happy weed people

in every limb, and every fiber, every bone and every joint ... i feel this tingling, like one thousand little ants crawling in beneath my skin, fuzzy, frenzied and ever so desperate for a moment's peace. it's hard to explain really, why sleep doesn't work, why this numbness is perpetual and why the idea of cutting off some flesh is simply due to the fact that you're wondering if by any chance you might feel something... even pain would be good now, it would be something, compared to this blissfully obliviant state of affairs, that kinda sorta reminds me of the expression "brain-dead" (i can just see it now: the fluffy bunny wabbit as road kill, such a poshy concept). either way, it's been one smoky day, in every sence of the word, and the cloudiest part of it all were my mental-functions, calm, cool and extremely slow at times, so i've no bloody idea how i managed to pass an 8 o'clock in the morning examen in the character of a woozy pot-head with tingling sensations.

flashback - late last night/early...scratch that, veeery early this morning, kinda like 3 30 or so, in a 3 sqare feet laudry room, 2 washing machines, an improvised bong, lots of tobacco and a set of happy weed people. i don't know why but what i have learned due to fairly recent experience is that putting 2 relatively smart and creative people in a room with weed, can be a serious problem. sigur nu o sa se sperie de clanta, si nu o sa vada iepurashi, sherpishori sau voluntari antidrog, dar sigur o sa se autodistruga si timp de 10 minute dupa, o sa aiba o viteza si o dexteritate in a-si acoperi urmele comparabile doar cu ei inshisi. still, the experience was something to be coughing your lungs out after for days on end. so ...can you feel you back burning, the bed trembling from beneath you, a strange sound like pages turning in the dark, but actually feet and blankets, bellowing dogs, something that smells like my perfume but is actually coffee and the fridge, maybe your perfume sometimes this morning, maybe the smoke which is blue, maybe a joint feet-flung in the air dress joint sickness twiggie maria type issue.

the most interesting feeling is the morning after, when, supposedly your friends draw your sorry blank stare look back to gravitational earth, by telling you that you can't focus your eyes on anything properly. probably this is the same feeling i have after a fully-equipped alcohol party, and the numbing senzation that attaches itself brutally to your body, so that no food, or drink, or smoke or body can quench that superflous tingle that will eventually choke you.

ps: nici un iepurash sau sherpishor nu au fost vatamati in decursul acestui post, ei pur si simplu sunt in sectia de reanimare, intr-o coma sinistru de placuta.

sufocare...

detest sa am o criza de proasta dispozitie in public, sa ma expun sub lupa fiecaruia, sa fiu vulnerabila, sa afli din prima ca ceva e in neregula cu mine. intotdeauna m-a deranjat expunerea unei stari de nelinishte interioara incerta in fata celor din jurul meu, tocmai pentru ca am avut senzatia ca arata ca un strigat disperat demn de mila, o ingenunchere in fata lumii si acceptarea inferioritatii existentiale, de parca tocmai ar fi crescut lana pe mine si nu am facut decat sa ma alatur oilor ce impanzesc lumea. am teribila idee in neuronii mei inca vii ca, oricat de rau as fi, oricat de intolerabila este bula mea interioara de sapun, o sa imi aleg o alta masca vesela, ce se simte bine, ce nu poate fi atinsa de angoasa din jur, si mai mereu mi-a ieshit, iar daca nu imi iesea eram ori departe de orice forma de socializare ori in prezenta cuiva care a devenit si ea familie si prin asta cred ca spun totul, deci familie. tragic este ca aceasta senzatie ma doboara acum, o resimt acum si scriu despre ea pentru ca asta e motivul pentru care scriu: eliberare, iau totul si il revars p hartie/blog si ramane akolo consemnat si se pierde din mine, desi nu e intotdeauna asha. nu vreau sa ma intelegi gresit, dar nu sunt genul care se retrage intr-un colt sa planga si sa isi taie venele, oricat de trendy ar fi asta, tocmai pentru ca nu imi permite conditia. daca si eu ma refugiez de mine si incep sa iti arat cu ochii tristi si goi ca sufar, atunci ce rost mai are sa fiu eu cea care ti-a ridicat moralul, kre a putut sa fie puternica pentru sine si pentru altii, care a putut sa zambeasca si sa treaca cu vedere, sa se modeleze dupa tine ca valurile unei oglinzi. totusi astazi ma sufoc, azi nu mai respir aer ci propria cenusa prin combustie spontana, o cenusa toxica, ce ma inunda, ce se depune strat dupa strat dupa strat, o simt cum ajunge pana in degete, o simt pe piele, ma arde si senzatia e ca nu mai pot sa respir, ma sufoc si nu shtiu de ce. habar nu am de ce am ales cuvantul asta: ma sufoc, dar exact asta simt, si daca s-a observat e groaznic pentru ca pe asta nu avut cum sa o tin in mine, nu am avut cu ce sa o ascund, nu era pregatita, pentru ca ... habar nu am ce e, si totusi shtiu ca e manifestarea fizica a exact ceea ce refuz sa accept in mod constient, a ceea ce ma macina. si tousi shtiu ca am lasat la un moment dat o parte din propriul aer undeva, sau la cineva, sau in cineva, shtiu ca am facut o pauza prelunga si am uitat sa respir, pana cand zgomotul realitatii m-a trezit si m-am sufocat de caldura si de atunci ma tot sufoc, si vreau sa pun capul jos si sa adorm shtiind ca nu trebuie sa imi fac griji, ca o sa fie cineva care sa ma trezeasca, ca o sa pot sa fiu utila, ca o sa trec intr-o toropeala placuta de vara si sa nu mai pun intrebari, sa nu ma mai vezi asa, pentru ca shtiu cat de greu de indurat este sa vezi pe cineva in starea asta. si cu asta sper sa pun punct, sa trec pe functie pulmonara normala, sper sa nu mai arda nimic, sper sa se spulbere atmosfera gri, sper sa nu uiti ce ai zis...

Actually, darling, everything is beautiful. Including you. Especially you. Have you lost weight?

I am troubled today
I am beyond myself with the excitement of you
I wish you did not have to move your alabaster skin
Take me into your skin
What is it like...being you, love?
Why do our worlds collide ever so often
But never, not for a second , does time stop ?
In between two perfect seconds
In between such two perfect creatures
Why do we decorate the world?
Nobody can descry my soul from ours
Nobody can vanquish us from our garden
...the world is our garden
We decorate it like beautiful bronze statues gleaming in the sunlight
Frozen in the moonlight
Untouchable.
Romance me out of my oppulent world
From beyond the castle walls of my insanity
Let us flee into the night surrounded by ourselves
Let us leave these broze statues do be adorned in sweet contemptous silence
Let they be our single legacy for the gutter star-gazing world.
I pant at the very door of your consiousness,
My heart throbbing against the heavy shackles laced with rust
Which bind immortality within thyne hollow mirror;
And
though my bellowing resounds like shry gasps against your wings
and every pitch-black feather , every string
lingers in frigid await
the whole contraption would not move but for an eclipse,
the apocalise
the death and the impossibility of death of itself.
This you is unmovable, it partains to the mineral, the statuesque
And yet... and yet...
It vibes,
...I vibe, and vibe i do within you
And with me every frill of torn-out lace that was once my dress,
Every sparkle clinging desperately to the sickle-shoes,
Every beating eyelash which fraims these black tears from my eyes.
Alas! He turn his gaze upon my silfid corpse, lying
Dying
Staring at him
Pleading
On the chess-board tiles of this happy coincidence.
Won’t you let my blood pour over these tiles? Wouldn’t...
Your ego be satisfied with the aesthetics of the colours...
of the flow?
Pouring,
drenching every curtain high and low? Drenching your very hands,
the alabaster limbs, in this cold
stone-cold fluid vapor that embelishes sence and though;
how enraptured are thou by me? So very much so that, so not so and yet...
so...No... enthralled by the languid and rapacious hell
that we share. Let us flee into the abyss;
no one would ever fear our passion for our own artistically distorted ...seflessness

Prohodul...and the dude with the glasses

vinerea mare....yet again...trecut p sub masa....prohod...the gang...biserica... ei asta e un pic deferita...i mean, in fiecare an mergem la catedrala sa trecem p sub masa, si dupa la slujba d seara cand eu imi petrec timpul de altfel relativ plictisitor holbandu-ma la un tip, suuuper dragutz cu ochelari kare seama cu chester (LP). da shtiu k nu e tocmai ...evalvios din partea mea...dar makar imi concentrez atentia p cva si nu ii deranjez p cei din jur, pana cand incepem efectiv sa cantam. ok, problema a fost ca odata cu demolarea a 70% din catedrala.... cand am venit la prohod nu aveam unde sa stam la prohod...si probabil nici nu aveam la c prohod sa stam....tipu era akolo frumos la coada de trecut p sub masa....k in fiecare an...si noi....noi nu aveam sa mai fim aici, ci la alta biserica. chestia asta a fost foarte interesanta, ptr k intr-un fel a simbolizat plekarea noastra la bucuresti, din pctul meu d vedere, faptul k traditia, desi am vrut, nu s-a pastrat, k desi lucrurile nu s-au schimbat prea tare si ne asteapta, noi nu mai suntem akolo...dar nici kiar departe, doar la o alta "biserica" :)) tipul totusi era akolo...and i kinda missed staring at him ...weird how terribly awkward this might sound to most of the world's population :))

How does it feel to be one of the beautiful...?

really now....how does it feel to be one of the beautiful? how does it feel to be stared at...? gazed at...? devoured by luscious hungry eyes? ... the object of perfect lust for complete strangers? and how perfectly narcissistic and shallow is this goal ? veeeeery.... i know... but now....try and picture all this times two... twice as antagonistic... twice as vain and luscious... twice as debauched... so perfectly twice in twice. Besides being surrounded by "mongrels" who u look down on like insignificantly insignificants, besides the air of cherry smoke enveloping the monocromes, besides all this is just dancefloor sex and nothing more. why is it that we love being the object of such desire and yet seem so unreachable to mere mortals? what do you feel like when u see such two beings putting on a show, a display of themselves, a display of incomprehensible antithesis ... a display of iresolute power over the weak-spirited? Does it plunge you into despair, does it purge you of any drop of normality and morality left in you?...well, does it?
ok, now, apart from the thrilling aestheticly-philosiphical aspect.... why do the spur-of-the-moment things turn out to be the best? why does planning ahead never really work out the way you think it will? so... after so much trouble with fate and the tragic forces of ancient Greece trying to turn your life to chaos why not go with the flow, why not live that moment as if it could be your last...why not get in a car and go wherever you decided to just a second ago? this is what you'd call carpe diem and it usually turns out to have the most unexpected results...generally good ones...and never make plans to get up early in the morning for you shall only fail to do so...you can just wake up eventually and realize that nothing of significant magnitude happened while ...asleep.
this post was implicity white and explicitly black, because they are twice as better together ...

just a pretty face...

in seara asta...am avut o conversatie interesanta cel putin, cu a best-friend, totul pornind d la nishte comentarii si invitatii sa nu zik "perverted" but just a tad over the obsessive line. anywayz problema se punea in felul urmator: la o prima vedere, pur simplu dintr-o perspectiva estetica (*fizic vorbind), c eshti pentru cei din jur? raspunsul relativ ushor d apreciat: a good-looking piece of meat...or a down-right "wouldn't want to fuck him"-kinda person. so..let's see, i have been under this impression for quite some time, r u a good fuck? kam asta e standardul dupa kre apreciem persoanele - fie ele d sex opus sau nu, ptr k Da suntem cu totii bi, k sa fie clar. orice s-ar spune cu mult inainte sa apuci sa deschizi gura and even utter the simplest hello, esti catalogat si lucrurile sunt extraordinar d simple...1. vreau sa il/o fut; 2. ...maybe with a touch here and there....maybe, until then friends; 3. definitely friends, no more.... 4. Nooooo Way! Ce mi se pare amuzat la toata aceasta situatie e k in timp perceptia se schimb dramatic, pana la un 180 grade, datorita personalitatii "atractive", sa-i zicem sau....as opta eu pentru:Obishnuintza. God save us from it, ptr ca sincer ne altereaza gandirea in asa hal incat orice simt al esteticii se atrofiaza in adancul ei. ceea c ieri ni se parea ok, azi ni se pare sublim....Si ne mai intrebam d c oare ceilalti nu vad asta ? kand primim, din exterior, o remarca d genu: dar arata k draq! tu nu vezi?

din aceasta categorie fac parte o gramada d prieteni, cunoshtiitze ...even best friends i'd say. so what if the people around r good-looking? what if ur world is so exceptionally oscar wilde-ish and, despite, our living in the gutter, we can't help but look at the stars? what would it be ...a great friend...or a good fuck? what r we to choose? do we actually choose? inevitabil observ cum in anumite grupuri amoralitatea, vanitatea, estetica si placerea sunt pur si simplu k nishte linii dintr-un tablou, isi pierd relevanta in context, si nu se definesc decat prin sine k o pleiada d non-sensuri. si tocmai d aceea astfel d oameni sunt atat d siguri d ei, si se cunosc atat d bine incat oricare ar fi inaltimea d la care s-ar arunca ar ateriza in picioare. any experience, any taste, any sip is a mere...momentary pleasure...and trivial aftermath to them. Only the shallow know themselves.
incet incet ajung la diverse concluzii.....k in jurul meu se contureaza o societate in care orice notiune se dezbraca complet d sens...until it remains an empty carcass. layer after layer after layer...ideea d prieten, amic, iubit, one-night stand, whatever else there is....nu exista in stadiul pur. totul se imbina in incercarea d a creea ceea c multi vad k fiind o monstruozitate....o androgenitate bazata p perfectiune... o depravare atat d dulce incat iti vine sa t afuzi pana simti k nu mai ai aer....k fumul e prea gros...k alcoolul si-a pierdut orice gust si efect... k te-ai saturat d trupurile din jurul tau ... dar glasurile fiecaruia iti rasuna k o melodie veche in ureche. sunt foarte putini kre am vazut k pot fi capabili sa accepte asha cva, sa accepte sa se ofere lumii din jur ....fara implicare, fara remuscari, fara sentiment... Implicarea naste tragedii, sentimentul naste suferinta, remuscare naste fantasme....the only way of getting rid of a temptation is to yield to it, otherwise it will haunt and posess ur very soul.
so.... what are? are we friends? lovers? enemies? ... do we exist for eachother, or is this a flick? i have no idea if life is supposed to be vulgar and aesthetic, sumptuous and debauched... but i simply hope it doesn't turn out to be dull and excessively friendly.

The valentine’s memorial....

When u die, i’ll cover every mirror. What point would they have? I hate seing my crying face, your crimson shade, ourselves as we were and never have been. I hate reflections now that u died. My tears have no reflection. They just don’t exist. They never did and never will because everything is not fine, because i am not myself and nothing more than an empty shell, i long for what u made me into, you and everyone else, u made me the way i am ... you died. I died along with you. How can creation outlive the creator? How can i be when i have nothing to reflect? There is no one to reflect anymore, i might as well be air, i might as well be the wind, i might as well... cover u too my beloved valentine. Could u die for me, so i see what it feels like? So i see what a corpse is like, so i see myself as alone forever. Could u please dig deep into the rotting earth and crawl underneath that dampness, just stay there with urself, just be eaten alive by urself... just have no mirror to look into. That’s why i covered all the mirrors. Because u died, and ur beauty died with you. U need no mirror. U need a black casket, u need blooming white orchids, u need satin lining, u don’t need me. There would be no room for me. There would be no place for my torn self, my torn wings. Because i’ll never leave them u see... the wings you tore out violently when i decided i’d be urs in yet another masochistic outburst. The sweet pain, the excrushiating pain...the pain u see...i get a thrill...the hurt...i longed for it...i wanted you to have me as ur own, and throw me aside, and have me again, and throw me again, and again, and again, and again...until i quiver at the very sound of you, at the very idea that you are near, until i crawl on the floor and beg you to slash me, because i’m urs, and i wish to be noone else’s, and wish to die by ur hand and no other...since i belong to u. So don’t u dare die, don’t you dare leave me alone...don’t die on me. That is my only wish...
whisper...whisper...your tongue to my ear...whisper...whimper...coarse lips touch the pale skin...whine...despise...desire...moan... never love.