Thursday 28 June 2012
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....
Sunday 24 June 2012
Wednesday 20 June 2012
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...
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...
Thursday 14 June 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday 13 June 2012
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday 12 June 2012
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.
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.
I often wonder if I love him. I mean I think I do, I'll probably say yes if you'd ask me but... do I?
I often wonder if it would be best to just get away for a while, grab a book and get the fuck out of here. Read something good for a while and just leave this shit hole world I live in...at least for a while. I asked my God to take care of me, he will... I just need to wait. Might as well make it good.
Why am I here anyway?! Oh! Because I think I love him.... Fuck that I'm out!
I often wonder if it would be best to just get away for a while, grab a book and get the fuck out of here. Read something good for a while and just leave this shit hole world I live in...at least for a while. I asked my God to take care of me, he will... I just need to wait. Might as well make it good.
Why am I here anyway?! Oh! Because I think I love him.... Fuck that I'm out!
Friday 8 June 2012
Nicio limba nu-mi poate oferi suficiente cuvinte sa explic cat de tare ma doare acum. Nici o limba nu poate sa stearga lacrimile lacrimile care curg acum.... si nicio limba nu-mi poate oferi alinarea care va veni cu ziua de maine.
M-am pus in genunchi in fata Dumnezeului meu, infranta, plangand si cersing. Si-n nebunia mea am uitat ca trebuie sa ai rabdare- am uitat iar ca trebuie sa ai rabdare.
"Si daca ai rabdare nu te mai doare?!" am zbierat eu furioasa Dumnezeului meu. Si sunt sigura ca m-a auzit, sunt sigura ca mi-a raspuns dar nu l-am auzit.
As vrea sa-i cred pe cei care spun ca il aud. As vrea sa-i cred pe cei care spun ca-l vad. As vrea sa mai fiu printre cei care cred ca poti sa-l simti.
Cine sunt eu?! Si cine e el?!
Si-am urlat furioasa la Dumnezeul meu, in genunchi, infranta, obosita, cu lacrimi curgand pe obraji si cersind.
Si am cersit mila si am implorat cerul sa aibe grija de mine ...pentru ca eu nu mai pot.
M-am pus in genunchi in fata Dumnezeului meu, infranta, plangand si cersing. Si-n nebunia mea am uitat ca trebuie sa ai rabdare- am uitat iar ca trebuie sa ai rabdare.
"Si daca ai rabdare nu te mai doare?!" am zbierat eu furioasa Dumnezeului meu. Si sunt sigura ca m-a auzit, sunt sigura ca mi-a raspuns dar nu l-am auzit.
As vrea sa-i cred pe cei care spun ca il aud. As vrea sa-i cred pe cei care spun ca-l vad. As vrea sa mai fiu printre cei care cred ca poti sa-l simti.
Cine sunt eu?! Si cine e el?!
Si-am urlat furioasa la Dumnezeul meu, in genunchi, infranta, obosita, cu lacrimi curgand pe obraji si cersind.
Si am cersit mila si am implorat cerul sa aibe grija de mine ...pentru ca eu nu mai pot.
I stole a key
Took a car downtown where the lost boys meet
Took a car downtown and took what they offered me
To set me free
I went and talked to God tonight. I asked him to take care of me.
I saw the lights go down at the end of the scene
I saw the lights go down and standing in front of me
He must have answered me, but I didn't hear him. I never hear him....
In my scarecrow dreams
When they smash my heart into smithereens
Be a bright red rose come bursting through concrete
Be a cartoon heart
I went and talked to God tonight. I don't know if he heard me ...I play that he did .
Light a fire, a flame in my heart
We'll run wild oh
We'll be glowing in the dark
We'll be glowing in the dark.
Took a car downtown where the lost boys meet
Took a car downtown and took what they offered me
To set me free
I went and talked to God tonight. I asked him to take care of me.
I saw the lights go down at the end of the scene
I saw the lights go down and standing in front of me
He must have answered me, but I didn't hear him. I never hear him....
In my scarecrow dreams
When they smash my heart into smithereens
Be a bright red rose come bursting through concrete
Be a cartoon heart
I went and talked to God tonight. I don't know if he heard me ...I play that he did .
Light a fire, a flame in my heart
We'll run wild oh
We'll be glowing in the dark
We'll be glowing in the dark.
Sunday 3 June 2012
E un adevar al fiecarui om, al fiecarui individ care a pasit vreodata pe pamantul sfant. E un adevar al fiecarui zambet si al fiecarei lacrimi. E un moment in care privesti inapoi si simti ca ai gresit si e un moment cand privesti inapoi si simti ca ai avut mereu dreptate.
Am uitat sa risc.... am uitat sa nu mai stiu daca am sau nu dreptate.Am uitat cum era si pentru asta va invinovatesc pe voi.
Ma tratati cu iubire si cu ingaduinta, ma atrageti cu zaharel si-mi aruncati ciolane. Si de dincolo de voi vine o privire rugatoare a omului care a plans sincer atunci cand eu mi-am intors spatele, a omului care nu a inteles ca eu nu am facut defapt ce-am vurt ci ca s-a implinit ceea ce trebuia sa fie.
Am uitat sa risc.... am uitat sa nu mai stiu daca am sau nu dreptate.Am uitat cum era si pentru asta va invinovatesc pe voi.
Ma tratati cu iubire si cu ingaduinta, ma atrageti cu zaharel si-mi aruncati ciolane. Si de dincolo de voi vine o privire rugatoare a omului care a plans sincer atunci cand eu mi-am intors spatele, a omului care nu a inteles ca eu nu am facut defapt ce-am vurt ci ca s-a implinit ceea ce trebuia sa fie.
Friday 1 June 2012
I remember reading something about how every moment brings endless possibilities and I remember thinking to myself: this is crap!
I'm not afraid to say things like that. I'm not afraid to say life is not an fairy tale, I'm not afraid to embrace my very finite possibilities and my cyclic existence. 'Cause if I didn't what good would it do?!
And there is where my thought flow stopped.
I can do is some more is what I heard in my mind. Every fucking day I can do it some more. So if you think you can fuck this shit, baby....you better get ready for a reality check on behalf on the very best cynic there is: life.
I'm not afraid to say things like that. I'm not afraid to say life is not an fairy tale, I'm not afraid to embrace my very finite possibilities and my cyclic existence. 'Cause if I didn't what good would it do?!
And there is where my thought flow stopped.
I can do is some more is what I heard in my mind. Every fucking day I can do it some more. So if you think you can fuck this shit, baby....you better get ready for a reality check on behalf on the very best cynic there is: life.
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