recte

catharsis

in etape

ma lepad de tine ca nasii la botez

de Satana

scorbolesc prin cristelnita

dupa un nume

pentru secretia obraznica

a ventriculului stramb

care nu se trateaza, domnule, nici cu rabdare

act ratat

azi

am reziliat contractele cu vanzatorii de vise ambulante
si neg toate posturile de pana acum

abur pe oglinzi
simple descolaciri de trupuri
ingerate ca experiente escatologice


cyan

magenta

black-

out

gugustiuc cu zippo

L: o lasam si noi mai moale cu balariile? focus pe cele aproape creative, ca le-ai lasat in paragina.

S: parc'ai fi de la cs: straight to the point. m-a batut gandul sa scriu. pana si tu ai fost mai activa lately, chiar daca scrii din genunchi.

L: mi-e incredibil de dor de tine, jur. sa-mi dai cu tifla cum numai tu te pricepi. exact ca mai sus.

S: ba, si mie mi-e dor de tine. cre'ca putem avea o relatie numai din modul in care facem misto unu de altu. au venit fomei noi la client service, da' nu e scanteia aia intre mine si ele. ntz. tu ramai.

XXX

am incheiat saptamana cu aceiasi 30 de ron pe care ii aveam in portofel si weekend-ul trecut. altfel decat lumea, nu am pus niciodata pret pe sume mari. am mintit ca sa nu merg asta seara in suburbia. decat sa aleg prost, prefer sa nu o mai fac deloc.

ma imbuib de filme, dar nu pot sa citesc. scriu frenetic, in mare parte prostii, idei care aluneca inainte sa le asez in cuvinte. nu raspund la telefon fiindca nu mai stiu vreun grai articulat. iertare. ma descopar agorafobica. zgomotul irita, lumina inteapa, culorile imi dau mancarimi. as face dus cu castile in urechi sa nu-mi aud gandurile.

ieri noapte am visat terasa spitalul universitar, terasa de la et.14.

nu mai caut nimic.

miraj

de fiecare data cand scriu, cobor in mine. poate de-asta vreau sa stramut toate gandurile de aici la o adresa pe care s-o uit ulterior. pana acum am tinut in frau avalansa asta de intamplari, iar acum au navalit gramada. m-am ratacit printre ele. oare am sa mai reusesc sa pun degetul pe mine si sa strig: "asta sunt eu"?

totu-i un miraj, Mickey-Blue-Eyes. e un zbor cu avionul. n-aveam de unde sa stiu ca putem fi vecini de calatorie. eram precisa ca altcineva are bilet pentru scaunul din dreapta mea si-i recitam, in absenta, dintr-o pictura.

mi-am planuit viata milimetric. degeaba apari cand nu ma astept, de unde nu ma astept, calare pe motocicleta ta rosie. n-am sa vin.

noutatea e un miraj si mirajele se risipesc dureros.

taci!

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming, from the book The Invitation