiting smoking :L . and we don't have to have a connection :L the river doesn't really need to find the sea if you want to put it that way. it'll just bent and go towards some new sea.
    
    This shall be then my attempt to clarify:
    1) Firstly it has nothing to do with sexual intercourse or the much hated, much stupidly drained of any meaning R word (Relationship)
    2) Secondly, this has nothing to do with me wanting or even implying I want the above mentioned things
    3)thirdly, now that you've probably calmed down I shall focus more on what I mean by connection. Remember I told you all those things about how 'the key to the bloody universe' is opening up and all that crap. to be fair, in many ways that crap applies to this world in ways that are beyond my power to explain. But that's not the point. When you open up, you don't just receive, you also give, hence you connect. that's just it. you're drawn into a web of connections that's existance at it's very core. and I shall stop there before going any further
• • 4)I am listening to Dancing Queen- can't believe Jordan has it! His mum likes Abba as well.
    5)Fifthly, to try and make it simpler. you meet people everyday. LETS JUST SAY FOR THE SAKE OF IT THEY ARE ALL EQUALLY COMPLEX :L but for some reasons, whatever these reasons might be, you are only drawn to some of them. in a sense that you can only get along with some of them. this whole bondage that you establish can be of very different natures and in the same time of very different depths. So far I've only described people interacting so problem there I HOPE
    6)My God I'm back to my childhood!
    7)Now. the way we bond and interact, to some extent, depends on every individual. you have many kinds of people in the world! and many kinds of interactions and modalities that are specific to each kind and so on. it 's hard to believe but it creates a pattern at some point and you realise people are really like sheep, the vast majority of them anyway, and they're obvious and predictable once you're good at these kinda things.
• 
  

  • From now on we shall, for the sake of conversation, concentrate on two rare types of people: my kind and your kind and switch the song to 'All is said and done'.
    ***bear in mind, you said I'm hopeless when it comes to music so from here forth I shall listen to whatever junk I please and let the prophets of music culture crucify me between the likes of Polish Disco and dancehall
    
    As I was saying, for the sake of this conversation, we shall pick me and you as two representative examples of our own category. We both belong to pretty rare categories, nonetheless we are not alone.
    I guess you know us well enough - me at least- to kinda sum up how differently we interact and how striking we are in terms of what makes us who we are.
    But that doesn't really stop my kind in particular to want to connect with your kind. It' been like that ever since the world was made I think. there's even a Buddhist story I very much liked about it.
    it's strange, it doesn't have to be rule of course, but it applies to this specific case so that's why I even said it. lets just say Fins are amongst Anas' favourites , for reasons that needn't be mentioned or went into ( see 1 and 2). We just bond with your people despite the fact that it's very difficult for us.
• • My kind was always a fan of strong connections, deep ones, true ones, very open ones. It just has and I am as well. I don't do superficial, at least not for long, I have connections, I know a lot of people, I go through them to even more people, but I have very few friends. and once my friend, you're always my friend otherwise you're a name of the long list of people I've met along my way. that's how it goes. and that's how it's going to go. pretty much we're fine -anyone we meet can become a friend, anyone we meet can be just a name, things can also change, to us and to me in particular it's all the same it doesn't really matter.
    But when people like me meet people like you, it begins to matter in a sense that we begin to care what you are to us. we want you to be friends not just names...it's really strange and it doesn't make any sense ... foe reasons again that I won't go into. Of course it doesn't have to happen, frankly, it rarely does but that's not the point. the point is we wish and we want it to happen.
• • so, we don't have to be friends is what I'm saying. if you don't want to, if my way of trying to impose things and a rhythm to all this, and move things in a certain direction aren't what you want or just simply get on your nerves it's ok. you don't have to
• • and I can tone it down, although it's hard BECAUSE i AM IMPATIENT . that's what I meant.
    None of this had to lead to anything.... I told you once that I have a theory about when people like you and me meet they either grow through each other they either kill each other :L on a larger, more metaphorical scale, I wasn't joking. I WAS WRONG though. it's both. it always leads somewhere, it's not just killing time. it's a deeper kind of bondage, a deeper kinda connection, a something different from you ordinary, everyday social interaction.
• • I don't know how to explain this any further.....if it's still a mess and makes no sense, just drop it. I don't think I can be any more ( and in the same time less ) clear.

him

• • Pretty stoned right now
    
    
• • Now Ana, you remember I overthink things here, so break it down, nice and easy for me, to avoid ANY confusion...

me

• • for the first time in God knows how long I took some time off to think hings through. I remembered why I don't do it...it don't work :L.
    I thought about a lot of things, and realised I could say a fuck tone of shit.that sudden realisation, as it usually happens in my case, brings out an incredible urge to actually go ahead and say it. I swear it is an inhumane urge to speak out, somewhat like trying not have an erection in front of a naked stripper. Bu thank God it usually happens at 3 in the morning and I can manage to somehow convince myself to at least wait til the next morning -Story of my life-
• • what usually happens then is I realise once more I lack patience. You couldn't believe all the trouble lack of patience can cause.Really! I think it is one of the worst bad habits a human being can have. Just looking back on my life I can easily come up with a huge list of lets just say- unfortunate things that lack of patience causes or brings or at least leads you to. And it's never just lack of patience all alone in itself. it always comes with things like short temper, anxiousness, sharpness, fidgeting and many other things that essentially are a pointless waste of time. And really never materialise into anything good either.
• • But bottom line is I lack it. technically, I've been diagnosed with a lot of, more or less severe, mental illnesses in my life. I think my real 'problem' is lack of patience but it's mine.
    So what I'm getting at is : I'm sorry I've said what I've said. I'm generally hurt when people put up barriers and walls in front of me or when they block me out. I'm not saying there are a lot of people like you in the world, but I've met my fair share . That's my fault as well because I'm drawn to your kind like a river to the sea :L it sounds cheesy but it's really the best way to put it. Why this magnetic attraction your kind has on me- that's another story. It just does. And your kind is the one with the walls and all the blocking out and all the general isolation that comes with your nature. So I'm literally saying it's not your fault, it's mine.
    Why such things are important to me...I don't think you'll understand. Not many people do. And by that I probably mean about 3 ...but anyway!
• • I lack patience so I'm always gonna try and enforce my own rhythm. And I know it don't work. and I'm gonna want you to open up to me much sooner than later because I'm impatient. I'm gonna want you to say 'I love you' then and there, not two arguments and a made up revelation later...I know it's wrong, especially with people like you, but I'm impatient and that's my fault.
    Things is you don't have to open up to me. and yeah that kills me because I want you to , but I guess it takes two to tango. I can keep my distance, although it's hard - kinda like quitting smoking :L . and we don't have to have a connection :L the river doesn't really need to find the sea if you want to put it that way. it'll just bent and go towards some new sea.
     I didn't think this over, thinking doesn't really work for me. it just gets me confused....and maybe I should have. But I figured saying it like it is can't hurt all that much. have a good one
    don't leave me hanging here :L even a one liner would do...just say something :L

13 the girls

As I put the phone down I realise I had no chance of going back to my reading. It's like trying to go back to sleep after someone woke you up giving you bad news.
As usual in the past three days, Veronica was there.
-So now you can't even talk to your own brother?!
-Oh please don't start!
-He's the only family we've got left!
-Will you please just shut up! Shut up for a goddamn second and stop making such a fucking drama out of everything?!
And she remained quiet for a while, pouting, fidgeting, uncomfortably lighting up a cigarette and loudly puffing out the smoke.
I put my knees to my chest and lid up a fag as I glanced outside into the pale white sunlight.
-It's not that we can't talk to him anymore. Just not now. I'm not ready to talk to him now.
-But you hesitated.
- No. You hesitated! That doesn't mean shit! ...Now please lets just stop talking about it.
-You want to talk about something less painful?
-I guess.
-But it's gonna be more uncomfortable.
-No shit?! Did you ever just take a break Ver?! Not think about all this crap?! Just let your mind wonder off?!
-Clearly you're not a writer.
-Clearly I'm not.
That's just about the time Sofia showed up. Without a noise, just like the ghost of her own phantomatic presence. As usual she gave Veronica a stern look. As usual, Veronica smirked with half her mouth, killed her fag in the ashtray, and got up with a pout fucking off God knows where. Probably on the shore.
-Sorry she's giving you a hard time, said Sophia while sitting down on the king chair with a proper posture and a proper position. She's just as hurt as you are you know.
-Sophia, why are you back?
-Believe it or not, you summoned us.
-How? Why even?!
-To answer your first question, I don't know. And as for your second, you're the only one that can answer that.
-I figured it has to be something like that.
We sat there in silence for a while. Sofia smoked as well. But in a lot more elegant manner. She blows the smoke out quietly, holds her cigarettes with a light grip, never puffs and takes her time to exhale the smoke almost like she's making sure she's not blowing it up in anyone's face. If it weren't for the smell and the click of her silver pencil lighter you wouldn't even know she's smoking.
-Mum gave us that didn't she?!
-Back in the days when Ana still thought she could lie about it, yes.
-Whatever happened to the gold one?
-Margaret has that one. Veronica wanted it obviously, but I managed to talk her out of it.
-She couldn't keep a lighter to save her life.
-My point exactly. You know, despite her being difficult, it's not that hard to reason with her if you know how to approach the matter.
-I guess. People loved her after all.
-I think they were fond of her most.
-She can drive you crazy though. Actually she does that most of the time.
-It's part of the reason why people love her.
-I guess.
And we stood there in silence for another long while.
-I haven't seen Margaret, I say.
-Well you know her, she doesn't really come out often. I wouldn't worry about it.
-Is it not the time yet?
-Only you know that. 
-Soph!
-You mind is a storm right now. You wander off, but the storm cathces up with you. Better put, the storm's everywhere. You just have to wait for it to pass.
-Didn't we learn to inforce the silence?!
-That was a really long time ago. And those were more tricks rather than methods, but I don't really need to be telling you all this.
 I hesitated a bit before answering that.
- I know.

12 lunch by the AIDS memorial

-Do you feel like talking now?
    I hesitated before I gave him an answer.
-No....I'm not quite ready yet.
-Alright.
-How are you doing?
-Nothing much. Laying in the bath tub, drinking beer and eating crackers. The usual July Sunday afternoon...not that I really expect you to remember how 36 degrees feels like.
-To be honest, it's about 20 now and this is one of the hot days.
-I forgot how the wind feels like.
-...Are we really going to talk about the weather?
-We can talk about your day if you don't like the topic of weather. Although I thought it was a British fashion.
-My day?
-Yeah. You know like those conversations where you make a list of the actions that occurred between the moment you woke up and the present moment adding things that you consider to be relevant. Of course for my sake you can even leave out the things that are irrelevant.
   I pause a bit. I don't really know if he's being who he thinks I want him to be of just being his mourning self.
 -Ok. The phone woke me up at 12 30.
-I'm guessing it was your'carer'.
-...Yes.
-Well go ahead.
-...I thought that was irrelevant enough already.
-No. I'll stop you when we reach that point. Carry on.
-I went downstairs and made us some coffee as he made us lunch. He told me we were about to go eat in the park so I put it all in thermos mugs. I wasn't really awake so I followed him there the whole way. We got into the park, he stopped at a place he likes, sat down and I fallowed him throughout. We sat down and had lunch by the AIDS memorial.
-Why there?
-It happened to be behind us.
-Were you talking?
-Not until we finished eating. He might not seem like it, but he's the kind of person you can enjoy a comfortable moment of silence with.
-Good. Then what?
-We began to talk as we smoked. Nothing too important, just everyday stuff, a few jokes, some healthy laughter to start the day. After we finished our cigarettes he got up and left for work. I stood there a bit finishing my coffee. I probably had a few more fags. Then I picked up after ourselves and went back.
-What did you have to eat?
-...Does it even matter?!
-Yes.
-....Sandwiches.
-Sounds nice. Actually I wouldn't mind having that kinda life.
-Yeah it's not bad.
-Then what did you do?
-You seriously haven't had enough?!
-Well if you don't mind going on I wouldn't mind either.
   I was convinced by this point that he was trying to prove a point. And probably the best thing to do was to let him prove it.
-It was sunny so I decided to take my laptop with me, go down to the beach and read.
-...What?
-Murakami.
   He paused for a bit obviously mulling it over and making a list of conclusions he drew along the way.
-Which one?
-Wild Sheep Chase.
-Didn't you already read that one?
   It was my first Murakami book. I  was very sceptical when I first saw it. I remember looking at the guy with a very displeased glance, and I also remember I made it clear I felt really insulted. Little did I know that I was about to fall for Murakami like for no other before him.
-I thought I'd read it again before 'Dance Dance Dance'.
-Oh. So ..does it bring back the memories?
-It has a different feel to it. Probably because it's in English...and off a laptop.
-Fair enough. They're not really related you know?
-Who?
-The books.
-Oh. Well I figured it couldn't hurt.
-I guess it doesn't. How was the beach?
-Except for it being rocky, it was nice. A bit crowded since it was a sunny day.
-Figures.
-Why do you want to know all this?
-Because I'm your brother.
   Just like that. Without hesitation, without cushion. There was no question, no space for any arguments. Just like you breath in oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide, he was my brother.
-I'm fine. I'm not going to do anything 'stupid'.
-Yeah it sounds like you're perfectly fine.
-Don't you ever grow tired of sarcasm!?
-Do you ever grow tired of sarcasm?!
-....
-Anyway. I wasn't being sarcastic. By the looks of it you're perfectly fine. Except for the voice.
-I'm fine.
-You should clear out your voice a little bit. Maybe drink some tea. Eat something and put a little more life into it. Then you'll actually be able to convince anyone that you are, without a doubt, perfectly fine.

11 the funeral

I hear the door to my room opening up with a creek. In a few seconds he was right next to me. I open my eyes slowly, like lifting a heavy rock. I don’t want to but I have to.

-Why haven’t you been answering my calls?!

-What day is it today?

-Saturday. Why haven’t you been answering my calls?! I think I called you about 10 times in the last 2 days.

-When did you get back?

-Just 10 minutes ago. Did you hear me?!

I didn’t want to answer him, but I had to. Like lifting a heavy rock you have to get out of the way.

-Sorry. I kept missing your calls and didn’t have any credit. I didn’t mean to worry you.

-I thought you fucked off or something happened.

I fake a smile. I’m pretty sure the effort that took killed a good part of me. Or at least felt like it did.

-Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere until you kick me out.

-Good.

He paused a bit looking around the room and then he added:

-You need to clean this place up.

-I will. I knew that would make him happy so I was planning on doing it.

-Nicola told me you were acting pretty odd last night.

-Really?

-Yeah. You would say random stuff in the middle of the conversation or just burst out laughing.

-Oh. I was just joking around.

I wanted to add that everything is pretty funny when you’re sedated but I decided to keep that to myself and instead I added

-Plus you know her. She’s pretty odd.

-Yeah. We’ll I’m off to work in about an hour. Now that you’re awake anyway…you want to have coffee with me?!

I wish I wasn’t awake, but I was. I was I was still sedated but I wasn’t. I wish he wouldn’t know me so well.

-Yeah. Coffee sounds great. I’ll be down in a bit.

He smiled, got up and walked towards the door. Just before he went out he turned back to the bed and asked:

-Did anything happen while I was away?

I held back all the memories that wanted to burst out and overlap reality sticking them  back into the darkness of my mind. I held back my tears and paused for a bit before answering him.

-No. Life went on as usual.

-Good!

He smiles again and walks out. Left alone, awake, sober I hold back the tears and try to ignore the complete loneliness that covered me. I’m pretty sure the effort that took killed a part of me. It didn’t just feel like it.


-So what did you do in the past few days?
Fresh coffee was waiting for me as I walked into the living room and so was that question.
-You're the one that went home to have fun. I should be asking you!
-It was alright yeah. Went out with friends....
-Nice quality time with the family?
-Yeah.
-Standard good times?
-Pretty much.
-I missed you, you know?! And a part of me wished I was lieing, but I wasn't.
-Awww. Romania! Well I'm back now.
-Treating me like I'm retarded again.
-Well you're not exactly an English oral are you?!
-No. I'm an Eastern European Oral!

After he left I went down to the sea and attended my brother's funeral.

10 the perspectives of routine

I was about to be left all alone in a huge house with Bristol on my mind as a perspective.

"Yeah Romania's on the couch.Alright. No she doesn't mind....Ok...You sure?!..Alright.I'll tell her!"

I didn't mind him calling me Romania. To be honest I kinda liked it. Laying there on the 'king chair' with my feet collapsed on the sofa, a fag in my mouth, and warm coffee-I never drink or make hot coffee- in my hands I even thought about reinventing myself under a name like Romy, Rom even Ronnie.

'Yeah. She knows about Bristol....Course I don't fucking mind Jo. I'm the one that wanted her to live here!"

I was thinking it couldn't be that bad. But I was also thinking it can't really get any worse than this either although it could have quite easily.
-What did Jo say!?
-Well firstly, he invited you to camp with us ...again.
-Do you want me to come?
-Yes. Why would even ask me that?!
-Well...it's pretty much you, I barely know Jo and your friends that I never met. Seems like a pretty private sesh to me.
-Jo wanted you to come along because he thinks you're cool and he figured you'd be alone for quite a long time.

I spent a while thinking about it. I couldn't make a decision. I was neither rational, neither spontaneous when it came to leaving. I just left when it felt right or simply didn't when it felt wrong. I wasn't being precocious, nor was I being foolish when it came to leaving. I just trusted my instincts, much like in everything else. Even more so since I was homeless. 

-What was the other thing?
-I told him you're sleeping on the couch so he said to give you his room.
-That's really nice of him! Thank him please.
-Maybe you'll do it yourself.

 I barely knew Jo. Come to think of it, I never even heard of all the people that knew Romania. I thought about it, and I realised 'my savior, my knight in shining armor' was probably making me seem a lot better than I actually was. And then I realised he was yet another name on the list. A name on the list of boys and men, that replaced my father and took care of me, not in a metaphorical sense, in the most painfully literal sense there is. I was about to be for ever grateful but there was nothing I could ever be capable to give back in return for all that. Funny enough, there was never any 'returning the favoour' expected.

-What do you wanna eat today when you get back?

No church in the wild!

Human being to the mob
What’s a mob to a king?
What’s a king to a god?
What’s a god to a non-believer?
Who don’t believe in anything?

I spent my whole life driving in cars with boys

As I walk out of the shower I take a quick glimpse at you lying there on the couch with a book in your hands. You seem very concentrated, fully devoted to your reading but I know very well that you heard me. I move across the room and slowly bend over while I wrap my arms around your neck. I stand like that for a bit making sure you stopped reading. My hands slide underneath your shirt, I begin to massage your shoulders with a tight grip and as my wet hair caresses your cheek, I whisper in your ear ‘Is it any good?’ .

Knowing exactly what’s on my mind you decide to play a bit before giving in to your senses. You answer with a very detached, indifferent tone without moving your eyes from your book ‘Could be better’. I grin. I love playing this game. I begin to gently nibble your ear as I slide my hands from your shoulders down to your  chest and lower  them to your stomach slowly caressing your body.  I can hear your breath shallow as you try not to hum. ‘Better now?!”

You turn your head to me as our breaths caress each other’s face, stare deep into my eyes with your mouth slightly opened, put on a cheeky smile and say ‘Just a lil bit’ then turn your face back to your book.

I pout although we both know I love it when you tease me like that. I stand up and move towards you, my towel falls on the floor as I get on top you. I can feel you rock hard dick through your jeans right underneath my clit and I begin to crave the sensation of having you inside me even more. I start to slowly caress my breast as the cool air gives me soft shivers and water still drops down my wet body.” How about now?”

You drop your book as you stare at me animalistically. I grin with satisfaction feeling that you’re all mine. You grab me and pull me towards you, your mouth seeks mine. As my tongue finds yours , your hands graze all over my wet back and your grip gets tighter as you lower them down to my ass. I love the way your tongue plays in my mouth, the way you caress my back makes me tingle with pleasure, the desire with which your hands grab me makes me want you more and more.

I pull away slowly biting your tongue as we break our long kiss. I lower my body and I open your jeans to find your erect dick, I look at you perversely and say: ‘Not yet’ as I love the way in which we tease each other. I slowly begin to pull up your shirt. My fingers lead the way as my tongue and wet lips trace a line of soft kisses to your chest.  As I reach your neck you quickly stand up, pull off your shirt and wrap your hands around me pulling me back into a kiss. This time you lower one hand all the way down to my clit massaging it gently as you slowly slide one finger inside me. My body starts to spasm with pleasure as you tease by changing the rhythm in which you just tickle my clit. You feel me wanting to pull away as my back arches with pleasure, but you grab me tightly pressing my mouth against yours. As I move my head I begin to softly moan in your ear. My voice begs for more as I moan out your name. With one hand you grab my wet hair as with the other you put another finger inside me beginning to fuck me, slowly, then quickly as my moans grow load against your ear and I begin to bite your shoulders and your neck.  My body quivers as I fully give in to your teasing rhythm and the waves of pleasure that course through my body. I grind against your body as I near orgasm. I scream out your name as I feel I’m almost there but you stop, letting go of your grip as you pull your hand away from my clit.

As you liberate me with a cheeky smile, my hands clench into fists and I  playfully hit your letting out a revolted ‘Bastard!’.  You grin holding back your laughter as you love teasing me like that and you know exactly what’s about to come. I stand up quickly pushing myself against you as I straddle, changing  my balance and moving down as my hand  tightly grabs your fully erect dick rubbing it against my still wet and hot pussy . Your hands reach for me as I slide your dick inside me. A moan escapes from my throat and I just stand still for a bit enjoying the feeling of your length. 

Your hands grab my waist as I lean forward slowly rocking my hips. I press against you as I want you stay there, laying on your back. I start to move faster rolling my hips up and down as my breasts begin to bounce. Your hands wonder all over my body, sometimes gently grazing my skin, sometimes grabbing me with a firm grip. As you lay your hands on my breast I give in to the wild pleasure that crushes our bodies and I feel that we’re both close to cumming. Your grunts grow louder and you close your eyes as your hands grab my breasts. My moans turn to screams as I press against you more and more, grinding my clit against your skin. I feel my pussy clenching tight against your pulsating dick . I tilt my head back bending my back as my hips swirl faster against yours. The heat of our bodies, the sweat on out flesh the cursed sounds of the pleasure flowing through us. We both give in and as I let out a long moan.  Out of breath, I straighten my back, pull back my head as I feel your hot cum inside me . I lay my body on yours as your hands wrap around me and hold me tight and as we lay there in ecstasy I look into your eyes and put on a cheeky smile while I say ‘ How about a shower?’.

They say I'm wasting time, they said that I'm no good
'Cause Imma love my life, not doing what I should
Call me poison ivy 'cause I'm far from good
Pretty from afar, like a dark star

They say I'm dangerous, they think I'm really bad,
I'm just making up for what I never had
Go out at night whenever I feel sad
Oh this drive by love got me crazy like a drug

I wear my wig, lipstick, got my make up on
Stumble into trouble, siren with a sad song
They all got girlfriends but i'm the one that they want

Miss America with the blue mascara on

I spent my whole life driving in cars with boys,
Riding 'round town drinking in the white noise
Used to talk about where we've been and where we go.
Now we know, baby, now we know
Spent my whole life wasted in bars with boys
Playing rock n roll dancing in the loud noise
Used to talk about where we've been and where we go.
Now we know, baby, now we know

 I was in the bank today, posting something to a friend while humming 'Baby, life is more than just making copies and drinking coffee' when -the irony- I get a phone call from certain Mr. Reece, letting me know everything is fine and if not, I have another interview on Wednesday for an alternative position that he spoke to me about. I thanked Mr. Reece while re was reassuring me he'll get back to me tomorrow and that I should feel free to call him anytime, because after all, he's working for me . I felt the need to correct that with a more professional and politically correct 'on my behalf' but I let it drop. I figured he must hate his job too....When I ended the call I realised I have an agent.....

-Here! Have a cookie!
-Oh thank you! You're so kind!
-I like to take care of the homeless! Oh my god! You are homeless!
We both bursted out laughing. I was. And he was kind enough to take care of me.


To shake capitalism off I went back 'home', took the clothes out and started folding top man t-shirts and man boxers, putting them up to dry.
I left a bag of clothes next to the washing machine last night. When I woke up in the morning, my clothes were drying up in the living room, nicely folded, smelling fresh. It's been years, good years since somebody did that for me. it's been a long time since I feel that feeling of comfort, that feeling that only gestures like 'I have no problem with folding your panties and your bras ' can offer. It smells like home, it feels natural, it does not care for social norms or boundaries, it makes you feel alive that feeling.
And I was hanging man boxers and putting them to dry up I thought to myself 'maybe this is what home feels like'.



The dickheads laughing in the library and loudly blaming each other when people stare. The broke kids that nick toilet paper from public bathrooms. The boy and the girl that sing along to 'Area Codes' while washing dishes. The friends that share whatever's in the fridge regardless of who bought it and wash each others clothes. The kids that fight with sticks during business calls. The teenagers that start moaning during family calls. The immature adults that mime blowjobs during friend calls. The grown ups that drink ten mugs of tea during the late night movie....that's me and him. That's us.

All I want is the best for our lives my dear,
and you know my wishes are sincere.
Whats to say for the days I cannot bare.
A Sunday smile you wore it for a while
A Sunday mile we paused and sang. A Sunday smile you wore it for a while
A Sunday mile we paused and sang.
A Sunday smile and we felt true(and) We burnt to the ground left a view to admire
with buildings inside church of white.
We burnt to the ground left a grave to admire.
And as we reach for the sky, reach the church of white

In the wise words of Murakami...

We can go out for a bite or whatever. Don't be a stranger, okay? 'Even
chance meetings'... how does the rest of that go?"
"'Are the result of karma.'"
"Right, right," she says. "But what does it mean?"
"That things in life are fated by our previous lives. That even in the
smallest events there's no such thing as coincidence."
She sits there on her yellow suitcase, notebook in hand, giving it some
thought. "Hmm... that's a kind of philosophy, isn't it. Not such a bad way of
thinking about life. Sort of a reincarnation, New Age kind of thing. But, Kafka,
remember this, okay? I don't go around giving my cell phone number to just
anybody. You know what I mean?"

In traveling, a companion, in life, compassion.

"'In traveling, a companion, in life, compassion,'" she repeats, making sure

of it. If she had paper and pencil, it wouldn't surprise me if she wrote it down.

"So what does that really mean? In simple terms."

I think it over. It takes me a while to gather my thoughts, but she waits

patiently.

"I think it means," I say, "that chance encounters are what keep us going.

In simple terms."

She mulls that over for a while, then slowly brings her hands together on

top of the table and rests them there lightly. "I think you're right about that--

that chance encounters keep us going."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmXZuv5BaHg

Baby you need to leave,
cause I'm getting drunk on your noble deeds.
It doesn't matter that they don't get done,
when I feel this cold they're like the fucking sun.

Baby I need a friend,
but I'm a vampire smile, you'll meet a sticky end.
I'm here trying not to bite your neck,
but it's beautiful and I'm gonna get...

...so drunk on you and kill your friends.
You'll need me and we can be obsessed.
And I can touch your hair and taste your skin,
the ghosts won't matter 'cause we'll hide in sin.
Oh oooo...

Baby you have a choice,
cause you burn my ears with your magic voice.
I'm a paper doll, you can tear me up,
We'll be the broken lovers with the poison cup.
And we'll draw in breaths like we don't have air,
Oh god, look at me, don't you ever care...
that I'm dying in the cupboard underneath the stairs?
Steps stamp on above my head.

Baby you're cruel to me,
but you see I love it when you make me plead.
I want a scar that looks just like you,
'till then I gotta learn to be a wiser fool.

Baby you need to leave,
and I know you know...
that's why you keep ignoring me...
because if you don't,
gonna run me down, let myself go...

JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT SMART ENOUGH AT SCHOOL DOESN'T MEAN YOU WILL NOT GET SUCCES IN THE FUTURE

-What smart people fear and stupid people use to comfort themselves-

9 ish

As I arrived I felt like I didn't belong there anymore. Truth is I didn't, the Spanish summer school bunch did. I had about 3 hours to kill in the library....so I figured I might as well walk up to the flat. I wasn't going to get madly depressed and I most certainly was too numb to cry , but I decided it wouldn't do me good after all. I felt too much like a stranger to be capable to feel in any way comforted by the 'old version of home'.
I couldn't get my brother out of my mind. I thought I should call him for his birthday, but I soon abandoned that thought. Truth is I didn't know what to say to him. Even more truthful is that I knew he didn't have anything to say to me either. His birthday usually coincided with my grandmother's death so my mum dragged us along to the funeral processions as if she had forgotten all about everything else. Truth is I think she always did. I used to sneak away with him to the deserted train station near the cemetery and go walk down on the railway to 'our spot'. We sat down, had some beers, had a laugh. The only rule was we wouldn't talk about stupid nor about serious things. We would just laugh. The thought that no one was there to sneak away with him would have broken me so I got rid of it as I sat down and typed my name into a nice, formal e-mail.

9 coming back

I woke up wondering where I am....  I  had a flash back of the naked girl  that came into that room last night, pulled off my covers looked at me intensively as I turned around with the usual calm I treat druggies and asked "what is it?". She looked at me, while standing there naked articulating a " Would you...?". I must have said "no" as she ran out. I realised I sure as fuck am in England even though I dreamt of my brother as if he were with me. I gazed out the window for a few seconds trying to figure out the city and as I looked around the room I remembered.

The cigarette smoke made me dizzy. I thought to myself : "It mush have been years..." and I wasn't wrong.

I had many questions in my mind that I was struggling to put aside and just politely stare at the seaside as if I was  somehow obliged to do so every morning. Like a ritual I had to perform while I'm here.

"Did you sleep well?". That pulled out of my trance for a bit.

"Yeah."

"Was the room too cold?"

"No. Really. Everything was great. You know me in the morning."

"You want me to make you some coffee?"

"No. Cheers. I'll be off to campus anyway. I'll stop for a Starbucks on the way 'cause I need the wi-fi."

"I'm sorry! Monday..."

"Stop! You're being a great host really. Just stop it!"

"You need any help with the luggage?"

"No it's alright. Just go to Braxhill! And have fun. I'm gonna be alright."

"Should I give you keys?"

"We'll work something out."

I stupidly left with no keys and no way to get into the house, practically locking myself out with a long day and a tone of luggage. It's a good thing that boy loves me 'cause otherwise he wouldn't have ran after me.... or given me a home. He did his best to offer me a home, it certainly wasn't his fault I was at home only on the road. He was trying so hard so I had to try and be happy, but that morning I couldn't put on any makeup so I really couldn't be anyone else but Ana. 

As I sat down I thought about my brother and what I said that night on the terrace.That night, I cursed him to suffer and be mortal with tears in my eyes and desperation in my voice...I ran away from the thought that reminded me why I did that. I also ran away from the thought that reminded me my curse was coming true. It was his birthday, but Ana couldn't really think about that.

I opened my laptop and read my promised 'sex story'. I lack the will and the words to talk or think about it, but I didn't lack the will or the words to crush the man that was reading it along with me. 

As I felt his eyes over the screen I threw quick, meaningful looks his way but he didn't stop. He was in his thirties by the looks of it, and enjoyed watching more than doing. So I rolled myself a fag and got up.
'Long distance. What can you do?!' My smile must have been beautiful 'cause he left straight after and I could see him stumbling as he walked away. I figured today wasn't a bad day at all.

This life is just starting to get worth it

I'm supposed to wake up at 7 30 leave at 9 with the fucking tube to London Victoria where I'm gonna leave some luggage, catch a train to Brighton, spend six hours doing fuck all on the streets(well not really I'm probably gonna go from coffee shop to coffee shop), go to my back up interview, call the French guy's son, spend two more hours walking around, meet this Romanian chick I only ever spoken to before,technically fuck off to hers for drinks , catch a train at 6 51 from Brighton to Victoria, get my luggage back, do fuck all for about 3 hours, get on the coach to Devon and I will be in Tiverton at about 4 in the afternoon on Saturday....besides the fact that I don't know how this happened and  I'm just really confused, I also can't fall asleep....

*skip a bunch of shit cos u said i cud*

Si ma lovesc iar de zidul ala de incapatanare prosteasca. Parca as vorbi cu mine uneori, dar parca zidurile mele se parg mai usor, parca zidurile mele sunt deja ruinate.
Si obosesc sa tot daram si sa tot daram ca sa gasesc zidurile alea inaltate din nou a doua zi ... si ma intreb de ce incerc?! Si urasc sa ma intreb de ce....
Si plang...chiar plang...chiar mi curg lacrimi pe obraji in timp ce pun ciocanul ala jos, obosita...

I don't know why I came here tonight....

Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you,
And I'm wondering what it is I should do,
It's so hard to keep this smile from my face,
Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place,
Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

Well you started out with nothing,
And you're proud that you're a self made man,
And your friends, they all come crawlin,
Slap you on the back and say,
Please.... Please.....

Trying to make some sense of it all,
But I can see that it makes no sense at all,
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor,
'Cause I don't think that I can take anymore
Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

8 being beautiful

-Hey beautiful.
I was lying on  the bed that wasn't mine, finishing my book. I always lack expression when I;m reading, and not only when I'm reading, and that wasn't the only reason why I'm pretty sure he only said that because he wanted to make himself a cigarette with my tobacco, my rizlaz and my filters.
-Can I make a rolly?
-Sure go ahead!
I hated the fact that he eventually figured out where I was. Not that it was hard to find out, but I went 'missing' quite often and he walked in certain that I was there. That didn't bother me, but I hate it when people walk in when I'm reading a book. It's sort of a bad habit I picked up in the good old days when I could isolate myself when I wanted to.
That made me think of 'dear old daddy' and the night he went mad because me and my brother just bought books. "Why should you spend money on something you can't take out for free?!". There was no point in trying to fight it. Some people don't understand that what they referred to as a 'library' was already high and mighty for having a single copy of a  book of poems by Rabindranath Tagore that you have to dig out yourself because the so referred to as 'librarian' has no fucking clue what you're on about. My father was one of those people. Me and my brother on the other hand, are the kind of people that knew that Kafka never wrote a book called 'On the shore', but Haruki Murakami wrote a book called 'Kafka on the shore'. My father never understood why the books in our library weren't enough. You can't take a man like my father and explain why you hate Balzac, Dostoyevsky makes you sick and Tolstoy isn't really your number one. My father was and still is an educated man, he read and liked Balzac and Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy. It's not his fault me and my brother didn't. It's also not ours but we both agreed that a statement like that says so much about your character that we refused to even talk about it. Ever since, we kept hiding the books we bought in 'extension' to our own library.
-Can you find the filters?
-No...
-Pass me my bag. ..Could you please roll one for me as well.
It was more of a statement than an ask but he knew the drill.
If there's something good that I learned from mt father that's to always know the right price. I don't mind selling myself but I mind when people try and buy me for less than what I'm worth. My father told me to hate and do anything I can to avoid those desperate moments when you have to take what you can get because he taught me that one moment is enough to make your value drop for ever. Not everything was business about my father, but the best parts were.
-You really should learn how to roll. Your rolls keep falling apart.
-Like my life.
-What?
-I know. It's probably cause I fold them instead of actually rolling them....what time is it?Is it past eleven.
I knew very well it was past eleven.
-Yeah!...you hungry?
-....Yeah....
-I have chicken and curry.Come up and get it.
I wasn't really that hungry but I was 'beautiful' and I knew the right price of two cigarettes in 10 minutes.

7 it was cold that night

I got out of bed. It was bloody June but for the last 5 days the temperature didn't raise over 15 degrees - the Brits wouldn't know what summer is to save their lives. On top of it being cold it was raining like a mother', on top of it being wet the wind was blowing like hell.
I wasn't in my room, nor in my bed. I isolate myself when I read. I used to lock myself in until dear old  daddy went ballistics and even my mother started asking herself where I was. Of curse that's now on the list of "luxuries I used to have".
Luckily for me the boys were away and neither of them locked the room. I don't mind a mess, nor filth for that matter as long as it doesn't smell too bad and I can find a place to put my book and lie down. Their room just about had that.
I'm not saying mine was a lot better but I really couldn't deal with my roommate when reading. I already thought I was doing her a huge favor that required a supernatural effort on my behalf for having to get up in about 5 five hours and wake her up for her exam.I at least owed her that much.
I didn't feel tired and I could have easily not have gone to bed at all but I most certainly could not have kept myself occupied for that long.
I started folding a cigarette thinking if it was too late for coffee. It most certainly was, even for me, but I went and made myself one anyway.
It was long past three in the morning: my roommate was munching , making that noise I hate with disgust ever since I can remember and blowing away every little thought I might have had about sleeping in my own bed and somebody was taking a shower. I often say somebody when I really don't want to mane a moron. I knew exactly who it was but I didn't feel like having any thoughts about it at long passed 3 in the morning.
I finished my coffee and went to supposedly check on my roommate for the last time and send her to bed. She was still munching so I just said good night and fucked off.
Truth is, I was still mad...and I couldn't help being mad.
I started asking myself what I really wanted as if a precise answer would make me feel better. It's a habit of mine, I still do it today. I got stuck with it from back in the days when finding out what I wanted mattered and changed things...and helped. So I answered myself: I wanted to hear that voice that wasn't familiar and that I never even hear properly. I wanted to listen to that voice, hear it and feel less lonely.
Of course that answer didn't make me feel any better. It was really the reason I was mad.
What people don't understand is that when I'm mad, it's not them I'm mad at it's myself. And I'm only mad at myself because I care, and caring only gets me mad when it becomes and investment: like investing in a business that fails miserably - that's how I feel when I'm mad. That's what I want him to care, so that I feel like the business is working, prospering even and that I'm not that alone... and that's what makes me a woman.
I decided to go to sleep thinking that it was so cold that my nail varnish was coming off.

6 so they told me

He told me one day that I can't just sit and do nothing. And my God was he right about it!
I put Salinger down - he's a great reed especially in English- 'cause my hands were numb and cold. I didn't felt like reading anymore, but I also didn't feel like anything else.
"I was a madman." that was the last thing I read and it made me think that I don't like getting mad because that's how I know I care. When someone gets me mad I know I care about him..or even worse- I love him. I don't even know why I'm even saying 'someone', I'm talking about men. I never think or write about women unless they really make me ashamed to be a woman or they're my mother. I sometimes wonder how this world would look like if there were more Cleopatras and less Caesars- but about that another time. When men make me mad it's bad, not 'cause I'm mad but because I care. I particularly hate it when I am so obviously mad, there is nothing I can't do to fake it. I open up like a book, I loose my ability to twist the words around, I can't lie, I can't pretend and I can't admit. That makes matters even worse because I'm obviously mad. You really don't want to insist into making me admit I'm mad, because publicly admitting defeated gets me down. Still most of the men that get me mad do... they at least deserve that. They think they're winning a battle- that's cause I'm a very good player- but they're actually winning the war. I'm signing my own sentence and giving myself in. But they don't see that 'cause I'm a good player.
And then I remembered that I didn't feel like reading anymore, but I didn't feel like being lonely either....
Truth is I'm lonely...kinda like Holden Caulfield lonely. That's why I can't just sit and do nothing. I remember..
The worst part about being Holden Caulfield lonely is that you're like that regardless of how many people you speak to, how many people surround you, even how many people care about you. I don't think they're all phony though, I just think the majority of them are morons and for a few I care too much to admit they are.   And I was thinking a while back that, unfortunately, England is a great place for morons to grow and blossom in peace.  Unlike home when you blood pressure rises from encounters with morons, here they are leveled somehow and you can barely distinguish between them. I need to think about that some more to better explain and put it in words but that;s exactly how it is. Back home it's striking, here it's just Britishly subtle I guess....Never the less I think I miss home from that respect. At least there you could know without having to have a formed eye for stupidity and its shapes.
And just like Holden I miss Phoebe, and just like Holden I can't get to Phoebe. I think about my younger brother a lot, I also think he's great, I also think that any man with a little bit of brains or common sense should absolutely adore my brother.... or at least respect him. He's definitely not a moron.
I think this book might have taken the best of me tonight.....I get Holden...maybe a bit too much.