Le grande, pour les petits enfants.

i reckon it makes you even worse when you cant say it then when you, cunt, say it. and i cant live with it. am boala asta in mine, imi provoaca febra, greata si varsaturi, dureri cumplite de stomac, o sfarseala de nedescris in oase si crampe musculare in somn. si nu e ca si cum n-as mai fi incercat sa dorm pana acum. am dormit si inca foarte bine, cred ca e de sezon insa, imi amintesc foarte clar ca anul trecut pe vremea asta eram incolacita in jurul unui munte de pastile si de sticle goale. e felul corpului meu de a-si aminti de toata durerea fizica, da zic fizica, pe care mi-ai provocat-o intr-un timp atat de... nu stiu daca scurt e la fel de fidel realitatii ca ireal. si ma tot scurg, si ma tot sfarsesc asa, cateva zile pe an, nu multe dar nici foarte putine. sunt momentele cheie si asocierile absurde prin absenta si de altfel o foarte sanatoasa lipsa de sens. am subestimat capitolul asta, cred ca e cazul sa incepem sa vorbim despre toata cartea si capata proportiile, nu ale Micului Larousse, ci ale unuia imens insa tot pentru copii...

E F B

(...) and then he asked her why do you keep looking for the edge? why kant anything be less than irreplaceable with you? why do I have to make it impossible for you to live in order to make you love ME more? 

little that he knew, there is nothing but the edge. a long edge of craving, i was abducted by infinitive-ism and i loath normal. there was a small plastic bag with the intestinal remains of a bitter lunch and i can just walk by such a thing because they have all been so great, so grand, so numerous, so out of it. i fit in. anywhere, im so good at everything, i can do it all. im smart and nice, beautiful and warm, welcoming in all of those moments, im a good little cunt, im a catch. and all of those good features just to fuck up your inner self. im not good in and out, i dont know, but nothing that wants to last is forever here. cliché up until you too can fall in love me with me because i taste soooo good. edgy focused bitch. ask the man who gave up a hand for me...

where is back

i dont know where i am and i dont remember how i got here. i dont know the way back and i dont know where is back. i dont see why i should stay and i cannot remember where did i want to go. i dont see you and i dont see why i should see myself. i cannot open the door and i refuse to close the window. i dont think i should move and i cannot hear you telling me to stop. i wont take a peek through the looking glass and i wont remember my face. you dont have to know me and i dont have to remember your face. they dont have to know us and i wont remember the face. 

iar.

e exact ce mi s-ar fi intamplat mie. exact genul acela de situatie in care m-as afla eu. nu vrei sa pleci nu poti sa stai si le-ai face pe amandoua mult mai linistit daca nu ar trebui sa le faci singur. dar pentru ca e genul acela de situatie nu va veni nimeni cu tine. daca stii asta de la bun inceput aproape jumatate din toata teama pe care o vei simti s-a dus. vei fi singur oricum, nu tie ti se intampla sa-ti gasesti puncte de sprijin, nu alaturi de tine pot si vor sa ramana ceilalti, nu tie iti este usor. si poti si asa. nu trebuie sa vrei, trebuie sa stii si vei putea. 

nu pot sa scriu porcaria asta acum si nu vreau sa o scriu asa.

baby you would sleep much better

si cum sa fac sa nu ma mai gandesc la ce fac oamenii din jurul meu, oameni inalti, oameni frumosi, oameni normali... eu vreau, si stiu, il vad si mi se pare simplu, intind mana si il trag putin poate de camasa, doar cat jumatate din drumul de la buzele lui pana la buza mea de sus, sau poate o sa ii cada privirea pe cea de jos. mie mi se pare simplu, sa-i spun sau sa imi iau  ce vreau, poate ca nu deranjez prea tare, o sa plec oricum in curand, eu nu stau niciodata foarte mult, nu sunt o mica mofturoasa, poate ma rasfat putin dar nimic nu e pentru totdeauna. 

dar de unde stiu eu... sunt atat de multi si fiecare poate sa vrea ca si mine dar sa intinda mana stanga sau pe cea dreapta sau poate ca e o regula, poate ca nu e normal sa iti pierzi asa cumpatul privirii in fata unor buze, desii mi-ar placea sa si-l piarda macar putin, o sa returnez intotdeauna negresit micile, micutele voastre scapari. poate ca unele placeri nu se spun, poate ca unele spuse nu se plac sau nu se fac, stiu si eu? habar nu am cum vor ceilalti. dar eu pot? pot sa vreau simplu, sa ma fac mic si simplu si sa vreau clar dar delicat? promit ca am sa plec repede, ti-am zis, eu nu stau niciodata prea mult... 

si? acum?... de fapt chiar stiu ce am de facut. tot ce am de facut. si sunt multe. mi-e cam frica, de fapt bagami-as ma cam cac pe mine de frica dar o sa le fac. o sa le fac ca sa ma umplu cumva. nu mi-am dat seama de cat timp n-am mai reusit sa iubesc nimic nimic. ma durea ca dracu, dar stiam de ce... stiam ca e cumva pentru mine, ca o sa ma faca tot pe mine nebunia asta, stiam ca atunci cand te iubeam pe tine, orbeste, tampeste, ca un copil orb, olog si orfan, stiam ca daca te iubesc o sa fiu plina cu ceva, cu tine, si nu trebuia sa ma mai fut pentru asta. te iubeam si atat. pe tine. si cu tine nici macar nu mi-am tras-o niciodata. stiu ca scriu in ultimul hal acum dar sunt obosita rau si ma dor ochii prea tare, eu nu va vad, cuvintele astea cu futut si cacat, nu le vad. vad spatiile dintre ele, sunt mai usor de privit pentru ca nu sunt. si am invatat sa ma tot uit in gol, sa ma uite dumnezeu uitandu-ma, vorba aia. inainte ma uitam dupa tine. acum ma uit in oglinda. ce e chiar langa mine, da desigur ca le/ii vad, dar nu scap de meteahna asta bolnava de a muta imediat privirea chiar daca stiu, ca sa ma pot uita linistita in gol. si nu mai esti tu de data asta, sunt eu, si nu vad nimic. 

rational behaviour. part 1

i cant even begin to explain all the ways in which you, my dear boy, failed. guys like you usually dont end up on my wall, but i think you needed a lesson. you dont get to treat me that way because im so much more than you can handle. and i was good, and i played nice, i know what its like to be crushed, and i know how hard it is to get up, and i understand that sometimes even if you do get up, youre somehow still crushed. i can see that you put things in boxes all the way up just to keep you occupied, and i can see that you actually feel lost lonely and frustrated but you keep building a wall around your neck and keep yourself either busy or stoned so that you dont feel the choke. i know that and i see it because i have been there. and also because i refuse to believe that people are just senseless and stupid and simply raised badly and dont know jack about human interaction. i refuse that, so i give you the benefit of the doubt. either way, i wont let you know i gave it to you, you wouldnt know what to do with it. but i dont love you and cant seem to feel the right things for a piece of stone. and i cant let a piece of stone use me unless i may somehow be helping the piece of stone, but you dont want and cant be helped as far as im concerned. so im leaving. but we can really still be friends and occasionally fuck if necessary. only that... i needed to tell you all this because its really useless in a funny way to keep pretending and let you feel obliged in any way. dont, really, im fine, just have the balls to admit what you feel or dont feel. it takes a bit of a man to be able to do so.  xo xo darling, baby, hunny, sweetie and all the other names i couldnt get myself to feel like calling you.