un om care deseneaza

drawing by me - the painter's dream

am fost intrebat azi, ce sunt? dincolo de o pregatire profesionala, am gandit raspunsul - primul sentiment, primul gand, primul impuls de a raspunde: sunt un om care deseneaza. nu ma simt nimic altceva, poate n-am fost nimic altceva niciodata - totul doar o amanare pana in acest punct. ce-am invatat? am aflat lucruri, am vazut locuri si am intalnit cativa oameni. totul ca sa ajung sa spun acum ceea ce simt: sunt un om care deseneaza.

fie ca o fac cu un creion si o bucata de hartie, fie ca o fac in timp ce scriu - desenand povesti sau idei din cuvinte si virgule, cu ceva puncte de suspensie agatate... fie ca o fac intr-o mangaiere a unei fete dragi, dimineata, sau intr-o propozitie aruncata aproape soptit catre cel ce ma asculta; fie ca o fac cu o pensula si noile culori pe care inca nu le inteleg complet - acrylice, de tot felul, care 3D care fosforescente sau cu tente vechi si noi, reinventate, recalculate incat totul sa fie la indemana; fie ca o fac, asa cum imi place cel mai mult, cu o coala alba curata si cu un pix negru - din care se pot naste lumi - lumi pe care inca nu le-am vazut dar le banuiesc, lumi ale mele pentru ceilalti.

sunt un om care se regaseste printre liniile pe care le lasa pe o pagina virgina.

da-mi un servetel si un pix si iti dau un prieten.

da-mi o penita si un carton si iti dau o oglinda a ce va fi.

da-mi-te si te desenez - caci asa pot iubi cel mai mult, ca asa stiu a iubi, caci asa iubesc - desenand.

poate voi mai fi intrebat ce sunt, cu cine stie cate atributii premergatoare intrebarii sau cautate dincolo de propriul raspuns. oriunde si oricand, de acum inainte, doar astfel voi raspunde: sunt un om, care deseneaza...

atat de om, incat imi regasesc trufia in dorinta sa va placa.

to hope

photo by me - sibiu

better

to hope than no dreaming

Utopian lines to be drawn instead of an empty page

to be blinded by the light than crush in slithered darkness

thunderous singing while silence is watching

a small boat on a ravishing storm than a wreck in paradise

running without breath in-front of statues

be-soiled in the gutter of the world than clean in still palace

the finder of Pandora's box.

better

to hope.

there is a God and He's laughing

photo by me - from sibiu's tower

sometimes you encounter people that remind you about Him, about why you are here, what you really are and what you have to do while living. sometimes all seems so simple, plain and so easy to do-to it get done-to understand-to feel-to live. sometimes life reveals it's simplicity in a brief moment - you just have to be careful not to miss it... and listen to everything around you, please, messengers come and go all the time.

all it takes is a sunrise

to wake up.

a warm "welcome" surrounds you,

as everything has been waiting for you

to get to this particular moment. 

suddenly the world is so simple,

full of meaning

you guess, you understand, you know

as you had known all this time

not knowing.

all it takes is a sunrise

to simple up your being here,

what to do

and what has to be done.

all it takes is a sunrise

for all to be just answers.

and if you let yourself live

you might be lucky enough

to hear Him laugh...

there is a God

and He's laughing...

laugh along

we have all the time in the world

"We have all the time in the world

Time enough for life

To unfold

All the prescious things

Love has in store"

                         Louis Armstrong

bring it on Mr. trumpeter,

tell it to the world...

give us a smile, as you so often do,

look to us gently and wise

and

sing us some more...

you've seen it

in your soft wonderings

and put it in your docil tone,

the wonder of the world

so please be gentle one more try

of your established kindness

'cause there's so much you still need to teach us

of beeing good

and of the good.

you do tell it so well,

n'est pas?

c'est si bon...

question 30

can anyone tell me what i should do,
why have i come here
thirty years ago,
when i was born?

what was i thinking, coming here with a plan forgotten as soon as my first breath?
what's the purpose? what do i have to do? how do i have to live?
what more do i have to learn, and talking about that, so what's the lesson for this life?

i guess i know the answer, deep inside, but i don't know how to get to it.
i think i'll just have to live...

awkward monologue

photo by me - the blue staircase in sibiu

you should have told me about today,

that i would meet you.

i should have been prepared...

now i have to mumble among words

only to tell you my name,

simple as it is,

rather than how you can make me feel

if anything should happen

between us.

i'm not so good at monologues,

and even worse at dialogging,

but that

your really had to expect.

words, sometimes,

are like drops of oil in boiling water,

they don't seem to fit me.

it would be best to just look me in the eyes

maybe something there can be found.

or you just might listen to my voice,

forget the words and their logic,

care only for the tone and fondness of my voice.

might work.

you might get a glimpse of me,

broken apart of what i'm saying.

care nothing for my words,

they only deceive, bounded inside letters,

stuck in the surprise of meeting you.

really should have told me about today,

about facing you.

i should have been prepared...

i've waited for this

only

all of my life.

the description of a Prince riding a caterpillar

in that shadowed forest, only his face shines. you can see him miles away, a lighted dot in the dark, like a firefly coming to greet you in a cold summer night. nevertheless, the sound of the footsteps of his ride meets you first.

he rides his faithful stallion - a blue white dotted caterpillar with 1000 legs, each shod with gold slippers with bells made of amber by some old deathless craftsman whom he encountered few years ago, on a butterflies powder seeking trip. if you cannot imagine the aspect of the caterpillar, try listening to a Buddhist monk on he 21st of June in a leap year - that could give you a clue. and if even that won't work, try dreaming on a Sunday morning, about eleven o'clock, in a green bedsheets wrapped around a single walnut tree handmade bed with the help of a red candle balancing above your head, on which you must definitely wear a night-bonnet my Grandma must make for you. but, you know, my Granny is kind of busy nowadays, so leave it be. if you cannot imagine the Prince ridding his caterpillar, you'll just have to take my word for it.

his eyes have the same color as the back of his caterpillar, only that is for the summer. in winter and spring, his eyes change from day to day, even him can't tell you the exact shade or glow of his own eyes. the best way is to guess by looking at them. if you truly want to do that, his eyes will take the tint of your desire. if you do it because somebody asked you or just for fun, his eyes will might as well turn black, because only black you will see in all of the looks ten days from that moment on. but, what would made you guess if you don't really want it? why would you like to upset the Prince? besides, if there's no curiosity within, why the asking?

nobody knows his eyes in winter. too cold.

he wears a red tunic. his Mom made it for him the day of his birth. and each year from that point on he adds another button at his sleeve. he has long arms, so long sleeves, therefor a multitude of buttons can be added during his first life, then continued along the other lives - no one knows how many they will be or even how long will all of that take. what's for sure is that he's got a knapsack full of buttons, one greater, colorful or wackier  than the another.

the Prince sing along with his caterpillar, actually along with the song of his caterpillar's footsteps. it's quite a cheerful melody. catchy. i could hum it for you but... i'm a bit embarrassed - i yelled last night at Yardley, my dog, he couldn't hear me because he's used to listen to loud music, and i had to call him down for dinner. after i kind of lost my voice yelling, he heard and we had our usual and some bluebottle tea which is good for bonding, so to speak. but you gotta believe me, it really is a catchy tune, Prince's and of his caterpillar's steps.

i won't bother you no more, and please accept my gratitude for taking the time hearing me. if you stumble into the Prince, please, i beg of you, say Hy from me. tell him the man with eight glasses said hello and i'm still waiting for him and his faithful stallion to drop of for tea. Yardley want to play chess with the caterpillar, they both enjoy it so much. TA-DA!

          

remember the music

when
too dark seems all
just listen to the music of the leaves below your window.
let the sound of the city go
put on mute the bothering noise along with all you want to leave behind,
pause the quotidian.
maybe
in that moment
a bird will gracefully do a solo
and some butterfly wings will accompany,
the percussion beetle will swing
and the cricket will end the phrase.

the silent city astonished
only
for the song meant to you.

when there's too much,
just listen to the music,
the old language
understood by all.

a note can set you free,
a song can give you a life
and
if you dare to sing...
you might just be happy!

the comeback

oh, lethal muse, do come back!
kind enough to rejoin my soul
for things that have been waiting
to get done.


sometimes harsh yet sometimes a lover,
my to-die-for muse,
light your candle again
for my eyes to see.


i hear neither wind nor music
without you
not able and not willing
without my spirit filled-up with thy shine. 


these are my last words
that i can barely draw out from within.
my last breath, 
my last thought 
and 
my last feeling
are meant for you, 
my lethal muse...

the trip

worked web photo

"I am ready! hello?! do you hear me, said i was ready?!" said the little man looking up, hoping for some answer. he stared up there for a while, silent. took a gulp of air and again said, loudly, to be sure he's heard "I am ready for the voyage!"... then for himself, looking down "always been ready. all my life". he turned around to the pile of luggage layered behind him, looking at it, with surprise and tiredness at the same time. "so many bags... don't know why i have so many. don't even remember what's in the first one and can't even reach it to look. i barely  guess the content of the last, or do i? why the hell do i have so much luggage? what for did i gathered so many useless things? what was i thinking?" he looks up for a sec hoping for some answer to come down from there - either of the questions remained with no response. he is ready and he has an amount of foolish boxes, bags, some chests, a trunk, a hidden locker - so hidden he'll never find it again, few knapsacks stuck in a pile together, a dusted old leather briefcase, a cloth hoop, a kit bag and three handbags - never knew how he got to have them in the first place, but what the hell, right?!

he looks up again. his neck hurts. he fetches a sigh like it is the last, a deep hot-aired sigh, along with some small low words "said was ready"... he shakes all over and yells "voyage? i'm waiting down here, so you know! nah! don't hurry for me! don't even bother to answer! good to know i'm here, ready, right?! yeah... anytime now! feel free to... say something! in fact, feel free to... anything! hello?!"

suddenly turns round in-front of the pile behind him "maybe i should re-arrange all of this. maybe... that's why they're still waiting. i really should know all the things i have. maybe they require a list of them all, some sort of inventory... yeah, that's why they're still waiting, sure that is. but where to start from?" he looks up searching for anyone who could see him... he steps back-away from the pile - few steps until he gets  a bit of distance. he looks up again with a shy corner-mouth smile. "nah, i'll say i've found them here and don't know who they belong to. maybe someone forgot them. sure. or... it's just a pile of garbage. it sure looks like one..." his face clusters in a wrinkle-crowded grimace "all of this. it's my life. i've gathered them from all around. all my savings, my memories, my stuff... i did love each and everything here some while ago. there's no biggy  i don't remember them all... i'm not perfect and there were few years that have gone by if i do remember well, so who could remember all? nobody! so who could judge me for this? yeah, nobody! it's my stuff, i'll probably need some of them later, or all, who knows?! and they're not a lot! they're quite few for my age. and i've traveled so much these past years, it's normal i gathered few things, no? maybe they're not ready for me yet. ha, that's it! they're not ready and they hide with no shame, thinking i can't figure it out... tricky little bastards!". looks up with courage "hey, you there! i can come back in a while if you're not ready yet! hear me? don't mind. ok? but i'll leave my luggage here, if there's no bother, ok? kind of stupid to carry it with me if i get back here after all... am i right? and no problem if you're not ready yet, really, no problem at all! i don't mind a few time more here... if i think about it, i have some things to do... left some things unfinished, if you know what i mean... and no worries, ok, i won't bring any more bags or something!... so. it's ok, ha?! how long do i have till you're ready? if you say nothing... i'll figure it out for myself, you know?! you might not like it, so to speak... anything?! an hour? a day? in a week to come back? how many years?! come on, give me a figure here, a clue or...". 

he stops to listen. nothing. he steps back gaining speed step by step, walking backwards. he turns around and almost runs, shouting to his back with no concern if he is heard or not "you let me know when you want me back! and promise no more bags this time! i'll just enjoy the trips here... and for souvenirs, i've got a photographic memory. so no more things! that's it! take your time... " and for himself, running, laughing, like a newborn "i'll sure take mine..."

waltz opus no.3 (friendly)

one step, two steps
so humble am I to have met you, my dear
so truly grateful and so truly glad


one step, two steps
i think i know you from a time before
i guess we sat at the same table
and you gave me wine and a piece of bread
along with your grace and kindness


one step, two steps
you told me about the sea
showed me the sky
sang me a tune of the old sailors
and gave me your coat not to be cold


one step, two steps
i never saw you again till now
so many lives have passed
so many dears for you
and then again for I

one step, two steps
now, let me buy you a drink
for old times' sake
if you're hungry, i'll you get a piece of bread
and
when the final hour comes
we'll sing old sailors songs...

one step, two steps
we'll sing till the rising of the sun
yours truly dear friend

waltz opus no.2 (the waltz of words)

Wosene Worke Kosrof - The Color of Words IX

we dance with words

one to another,

only that-another to just understand what we meant.

this extinct battle to be understood.

this voyage from feeling 

to finding the definition of that specific tone or choice

that is so particularly "us".

bounded with letters and rules of grammar.

under the obligation to resume yourself within thirty lines or more,

depending of the time allowed or the page size you are granted.

how hard was for the first man to speak?

what was his first word?

why from that moment on we've stuck boundaries upon boundaries

along with each word created?

...but how else can you be understood?...

how else can you "say" what you want, think or feel?

how else can we tell someone we love or hate him?

how else can you say you've missed him or that you're glad?

my dear words,

we've invented you for so long

to be able to bring to life

only a crumb of what's inside of us...

but what would we be without you?

so again,

day by day,

we dance with you, my dear words,

only one day to be able to tell everything...

till then, let's dance!

waltz opus no.1 (the frost waltz)

polar-bear waltz by outside magazine

i'll take you to the north 

while you sleep,

gently with your dreams,

i'll take you to the cold of earth

and by the grace of crisp

music will emerge

for us to waltz...

you queen of ice

me frost of winds

swinging our way

into the mist

time will arrest for us

all kept safely in my hour-glass

and fairies gonna light our ring

chinese-lanterns of the dusk

i will take you to the north

where's no age and wrinkles 

for the snow to comb you a dress

and the bleak air to mantle your shoes

for all time to dance

you, me and the waltz

clubbed to death

clubbed to death by angels
i wish to be. just to be born again
from a wave of fire and stone
skin hard for no pain as my soul
eyes to see all as my heart
re-born from this madness only to live truly by the word.

someone asked me the other day
what the word is?
i smiled in complete silence...
he didn't understand.

i would like to club him to death along with angels
only to be born again.
waves of fire and stone
to harden his skin and soul
eyes to see everything with his heart
this madness gets to be so you could live truly by the word.

drops (lyrics meant for a song)

roger mclassus - drop-impact

like a drop of water

falling down from the sky

so much freedom surrounding

i will fly, i will fly

like drop of red wine

staining your white gown

i'm so stuck with you

the world around, world around

like a drop of tears

dribbling from your eyes

i will lay on you

soft and wise, soft and wise

like a drop of gas

leaking from a pipe

all the world i'll burn

for you and i, you and i

like a drop in time

so hidden, so shy

no-one is to know

what future lies, future lies

like a drop of water

falling down from the sky

i will take you with me

for a while, for a while

the road

henri cartier-bresson - en brie

the road seems long from here.

a large view,

no concern and no regard of what ever can be found at the end,

if there is any...

i start to stride it, one big step after another, 

confident of my anatomy and my biological device of walking,

foot in front foot, over and over again,

clock-finished mechanism of footsteps carrying myself forward.

i wait for nothing,

there's only ahead 

and what i've left behind counts no more.

i stare from time to time on both sides

trying to catch a glimpse of scenery just to clear and refresh my retina. 

i wait for nothing

and

nothing waits for me,

not even the road. 

it just is.

i'm just walking it.

there are so many wonders where i'm going...

plenty of marvels to be seen,

miracles to live.

they will all just be happening

and

i will just be there

enjoying.

thank you for the road.

thanks for tramping it.

hope i'll do well

step by step

on the road...

choice-of-words

we do tend to circle around a bunch of words which define us for a while. it depends from person to person on how long that particular group of words defines oneself - some take like six-months-choice-of-words, some take eight, twelve or more, regarding the power to see something else, one's imagination and creativity, let's not forget reading a bit or seeing some art from time to time... therefore, in my case, i'm stuck with my-group-of-words for like six to eight months. i incline to change them beginning from a conversation with a friend, a good line of a film, a quote from a book i did't read completely or haven't finished yet or maybe a striking image that came in front of me or i stumbled upon. 

to cut a long story short, these days i circle around a few words or phrases i'd like to put below for everyone to know them, to give an advice or a critique and last but not least to know me better by the words surrounding my vocabulary, state of mind or simply my humor. and i'd like to write them down because in few months they could change and some time from now i'll forget them, like never being with me or part of me, like never knowing them at all. they'll become another everyday choice-of-words with no meaning what so ever than themselves.

so here goes nothing:

1. i am a poem
2. i know everything and nothing at all, with no knowledge of how i know or how i got to know that at all
3. the world rest in your/my pen. imagine it!
4. i do try, i really do. but i got to stop trying and just do it.
5. there is a purpose everywhere. you just got to find it
6. we all have a mission, a lesson to learn. if i'll fail mine this time i'm sure to come back for the same thing over and over again until i learn
7. if you look up you'll see the sun, down there's only pavement 
8. because there is so much beauty in the world
9. there is a God and He's laughing. that will never change.
10. i am a joy of human being

all's well when it ends well, or someone did say that a while ago. hope is true. hope my choice-of-words did not offend anybody. hope i'm not the only one with such choices.

Englishman on sunday... tx Mr. Sting

decisions

why do we find the hardest things in life to be decisions? why is it so hard to make up your mind? to choose. if we think about it, there are only, basically, two choices: right and wrong - as we are used to call them, but truly they just are good and bad - in any way you wanna measure them or according to whatever criterion you wish. good and bad - that's all there is, not only here but in the hole universe. everything that has life comes down to this two simple choices. everything refers to them and any creature or life form from this time and beyond comprehends and lives by those simple two notions. 

so, it all comes down to this: is it good for you or is it bad? and there is no selfishness in this, no egocentric thinking or something like that. don't forget: the only-one you are responsible for is undoubtedly yourself, so the questions asked earlier are true: is it good or not for you and you alone. don't be afraid to choose. if it's good for you then you cannot do a bad thing and everything around you will understand your action and more - everything will resonate to you. and don't think that if you'd like to do harm because it's fun for yourself, the universe will see it likewise. no, the right or wrong is so simple that you cannot cheat or lie or deceive, not even yourself deep down inside. so why the hell, excuse my... French, is it so damn hard to choose, to make a decision? why don't we listen to the first thought? why don't we listen beyond our interests and puny goals and take the right answer for us and everybody else directly from all around? - listen carefully for the first thing that pops in your mind; that one comes from your soul. and the soul... he knows just two measures: good and bad. and your soul can't do wrong. simply because he belong to you and all around in the same time... he really is you in the purest form since the beginning and till the end. he just knows good, life and love. sounds foolish, right? maybe that's why we are so scared to choose, to be or to love...because it's so simple and foolish at the first sight. 

be not afraid! you know how to live, just listen closely to yourself. 

it's summer

vincent van gogh - sunflowers

in summer you should not be sad. it's too sunny or too bright - the choice of words it's up to you, but remember, anyway you put it, it is still summer - so no sadness.

you can run a hill or a field

you can sit a park-bench or a porch 

you can sing a song or just whistle

you can draw some meaningless lines or a portrait

you can read a book or a thrown-out paper

you can sip a lemonade with lots of sugar or plain cold water

you can bite an apple or get bitten by a small hot dog

you can comb someone's long wet hair till is dry

or just bathe that someone again with a hose

you can fall asleep in the grass or tuck yourself in the chilly bed clothes

you can speak loudly or just whisper some love statement

you can stare at the sun when is setting or wait for the sunrise all night long

you can drink a bottle of beer without breathing or get thirsty an entire afternoon

you can dream with your eyes opened and sleep like a rock

you can be silent for a week or just say hello and goodbye 

you can make love to the sea or just get a tan

you can travel or stay still

you can all of that and more but you don't have to anything

because it's summer.

and in summer you must never be sad. it's too sunny and sometimes too bright. and it would be a waste of your summer... how many do you think can be wasted? in my opinion, none.

ENOUGH!

enough

searching for love amidst the powder of money and the material!

enough

preaching all will be well but not believing in it for only one moment!

enough 

caving in so easily and not remembering what i have and can do!

enough

living lies or memories, waiting for the past to become present again!

enough

fooling myself because of the smalls in the world, forgetting to look beyond!

enough

keeping dreams as real living and leaving life aside!

enough

making so damn fun of myself only to smile that even my laugh gets tired!

enough

jerking around! there is so much beauty and so little time to disclose it.

enough

with lonely night and the asylum in my solitude!

enough

being mean just because kind is a step further too much!

enough

with the jokes that tear life apart! so fragile it is and so meant to be cherished.

enough

with the deaf! we speak therefore we might as well hear.

enough

with the blind! we still have eyes to see.

enough

with all that should have been enough till now!

enough

saying "enough" for so many times 

but not once with indisputable meaning!

help me God, 

Universe or 

All forth and inwards ,

this to be my final and last "enough"! 

so there it is:

ENOUGH!

yardley

adapted web photo

Yardley is a good dog:

a good listener, a brave scout and a clean eater.

he, because after all this time "he" is considered a person, inspite all arguments regarding language or rules of vocabulary, as i said, he always hears you, even though he reacts or not. he searches for everything, anytime - actually that's his only real preoccupation and he eats everything at the table, leaving no scratch nor crumb behind, therefore he's always clean after a meal and his place also neat.

he's good at the personality check also: always tends to do things only his way, no matter how you put it. he has such a personality that lately he is taken by all as a real-human person, sometimes granted duties beyond his abilities and unfortunately he is brought to book for the results. he holds no grudges. 


in the afternoon you really don't want to wake him up. to cut a long story short, you just don't want to wake him up at all. just leave him be, practically leave him sleep. better for everyone, specially for his so needed beauty-sleep. he holds his rituals so dearly.


just before going to bed, at night, you should play with him. he fancies getting attention a lot and can be very grateful afterwards. in fact, it's quite nice to play with Yardley. specially gin. he's very alert and can be a true adversary. when he happens to win he gives a round of water for everyone. you are bound to take it. maybe that's why in that sort of nights it happens to be so crowded  at the bathroom. luckily he wins sporadically.


the long and the short of it is:
1. Yardley was and remains a fairly good dog.
2. Yardley has, more than any other dog of his kind, personality.
3. Yardley, because of that personality, inclines to hold few duties of which their failure allures  responsibility.
4. Yardley should not be waken up in the afternoons, no matter what so ever.
5. Yardley plays gin quite successfully for a dog, in spite the night schedule of everyone's bladder.


after all, Yardley is a good dog.

language & hearing

in other language

i easily find the words

to define myself.

i'm too used to think with the voice i was born in

accustomed with the same topic and sense

tired of all the meaning i can make.

and i'm not afraid of making mistakes using different words than my own

not scared of being misunderstood or taken for granted 

hoping of some new ideas that will pop out even if i don't think them.

i'm free in these new vocabulary. no boundaries

to report to or to be stuck in. just feelings

drawn in this fresh lines letters reveal to me.

i cannot relate to anyone but myself with my maiden voice.

i can ask no advice nor older council, newborn

inwards and forth my own universe.

hear me out!

if there is anyone else speaking the same tongue.

be kind and listen to me, decent to reply.

i'm all words and ears

hearing as clear as ever

speaking for the first time.

3 minutes love

web photo

sometimes, all you need is love = a slice of cold raspberry cheesecake. 

depending on how fast you eat it, this love can last from about 3 minutes to an extreme 7 minutes, but then you need to be so slow that even earth will start to circle only for you in your own time. and believe me, that slice can change your life for even a glimpse. and it's worth it!

how the spoon can carve into the soft white cheese cream, along with a drop of raspberry jam hung, leaving a trail of the most sweet fruit blood ever tasted... how you can fashion your way eating bite by bite, leaving nothing but the shadow of once true love stuck in this simple white form. how all surrounding can change within a look of the first taste. soon hearing is accurate: leaves talk to you played by the wind, the town dumbs only for you, embracing you all of a sudden... people, oh those lovely people you can see now...their features rounded and softened and all ugliness blurs into red and white. and the biscuit soaked with the red syrup speaks in your language words never heard before, words of peace and happiness as if you were a beauty queen winning a contest, the most craved one. suddenly you are no longer a man nor a woman, you just are! suddenly there is room for discrimination or for any other thing that can set you apart from the others. you all are. the world reveals its secrets for that swift moment of a bite...

my darlings, sometimes all you need is a slice of cheesecake. because there is so much beauty in the world...