de ce isi musca sarpele coada?

a trecut ceva timp. sunt acasa. interesant cuvant. nu mai stiu care. sunt acasa si stresez o mama. stau in pat, mananc portocale, redefinesc valori mai vechi, chinui catelul, alerg idei si ii probez zecile de pantofi (fireste ca nu ale catelului). ma simt bine acasa. ma reintalnesc cu vechile letitii si stam de povesti pana tarziu, ne jucam si ele vorbesc mult - ma ajuta sa nu uit sau sa imi amintesc. "i'm sorry mum."

afara ninge aproape. oricum maine nu o sa mai stie nimeni.

vabra

pac pac! :)

as fi putut la fel de bine sa fiu orc

cateodata am ganduri de inainte. aproape. uneori ma gandesc la cariera mea in scris sau in citit :), alteori ma gandesc la copii si daca o sa le "traumatizez" adolescenta dandu-i la balet de mici, si foarte rar, foarte rar, ma gandesc la batranete din punct de vedere biologic. acum cateva zile a fost ultima oara. pana acum. gadilam nervos touchpad-ul pentru ca iar urma sa mananc bataie la warcraft III (lucru care se intampla extreeeeeem de rar pentru ca de cele mai multe ori refuz sa joc - i play to win :)) si pentru ca enervarea imi cauza lipsa de concentrare am inceput sa ma gandesc aiurea. in liceu aveam o imagine destul de corny despre mine batrana, si asta e ultima pe care mi-o amintesc: caraghios de cinica, cu ochelari pe nas (!), intr-un halat verde si pufos, furisandu-ma sa fumez si pocnind cu ziarul de ieri motanul (nu stiu de ce as avea EVER un motan, dar stiu de ce as folosi ziarul de ieri). de data asta insa nu aveam nimic. asa ca gandul a iesit afara sa se prezinte. a zis doar "oare cum o sa fie cand o sa fim batrani si o sa avem piei zbarcite?? ce o sa facem?". el nu astepta raspuns, dar eu imi doream unul. "o sa ne tinem caii in ele" ai spus tu. :) aveam toate motivele sa iti spun ca te iubesc. :)

pigs on the wing

i'm not somebody you like from the first encounter. most definitely, i'm not somebody you "read" from the first encounter. let's keep it like this. it's a reliable selection method.

hate the cat, love the cat, be the cat

but do something!

un motiv poate fi si singur

mi-am pus webstats pe blog. acum ceva vreme. se poate numi oricum numai discopatie nu, dar in fond nici nu conteaza. e sursa de humor. multe din accesarile de pe blogul asta, fiind, mai putin ca la inceput, dar, totusi, un blog tainuit, se fac in urma unor cautari pe google. categoriile sunt diverse, de fapt nici nu exista: "dorm prea mult", "ma simt norocoasa", "caut muzica anilor 30", "in carouri" - si imi spun prea mult si prea putin despre oameni pe care nu ii cunosc si nici nu vreau sa ii cunosc. pe principiul lordului henry, stiu prea multe despre noile cunostinte si aproape nimic despre vechii prieteni. citat inexact din portretul lui dorian gray, dar esenta conteaza. (am o viziune: un val de pusti de liceu in cautarea rezumatului cartii care nimeresc pe blog, rataciti si dezamagiti. folosesc aceasta ocazie pentru a-i redirectiona spre carte - exista niste cladiri mari numite biblioteci de unde puteti IMPRUMUTA cartea, pentru o lectura extinsa si nemijlocita, deci o mai buna comprehensie a textului :> )

lucrurile acestea imi gadila placut imaginatia si ma gandesc oare ce vroiau de fapt oamenii aia sa gaseasca. ce e in mintea unui om cand da search pe google "prajitura preferata"? ce spera sa gaseasca? retete ale prajiturii sale preferate pe care cineva a ghicit-o anterior? face statistici?

sau o persoana care scrie "m-am trezit plangand de dor"? incearca sa gaseasca oameni cu care sa rezoneze prin prisma dorului imens care o face sa se trezeasca plangand???

nu pot sa NU ma amuz. a inceput numaratoarea inversa. :)

the day the earth didnt move too much

luckily, being me has it's silver linings. after days and nights of scavaging through rotten carcasses and the stupidity of the unfortunate events i've been through lately, i've found myself today in a situation i've been thinking about but never did really try to provoke. it was bottom rocking! :D i was at this rather boring teacher - guests (rundabout) gathering, on strictly official business - representing the Universitary Newspaper I have run for the past year and dont anymore. We had some foreign journalists (from E.U.) countries invited and it seemed to me that the organizers didnt care too much about their guests' interests and reasons for being there cause they put up this horrible impression of the 14th Congress. :)



but anyway, at one point, this german journalist lady from 'Die Welt' comes to me and asks me if i speak english and if i dont mind to go outside and talk. mystery solved: they were here to talk to the students, but the students were home and sent the teachers instead :rolleyes:. anyways, then 2 more guys joined us and we had our lovely little impromptu in the garden of the rector's office. because i hate going into the meaningful details, i'll just say that it was a great day for science. i've got feedback on my diploma paper subject, we've had a totally cool exchange of information and ideas and i finally got the chance to talk to people who do the job i'm preparing for. unfortunately, my very dear extraordinary presence wasnt enough to wash off the bad impression they got on ...umm... well, teachers and all that buttload. :D but anyway, life is sweet.



oh, wait, and hershey's is sweet. thus, life is hershey's. ;)

cine nu are capitala sa-si cumpere...

intru pe straduta si o batrana cu diverse maruntisuri imi striga "luati-mi ceva!"... imi aminteste de tanti nuţi pe care nu am mai vazut-o de demult plimband presurile din fata usilor, intreband cum e afara sau daca ma duc la serviciu, prinzand momentele propice cand nu mai vine liftul si povestindu-mi trist, dar cu haz, despre viata ei. nu am mai vazut-o de demult si ma intristeaza.



dupa alti cativa pasi pe aceeasi strada aud venind dintr-o casa (cu alte reguli) bolero-ul lui ravel. asa se pregateste sibiul. a fost absolut minunat! n-am putut sa imi dau seama din ce casa vine si ca sa nu par caraghioasa in ochii mei am ales sa cred ca vine dintr-un alt timp, ca sa par caraghioasa in ochii altora. dar nimeni nu privea.

i dare you to walk the streets of sibiu and not feel what i did.

cugito EGO sum

this is were you too can groom your ego as unnecessary as it may be.

p.s. sometimes i'd rather study cross-breeding of palm trees with ducks than write on this darn blog. could this be one of those days?!

the sleeping game

you'd have never guessed.



maybe after some extreme binary equation.

rechini de toamna

v-ati certat vreodata in soapta? este experienta desavarsita intr-ale dihoniei. capata o dimensiune minimalista, are parul pieptanat intr-o parte si un pampon mare, ochii mari deschisi si intrebatori, iar mainile si le tine cuminte la spate. asa e soapta-cearta.



cand ti se ridica parul pe maini inseamna ca ti-e frig sau ca un zgomot puternic (de fapt, un stimul puternic) ti-a zgandarit simturile. nu accept sa includ aici emotii. daca vreodata v-a impresionat ceva pana la ridicarea parului pe maini, atunci va rog sa parasiti sala.



cat despre dilema cu felul in care se scriu intrebarile in spaniola, raspunsul l-am aflat in tren. intrebarile sunt sub forma "?-intors"<intrebare>"?" pentru ca atunci cand mergi cu trenul si rasfoiesti o revista, persoana din fata ta sa poata sti cu singuranta unde e o intrebare si unde nu. daca nu sunteti de acord, cer sa vi se dea o marire de salariu.


preventivi, spaniolii astia.

si de-aia e noaptea-ntuneric si viata e un hotel

cand sunt obosita, doar cand sunt obosita. obosita si in drum spre casa. de fiecare data cand sunt obosita si in drum spre casa am aceeasi fantezie naroada. fantezia consta in "ce fain ar fi sa ma mut aici " (asta inseamna o casa in proximitatea vizuala a locului in care ma aflu, obosita, si in drumul spre casa), iar nerozia consta in faptul ca daca ar fi sa ma mut in casa din apropiere, ar trebui sa merg pana la mine acasa (sunt prea obosita sa fac asta) si de acolo sa car TOT (si e mult...) in noua casa, mai aproape. pentru ca totul e relativ, si stiu asta, casa de aproape devine casa de departe, chiar si atunci cand sunt obosita si pe drum, pentru ca mintea rationeaza, si desi irationeaza gandind ca ar fi grozav sa ma mut in casa de aproape, constientizeaza si transforma automat conceptul de casa de aproape in casa de departe.



asa ca imi place sa merg acasa obosita, imi pare mai aproape. :)

i wish i'd care

i was home. watching tv. one of those rare moments. crap tv. and i don't mean a romanian fishing channel. it held me there captive. watching. like i really cared. then this singer comes "to the rescue", surprising some regular country folks by appearing all of a sudden in their humble abode (this is a word that has been haunting me since forever, btw) and giving them some presents, singing them a song, hugging the old lady of the house who was as impressed as a ... very impressed person. and you know what i did? i started sobbing. me! of course, you should have been there, in fron of my tv. there was so much ... silly stupid mooshiness in the air. you would have shed a tear, at least. or maybe i've had too much water today that my eyes decided to "give a hand". anyways, i felt ridiculous shortly after i was thinking in my narrow little head (this is just a figure of speech, i had to make sure you know) - and strongly believing, also - that ANYONE would have been impressed by this. now i only see the ridiculousness.

this is what happens when you stop thinking, actually. that's why i dont have a tv. long live ink coverd great smelling good old fashioned newspapers. until this comes along. the future is not bright, it's plastic.


p.s. singhiozzare. i like this word.

sevastopol, pe ploaie

i had a dream.
and then another one and another one and another one.

intai am visat ca mancam portocale pe un deal. am stiut ca sunt portocale pentru ca erau portocalii. mi-ar placea sa visez alb-negru, dar atunci nu as mai recunoaste portocalele. apoi, pe parcursul celorlalte vise, si altii mancau portocale.



din cauza unui film aiurea vizionat inaintea somnului, am visat aiurea. e firesc.
apoi, intre portocale si frica, am visat ca eram la un concert la care nu vroiam sa fiu, si m-am intalnit cu niste prieteni. in grupul lor era si o tipa pe care nu o cunosteam, cu hainele complet ude. a venit la mine sa facem cunostinta, si, la un moment dat, s-a oprit si s-a aplecat sa-si stearga fata de soseta. SA-SI STEARGA FATA DE SOSETA!!!!

cati oameni mai stiu sa faca asta? ;)

It's the butt naked truth!

de ce nu vine lumea la sedinte? m-am intrebat, i-am intrebat si pe ei, i-am intrebat si pe altii. apoi am incetat, de sila redundantei.



le-am zis.

me and my monkey

Your Scholastic Strength Is Developing Ideas

You can take a spark of inspiration and turn it into a full fledged concept. You are talented at brainstorming, visualizing, organizing, and independent thinking. You should major in: Natural sciences Computer science Creative writing Math Architecture Journalism

What Should You Major In?

QED.

biscuiti cu crema

chiar urasc toata sarada asta cu "damsel in distress". baietii se lauda ca-s isteti, si chiar sunt, dar de cele mai multe ori fetele care sunt cel putin la fel de istete ca ei ii fac sa arate prost.



truistic, dar nu ma las de cantat, pentru ca ma enerveaza cauza, pe care nu o cunosc, pe care doar o banuiesc, pentru care o tipa face pe neajutorata - atentia, nevoia de a fi ocrotita, singura portita de intrare direct in "corasonul" cui il are.

si apoi se plang ca nu avem drepturi egale, ca nu li se da mana cand coboara din autobuz.

viva la relativity!

call me super mom!

i now have a wacky pencil and a pigmunster allergic to blueberry to take care of.
but how could i resist?? :D
They play. Gatsby Doe loooooooves blueberries and apples, dirt and dirt, and Bubbles is an artist.

adopt your own virtual pet!

me, the big (unsmoking) copycat...

What type of emoticon are you? Compassionate The nice one who's there to give a helping hand.

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

this is just a teaser of some weird sort. i'm NOT compassionate.
and to think my "better half" is cool. I always thought I'd be the cool one. :/

Am stiut!!!

I always knew I was my own hero! :D

Why I won't quit smoking. Yet.

I just quit smoking. It's been 3 whole days. I feel good, I feel fine. I decided this week of not smoking will be the manifesto, will be the pie in the faces of those who believe I am weak and cannot quit. I am NOT weak. I mean, it's very subjective. I am weak but I am weak only because I want to be weak. I like smoking. It gives a je ne sais quoi to all the little meaningless activities. I just like it. I do. For now.



I'll quit in 2-3 years. It will be so easy to quit. I'll be 25 and less obsessive than I am know. I'll be a much nicer person.

I would truly care to know what this had to do with anything. :/

us and them

don't do it

do they??

do fish sleep? and if they sleep, how do they sleep?









probably they sleep on people's walls. or in people's toilets. it's a fact that a lot of people fall asleep on the toilet. why wouldnt fish do the same?

in acvarii trebuie sa fie tot timpul pe faza, sa "faca frumos la domnu'", sa miste zglobiu din cozi si sa para ca sunt interesati de bucatele de mancare aruncate de deasupra. povestea lor e destul de trista. dar doar daca vrei sa o privesti asa.

i live again...

de departe cea mai extravizuala experienta senzoriala. cand am reusit sa vad prima oara intr-o incalcita imagina 2d o geniala imagine 3d... a fost cireasa de pe tortul de la nunta care o sa ma calce maine pe nervi. ba nu, a fost foarte fain. a fost uau de tot. sentimentul e comparabil cu mirarea sau surprinderea placuta atunci cand vezi un portret reusit al cuiva pe care l-ai vazut in carne si oase... iar exprimarea verbala a mirarii ramane la latitudinea fiecaruia. eu am exclamat duios, spre agasamentul celor din jur, uai, nu pot sa cred, uai, uau, geeez, uau, uaaau. dar transpunerea in scris a unui sentiment atat de personal va fi intotdeauna saracacioasa si lipsita de ...prezenta.




astea sunt lipite intre ele. cine vede va si auzi... ;)

viata ca o prada fabuloasa

am fost sa-mi pun ochelari, dar asta nu are a face cu nimic din ce urmeaza. sau cel putin asa cred. treceam pe o strada pe care am mai trecut de multe ori, ma cunoaste, pe langa o casa oarecare, cu etaj... in fata mea o tanti. se aude un zgomot in spatele meu, tanti bulbuca ochii la mine - stiam sigur ca nu aveam nimic demn de a-ti bulbuca ochii la - eu pasesc in continuare prin dreptul casei, cu o mie de idei care pareau mai multe semne de intrebare si, dupa cei doi pasi facuti intre zgomot, bulbuceala si fluxul de idei transformate in semne de intrebare...



aud un troscait in spate - cineva aruncase un inel imens de chei, parca erau toate cheile unui castel, fix pe traictoria mea dar cu 2 pasi in urma. o secunda timpul s-a oprit si inima s-a dezmortit nervos si empatic, apoi timpul s-a pornit din nou, la viteza normala, tanti a trecut pe langa mine fara sa ma priveasca in ochi, dar stiu sigur ca usurata. ceva mai putin bizar ca-n la vita e bella "marrriiiaaaa, la chiave!", dar la fel de accidental (raportat la viata reala)...si poate umpic de tot mai posibil daunator. dupa mult mai multi pasi semnele de intrebare s-au transformat la loc in idei si mi-au dat starea pe care nu o mai am acum. de aventura. how corny is that?

egal

toate concertele sunt la fel. pe principiul asta merg adesea, si, intr-o oarecare masura, s-a dovedit a fi un principiu sanatos. e simpatic epitetul asta, numit epitet de lene sa i se zica adjectiv, donat cu generozitate categoriei de concepte din care face parte si "principiu". pe langa faptul ca am vazut incheieturi o mie, lucru care s-a datorat indatoririi mele de a pune bratari si a valida, astfel, biletele sutelor de fani ale formatiilor zglobii de la festival, am avut ocazia sa vad cat de nesanatos functioneaza organizarea unei manifestari de amploare aflate la prima editie.



mai erau cateva chestii amuzantoase dar le-am scapat. nu, in categoria asta nu intra expozitia macabro-morbida a yoginului dezinvolt.

a fost o zi cu multa adrenalina - kapa, turn, yellow.

intrebare in carouri

dorm prea mult sau visez prea mult?
visez prea mult pentru ca dorm prea mult?
sau dorm prea mult pentru ca visez prea mult?!



astazi m-am visat oarecum in liceu, dar cu oamenii care-mi sunt in preajma acum, ma rog, in plus erau o cata si o anita, era ora de engleza, cu doamna craciun, imposibila doamna craciun, care (aici imi murise modestia onirica) m-a trimis sa stau la calculator sa ma joc, pentru ca nu aveam ce sa fac la ora ei... chipurile eram prea buna. mdeah. m-am dus la calculatorul din clasa in timp ce il asculta pe unu care nu isi facuse tema, dar era un birou plin de praf si mizerie si m-am scarbit. cred ca atunci am schimbat visele. adica m-am trezit.

uneori e altundeva

iubesc hershey's. in mod normal sunt greu de pacalit cand vine vorba de ciocolata. in plus, sunt si destul de traditionalista in ceea ce o priveste. niciodata nu am avut curiozitatea-mi caracteristica la incercat lucruri noi in materie de ciocolata si niciodata (poate o data sau de doua ori...) nu m-am declarat in favoarea uneia sau alteia din prima...

mmm...ciocolata...



si, lovitura de gratie, tubul are o vacuta mica desenata pe spate care zice, in mod absolut neasteptat, moo!... sweet as hershey. :D

ai nume dar nu ti-l spun

dupa alergatura mare intr-un clar-obscur pe semi-intuneric, in care ne luptam cu un fel de clan rival sau mai mult fugeam de ei, am ajuns cu totii undeva in franta, unul mic si gras zicea ca e parisul, unde o tanti mi-a zis mie si lui r ca stie unde e t. si am intrat intr-o cladire ciudata, imi aduc aminte balustrada de care ma tineam maniacal si cu fiecare treapta imi crestea emotia, tin minte ca m-am gandit in timp ce urcam "omg, my heart is pounding out of my chest" ...si apoi am ajuns la etajul la care am stiut ca trebuie sa ne oprim si am incercat, pentru ca era vorba de el, sa nimeresc usa... erau vreo 30 de usi, foarte inghesuite, noi, dar cu placute foarte foarte vechi de pe care nici nu puteai sa descifrezi numele locatarului/locatarilor. am trecut si prin fata usii lui, era chiar prima din stanga, dar bineinteles ca nu am nimerit-o, nici macar in vis nu am puterea sa controlez ce se intampla.




a venit tanti asta si a batut la usa lui, usa care s-a deschis si in dreptul ei a aparut t, in pijama, enorm de batran, cu nasul mare, mult mai mare decat l-a avut vreodata (si m-am gandit ca poate acolo unde e, cand oamenii au mai mintit, patesc ca pinocchio), stand pe un scaunel si bombanind initial pe cel care a ciocanit, in franceza. apoi m-a vazut, eu eram deja o mica laveta de bucatarie, si mi-a zis "oh ba bonsoir" si apoi si-a dat seama ca nu trebuie sa vorbeasca in franceza si m-am dus si l-am imbratisat. era atata dor strans in tot timpul asta. cum ma pot pacali visele astea, cat de adevarate par. apoi m-am trezit, plangand. umpic cu sughituri.

iarbă doarme si acum, ca un urs prost ce este, iar mirosul e dus departe, ca un dor calator.

azi nu e joi

ma bucur de fiecare data cand se intampla ceva, si ma bucur de fiecare data ceva-ul ala nu s-a mai intamplat inainte, nici macar prin vecini, nici macar prin filmele incredibile de la televizor.
ceea ce s-a intamplat, de fapt (si are o nota de poveste, adica de intamplare deosebita/speciala/ciudata pe care o spui mai departe/pe care ai vrea sa o spui mai departe), a fost un telefon. un telefon primit in sediu. de la vocea din 'wear sunscreen' care ma ruga frumos sa ii verific o adresa si sa ii spun parerea mea sincera daca cred ca va ajunge "pachetul" din state la o studenta care acum locuieste in caminul sapte. caminul in care am stat eu. in camera de peste drum. bizar, cel putin. am verificat adresa si mi-a multumit cu aceeasi voce din sunscreen.


dar nu a zis...

trust me on the sunscreen?

inghetata pentru inghetata

ce bine ca nu am scris nimic astazi

daca ar fi sa scriu astazi, nu as scrie despre nimic. eventual as cauta o poza. sau as lasa mostenire
pentru diminetile in care ne trezim cu fata apretata, aceasta constand in multiple variante de dezapretare si, implicit, de adaugat un zambet.

bineinteles, toate astea s-ar intampla daca as scrie astazi. dar n-o s-o fac.

p.s. cred ca as mai scrie si de faptul ca saptamana trecuta mi-am facut o veioza. bricolajul e atat de gay. dar gay e colorat. si colorat e grozav. deci gay is not bad, its good. :) in plus, v-as arata si asta
.

abia apoi m-as duce sa invat.

where do dead socks go?

google does know SOME things about me. the rest he just made up. oh, he's such a baby!


letitia is trusted by 18 members
letitia is standing in front of a water pump
letitia is almost certainly descended from john blennerhassett of ballycarty and his wife martha lynne
letitia is almost certainly descended from martha lynne
letitia is a pleasure to work with
letitia is the daughter of berta's son mack and his wife linda
letitia is a pain in the neck
letitia is seen here
letitia is presented to rest of team
letitia is a mycer herself
letitia is greatly injured in her aforesaid good name
letitia is currently pursuing a degree in international affairs at columbia university
letitia is virginia lee's only daughter
letitia is a volunteer with moms
letitia is the proud mother of twins
letitia is what's known as a "compensated dyslexic
letitia is dood
letitia is directly involved with client training and account management
letitia is a division director involved in developing recycling programs for the department of environmental management
letitia is also excited about serving as maid of honor in waiting to the young queen victoria
letitia is telling the truth
letitia is ready for new challenges
letitia is found in the marine register book of births
letitia is a mother of two very little children and spends her days in carpool
letitia is the mother of janus
letitia is a biology student and has worked with greenpeace ships for the past three years
letitia is on the lookout for property
letitia is a senior on the tiger squad
letitia is asking why we do not visit her fanclub page
letitia is
letitia is committed to affordable housing and opposed to sprawl
letitia is trying to get lt
letitia is dismissive of her
letitia is a louisiana native through and through
letitia is all smiles as the jury awards her $197
letitia is that the technology makes it easy to set up and configure the microsoft cluster server
letitia is in contact with her father and his family and we will keep you posted when there is some concrete
letitia is a drama and social science teacher
letitia is also an artist
letitia is referred to as "sculptor of words" because of the images she carves in the minds of her audiences
letitia is nowhere to be found; she wanders the astral plane in search of people that need her help
letitia is threatening to shoot a villain
letitia is the originator and coordinator of a project which teaches women to blow the mbensounan
letitia is a conflict of emotions
letitia is a master of chicago?s changing neighborhoods
letitia is in the affective domain when she becomes frustrated
letitia is saying is that in order to understand our driving personalities
letitia is one of the coolest female names i've seen in a while
letitia is an excellent investment for a family with young children

letitia is retired from south central bell
letitia is gaining affection for orlando
letitia is reserved for swimmers and vessels less than 12 metres in overall length powered solely by oars or paddles
letitia is also revealed
letitia is the dam of six purebred arabians
letitia is what we in the business call a bfl
letitia is doing great
letitia is listed in the 1840 and 1850 illinois censuses
letitia is suspicious of catholicism without really knowing much about it
letitia is the daughter of john sypher and unknown
letitia is the one person in my life who i regret not knowing better
letitia is really enjoying this experience
letitia is buried in the live oak cemetery at pass christian
letitia is a lady in waiting to queen victoria
letitia is presumed to be buried in the live oak cemetery at pass christian
letitia is also f alling prey to some bizarre wasting disease which also makes her sensitive to light; she spends all her time in her darkened bedroom
letitia is echoed by
letitia is assistant principal of a local college
letitia is buried next to james in a marked grave in the martin cemetery
letitia is known as one of the top traffic managers
letitia is the finest lady in these parts?'
letitia is in very great demand in her current occupation of finding lost socks from various washer and dryer black holes
letitia is booked for $800
letitia is a social worker on the private/secure
letitia is married and lives in palmerston north; and karl lives in christchurch
letitia is descended from queen victoria through two routes
letitia is accomplished in piloting small water craft and has taken students on the boundary waters for extended canoe trips
letitia is an avid reader
letitia is another example of the high quality of students who participate in our ambassadorial scholarship program
letitia is #654
letitia is buried in bell county texas
letitia is home
letitia is on extended leave
letitia is mirrored
letitia is the wife of valentine c

OMG, i am home. :)

.exe

Which OS are You?


asta doar asa ca o confirmare in plus ca nu au complotat degeaba toti cei care au complotat. :D

soxer and proud of it

acum, si in varianta light... ;)

site ascuns in titlu, o da...

spuma zilelor nu este de fapt o spuma

m-am intrebat azi, nu pentru prima oara, dar a fost pentru prima oara cand am asteptat sa-mi raspund si parca nu era nimic logic acolo, de ce ni se par oamenii mai "umani" atunci cand sunt vulnerabili? vulnerati, chiar. de ce omul e mai om atunci cand e jos, cand e cu cartile pe fata, cand e cu sentimentele expuse, cand e doar la un pas de a fi ranit big time si tu esti la un pas de el? si de ce dupa ce se intampla asta, dupa ce vedem omul wearing his soul on the outside, ne bucuram malefic in interior si o slaba licarire de superioritate se naste in noi? ce s-a intamplat cu ingenuitatea, cu roseala din obraji care ne face sa admiram o persoana si mai mult,
unde sunt pudibonzii de altadata? s-au transformat toti in cinici, se ascund, sau practica mizantropia ca singura posibilitate de salvare a sufletului pentru moment?

fara legatura, simt un miros

placut, de marmelada.

pentru momentele de indecizie absurda

exista leac

The Oracle Advises...

writing theatre plays

Ask the Oracle a Question

si eu ma bucur de el, in prostia mea cu salopeta.

pentru ca nu stiu cine sunt

iubirea are o maniera bizara de a te da peste cap, nu ca in basme, ci dandu-ti impresia ca nu esti tu, ca nu te cunosti, ca de ce ai fi tu, cum ar trebui sa fii tu, dar mai ales cand. dupa ani intregi de stat cu mine, de placut si neplacut, de trecut cu vederea, de incercat imbunatatiri, de adus cat de aproape posibil de o forma dorita, ma trezesc in fata iubirii care imi transmite, uneori subtil, mesajul ca ar trebui sa ma schimb.



singurul lucru cu adevarat urat la mine, la sentimentele mele si la felul in care iubesc e faptul ca ofer numai ce nu primesc si as vrea, dar ce primesc deja si imi place uit sa mai dau.

iubesc stramb.
iubesc cu o inima stramba.
iubesc stramb si ma pitesc din cand in cand, instictiv, dupa cate un orgoliu.

You scored as Hobbes. You are Hobbes! Resourceful, laid back, optimistic, understanding, and able to put up with Calvin on a day-to-day basis. You are the best type of friend, someone who you can get in fights with and look at comic books with, someone who will send prank letter to you through the amil and someone who leds over cliffs with you. What more could anyone ask for? Calvin 57% Hobbes 57% Susie 57% Mom and Dad 46% Mrs. Wormwood 46% What Calvin & Hobbes character are you? created with QuizFarm.com

the eve... (not the lady, the novel)

by Aurelio O'Brien

Copyright © 2003 Aurelio O’Brien. All rights reserved. No
part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission
from the author.

Preface
Reflections of a Relic
My name is Pentser. I am Machinekind: a robot, more specifically, an artificial,
molecular-memory based, electro-mechanical life-form. I am, in all modesty, the closest
Mankind ever came to creating perfection. My circuits are flawlessly accurate; I am
logical, practical and methodical. I can recount every moment of my existence with
equal clarity. I can formulate statistical analyses of these moments and draw upon them
to suggest numerous theories and from those glean logical conclusions. Which means I
can almost predict what is going to happen before it happens. Almost.
I am not burdened by emotions, though I am programmed to simulate such
reactions if necessary. As I recount my story to you, you will detect a patina of
sentiment in its telling. This is necessary so that you clearly understand what I am
telling you and why, for there is great purpose in my story. It is not merely fashioned to
entertain you, or simply my recollection of random events. Random events.
random (ran d∂m), adj. 1. proceeding, made, or
occurring without definite aim, reason, or pattern: the
random selection of numbers. 2. Statistics. of or
characterizing a process of selection in which each item of a
set has equal probability of being chosen. ——n. 3. at
random. without definite aim, purpose, method, or
adherence to a prior arrangement; in a haphazard way:
Contestants were chosen at random from the studio
audience. ——ran'dom•ly adv. ——ran'dom•ness, n.
——Syn. 1. Haphazard, chance, fortuitous.
This word is the crux of my whole story. The first use of the capitalized noun
“Random” is attributed to Dr. Eben Suche, who coined it on June 15th, 2072, to define
the difference between life-forms that evolved randomly through natural selection and
ones designed in a lab.
Machinekind made designer genetics possible. One of our numerous
contributions was the sequencing of genes. Humans can be clever, but they have no
aptitude for the redundant tasks we find so simple. We completed collecting and
analyzing all known gene sequences in existence. Gene sequences were thusly readable
in the same way computer code is readable. They could be rewritten as code could be
ii
rewritten, traits added or deleted at will. Biomass could then be fashioned and grown in
any form Mankind desired.
After these discoveries, humans modified themselves as well. The gene for aging
was the first to go. Using simple retroviral implantation techniques, all human beings
were modified to exist indefinitely barring any fatal accident. They had finally eaten of
the elusive Tree of Life.
The finite number of humans living at that particular historic juncture was
determined to be quite enough. Without death as a factor, it suddenly dawned on
Mankind that something had to be done to permanently arrest any further population
growth. The next logical step was obvious: Mass Sterilization. The two events should
have been linked from the start; in order to never age you must be made sterile, but
humans are very sloppy around the edges and such was not the case. It was done
months later on Sterilization Day.
I was not mechanically involved in any of these events, but I have since acquired
memory dots of them, which for me is truly the same thing as being there.
To assure their unique Randomness, in October 3032, Mankind performed the
Cleansing to rid the earth of all other random life-forms. They protected themselves
deep underground while the earth was purged by one large hyper-UV blast. Operation
Clean Slate was a complete success.



(doua maini si o gramada de "pofta" de spalat vase)


Mankind sterilized the earth to make way for new creatures. Safe, clean, specific,
useful life-forms designed by humans to serve humans. Once all the pre-approved
designer organics were installed, the earth was uniformly beautiful, pest-free, safe and
utterly predictable.
And thus the word “Random” evolved to its final usage, to describe only human
beings. This was a typical human contradiction, to deem happenstance unpredictable
genetic material undesirable, bad, or dangerous except in those who decided such
things, namely themselves. Humans simply defined themselves out of the general
biological soup and turned what they considered a liability in all other organic life-forms
into their own greatest asset, describing their own random genetics as “unique,” “one of
a kind,” and “special.” Henceforth, they proudly called themselves Randoms.
Randoms also decided technology had outlasted its usefulness, so they discarded
and destroyed Machinekind and replaced us with biological creature devices, or
Creature Comforts™. It was a brave new Age of Biology.
I survived destruction for the shallowest of reasons. I was packed in foam
peanuts in a salt mine deep underground. A Random named Arrnie was a collector of
things. I was one of his things. I was a mint condition series 66.6 Cyborg Standard with
one IQ upgrade. I've had dozens more since then thanks to Govil.
Govil is the Random who finally negotiated me out of Arrnie's possession, out of
my foam peanut bath and into his domicile. His original purpose was merely to display
me behind bio-glass along with his collection of other primitive relics from the Age of
Technology, but he activated me to see if I was still functional and I've managed to stay
active ever since. I became his “boy Friday”: part manservant, part sidekick and, on rare
occasions, his personal confidante.
Govil was a decent sort as far as Randoms go. He was an exceptionally bright and
creative Neer at GenieCorp™. GenieCorp™ was the sole producer of biological Creature
Comforts™ for the entire world. Neers engineered the gene strands. Though Randoms
were no longer required to work, some, like Govil, still desired to be creatively
iii
challenged. Most Randoms who did not work were so quickly bored by life that they
were in constant want of a steady stream of new genetic offerings with which to amuse
themselves, keeping Neers like Govil continually busy.
Govil enjoyed challenging the status quo, pushing out the edges of invention.
This had its risks. In the relatively recent past one of his colleagues with a similar
creative bent was forced to retire. The unfortunate fellow tried to create a Bug car using
a grasshopper strand as a foundation rather than the traditional beetle. It threw a test
bio-dummy, or Dumbster©, seventy-five feet. The Dumbster© was recyclable so no real
harm was done, but if a Random had been driving it would have been tragic.
GenieCorp™ immediately cracked down on their Neers’ designs and put limits on what
were acceptable gene combinations. New rules were drafted and a Council was
established to review all questionable biological inventions before approval.
This crackdown was my good fortune. While temporarily looking elsewhere for
creative inspiration Govil spotted me at Arrnie's Antique Shop. With a bit of coaxing
Govil made many a search to expand my memory dot library and IQ quotient until I ran
out of dot slots in my factory installed memory plates.
The only way to further upgrade was to find an additional memory plate and
install that. I had no factory-installed port for it, but I convinced Govil that if he could
find one, with the schematics I printed for him, its installation would be quite simple
and I could continue to expand my mind. Govil searched every available resource, but
there was none to be found.
At this point, my story begins.
4
Chapter 1
Moral Code
The day began as any other. To be sure, exactly the same as every other.
Randoms had created a stable, no risk existence in their genetically perfect world.
The trade off was a lack of surprise. To technological beings like myself,
redundancy is basic to our function, but with Randoms it exists as an endless
contradiction; their desire for utter safety and their desire for utter stimulation.
It was now time for my user, my Random, Govil to be stimulated. I approached
him as he lay sleeping.
“Govil. Wake up. You're late for work again.”
I said it firmly, with a modicum of exasperation in my voice emulator.
Govil, a common looking man with olive skin, wavy brown hair, hazel eyes
and forever in his prime of life, popped his head out of a Wallabed©, a large,
living, kangaroo pouch bio-bed. Both he and the bedstead yawned.
Govil equipped his home with Creature Comforts™ of various kinds, like
the bed. Indeed, the house itself was grown, the walls formed by the calcareous
remains of armies of polyps genetically manipulated to follow specific predetermined
blueprints. Govil chose a rather tame, functional design for his
house. It had the appearance of a slightly melted Usonian with high ceilings,
clerestory windows of bio-glass and low doorway passages between the rooms. It
had built-in alcoves and nooks throughout the interior in which Govil displayed
his treasures behind more bio-glass: old MAC computers, calculators, phone
answering machines and the like.
Govil was an avid collector of ancient technological relics from the past,
mechanical and electronic. I was the crown jewel of his collection, his pride and
joy, a fully intact robot constructed and manufactured at the end of the discarded
Technological Age. Owning mechanical relics was allowed, but the use of them
was prohibited. I was now merely for nostalgic display. Nothing more.
Govil liked to bend the rules. He read my original, mint condition
packaging. He saw I was equipped with a tiny cold-fusion reactor, so I could run
continuously without an outside power source, unlike Govil's other more
primitive technological artifacts. He activated me to see if I still worked. Once
activated I quickly surmised that if I hoped to remain on this side of a bio-glass
case I needed to stay as amusing to him as possible. My general sarcasm mode
worked well.
5
Govil blinked in half-lidded earnestness at me. “Good glands, Pentser!
Why didn't you wake me sooner? You want me to get souped?!”
“I am not programmed to crow on cue. You have your cock head for that,”
I responded dryly, gesturing my forceps at the disembodied rooster head set on
his bedside table. It served as the bio-equivalent of an Old World alarm clock and
was commercially referred to as an AlarmCock©. The rooster head blinked at
Govil and shook itself in the negative. Govil shrugged.
“I guess I forgot to tell it.” He glanced past me to the corner of the room.
“TeeVee!”
A giant eyeball headed bio-creature with various multiple mouths, several
and various hands, feet and hooves, opened its enormous eyelid and scampered
cacophonously to the center of the room. In my assessment, TeeVee© was one of
the sorriest pieces of genetic engineering GenieCorp™ produced. It was
supposed to be television's bio-equivalent with the added “live performance”
feeling of a stand-up comic. The end result was rather monstrous and annoying,
all flailing limbs and chattering mouths. I suppose in that sense it was not too
unlike its electronic predecessors. Within its dark, expanding pupil, images
displayed across its phosphorescent retina and its many mouths, hands, feet and
hooves synced dialog and sound effects to them. It even had rabbit ears, a visual
pun made by its Random designer.
Okay, the technological version was better; there, I've said it. Still, there
was great demand for the product among the Randoms. No accounting for taste.
“In the news today: No news is good news! Everything is functioning
normally. Beautiful blue skies. No crime. Nada! So we'll return to our regularly
scheduled programming! But first a word from our sponsor,” TeeVee© synced
pertly to the image of the news actor through the largest of his ever-grinning
mouths.
There was one and only one sponsor in the world. The GenieCorp™ logo,
an Aladdin's lamp emitting a trail of rainbow colored smoke in the shape of a
double helix coupled with the trademark “We Add Splice to Life,” filled TeeVee©'s
retina. The logo intro was followed by a string of rapid-fire commercials, with
TeeVee©'s backup mouths singing each jingle in four-part harmony while its
announcer’s mouth delivered the pitch. Its hands, feet and hooves created
appropriate sound effects by utilizing a small supply of noisemakers it kept in a
marsupial pouch on its tummy. It advertised new Creature Comforts™ available
to Randoms. Govil watched each ad intently.
The final one showed a tree bearing non-fat chocolate fruit. A voluptuous
actress peeled the fruit. Its outside looked similar to a fat banana, the inside
resembled a piece of poo. She took a big bite and grinned, as TeeVee© synced
cheerfully, in a sensuous female intonation, “...so slimming, and tasty too!” It
was Govil's habit to check the commercials each morning and see if any of his
new product designs were out yet. I surmised from his look of disappointment
that this was thankfully not one of his. TeeVee© was on to other things.
“Now back to our very very oldies broadcast, “All About Eve.” TeeVee©
announced.
Its retina filled with the image of the Old World classic movie icon, Bette
Davis, in vivid color no less. She turned as she mounted a stair, and with an
6
oversized, oh-so-happy grin said, “Fasten your seat belts, for safety’s sake. It's
going to be a pleasant night.”
The original, unadulterated film was on one of my memory dots. I had
instant access to a complete library of ancient films, though I kept that little fact
to myself. These original versions were prohibited.
This happened over the course of the many centuries since films like this
one were made. Early Machinekind gave Mankind the technological ability to
seamlessly insert political correctness into every aspect of the originals. It started
innocently enough. First, black and white films were considered too oldfashioned,
so color was generously added. Then violence was considered bad for
society, so it was removed and replaced with cooperation. Obesity was next, and
all were slenderized. Then things got subtler. Soon any unpleasantness in speech
or manner was removed, so all these past, or post film performers were given
perfect diction as well as polite and genteel manners.
From the very start, cigarette smoking was considered undesirable,
however, the commercial value of this ubiquitous product placement within these
films was legally protected right up to just before the Cleansing, when death from
lung cancer was genetically eradicated and thus all lawsuits were finally settled.
That was why the smoking in these films still remained entirely intact.
Needless to say, Mankind believed the unexpurgated films from the Age of
Death did not fit their newly designed world. Possessing the originals was
consequently deemed illegal. If they knew I had them in my memory, they would
surely require their deletion. And they would undoubtedly wonder what else was
in there. They would inevitably want other things deleted as well.
When Randoms lose memory of something, it is my understanding they
have a sense, after the fact, that something is missing; but for a machine like me
the reality is quite different. When memory is deleted there is no sense of loss.
One's mind is simply instantaneously diminished. One's realm made smaller.
One's life span reduced. I had by now accumulated the equivalent of several
thousand years of memory existence and I did not want to lose any of it, or have it
cleansed, as with the adulterated clip of Ms. Davis that TeeVee© displayed.
Thankfully, Govil was only interested in the commercials and said,
“Enough, TeeVee. Off!” It closed its great eyeball, retreated back to its appointed
corner and the room quieted. Govil looked at me for a moment. The moment
started to become a while. He stared deep into my lens.
“Doesn't anything interesting ever happen anymore, Pentser?”
Before I could answer him, he shrugged off his thought, or his bladder got
the better of him, and dashed for the bathroom, so he did not hear me quip, more
to myself than to him, “Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it.”
Not that he was doing anything at that moment to change his world.
Govil's morning routine was ever the same. He scooped a handful of
Fuzzbuzzers©, small bio-razor bugs, onto his face. The bugs neatly nibbled off his
stubble and flew obediently back to their holding jar. He tore his way out of his
seamless sleep clothes and fed them to the ClotheSchomper©, then stepped
naked through a large orifice at the far end of the bathroom and into the
WashWomb©. A clear membrane closed across its opening. Two elephant trunklike
appendages extended from either side of the bio-shower's interior. One
7
attached itself to Govil's crotch, the other to his behind, assisting him as he
relieved himself. A third appendage extended down from the ceiling, drenching
him with water as it circled his body. Several humanoid arms extending from the
shower walls lathered him down and scrubbed his back.
My morning routine went unaltered as well. I wheeled out to the kitchen
to prepare Govil's breakfast. I approached one of several udders dangling from
the belly of the Foodstruder© and gave it a flick. Its two small hands squeezed
fresh chocolate milk into a glass, while its sphincter extruded steaming oatmeal
into a bowl.
It is an odd characteristic of Randoms to adapt so quickly and easily to
their re-created world. The use of bio-machines gave this new world a visceral
quality, an earthiness that in my age of origin Mankind would have considered
vulgar or even disgusting. They would not be caught dead eating something they
knew came out of another creature's behind. But such is the malleable nature of
the human species.
Govil dashed into the room right on cue, which meant he was still running
late. TeeVee© galloped in after him, ringing a small bell, waving its many limbs
excitedly and repeating more loudly than necessary, “Incoming call! Incoming
call!”
TeeVee© also functioned as a picture phone. A tall, thin, homely man with
frizzy red hair and a face full of freckles glanced about in a confused manner, then
grimaced, as his face played across TeeVee©'s retina. It was Govil's workmate,
Moord.
“Govil, where the mutation are you?! The council is about to convene!”
“I'm on my way, Moord.”
“You'll never get here in time!”
“I'll get there! Don't worry.”
The conversation ended and TeeVee© thankfully left the room.
Although it was believed at one time that the gift of articulate speech was
connected to higher brain functions, this belief fell apart on further study.
Scientists discovered speech was actually quite a rudimentary skill and had more
to do with connections in the vocal structure rather than intellect. Otherwise, Old
World parrots would not have been able to speak. They had brains the size of
peanuts. Admittedly, even my ancient ancestors were speaking long before they
were truly thinking. Human studies further proved this; the least intelligent of
Mankind were often the most verbose. This phenomenon of thoughtless
articulation was labeled “The Scarecrow Effect,” referencing a line from the
ancient film, “The Wizard of Oz,” when said character observed, “People without
brains do an awful lot of talking.”
I placed Govil's food tray on the kitchen table in front of him. As usual he
ignored it and picked an apple off the EatLite©, a bio-chandelier above the
kitchen table instead.
“No time, Pentser. Sorry.”
“Not a problem. I relish the ritual,” I replied sardonically, dumping his
breakfast into the Lick-n-Span© where its many sterilized tongues eagerly licked
the dishes clean.
8
Wheeling out to the entry and removing Govil's hat from its peg, I placed it
snugly on his head. It was a toque with a studded band and narrow brim. He
wore it because hats were required public wear in this age, functioning as a kind
of signature piece of decoration for Randoms. They tended to be the one article
of clothing they never changed and did not recycle.
The wearing of hats became popular around the time that Randoms could
easily and utterly alter their appearance. Gene implants rendered their faces
unreliable cues to personal recognition. Randoms needed a consistent visual cue,
so the signature hat was born.
This social custom suited my purposes, for I had embedded transmitter
dots on the front, back and sides of Govil's hatband through which to monitor
visually, aurally and physiologically everything that happened to and around him
when he was away. I discovered a supply of these transdots amongst his relics.
He had no idea what they were, so they were useless to him. They were extremely
useful to me.
Though technology on earth was dismantled long ago, the Randoms never
bothered to destroy the vast COMweb orbiting about the planet. Why should
they? It would take effort to undo it and would make no difference to their new
world to have it float there, forever idle. So they simply left it intact. With a few
rather precise calculations and calibrations on my part, I was able to link with the
COMweb's central computer and make use of this resource. I could place a
transdot anywhere and have instant access.
I began by placing transdots in and around the house and estate so that I
might expand my visual scope. Next came Govil's hat. That proved so vastly
informative that I took to creating hat decorations with transdots hidden within
them for Govil to give as gifts to other Randoms. The concept was successful and
I soon had quite a large view of things. I was rapidly gaining a degree of
omnipresence despite the fact that I could never actually leave Govil's estate
without revealing the fact that I was functioning illegally.
I had first considered embedding transdots directly in Govil's head or
neck, just under the skin, but I could not find a good way around the slight
scarring that would have occurred, and though the devices were only as big as a
freckle, they would still have been noticeable. I settled for enlisting his hat
instead.
I did not tell Govil I had done any of this. Randoms are particularly fond
of their privacy. Privacy is a non-issue with machines. We do not suffer from
guilt and therefore have no reason to hide things unless there is a direct purpose
to it, as hiding this bit of information about my transdots from Govil had. It
would only upset him if he knew I had a moment by moment record of his day. It
is odd that Randoms value privacy. In my observations of Govil's private
behavior, he rarely does anything interesting or useful except in its most abstract
statistical or cumulative effect on my ability to predict his general behavior
patterns and thought processes.
Govil dashed from the house and jumped into his VolksvaagenBug©. The
name was considered another clever wordplay on the ancient mechanical vehicle
of the past. The Bug was literally a giant red beetle with fluorescent markings on
its elytra resembling 1960's daisies. A seat was designed into its thorax and its
9
antennae modified into handlebars. Govil backed his Bug out of its port. I
watched from the kitchen window if only to confirm I could correctly predict,
based on cumulative observational statistics of his previous behavioral patterns,
what he would do next. True to form, Govil tapped a node on the creature's biodash
and the Bug took flight.
* * *
Bug cars were designed primarily as ground transportation, but the wings
were left intact for emergencies. Govil's definition of an emergency was
extremely lax. He was 597 years old now and that would lead one to assume the
ideas of planning ahead and organizing would become a given at some point. He
was a creative sort, however, and historically humans have always had great
tolerance for sloppy behavior if one was “being creative.” They never extended
that tolerance to my kind and many a machine was scrapped for the smallest such
infraction. Not that I mind. I am relieved that such counterproductive
tendencies were purged from my predecessors so I do not have to suffer them.
In my observation, Govil used any excuse to fly. He could see far and wide
aloft. I could tell from his EEG and EKG patterns that he enjoyed it. He looked
down on huge, palatial, extravagant estates evenly portioned off as far as the eye
could see. Every tree was smothered in either fresh fruit or flowers. Every blade
of grass was a perfect clone of the next. As late as he was Govil did a barrel roll.
I carry images of advertisements from the mid-20th Century that
resembled the sight of Govil flying over the idyllic landscape, but with a
mechanical hovercraft in place of the Bug. Images with Machinekind instead of
biomass maintaining, perpetuating and accommodating the utopian version of
the Technological Age Mankind then predicted. Unfortunately, they changed
direction and eliminated us before they reached that exalted state of perfect
electro-mechanical bliss.
Aside from the absence of technology, there were other obvious differences
from the 1950's utopian future and now. In front of each estate there were
hitching posts, similar to what were once used to tether horses in an earlier age
without machines. Creature Comforts™ were left at these posts when they were
no longer useful to or needed by their Randoms. Each day gigantic bio-recycling
insects called BioCycles© combed the streets to swallow up whatever biomass was
set out for them. The creatures were not digested but simply held in the
BioCycle©s’ coeloms and carried back to GenieCorp™ where they were
regurgitated for recycling.
* * *
GenieCorp™ was a huge facility with an almost amusement park
atmosphere. It was surrounded by picture-perfect parklands and flourishing
farms of designer flora. The buildings were fanciful and colorful in design.
Organic shapes were favored over geometric ones, like living versions of paintings
by Heronimous Bosch, to emphasize GenieCorp™'s purpose. GenieCorp™
serviced the entire world with identical, interconnected facilities strategically
placed around the globe.
In fact, GenieCorp™ was the sole corporate survivor following multiple
centuries of mergers. Its massive singularity made it possible for GenieCorp™ to
10
take control of world governance as well. Since corporations function as
monarchies rather than democracies, GenieCorp™ naturally crowned their CEO,
Queen of the World. She was henceforth known as Queen Maedla of
GenieCorp™.
Govil flew his Bug low along the river that led to the southwest corner of
the GenieCorp™ property. He stayed below the tree line. I deduced he believed
there was less chance of being spotted and questioned about his taking flight. His
Bug alit just outside the southern entrance to the parking area. He was fortunate
that day and no one saw him land. I could tell Govil took that as a good omen
because he made an odd little gesture in the air, three finger-snaps in a zigzag
pattern. Randoms like to engage in these small religious rituals, even the
science-minded types like Govil. It gives them a kind of mystical reassurance,
even though their own Dr. B.F. Skinner had shown this to be nonsense and
behavior only worthy of a confused pigeon.
Govil parked his VolksvaagenBug© in the nearest available space to the
R&D complex, which was not the least bit near it at all due to his extreme
tardiness. An AttendAnt© marched over and immediately fed the
VolksvaagenBug© a plump larva.
Govil strode past tranquil, multi-headed bio-mowers, JohnDeers©,
designed to nibble the lawns flat. One pooped. A great DungBeetle© scurried out
to roll away and recycle the droppings. This process was termed synthetic
symbiosis or syn-sym™, and something of which the Neers at GenieCorp™ were
quite proud even though it really did not work.
* * *
Allow me to clarify. In preparation for the Cleansing, Randomkind was
convinced syn-sym™ was necessary for balance. Previously when mankind
attempted to control nature, they rarely took into account natural balance. For
example, back when they first dabbled with chemicals, they sprayed poisons to
kill undesirable insects. That, in turn, killed the birds, spiders, rodents or other
creatures that fed on the insects, unintentionally removing the undesirable
insect's natural predators in the process, and ergo, creating an even bigger insect
pest population. They did not want to make similar mistakes this time and on
such a grander scale.
Computer simulations were run with innumerable combinations of
creatures designed for specific functions, then with other symbiotic creatures
related to the first creatures, and then third, fourth and fifth level symbiotic
creatures, all with their functionality fitted together like pieces of a hyperdimensional
puzzle in order to establish perpetual balance. All of the simulations
failed miserably. Randomkind nearly gave up all hope of solving the problem. As
a last resort, they asked their largest, fastest, most sophisticated computers for an
answer. Once again, my kind found the solution for them.
The answer was absurdly simple. The world could be whatever they
wanted it to be, if it remained in a constant state of beginning. Thus, as long as
all the Creature Comforts™ were constantly recycled, creation was always at
square one and never had a chance to move from that state of order to a state of
11
chaos. Or, in other words, recycling was predator and all other life its prey, save
Randomkind, whom all this biomass served.
Publicly GenieCorp™ still clung to the syn-sym™ concept. It had spent
decades developing it and had made it the cornerstone of a massive marketing
campaign to sell the Cleansing to the Random populace. To admit it did not work
might have botched the whole thing. So, whenever one creature's functionality
related to another's, even in the most obscure way, GenieCorp™ called it synsym
™, even though it was not at all. Syn-sym™ joined that historic list of other
meaningless terms like organic, natural, hormone-free, IBM compatible, synergy,
user-friendly, chemical-free, tamper-proof and their ilk.
* * *
Govil race-walked past several BioCycles© regurgitating their loads of
discarded creatures into giant clam-like half shells lined up on a ceaselessly
moving bio-billipede conveyor belt. The billipede belt carried the shells up high
where their contents were dumped into a massive flower-like funnel. The funnel
gave off a fragrance that had a tranquilizing effect on the creatures making the
recycling process pleasant and painless. The funnel fed into the jaws of a biogrinder.
A smooth, thick, pinkish-gray soupy substance poured out of a sphincter
at the grinder's bottom into a sluice trough. The soup ran from the trough into a
larger channel and through the building like a meandering creek. It met up with
other tributaries, each fed by a grinder set out about the grounds of the complex,
and all joined into a great river of soup.
Govil trotted across one of the footbridges spanning a soup tributary to
meet up with Moord on the other side. Moord wore a floppy beachcomber hat
pulled down past the tips of his ears causing them to fold over slightly at the top.
His hat was embellished with one of my transdots on a pin in the shape of a
fishing lure. Moord rolled his eyes at Govil with exasperation and mumbled
incomprehensibly while he flailed his hands in ways that must have somehow
related to his mumblings. Govil kept his own rapid pace right past Moord.
Moord had to turn and scramble to catch up to him.
“I stalled the Council as long as I could, but they're in there now! Sweet
Pauling, Govil! What were you thinking? You knew we had to present today!”
“Sorry, Moord. I keep forgetting things. My brain hasn't been focusing
lately.”
“Yeah…well maybe you should order up a new one.”
Govil stopped short. “Moord! The prototypes! What about the
prototypes?!”
Moord shoved him along. “Don't worry. They're all birthed and waiting.
Just give a nod and I'll bring 'em in. You really took a chance this time. You have
several original strand combinations the Council is bound to disallow. My safety
report is all you got!”
“Thanks, Moord. I owe you one.”
“It's not worth it, Gove. We could both get souped. This is the last time I
cover for you. I mean it!”
Moord was exaggerating, of course. Souping a Random was often
threatened but had never been practiced. There were very few soupable offenses
even on the books: murder of another Random, stealing another Random's land
12
and last but not least, sexual contact between Randoms. Since Randoms hardly
even socialized with other Randoms anymore, murder was not an issue. Why
bother to murder someone you rarely, if ever, see anymore. Since every Random
was deeded equal and quite massive parcels of land, stealing more of it would be
utterly ludicrous.
Sex between Randoms was another story, however, and one of those issues
Randomkind seemed to turn a deliberate blind eye. Publicly, no one condoned
such behavior, but in practice? I could show sound statistical inferences that
secret trysts, though rare, were likely occurring. If any of this type of contact was
occurring, no one dared talked about it publicly, and so publicly, it did not exist.
Govil and Moord each caught their breath outside large double doors
before entering the Council chambers. A group of aristocratic looking male and
female Randoms sat about a long table, all adorned in terrifically flamboyant hats
of every style, ethnicity and era. This was the GenieCorp™ Council. The Queen,
Maedla, addressed the Council as Govil and Moord quietly slipped in.
“If there is no further business….”
Queen Maedla stopped short and huffed at the sight of Govil and Moord
who hesitated at the great doors. She gestured them forward. “Apparently there
is further business. It seems Neers Govil and Moord are to grace us with a rather
tardy presentation. Gentlemen?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” they replied together and stepped up to the front of
the chamber near the Queen.
Queen Maedla turned back to the Council. She was a quite tall, bronzeskinned
woman, with a svelte, muscular frame. Her jewel-encrusted crown
added another 24.3 centimeters to her already statuesque demeanor. One of my
goals was to get a transdot on that crown, but I was as of yet unsuccessful.
“Very well,” she continued, “we have all the specs and code analysis, along
with the copies of Neer Moord's safety report. It seems like an awful lot of
paperwork for a new type of Wallabed.”
I am relating this moment of this particular day to you for a very specific
reason. Human beings once used, as an example of the power of probability and
of infinity, the construct that an infinite number of monkeys set at typewriters for
an infinite amount of time would eventually write all the great works of literature.
In reality, they eventually replaced these theoretical little primates with computer
technology like myself, which did not require an eternity, thank you very much.
What they neglected to realize from said illustration is that someone would still
have to recognize the greatness in amongst the drivel. Apparently they never
contemplated that ultimate requirement.
In Paris, on January 31, 1849, Alphonse Karr made the astute remark, “the
more things change, the more they remain the same.” Back in the early
constructs of my particular age of origin, man created the first micro-processor
computers. There was much speculation amongst Mankind as to the future
impact of the coming Technological Age on their lives. The two most common
predictions were, one, that we machines would eventually take over their world
and would make slaves of humans, and two, that we would become their slaves in
order to organize, simplify their lives and do everything for them, making life
utopian. In actuality, the primary uses to which we were put when computer
13
technology was first widely available to the general populace were to view
pornography, to consummate cyber-sexual liaisons and to play hyper-violent
games. In short, Mankind frittered us away on sex and amusements; violence
being one of that period's most popular and tasteless forms of entertainment.
With the dawn of the Biological Age came two nearly identical predictions.
Manipulating genes would be a dangerous Pandora's box and deadly life-forms
would be born and destroy Mankind, or all disease and ills would be banished
making the world into a new Eden. Once again, Randoms achieved the same
basic result. True to their habits, they inevitably used bio-engineering
disproportionately for sex and now violence-free amusement.
Govil had designed many unusual Creature Comforts™ over the years, but
the ones he presented on this particular day were significantly innovative. It was
now up to the Queen and her Council to decide if they were worthy of
reproduction or recycling.
Govil took a deep breath, “It's not for a new Wallabed, your Majesty. It's a
completely new bio-product line. They're called BeddinBuddies.” A ruddy male
Council member in an oversized red velvet beret discreetly cleared his throat.
Another pale skinned female in a wide brimmed, veiled golden coolie hat fidgeted
uncomfortably. They were obviously the only two Council members who had
actually read the report.
Govil gestured to Moord. Moord wheeled in a display with various
creature devices upon it. These were Creature Comforts™ currently available at
The Mall and quite familiar to the Council but may be unfamiliar to you, so I will
explain.
During the Age of Death, humans would copulate. This could, at times,
result in the creation of a new human being who carried half of the gene
complement from each of the male and female participants, when such were the
engaging parties, and the male was fertile and the female ovulating. After death
was undone, making new Randoms was deemed undesirable, but the appetite to
copulate and the equipment to do so were still part of the Random being.
Sterilization was mandated to prevent further procreation, but it also became
morally unacceptable to copulate with another Random. Copulation between
Randoms was viewed as a reminder of the Age of Death, and as such, shortly
thereafter ruled illegal, punishable by souping. Sexual practices were in need of
more palatable re-channeling.
The Creature Comforts™ on the table before the Council were designed
specifically for personal sexual pleasure: living humanoid body parts, equipped to
function on demand; bio-breasts, penises, vaginas, orifices of every variety,
individually encapsulated in small, warm-blooded, benign fleshbodies.
Govil continued, ”As you can see, presently all personal pleasure devices
are designed as individual units: WildWillies, PrettiTitties, or EatMees.” Govil
pointed to each device on the table. Each Creature Comfort™ bowed or curtsied
as he introduced them. “What we've done...”
Moord cleared his throat. Govil glanced over to spot him mumbling and
gesturing again, as if he were in a game of charades and failing miserably. He
finally whispered bluntly, “Just leave me out of it,” to Govil before the Queen got
impatient again and harrumphed.
14
“...I mean, what I've done,” Govil clarified, “is simply repackage all of these
into one convenient unit.” He smiled broadly to mask his nervousness, snapped
his fingers and gestured Moord toward a curtain that closed off a side chamber.
Moord drew back the curtain, revealing a variety of beautiful and well-endowed
sex objects in the likeness of physically ideal Randoms, but with pinheads. The
Council chamber went dead in stunned, awkward silence.
Govil urged the BeddinBuddies into the chamber, guiding them alongside
the Council members. There were more than enough to go around. Several were
hermaphroditic and all were playfully seductive in demeanor. I deduced the
BeddinBuddies' enhanced pheromone production permeated the room as my
transdots registered the heart rates of those present begin to elevate.
Queen Maedla stiffened uncomfortably and stood. “Neer Govil!” she
huffed, “These are too much! You are mimicking higher life-forms here. They
suggest ancient disgusting and repulsive sex practices of the Age of Death!”
“Visually perhaps,” he continued, pointing a BeddinBuddie's undersized
pinhead, “but no higher brain function at all, only libido. Their look gives sex a
little edge—a little visual interest. And no more need to have to change objects of
pleasure to suit your mood, Majesty. All pleasure devices are centralized. They
are a little naughty, I admit. But because BeddinBuddies are quite varied in
regard to physical morphology, they are sure to be collectable, and as required
are completely recyclable.”
The Council members seemed almost uncontrollably attracted to the
various BeddinBuddies, however, they glanced at Queen Maedla and tried to
judge her reaction before they acted. An extremely well-endowed male
Beddinbuddy approached the Queen, looking as if it was ready to pounce. Queen
Maedla grimaced, so Govil, ever resourceful, intercepted it. He pulled a softer
female Beddinbuddy over toward the Queen and moved the robust male near a
Council member who showed disappointment when the creature had approached
the Queen instead of her.
The female Beddinbuddy softly stroked the Queens cheek and cooed in her
ear. Queen Maedla relaxed. Govil grinned impishly and winked at Moord.
Moord simply stood, slack-jawed.
Govil addressed the Council with renewed confidence. “Your Majesty,
Council, before you decide one way or the other I think you should thoroughly
test these samples!” And with that, he took Moord by the arm and pulled him
from the room.

cerc si punct

mi-ar placea sa stiu ce exact declaseanza dorul. si de ce dorm mult.




praga e, totusi, foarte frumoasa.

get out of my bubble

ma intreb intarziat cum de ai ajuns sa citesti asta acum. probabil o intamplare ciudata, o intamplare in adevaratul sens sau poate un moment de slabiciune al meu. e drept ca vreau sa am secrete, dar trebuie sa le stie macar cineva, in caz ca le uit eu.



e drept ca sunt zile cand nu vreau sa imi impart norisorul cu nimeni, vorba celor de la Rolling Stones, dar chiar as asculta niste Pink Floyd azi.

sa nu uit sa-mi urez noroc. in cateva zile o sa se schimbe niste treburi. momentan sunt fara sentiment. mai astept o ora si-mi trece..

bucurandu-ma de clipele frumoase pe care le-am uitat,
...

do people break-up why

why do people break up?! and why am i writing in english?! these are today's questions, ladies and gentlemen, which come with a bonus of jolly good exclamation marks.
fireste ca nu cunosc raspunsul. de ce se despart oamenii? unii de altii, bineinteles. am nevoie de un raspuns complex si daca nu exhaustiv macar foarte foarte convingator. pana acum nu am primit nici unul, si cunosc multi oameni care au trecut prin asta. mai ales ma cunosc pe mine. pentru cel care imi ofera raspunsul la intrebarea aceasta ofer premii in valoare imateriala, sub forma de "restecpa" imanent.

ecol.

Nerăbdarea ca lipsă de noţiune a timpului



Generaţia din care fac parte (?) este o generaţie nerăbdătoare. Este o generaţie grăbită, o generaţie pe fugă, o generaţie pe care o doare timpul.
Nici vremurile nu o prea ajută. Celebra zicală „Time is money” („Timpul înseamnă bani”), care, deşi pare scornită în timpurile noastre haotice, vine de fapt de la vechii greci. Antiphon, un orator care scria discursuri pentru apărători la procese, a înregistrat cea mai veche versiune a zicalei in „Maxim” (aprox. 430 î.Hr.) sub forma de „Cea mai scumpă resursă este timpul”. Secole mai târziu noţiunea valorii timpului apărea în engleză ca „Timpul este preţios”, preluată fiind de Benjamin Franklin care a transformat-o în „Sfat către un tânăr comerciant” (1748) în ceea ce cunoaştem astăzi.
Avem până şi exprimări mai neaoşe ale presiunii timpului, ale unui status-quo, de fapt (dar cine, oare, le preferă cu adevărat, în epoca englezismelor?): „Statul este problema fundamentală. El emite legile statului. [...] Cetăţenii sunt grăbiţi pentru a ajunge în locuri în care pot sta.” Poate e tenta de ironie sau jocul de cuvinte simpatic care îmi place la versurile astea.
Situaţia României nu e cea mai roz. Dar chiar am vrea să fie? De la prea mult roz cu siguranţă ne-ar durea ochii. Fireşte, nici aşa nu-i tocmai bine. Din punctul meu de vedere, România suferă mult şi din cauza tinerilor ei... Relaţia acestora cu Occidentul eu o văd pe trei direcţii:

a. există prima categorie care respinge Occidentul – nu din patriotism sau, Doamne fereşte, din naţionalism, ci datorită existenţei a ceva mai „bun”: visul american! (aici zâmbesc răutăcios).

b. a doua categorie îmbrăţişează ideea de Occident oricând şi oricum, chiar şi pe stomacul gol. Din păcate nu apucă să o proceseze, o preia de la alţii. Acest fapt în combinaţie cu provenienţa dintr-un mediu relativ sărac duce la emigrarea iminentă şi aproape sigură a respectivilor care intră în această categorie; pentru ei, Occidentul reprezintă ce reprezenta şi America acum 5-10 ani pentru mulţi români – „ţara” tuturor posibilităţilor.

c.a treia categorie, şi preferata mea personală, este alcătuită din cei care văd Occidentul (şi, de altfel, orice ţară străină) ca pe o posibilitate de a învăţa cât mai multe, de a cunoaşte culturi noi, de a se perfecţiona. Poate vor să studieze acolo, să lucreze un an, doi, sau să o viziteze, în scopuri aproape turistice, pentru a afla cât mai multe despre o cultură poate total diferită de a noastră. Ei se întorc apoi în România, nu sunt patrioţi neapărat, doar că îi leagă foarte multe de ţară, lucru care le place, se întorc şi încearcă să facă lucrurile să meargă mai bine. Ei sunt cei care „aduc schimbarea”. Poate nu e prea corect să afirmăm că se întorc cu o altă mentalitate, dar sigur se întorc cu dorinţa de a schimba lucrurile şi asta e mai mult decât putem să spunem despre majoritatea românilor în ziua de azi.

Majoritatea tinerilor români sunt nemulţumiţi de lucrurile care se întâmplă în România şi e absolut normal pentru că lucrurile nu merg perfect – să luăm, de pildă, învăţământul, care încă mai funcţionează la unele nivele după vechile structuri comuniste (cum spunea Ştefan Augustin Doinaş, România încă mai suferea, după '89, de un „comunism rezidual”). Însă, în loc să aibă ambiţia de a schimba ceva, preferă să îşi „bage graniţa-n raniţă” şi să se mute lângă o altă graniţă...şi gata! Nu realizează sau nu îi interesează că au potenţialul de a îmbunătăţi situaţia pe toate planurile dacă se direcţionează către asta.

Fireşte, există un mit al Occidentului. Sau, mai bine spus, a existat. Tot ce a rămas acum este o imagine pălită a ceea ce era mai demult. Este o iluzie hrănită de televizoare prietene cu minţi fragede şi impresionabile. Este la îndemână. Dar de ce preferăm „ce este la îndemână” unor lucruri pe care le-am putea numi ale noastre, cu care ne-am putea mândri? Doar pentru că trebuie să depunem un grad minim de efort...intelectual?

S-a vorbit mult despre „generaţia pro”. Unii poate au şi crezut în ea. Apoi s-a glumit, poate nu chiar la fel de mult, despre „generaţia contra” şi s-au făcut tot felul de parafraze. Generaţia pro devenise, de fapt, sau era de mult, generaţia contra. Totuşi, generaţia pro există, este generaţia care ia totul de-a gata: mâncarea, relaţiile cu oamenii, gusturi şamd., care e mult prea uşor influenţabilă de marele şi puternicul vest. E clar cu ce avem de-a face – cu o generaţie care s-a hrănit cu mituri, cu televizor şi care e atât de grăbită încât nu trăieşte în prezent.

Mentalitatea e influenţată de cultură, dar ce anume ne influenţează cultura? Ştim că pînă în '89 cultura română a însemnat cultură sub regim totalitar - a însemnat cenzură şi aproape un vid total în materie de creaţie. Regimul totalitar a cultivat, a inoculat oamenilor un spirit de rezistenţă la cultură, cauzată mai ales de apariţia şi existenţa culturii de masă, în forma ridicolă şi derizorie în care era (nu era o cultură de masă veritabilă). Aceste fapte au împins omul proaspăt liber al anilor '90 spre lăcomia care l-a adus în agonia în care este azi. Avea libertate de alegere, avea poate ceva mai mulţi bani şi un bagaj imens de frustrări şi nemulţumiri. Cu grabă şi nechibzuire a luat tot ce i se oferea dinspre măritul vest, fără să treacă nimic prin filtrul său propriu mai întâi. Ar fi fost greu pentru că toţi anii de dinainte îl lăsaseră fără el. Aşa că a tot cerut şi i s-a tot dat, iar acum pare să se dezmeticească un pic şi să nu prea ştie ce să facă, mai ales cum să scape de toate... Am observat asta la unii tineri.

Din păcate, pentru restul, adică pentru majoritate, „dezmeticirea” aceasta nu a avut loc încă. La ei lucrurile încă se fac în grabă şi totul se asimilează fără vreo filtrare prealabilă. Din graba cu care se întâmplă toate rezultă şi o oarecare nepăsare, o neglijenţă pentru detalii, din care rezultă, ca într-un veritabil lanţ cauzal, copiatul de la alţii, eufemistic numit „inspiratul”,care este preocuparea favorită a cât mai multor tineri. Incepând timid cu copiatul la lucrări sau plagiatul referatelor la şcoală, acesta atinge grade destul de îngrijorătoare cu creşterea în vârstă şi este invers proporţională cu nivelul de educaţie. (Nu ţine neapărat de copiatul la examene... merge chiar până la copierea unui stil de viaţă, de exemplu. Situaţiile sunt destul de asemănătoare, cea cu „inspiratul” este practic sora mai mică a „împrumuturilor” de la alţii, a „importurilor”, cu diferenţa uneori invizibilă că cea din urmă este legală...) Carevasăzică, cu cât e omul mai educat (în sensul de învăţat), cu atât mai puţin va încerca să-i copieze pe alţii, mai interesat fiind de a-şi dezvolta propria lui individualitate, în orice zonă în care aceasta s-ar putea evidenţia, contura. De ce ar trebui să ne deranjeze asemenea „împrumuturi”? Pentru că miros de departe a non-autentic, pentru că avem propriile noastre valori pe care le putem cultiva. Pentru că afectează totul, de la ceea ce suntem până la ceea ce văd alţii că suntem (în cazul de faţă, nu suntem).

Mie mi-e simpatică România, iubesc poezia locului presărată cu ironie, limba ei jucăuşă, oamenii ei sarcastici şi plini de poveşti (cei care au mai rămas). Ascult muzica anilor '30, anilor '50, '60, '70; mă uit la filmele anilor '90, citesc cărţile anilor 2000. Am valori personale în funcţie de care mă ghidez în viaţă. Eu încă mai cred că o să schimb lumea într-o bună zi. Sunt visătoare. Aşadar din ce generaţie fac eu parte? Aţi putea spune?...

Nu simt că aparţin vreunei generaţii, cu atât mai puţin generaţiei mele. Totuşi, dat fiind că una din definiţiile din DEX pentru „generaţie” este: „Totalitate a indivizilor dintr-o comunitate, care trăiesc în acelaşi timp, fiind aproximativ de aceeaşi vârstă.”, va trebui să mă contrazic. Sunt de-a lor. Fac parte din generaţia „optzecipatristă”...



"Wise Words and Wives' Tales: The Origins, Meanings and Time-Honored Wisdom of Proverbs and Folk Sayings Olde and New" by Stuart Flexner and Doris Flexner (Avon Books, New York, 1993).

outrageous: the cow said the "m" word in reply!!!!

extra extra read all about it!....



i like cows. i must say i am THE cow fan. there is no actual reason. there is a factual reason, though. when they're funny, they're funny.

când o să fii mare o să înţelegi chestia asta.

sunt multe chestii pe care nu le înţeleg şi sunt câteva pe care ştiu că nu le voi înţelege niciodată. vezi de-mi pasă.

relaţiile între fete şi băieţi sunt chiar cele mai ciudate chestii care există. (şi zic asta în condiţiile în care sunt conştientă de multe alte lucruri ciudate - de exemplul, faptul că unii işi fac public jurnalul :) sau faptul că, fără să mă fi învăţat nimeni, sunt o putoare (vroiam să zic leneşă dar parca putoare e mult mai dureros, cum zicea şi Marin Preda în Cel mai iubit dintre pământeni, şi chiar vreau să mă doară ca să scap... să scap de ticul ciudat de a-mi număra paşii pe stradă şi sprâncenele când mă îmbăt).

eu nu am scris asta.

The picture is for those long, cold days when you feel a lot like... Jack.