how does lemur skin reflect the sea?

watching movies is electrifying. soon, when i'll become a mad scientist, i will be able to explain why. until then, i will live with the thrills of someone who's more inclined towards magical, unreasonable explanations. and that's pretty cool, as well, in spite of the unlikely event that my brain pushes me to attempt, that of being able to share it with someone. but know this: every time i get up from my favorite chair in the cinema and i touch the metal railing on the side of the stairs, i feel a little electrical impulse. i can't explain it, and it scares me, and i love it, and i do it every time, as a weird and a bit masochistic confirmation that movies electrify me, not in a cleverly engineered way, but in a sort of mystical, absolutely ineffable one.

 A Serious Man - Ethan & Joel Coen

 Winterland - Hisham Zaman

The Naked of Sankt Petersburg - Ada Bigaard Søby

some cinemas have a magical je-ne-sais-qoui. but je sais quoi! some have color particles that make you see colors that you can't see in the real world, particles that play with your sense of smell, too, by letting you feel the soft, terrifying scent of a storm approaching on the sounds of jefferson airplane or the fresh pungent air of a snowy sunny day in sankt petersburg, special frequencies that make you hear the sounds inside yourself, chairs with stronger gravitational pull that no one can explain.

and this little cinema, tucked in the heart of copenhagen, has it all. after watching a movie there, on a lazy afternoon, when you couldn't care less about the handball finals and you feel a mad joy for the impractical side of life, called impractical by the self-proclaimed practical majority, who might as well be the most impractical of all, you realize you're starting to see the world in those beautiful colors, and maybe it always had them, but you never saw them before, and it's so wonderful you want to ask people if they see it, like a real "virtuoso of the casual encounter". 

and you're lucky. you really are. even if it will take ages until you'll be able to explain it to someone, you can wait, the electrification process you're going through might just keep you alive forever.

we come in pairs

"You comply with my aesthetical needs", said the antenna to the mutt. they were in love. both their nouns had double consonants. they were in love.

or was it a line from gainsbourg, vie héroïque?

it makes more sense as something said by an antenna in love with a mutt. 

You could say that we're alone / But we're lonely together

you know those people who always have a visibly watery nose? some nose-substance stays up in their nostril and twinkles in the sun. and you know what else twinkles in the sun? my smile, cause i finally went outside, i went offline. and you know what else went offline? my facebook account because i finally understood its pointlessness. and you know what else is pointless? wanting what you don't need when you can't have it. and you know what you can't have? what about what you don't need?

i know, we hate to admit it.

everything you need to know about girls

and if they figured it out in thailand, where even many boys are girls, it must be true.

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.