dear 2010

no year made me feel so directionless like you did.

you even made me feel like this, once:

were you out to get me?

 we didn't speak the same language at all.

(the chicken is you)

 i was also a bit scared, a few many times.

but i thought a lot about it...

and we're cool, 2010.

the blackout's divide

we're experiencing a blackout. and this is no metaphor. light is out. black is in. therefore, a blackout. and you'd have never thought, but blackouts are the best way to tell adults from children (and this can be interpreted more loosely).

during a blackout, a child (and some of the more laid back or nonchalant adults, as well) will be thrilled with lighting up all the candles in the house, enjoy the quiet and, perhaps, if reminded by an adult in proximity, will feast on all the goodies in the fridge before they go bad.

during a blackout, an adult will worry. primarily about the fridge, secondarily about the candles burning the house down. he or she will be angry, irritated, almost as if he or she was served a fly in their soup or found pee pee drops on the toilet seat. 

which one are you?

status queue

in the 80s, romanians have queued professionally. and with lots of interest. yes, they were forced to and lines were long, they started early in the morning, but with time they also developed a kind of social dimension. 

when i was around 3, the lady who was taking care of me (aka mamaie lili) used to make me cut the line and go in front to get the goods faster, with my kiddish good looks and my stray cat charm, and it worked, it worked so well, we made such a good team, until my mother found out and exposed us for the low class smugglers that we were. she saw us from afar one day, one particular ordinary day, coming home from work early, well, she actually saw this dirty kid cutting the line and thought oh, poor kid, what parents must he have, keeping him (i might have looked a bit boyish, but i was 3) dirty and teaching him to be sneaky, but as she got closer she not only recognized the kid, but also the parents. she made it without a heart attack (which probably helped prevent the one she could've had when we got an astronomical phone bill upon my discovery of the internet, so it does all even out).

after my mom's emotionally affected story, my grampa, the colonel, retired so he could look after me with one eye and watch over me, with the other. my hiding under the bed from him started about the same time i realised there would be no cutting queues with him. nor corners. it might have been a coincidence. 

so, bottom line, except for me, we've been trained to queue. but it was something that obviously washed away like cheap mascara during a difficult break-up, because romanians do not know how to queue. 

(this is not a romanian queue)

example 1: munich airport. flight to bucharest. status: boarding. our little romanian queue was blocking the entire hallway, it was spread out and penetrated all nooks and crannies, we were like a giant, humanoid, thick spit. a middle aged woman, standing in line behind me for about 5 minutes, decides to fight her tea-drinking-socially-wired-lack-of-interaction-with-strangers and ask me "what are we waiting for here?". well, we were obviously boarding the flight to bucharest, why would she be asking the obvious, i wondered, but politely answered anyway and then she snapped and cheerfully walked away saying "oh, i'm not even on this flight!". of course, it took her another 5 minutes to escape the human sucking romanian queue because if there's two things to fear they are the flexible eyebrows and pointy elbows of a romanian. 

example 2: bucharest airport. lost luggage office. 3 computers and 3 computer operators inside a small, unaired room. around 60-70 drained and angry people, mostly romanians, waiting outside. the same, spit like, diform queue was transforming my joy of being home into surreal pictures of growing huge jaws and snapping heads off. it felt like i'd never get in. it felt like this monstrous queue was keeping me stuck in a point while it was letting everyone else advance on my right and left flank. 

two hours later and a lot of eyebrow and elbow shaking later, i got in. but a miracle had happened. i was cured. my nerves had been stretched to the maximum and, so in tune with the universe, started contracting into little nerves, that aren't even able to make me snap at a horde of three old, sneaky ladies cutting in front of me in a line, let's say. (which i will qed in the next case).

example 3: bucharest train station. me, first in line at the information desk. 0.5m between myself and the dirty window. three sneaky, old ladies coming from my right side, advance beyond limits of common sense and, with eye contact, position themselves right in front of me. no please, no questions asked. just cut.  before, this would have made me boil potatoes inside, but now, it made me smirk and say, good one, karma. 

but merry christmas. 

and ask santa for common sense, you can't ever have too much. 

i.t.a.c.f.h.

all night, last night, and all day, today, i've been crazy restless, crazy to do something, crazy with impatience. which obviously led to not doing anything. ANYTHING. in connection to the time that i have idealistically allocated for study, i'm living a drama. it hasn't gone away and i cant ask it politely to go away because we don't speak the same language. so instead of anything helpful i decided to admit defeat, but with some self-help baloney on top: it's positive restlessness, of an adventure to come.

p.s. should i have grown up with a strict german nanny? would i have turned out ok then?

i am the only one looking for you

plastic cones, stolen rooms. i've got style, miles and miles. that's what pavement said. and i'm just reproducing. you should know. cause i know. and if i know you know. now.

and then there's winter, with its julefrokosts and tunes and people. do i deserve this? 

jeg er klar.

he's not a giraffe

giraffes are gracious yet weird. and pawet is a strange mix, too. but a different strange mix. just like cherries and onions milkshakes are a different strange mix than detergent and chili. pawet's mix involves ink stains, rolled cigarettes, six strings, tom waits related compliments, space for surprises and a bunch of other things. 
i'd like to add this is one of my favorites:

see more of his drawings here. 

or else you won't.

love spam?

sarah miller, a dame who reads the stars, predicted sugar, spice and everything nice in november for me (and approximately half a billion other people around the world). but i did read that whole huge report and took note of the "special" days, so now i can add a bit of hypocrisy to my mocking. tastes better this way. 

and look, while i was busy mocking, it happened. love spam. and what a name, too. psheesh.  

and dear favour,  color and far distance do matter. for example, i can't stand light blue. and far distance makes me squint, which makes me look like an eskimo and they pee in the snow and i can't really stand yellow, either. 

isn't there anything i can do?

i am watching a movie about  an international crime syndicate planning to take over the world with psychotropic gum smuggled in phony Ming vases. i wish you knew how awesomely awesome mystery science theatre 3000 is. now you do. mission accomplished.

this one from the clip is called "spring fever" and it's about a world without springs.

(hilarious, i tell you.)

pleasantries and hair

i have two new theories:

one - people who say nice things at least want to mean them, in case they don't. which is still kind of nice.

two - i'm like hair. i grow on people. 

chicken goes boom

a lot of my right-before-falling-asleep time has been dedicated to perfecting a device that would help me focus more in meaningless conversations, as i seemed to have an instant fidget-yawn reaction (sometimes i even screeched my teeth) and i immediately noticed the possibility for serious offense (and who am i to offend people who will never think there's something wrong with them or their conversations?). 

i failed. but there was genius in the failure. well, i say genius, but much in the spirit of humpty dumpty i might mean something else. and i do. i mean luck. but maybe even by luck i mean something else. so once you get over this, you'll understand everything, for my new invention will be a way to completely avoid and escape (guilt free) from those stinky, stinky stinky stinky conversations that without even the slightest awareness of your collocutor bore you tremendously.

to descriptively clarify: by "bore you tremendously" i mean suck out your soul and sell it to hungarian gypsies who will turn it into a fake famous person's autograph and make it so realistic that they'll want to keep it. (that is ultimately boring on exactly 5 levels.)

she moves me

one goes where the other one can't.

and then they smile.

and then they stop smiling.

and then they smile again.

passive man opened the lock and kept it.

the woman looked at him worriedly:

why are you keeping it?, asked she.

for practical purposes, my dear.

he wasn't a practical man and she wasn't a worried woman.

but we all experiment.

and then we drink wine.

nevermind this is an acknowledgement of something that could very well not be mentioned but the long title makes it stand out

whaddayaknow? a lot. probably a lot more than your forefathers knew a hundred years ago. unless you're really the bad apple in your genius-bred family. in which case i am sure that is not something you like being brought up. so back to me: i've been writing, ranting, rhyming, rambling and playing with this blog-like-living-creature for 5 years.

happy anniversary, dear.

but you forgot.

but i remembered.

much later!

well happy anniversary for next year!

ok thanks.

millie nope

three a.m. 0300. oh three hundred. past. past. past. wake up early, yup, charlie yup, wake up early how, how, no how. know how? know-how. instead of sleeping which you can't do, stay up and not sleep. cause you can't otherwise. who's wise? whose wise?

mine. my wise moment of no sleep, of sobriety, of clever aloofness, when i realize what there is to realize. realize not in accomplish, but in the milder form similar to being hit in the head with a flying object that knocks off your hat. so what? you can keep it. i didn't like that hat anyway. ok, not hat, heart? what about it? oh. i see.

so back to the books tomorrow. little adventure awaits millie nope. if millie nope could be a superhero she'd be a sidekick. a kick on the side. millie nope could use a sidekick when she feels like this. simon says give it time. i say simon is no beaver. i say it's not happening. but what am i really wishing for?

i rant purposelessly

this quote, that someone made to somehow motivate a lot of someone elses is ridiculous and obsolete and it could make me angry if i wanted it to. but i don't:

"Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein."

first of all, they were all so free to focus on their little (ok, big) obsessions. NOTHING else was going on. or even if there was, it would have taken weeks and probably lots of homing pigeons to get news and updates. 

second of all, Mother Teresa didn't have to reply to her followers on twitter or update her website, Leonardo da Vinci didn't have to read 1000 manifestos and theories from all the other scientists or artists, Pasteur was all into his microbiology thing that no one else really cared about at the time (ok, there were a few others, but in some other country), Helen Keller didn't have a choice but to focus, Einstein didn't have to waste time looking at his friends' photo albums, Jefferson had his thing with the british and, besides all of them being (somewhat) brilliant, they were not bombarded with the mind-numbing huge amount of information we have access to today, that not only scares the hell out of me but makes me feel puny and insignificant and unable to KNOW EVERYTHING like i'd like to.

So Jackson Brown Jr., i don't care if your little instruction book was a best-seller, i hate you.

am i living living living?

i keep finding things that others have said so well. things that i've felt in feelings and colors and notions perhaps hundreds of times better, but that they have expressed in words a million times better, where "hundreds" and "a million" mean anything, except what others, long time ago, have agreed they do. i'm keeping those findings and i'm grinning when they're not looking. not because i'm jealous, but because i'm overwhelmed. 

“The only people for me are the mad ones,
the ones who are mad to live,
mad to talk,
mad to be saved,
desirous of everything at the same time,
the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing,
but burn,
burn,
burn,
like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars
and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop
and everybody goes “Awww!”

~Jack Kerouac

people and stories and chances and nudges

everyone should have a shot at telling stories. everyone should be given a camera and be told: tell us a story. a real story. a story that haunts them before they go to bed, or even in their dreams, maybe even just one scene that they keep on seeing in their mind over and over again or something that is absolutely ineffable and can never be captured on camera and yet finds its way there in the most sublime form.

people's stories would be something worth sharing. they'd be about penguins, or sand, or wind, or misunderstood feelings, broken bicycles, binoculars, riding on trams, kissing boys, teddy bear guards, dinosaurs, powdered sugar, cigarettes, hair standing-up, fire breathing dragons, adventures, car racing, heroes, making love or all of those together. or neither. people's stories would have so much magic.

everyone should have a chance to tell a story and be given a nudge to go along with it. chances and nudges make beautiful music together.
you might think we all do, we all get a shot. but you know better.

a clockwork ding dang dong

i was in the middle of a dream when, suddenly, a voice inside my head said "it's time to wake up". i opened my eyes that very second afterwards and looked at the clock. who would interrupt my dreams like that i dont know, but this voice did it at exactly 8 am. exactly. not to mention that i had actually forgotten to set my alarm the night before.

weird. but thanks, i guess.

na-ti-o franta, ca ti-am dres-o

scriu la nervi cum nu am mai scris de mult. dar sunt niste nervi intarziati. zilele trecute am primit o scrisoare de la comitetul de administratie din bloc care ne informa ca NU e voie sa fumam pe scari, nici macar la geam, inclusiv pe scara din spate, supranumita scara de incendiu. cum nu fumam in casa si geamul de pe scara din spate era deopotriva locul si momentul meu de liniste, vestea m-a intristat, dar nu atat cat m-a enervat. 

si de ce: insa asta, individa asta, al carei nume nu-l cunosc si a carei fata n-am vazut-o inca, ne-a scris o scrisoare!! adica a observat, a cantarit sau nu, apoi si-a asezat fundul plictisit la calculator si a redactat o scrisoare pe care trimis-o firmei de avocati care gestioneaza chestiile legale in bloc (!!) si care, la randul lor, au pus o secretara bine platita sa ne scrie ca nu e voie sa fumam pe scara, med venlig hilsen, a lipit plicul si l-a pus la posta pe adresa noastra. (!!!!)

fumatul ca fumatul. replica aia cu "nu imi place ca nimeni sa puna conditii dependentelor mele" mai are putin si expira. dar sa ne trimita scrisoare? cand putea sa vina la usa, sa urce un etaj si sa vina la usa, sa ciocane, sa zica cine e, sa zica nu mai fuma, bai fata, la noi pe scara din spate, de-aia si de-aia, si eu sa zic imi pare rau, regret, mi scuuuusi, hai sa gasim o cale de mijloc, si ea sa zica nu e, si eu sa insist, si poate sa gasim o cale de mijloc sau sa nu gasim nimic, nicio cale de mijloc, oricum, am vorbit, am fost umpic mai mult oameni azi. ce bine a fost. 

si creierul meu reptilian zice: daneza proasta!

iar in capul meu natang, cred ca sub creierul asta reptilian mai am un creier si mai retrograd, de sunca! fie, de slana, un creier de slana caruia ii place sa fie afumat pentru ca am coborat cinci etaje ca sa fumez singura tigara pe ziua de azi. 

ma rog. i need the exercise. whichever i go for.

(photo via francoise nielly whom i loooooove!)

grandpop(s)

i wish it was story telling time.

a nose arose as cause

i was watching this movie today and i'm mostly mentioning this cause it opens up the stage for another thing or the thing really worth mentioning (that i had this whole little cinema all to myself and it was awesome).

now that that's out of the way, i can tell you about my discovery (which is connected to the movie because i got it while watching it): the perfect bodyguards should have immense, extraordinarily big noses so that when they speak in their little microphones hanging on their chests no one can lip-read what secrets they're saying, as their noses would be covering their mouths. ok, if they had a double degree and were also ventriloquists, then the nose would not be necessary.

BUT! this could revolutionize the industry of bodyguards globally and maybe even trigger an increase in sales of groucho marx masks (for those less nose-gifted aspiring bodyguards). and then all the bodyguards would be wearing these masks, kind of like a unifying thing, a little tribute to groucho and also to make themselves unrecognizable. it's genius! i'm glad i thought of it. i really am.

roses are red, violets are blue, you're not a conversationalist but i'll still pick you

i've just had a cross-gender revelation. i was looking at this guy and thinking what you are probably thinking, as well. or the opposite, if you are into that. (not that it's really easy to imagine him naked, that came with the next wave of surprise.)

and then it hit me! girls appear so very often to be like this guy: pretty, silly, cute, sexy little creatures. so, for a brief moment of spooky lucidity/hallucination, i had what i think was the perception that a guy, a regular old fashion joe, who might or might not have cocoa before he goes to bed, but likes at least football or sumo or hong kong phooey, is likely to have related to a pretty, silly, cute, sexy girl. therefore, ever so often.

in the words of happy bunny, it would be something along the lines of "it's cute how stupid you are." where stupid doesn't really matter at all, cause you're not talking, you're looking, it's just a word, it's not even a word, what is it?, and even if you were talking, you'd still be looking, and that never implies hearing.



so i drew two conclusions.

one, we're really all the same.
two, girls are really the majority in this "same" business.

leonardo dicaprio and a portuguese murder

might be the intense last few days, the new beginnings, the bad hair days, or the newfoundflu, but i had the damnest dream. it obviously had leonardo dicaprio in it, which i stopped dreaming about around two years after the sinking of the titanic on the big screen, which is almost 10 years ago. (!!!) it also had a portuguese murder. which was a debut in my dreamworld.

so i was in leo's house, doing something, business related, can't say what cause i don't remember, possibly delivering a newspaper cause i've been thinking a lot about that lately. and then i gathered guts and no wits and talked to him and he was really nice and then gave me an autograph. (if i were to interpret this i'd say i'm gonna get a job soon.)

the second dream, which i'm not sure was really the second, was happening in this dodgy neighborhood somewhere in portugal, where a man and woman were having a fight, and me and some people were just passing by, being somewhat touristy. and then it happened - the man ran after the woman and he stabbed her and she fell in a big hole. (and if i were to interpret this i'd be really sad for the rest of the day.)

story teller al rescante!

(that guy is not brian andreas. and he's not a pope, either. maybe evil kenevil's archenemy, called good barbiegood. but no, he's actually a ski sailor. seriously. in st moritz of '38. and he has nothing to do with anything here. except that he looks like he's at the rescue.)

"You're the strangest person I ever met, she said & I said you too & we decided we'd know each other a long time." 

(ok, this one is brian andreas)

today, in pictures

so i started school. and this picture is how i feel about it. pac pac.

sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes it rains

in this not-job-hunting process, i've been given my share of NOs. i took them like a kid takes a shot: confused, with some fear and bulged eyes, but told that it builds character. i even had a special few that came with an awesome surprise helping hand or at least with a gift-wrapped confidence boost that i never expected.
but this NO, this NO that i got today for an unsolicited application that i put quite a bit of heart and soul into, this NO is a big NO-NO! 


On 23 August 2010 11:03, this CEO lady wrote:

Hi Letitia

Thanks for your email. However, we're not looking to hire any more people at the moment. I assume that was what you were after.

CEO lady

now, if you don't see anything wrong with that, i suggest you leave and/or give that english some practice. anyway, i was quite sad and confused at the beginning, i wanted to clarify that i wasn't "after" anything, that if she would have even read my application she wouldn't have to assume anything, so i wrote this:


On 23 August 2010 11:27, Letitia wrote and discarded:

Thank you for the reply.

Your assumption was pretty accurate, with the exception that I wasn't after a job, I was looking for a workplace where I can learn and contribute and also for an employer that would read what I have to say before making assumptions. 

All the best,

Letitia

but i soon realised the futility of actually sending it. of course, with a little help from stellaaaa. so i didn't. but if i'll ever reply ;), this is what i'll write:


On 23 August 2010 11:45, Letitia could have written:

Dear Ms. CEO lady,

Thank you for your reply. I wrote to you because, after researching your company, I saw great potential in a possible cooperation, for both of us. I saw an environment in which I can be at my best and bring positive impact and growth in the company, by using my skills, creativity and passion.

I thought that would be transparent through the application I've sent.

I realise it came unsolicited and might have taken you off guard, but I would like to emphasize one thing - indeed it seems that a cooperation with you is not possible, as I am not "after a job", as you have hastily assumed, but I am after an open minded, opportunity seeking, fast reacting and positively-impacting environment.

Certainly not a place in which a shoe would be more diplomatic and caring than its CEO. 

Thank you,

Letitia

“Sometimes I wonder whether the world is being run by smart people who are putting us on or by imbeciles who really mean it.”


Mark Twain

what if we didn't all have to fit in?

p.s. off topic but on picture, a japanese friend told me there still is a designated person, wearing white gloves, just like in the photo, who "helps" people get on the trains. he also told me they answer the phone like this: moshi moshi! i still can't decide which one is more ridiculous.

p.p.s. my rebellion starts where it ended. 

p.p.p.s. ubiquitous is the word you're looking for.

rainy with a chance of where the heck am i?!

one sleepless night, no coffee, some cigarettes, tight nerves and teary eyes, a car race to the airport, two planes and two bagels, 3 km of milky white fog and a whole lotta turbulence, the feeling that i might just see jack the ripper pop out from all the mist and rain, a three-legged cricket which i failed to save in the packed metro, some stops and two clicks, one open suitcase in the middle of the main station - sun hat going in, umbrella coming out, steamy sewer mouths all the way, a she male at whom i tried not to stare, an absolutely average lady at whom i did stare for lack of purpose, a bus that didn't come and a long push and pull of a very big suitcase, one corner cafe, a key with a note, one wrong way, 5 floors and lots of sticky steamy freezing sweat later....

...and i'm here. i don't know if here is where i was or am supposed to be, but here i am. i don't really know where i am, but it's pretty. and it's obvious i'm here but...

this-one-says-nothing-but-has-a-movie-quote

i've been watching loads of movies lately, loads of heart-racing-without-being-action-thrillers, spill-your-guts-out-i-never-thought-you-had-it-in-you, if-i-never-knew-what-to-expect-i-dont-know-what-to-say-about-this, people-are-so-strange-my!-i-love-people-so-much kind of movies. mostly scandinavian, but not only.

and that's it. i've talked about my routines without having a point many times, and this time is no different. except that this time i'll end with a line from one of the movies. the we-seem-happy-together-omg-we-have-no-idea-who-we-are-who-are-we-is-this-who-we-are-it-really-doesnt-matter-just-live-pac-pac one.

"We're emotional illiterates. We've been taught about anatomy and farming methods in Africa. We've learned mathematical formulas by heart. But we haven't been taught a thing about our souls. We're tremendously ignorant about what makes people tick. "

And it made me wonder. But not like my "whoa, airplanes, how do they do it?" or "what's up with the dutch, anyway?" dilemmas. In a different way.

tit for what?

it wasn't enough to be self-conscious about a dozen other things. thanks. 

(filed in the beautiful absurdity of the tenebrous online.)

we really need the eggs

"...and I thought of that old joke, you know, the, this, this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, 'Doc, uh, my brother's crazy, he thinks he's a chicken,' and uh, the doctor says, 'Well why don't you turn him in?' And the guy says, 'I would, but I need the eggs.' Well, I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships. You know, they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd and - but uh, I guess we keep going through it...because...most of us need the eggs."


and i really liked annie hall but i really don't like pam from the office, i can't even watch the office anymore, jim is too nice to her, all the time, absolutely all the time and yes, they're not real, but she still annoys me so much just look at this picture, it's a very creepy picture and she looks like a crazy woman but then again, as controlling and mean as she is to him sometimes, he loves her, and the director or screenplay writer thought of it like that, and it doesn't make sense which is why it makes sense.


cause yes, relationships are just like that.

later edit: this show (the office) is a big pile-up of really annoying, disturbing yet somehow lovable characters. hmm.

pictopop

found this. it's addictive. i'm addicted. time is on my side. but the market is slow.

 how was your day?

 he's a small headed man

 pick a boo.

glance, don't stare. 

 anniversary dogs.

 beeauty stung by a bee.

 neglect.

 what do you want with me?

we don't know what a lot of things mean

but remember, if you're even in doubt, your friends always know what's good for them.

i've got too much cheek to smile with.

it's a new old phase. or an old phase anew. i'm excited and scared and full of what ifs and i know it's kind of cool cause the sea, no, the ocean, no, the milky way of opportunities lies ahead of my right now, right this very very now, but i can't help it being scared, cause if nothing works out then i'll be looking at myself in the windows of shops or in the bathroom mirrors and i'll be saying: my friend, this is not where you thought you'd be, is it? and i'll be replying no. and then it will be so weird cause i'd be talking to myself and only crazy people do that and then my only chance would be to turn crazy into genius, but if i haven't done that by the age of 25, it's less and less likely and i'll know that and i wouldn't want to package and sell some fake trendy crazy genius so i'll become really sad and go into real estate or accounting and hate it (not that there's anything wrong with it) and who knows what other terrible things could happen?!

so to avoid all that trouble i'll stop worrying. bring it on.

the danes

i've been riding a lot on the 3A bus, mostly going to office or coming back from office, mostly in winter, where a bus seems like a hero that came to your rescue from the weather outside. so i used to have a special place in my heart, just for the 3A, but now it went to a whole new level.



and there's people who have never been to denmark and say the danes are really cold. there's even people who have been to denmark and say the same. well, i dont know what point such generalizations serve, but i have to say the danes are pretty damn cool. so cool they're up there, with models and pilots. and they make awesome movies, too.

and cheese. :)

un avion cu reactie care zboara peste o inima franta

mersul cu trenul, de oriunde pana oriunde, e formidabil. formidabil e un cuvant batran si caraghios, aproape uitat, cam la fel ca sentimentul absolut de a merge cu trenul si a vana nori. acum cateva zile am inventariat toti norii de la bucuresti la ploiesti, crezand ca asta o sa mai scada din sentimentalismul ieftin care se trezeste de fiecare data cand merg cu trenul. dar n-a fost asa. a fost altfel. a fost exercitiu de copilarie, test de cultura generala la imaginatie si metoda de petrecere a timpului liber in mod placut.

dar sa vedeti ce nori am prins:

un cap de balena care manca un crocodil

un fel de cameleon subacvatic de mica viteza cu multe picioare minuscule

un urs oval care face caca

un bulz si un mic care fac intrecere

un zepelin durduliu indragostit de capul de balena

un iepure de mare siamez in cardasie cu o caracatica melodramatica

un carnat plescoi singuratic care scuipa flacari

un hipopotam de adancime care face aerobica

un ibric turcesc care fugarea un caine-vagon care fugarea o amiba care tocmai iesise dintr-o relatie lunga cu o celenterata

un delfin fumator care avea ca servitor o broasca uriasa

o rata salbatica incaltata cu adidasi 

un porc lunguiet care tipa la un hamburger

un avion cu reactie care zboara peste o inima franta

o pisica grasana care nu stie ca nu e strut

un os ros de un muzician paros

un piranha fara aripioare care se vaita la un porc de guinea tacut

o orbita sincera care alearga dupa un ochi fugar

si va jur, va jur pe rosul cel mai rosu din toata lumea, chiar si din india, cel mai rosu rosu din india, care trebuie sa fie cel mai rosu din lume sau poate cel mai rosu din lume e in china, prizonier al lui mao, in fine, pe cuvant ca i-am scris asa cum i-am vazut.

(nota: acasa am mereu prea mult timp sa ma joc, sa scriu des si aiurea si din stomac)
(nota zece: nu se incumeta cineva care are oricat timp sa se joace sa-i deseneze? pe toti?)

cangurul meu preferat este viata ta

nemernicii de pe youtube, care de obicei sunt baieti de treaba, sau cel putin eu afirm asta pentru ca as vrea sa imi pastrez contul si sa nu-i supar, mai ales daca pun vreun videoclip-amintire cu o muzichie la care poate am dreptul, dar pentru care nu am drepturi, deci acesti nemernici baieti de treaba mi-au blocat un videoclip nostalgic de pe vremea cand faceam voluntariat in AIESEC Sibiu si echipa aia a mea era masa, casa, mama, umar de plans si motiv de sarbatoare.

si nu m-ar fi deranjat, ca na, cat dai atata face, si eu n-am dat nimic, dar am dat de postul asta al lui coco si m-am topit. coco, pentru necunoscatori, a fost un om grozav grozav de 1000 de ori grozav.

si pentru ca am dat de postul asta al lui coco, si pentru ca mi-e dor de coco, si pentru ca mi-ar fi placut ca lumea sa-l cunoasca pe coco, am sa pun videoclipul la loc, si sa stiti dragi nemernici de treaba ca ma doare in fund de copiraitul vostru, e pentru coco.

later edit: nemernicii de treaba stiu ca e o copie si nu am resursele sa-l modific nitel si sa-i pacalesc. asa ca l-am pus pe vimeo.

she was an acrobat's daughter

we were on our way to cluj, from sibiu, and i was listening to this song from little joy and i was enjoying the rain a little bit, rain is quite enjoyable from inside a safe spot, and then, in slow motion, i saw the bus go on the other lane, the driver could've been an acrobat, cause he swung the bus in high speed on the slippery, wet road all the way to the other lane, which wasnt our lane and there was a big truck on that lane, coming towards us, and that driver could've been an acrobat as well, but a more agile acrobat, cause he turned his wheel to avoid us and physics just swung the back of his truck at us, and it hit us, but someone should thank him for just hitting us with physics... or else, so i saw this big white thing coming and hitting us, i couldnt hear so well cause the music was playing loud in my ears but i could feel it, and as i was watching it with bulged eyes and perceiving it as though it was on tv, i was thinking, this is an accident, this could all go horribly wrong, hold tight, then we went straight into the field on the right, cause this acrobat driver of ours, when leaving the other lane, couldnt stay straight on his own lane, and the back of that truck must've helped a bit too, so he took us for a ride in the field, i'm happy for fields, this one in particular, i'd take a field over a big beautiful abrupt valley any day, but it was a bumpy, horrific short ride in this field, which i really thought would end badly and still perceived in slow motion and even though i didnt panic i was holding tight enough as if it will surely flip, capsize, roll on the floor or whatever big buses do when they are really sad, but it didn't, it stopped in the field, 180 degrees away from its initial position on the road. but it stopped. and as i stood up, shaking, but calm, and noticed all the glass shards and broken windows next to us i didnt know if i was fine or not, i really couldnt tell, but i checked, after my shaking stopped, i checked and i was fine and k was fine too.

but it was scary. damn scary.



"She was an acrobat's daughter
She swung by her teeth from a noose
But one matinee her bridgework gave way
And she flew through the air like a goose."