i dont want to be like other people are, dont want to own a key, to want to wash my car...

mi s-a spus ca cica ar fi trecut 20 de ani de cand sunt aici. nu-mi doream pentru ziua asta mare lucru. credeam ca o sa ma simt bine de obicei oamenii asa se simt cand e ziua lor. sunt cel putin veseli, pentru ca oamenii din jurul lor au grija de asta. eu... eu n-am avut asta azi. eu nu pot decat sa ma gandesc la turn my way, melodia celor de la new order, melodie care ma face sa ma simt cat de cat bine in sensul ca atunci cand o ascult imi amintesc de ce sunt inca aici. problema este ca nu mai stiu nici eu, ca si el, cum sa ajung din nou acolo... atata tot. 

to marginalia

i am writing this for you now. as you might notice there arent many articles in english here. but this one, this one is for you. not necessarily because of the subject i might find myself choosing, but simply because i have already chosen this path, this quite but no so simple way to reach your mind. words are just words, we both know that all too well, but that cannot deny the fact that they sound like more than words. because of that, i love them, and because of that they are the most beautiful thing i have ever seen, tasted, smelled, touched, felt, witnessed, hit, enjoyed, heard, or simply read or wrote. and i have outnumbered the list of sensations in relation to words because i am one who does indeed believe that words can and will, if you allow them to, do that for your senses. the story you would read in this blog is written in a language you cannot understand which is quite a pun if you think that these are just the same words, again, and they speak of the same sensations all too familiar to very many of us. yet there is a key combination, i cant deny that, a certain blend that does more than ordinary sentences manage to do. sometimes i can do it. it is true that this is the furthest i myself will go into my mind. and this is also the biggest secret i could ever unveil. it is all in my words, like an unbearable truth and it stains every corner of this page with a pride and dignity that i dont recognize. it is here even when i play or lie. and i so wish you could read it for me.

sau invers

m-am dezbracat inainte sa incep articolul asta. asa ca il scriu complet goala. stiam cand am inceput sa-mi scot tricoul si am inceput sa simt cu adevarat cand mi-am lasat pantalonii sa se scurga incet pana la glezne. am simtit ca mi-e frig, stiam ca imi va fi frig dar m-am gandit ca o sa il scriu repede ca sa ma invelesc, si daca il scriu repede scriu tot asa cum e. am avut o zi minunata. si ieri a fost o zi foarte frumoasa. si ma asteapta in continuare numai astfel de zile. si azi, dupa pranzul de amintiri la tava, plimbare si toate cele m-am trezit mergand in gol. mi-am dus bunica acasa si dupa aceea era un bulevard plin si era ora la care oamenii se invart in cercuri mai largi sau mai mici cam ca atunci cand arunci o pietricica in lacul IOR. nu era mersul ala dramatizat in care ma uit in pamant si ma mai izbesc de oamenii care trec pe langa mine pentru ca nu-i vad pentru ca ma gandesc departe sau nicaieri si ma uit la picioarele mele si la talpile lor. nu era mersul ala pentru ca mergeam normal pe trotuar, civilizat cum s-ar zice. cred ca zambeam chiar, nu cred ca am lipsit mult, maxim 2 3 minute. insa dupa alea 2 3 minute m-am trezit mergand si trecusem deja, nu demult, dar trecusem deja de stopul la care trebuia sa fac stanga catre strada mea. si mergeam drept inainte si am clipit ca sa ma trezesc din reveria aia de nimic si cand am clipit am vazut ca ma indreptam catre primul bloc cum intri pe piata basarabia de la muncii...si titlul.