Night 2 – another fine night for a driver. It was raining hard and it didn’t seem to stop. Three men got in the car near the passageway under the Aumonja Square. They were dressed almost the same, in dark overcoats, nearly dry, with gray hats and fine glasses, white ties and white gloves. They crowded in the back – left the front seat unoccupied. They just stood still there for awhile and then I asked “So… where to? … … Sir?” I looked at the one in the middle and he answered: “My name is Miny Kynes-Sephire. I am afraid I am not the one who decided this trip, so you will need to ask my brothers, Sir.” At that point, with a smile, I asked myself what would a normal cabby do. But I decided to play along. “Very well – you Sir? Can you tell me your destination?” And he answered just as promptly and politely: “My name is Meeny Kynes-Sephire. Our destination is Glasgow, Queen’s Park 1926, September 2nd, before sundown.” With a reflex raised eyebrow, I replied – “Could you elaborate on that, Sir?”
continuă să citeşti ‘Driver from the Delirious to the Abandoned (2)’
I took a night job as a taxi driver lately. A combination between money, insomnia and curiosity, with a drop of unearthly passion for darkness – or you can choose any other motivation if need be.
On my first night, a guy came in and gave me torn piece of paper with an address. It was only half legible so I told him I’d drop him off at the corner of the street and wait awhile till he gets to the right door. Then he started to talk to me with a bit of an odd smile. He said: “I need to tell you this, hell, I need to tell someone. I mean, we won’t meet again so this cannot affect you. And you have no idea who I am. Now truth be told, I have no idea who I am either – I’m hoping that address might help.
continuă să citeşti ‘Driver from the Delirious to the Abandoned (1)’
the bruise on my belly
the bruise on my belly
is turning reddish with delight -
a lavish mood, with tea and jelly
that used to be the sea last night.
it is a memory
of something never born
a worn and comfortable theory
of my left breast and you – a tiny, infinitely lusting thorn.
that small bruise, with an air
of Gypsy wound, while fighting for a wife,
still gives me life and since it has been there
a morning’s second hasn’t passed unloved.
and for each other second of my way
i have my cosmic wide umbrella
to mimic all and to confuse the fray
about the bruise on my belly.
I am on a tram, at night. There are few people around – I take a seat in front of a middle aged man, wearing a suit and worn briefcase. I see that he looks at me intensely and I avoid his stare as best I can. Then he offers me a plastic water bottle with a few sips left at the bottom. He says it is ambrosia, the drink of gods. He says he knows I find it hard to believe, it was passed on to him also, a few hours ago. He drank and he felt it was way too powerful for him. In fact, he was so afraid, that he cowered under a bench in the park and staid there until it wore off. Of course, there is a chance the man is crazy and there is a chance the whole thing is a prank or even worse – I think to myself. Then all of sudden I realize that I am on a dream, so I relax and drink the ambrosia. And then I wake up abruptly. It wouldn’t be such a special dream, but something happened the other day. I felt I was in a dream also, but I was not. It was the same kind of certitude, the same relaxed refusal of reality. I must train my mind to resist this temptation, to be moral and responsible even in a dream, because real life is made of irreversible changes. And then I asked myself: what happens in a dream – is that reversible? Will not a dream change my life permanently, just as well?
continuă să citeşti ‘The human Darius attributes (2) – a journal of dreams from old age’
Mr. Twister returning
The merry Mr. Twister
And his hairy, though quite short companion
Have returned
To these lands, yearning for a winter -
With hot steps rushing through the snow
And icy water, all aglow
With frost where there is sand and rock
With locks of light around your nose
With cosmic sights to watch and hold
And fold around your tail at night
To make a bit of darkness white.
Thus had to say the white and brown
Lick, the Jack, the sidekick Russel
Who made love such a hassle
Since he declared it waf!, illegal.
Yes, they returned, the two, the peers,
The weary world saw them once more
With sore eyes and a tiny heart.
And, though apart from all their dear,
They rushed to her embrace again!
And then the world, in her wide place
Just by the sun, or slightly to the left
Decided it is time to go.
And now, in her place, on the pedestal
There’s a half lime, beside a pot of tea
With Mr. Twister seated by
And Lick, who does what he knows best.
We’ve no idea if you have seen the world of late (or just awhile ago), atop the lean and crafty ways of mommy galaxy. We miss her with a splinter in our hearts and have decided to call off the winter without her.
Soon, Mr. Twister will be dreaming, and his sidekick, Lick, will drink the tea and be as happy as they both can be. Or they will bear the slings and arrows of the evil lime, until somebody, in his rhyme, will ask: to be? or not to be?
Love?
rose petals, never! oh never!, three D, dearly beloved we are gathered here, today, one year from now, the tallest building, the longest hour, twins, dog breathing over sleeping beauty, his master’s voice, oranges, water, sky curved to the right, above the rocks surrounding the small bay with brightly colored umbrellas, engine sound at 6000 RPM, rage, tears, wish you were dead, wish I was five days late, wish you a Merry Christmas, wish you a happy birthday, on a pillow, with silver and gold from a thousand and one nights, the wind that night, windows reflecting the stars, eyes shut, mouth open, mouth leaving the world, mouth feeling the Grand Soul, the mother and the father of unborn children, the beginning, the omega, tongue counting the heartbeat, streaming blood with pictures on the wall, bed sheets and screams when nobody is home, white and red, whiskey, here I am with a ball and a chain yeah!, Puccini, don’t wake up! please, don’t wake up!, summer: point in the Universe where there are trees, flowers and orgasms, wine, memory erased, avatars of winters passed, resurrection, candles, I think I’m pregnant, salsa in the Galaxy, dwarfs awoken in the middle of the night, whisper and kiss my ear, there, one year ago, another way to leave me behind, make you stay, make you mine, make the world yours, make you my world, transform everything, I don’t want you to change, I’ll change for you, blue satin, blue garters, blue ribbon in my hair, this is your gift, are you sure you want this? yes… try to go easy, he’s gone, I can’t think about anything else, I can’t just leave you, I can’t leave the cat all alone, we’ll take her with us, hey, Sir, where is this train going? because you just look so beautiful together, it is snowing and we kiss, this is for you, open it, will you? will I? how do you do, we have met before, my name means the sound of lips around your left foot thumb, it’s Apache, but we are far from our lands, where there are fields with flowers and we die making love and the earth takes our bodies and makes trees of them because trees are made of two halves becoming complete, I completely forgot, don’t be upset honey, well I remember, it was cloudy and you said…, time will heal, will bring new life, beauty will never be the same, you said I was a miracle, a feeling and a promise, that’s what you said.
A parrot
Oh, what a parrot I turned out to be,
And you – another parrot, with me, all along.
A mirror for my self reflecting words
To help you wind your self projecting mind.
And how I wept for, ‘how I dreamed of
Your wretched feathers made of blue and lime
Sublime under the morning dew
And five feet under – this ol’ stone adorning.
Oh, dear, dear, what a parrot!
How subtly blunt were all my gestures
And utterances of love and hanging-
The wide horizon that’s presenting
A cool glass with a friendly poison!
A crystal tree
In clear water
To make a nest for wonder bird
And stop those dreams that sought her.
(found among the intimate records of Lady Mittenice, after a long and devilishly inciting search)
A silver cat made her way in
My bed sheets filled with restless sleep -
As deep and lank as she could creep
To reach the world, under my skin.
And for each moment in her grip
The world itself went rushing by
And, though so far, it seemed to lie
As close as but a single leap.
My lips went numb and in their nest,
A scent of oranges and rum
Slipped lean under my tongue, a drum
To fill the longing in my breast.
And for a second, perhaps a bit longer than most other seconds in my life, I was -
The Cosmos, in her habitat,
With nothing but a silver cat.
And I laughed. I woke shivering with fear, of what I had just experienced – but I was laughing. I was nude and the mere understanding of my cosmic nudity that separated me from the rest of the elements in the Universe made me barbarically happy.
Votati!
Variante (temporare) ale acestor interpretari le puteti gasi aici:
Intre doua “degustari”, va puteti clati urechile cu perle nemuritoare ale clasicului american – 
– pentru neutralizare deplina a timpanului.
Why, of the Fractals
Why was invented by No. Then it was thrown away, as a failed experiment, and just as it hit the ground, in that fatal instant, No realized he had made a devastating mistake. Why was never supposed to break, because it was unbounded – an infinitely repeatable, unbounded, complex utterance. Almost, No commented later – a truth in its own.
Why had only one answer in the beginning, but as it split into more Why-s than our mind can conceive – the answers began to exhaust, gradually, our words, languages, gestures, question marks and even our ability to ignore them.
Eventually, we surrendered and made Why a noble among us, Sir Why, of the Fractals. We gave Why a part of our lives, our mathematics and a corner of nature to play with. One would comment that we had done the same with No and here’s what happened. But No was not unbounded, like Why. You square No and add another No – you get negation and a bad mood. You do the same with Why …
… and you link your mind with the Universe, to the brink of sinking in your pillow, with the night screaming in your hand and the land shaking and the lake freezing outside the window and your eyes aglow and your eyes shut and a gut feeling that eveything’s right and white electrons rushing through your spine, and red wine and warm skin and all the words within.
And every Why is identical to that initial Why invented by No. Can you believe that? What a lucky bastard…
Following Miss Dreamy’s trail
Leftenent Wanderson, Neverland Yard: Do you mind if I take notes on this interview, Madam?
Lady Mittenice: Not at all, dearie. Where did you say you came from, again?
LW: The Capital, Madam. I’ve recently become a Leftenent of the N’land Yard. As I’ve told you, we are investigating a fairy person we have called Miss Dreamy.
LM: Is that her nickname?
LW: It is a given name to a certain extent, as several unrelated witnesses called her that – but we are at this point unsure wether or not she has introduced herself to any of them, in any form.
LM: I couldn’t help but notice that you are quite far from home, dearie. Is it your habit at the Yard to chase your suspects this far?
LW: Like hounds, Madam. But in al fairness, Miss Dreamy is not exactly a suspect, mainly because there is no crime committed.
LM: Then what is the nature of your interest in her?
LW: Um… you may want to regard the N’land Yard less as an agency of law enforcement and more as an organization of historians. Dreams are constructed from memories and the latter need order, fairness and peace. Miss Dreamy has been a constant source of disturbance, chaos and a cause of war for many dreamers lately- which may not constitute a crime of course, but certainly a reason for a thorough investigation. We are not meant to arrest someone though, merely to memorize the events which took place, in their right order.
LM: I understand. I’ll have to accompany you to my study, Leftenent dearie. There are certain items you need to see.
continuă să citeşti ‘Following Miss Dreamy’s trail’
Istoria se repeta?
Discutia incepe cu profesorul Hari Seldon si psihoistoria. Inainte de toate, as vrea sa fie clar ca eu admit posibilitatea ca o persoana sa ghiceasca viitorul. Insa cu toata incapatanarea pretind ca termenul corect trebuie sa fie (si sa ramana) “a ghici”. Sa presupunem ca ii propun cuiva urmatorul experiment: “In fiecare zi la ora 12 eu dau cu banul; din momentul in care amandoi am vazut daca a iesit cap sau coada, ai 24 de ore sa-mi spui ce va iesi maine.” Distributia normala de probabilitate este desigur 50% rata de succes la ghicire. Cu toate acestea, as pune pariu ca ea e in majoritatea cazurilor neuniforma – in speta ca sunt oameni mai ghinionisti si altii mai norocosi; sau oameni mai clarvazatori dupa ora 8, sau altii care gresesc mereu daca sunt nemancati. Nu stiu care sunt factorii, insa ce stiu cu siguranta e ca foarte putine fenomene din natura au distributii de probabilitate uniforme. Prin urmare, si in cazul ghicirii unei succesiuni de evenimente oarecare, e mereu posibil sa existe noroc chior si, pe masura, ghinion.
continuă să citeşti ‘Istoria se repeta?’
A metallic taste of addiction
a deviant, delirious discourse on paths and randomness, or how to listen to the certain sound a mitten does on the frosty window of the balcony, in 1902
Glory, the grinding history amended
By a rope and a mouse in memory!
- there, she uttered, falling.
And the air raged by
Like the atmosphere around the storm.
She shrieked her victory
Sleepless and worn,
Her torn face matching
The wounds on her world.
Glory, for each rock
The wretch felt warm on her harmed feet!
Each atom in the sand,
The heavy fluid of her essence,
The taste of life inside her, on my tongue.
Her eyes shut deep in memory blue.
1902 came by and went-
The spent time of a drop of scent
Blushed in the wake of coming true.
Pretul salvarii unui om
Ieri la radio, o discutie comuna cu ascultatorii. La un moment dat, unul dintre comentatori a afirmat, intr-un mod cat se poate de stereotip – si de altfel aprobat calduros de toti ceilalti participanti la discutie – ca nu se poate pune un pret pentru salvarea unui om, cu alte cuvinte ca trebuie facut absolut orice pentru acel scop.
Mie mi-a atras atentia aceasta afirmatie, desi o mai auzisem inainte – in ideea ca ceva mi se parea ca nu se potriveste. Desigur, e o initiativa (sau o fraza) nobila. Cu care insa, dupa o scurta prelucrare, am constatat ca nu pot fi de acord.
In realitate, pretul salvarii unui om anume este egal cu cel mai mic pret ce trebuie platit pentru a salva oricare dintre oamenii ce au nevoie sa fie salvati.
continuă să citeşti ‘Pretul salvarii unui om’
Pacatul
Voi starni un cuib de viespi fara doar si poate, insa se poate spune ca ma mananca pielea, mai ales pentru o paruiala intelectuala de curtea scolii, ori de coltul strazii, primavara – in speta vremea cand inca nu se instalasera tabu-urile si plictiseala (mai degraba decat teama) de a le desfiinta.
Tema discutiei este pacatul, sau mai exact ce te face sa ajungi in Rai si ce te face sa ajungi in Iad. Sunt desigur subiectiv, crestin fiind (si in general vom incerca sa ramanem in aceasta arie dogmatica), insa nu voi refuza sub nici o forma un argument ce tine de alte religii sau coduri morale – si ma astept la aceeasi atitudine de la interlocutori.
The Rapture Doctrine
Note: please treat this as a natural, albeit late extension of the D-Paladin Doctrine. There are few such simple and elegant principles, who many times govern our lives and make them spectacular, even if as many as one or two people get to observe it and even those so rarely understand what lies beneath.
The Infinity principle – Life, as the sequence of events between birth and passing, is infinite.
continuă să citeşti ‘The Rapture Doctrine’
Fairy Policewoman Wanderson: Time of examination 37:03, full moon, January, chapter 5, East Dreamland Time. The defendant’s lawyer is present and acknowledges all legal conditions to have been met, so as to be able to proceed …
Solicitor Horatio M.U. Clyde-Kevary: Huh? Oh yes, yes… No, wait!
FPW: Yes, Mr. Horatio?
Solicitor Horatio M.U. Clyde-Kevary: Um… are you sure my client is of enough height to be held legally responsible?
FPW: Your client is a dwarf, Mr. Horatio – and his height was considered sufficient to serve in the army, as his record shows.
Solicitor Horatio M.U. Clyde-Kevary: Right. Still: are you absolutely sure – I mean, being short should present a considerable legal advantage … ?
Mungo: You’re fired.
continuă să citeşti ‘Neverland Yard Investigations – The case of the lovely Miss Dreamy (3)’
Ce face o groapa “great”? Ce o face sa fie o groapa intre gropi, un model si o inspiratie pentru celelalte gropi? Miss Groapa, President Groapa, Za One, Zi Only, I give you MR. GROAPAAAA! Ce face o groapa sa ajunga la Tonight’s Show sau macar la Stirile de la ora 5? (Pentru inceput, va asigur ca nu astea erau intrebarile pe care mi le puneam ieri, dupa ce trecusem plin de fiori “Neil Armstrong” printr-un crater de pe soseaua Pantelimon si incepusem sa simt cum volanul trage dreapta).
continuă să citeşti ‘Cauciucul si alte suferinte ale memoriei’
Just you wait, Mr. Twister, just you wait!
-she said, like fate, one bitter day, in anger.
And Mr. Twister waited long, long time,
Creating letters, after x and y
But just before the fatal z.
With red and scarlet variations -
Sweet letters “why” and “sex”
And decks of cards and rhye
To walk through, when the summer’s ripe,
And berries grow from her sweet hands.
continuă să citeşti ‘A gift from Mr. Twister (and his freshly shaved Jack Russel sidekick, Lick)’
The science of not changing
Definition [entity]: A form of existence which is conceiveable and has four essential properties: limitedness, nature, abstractness and observability. (e.g. a rock is an entity which is limited in space and time, physical in nature, concrete and observable, whereas a word is non-physical, but it is limited, concrete and observable, a theory is abstract and non physical, while still being limited and observable; one would have to go into the mystical field to find some entity which is unlimited, abstract, non-observable and non-physical – the soul can be assumed to be such an entity).
continuă să citeşti ‘The science of not changing’
Mr. Jiminy writes a poem
I *cricket* you! A brittle
Little piece of life
Over unending strife – with bliss,
Velvet and fairy dust to spread
Ever so red, ever so merry.
You’ve seen me yet, my *cricket*?
Out and above, a dove, or maybe
Under your heart, a secret place?
Mieunatul ratiunii ontologice
Un fir de blana motana
Intre est si vest -
Ce-i poate face el Cosmosului? 
un Haiku de pisica Fu
Parul tau ma inteapa
Parul tau ma inteapa! – ca sensul unei sageti, intr-o lume de apa. Si eu -
Ma visez o mare de suras
Cat sa incapa in tine,
Cu valuri pline
Cu spuma de zaruri.
Pentru ca, sa fim intelesi – de-aici nu mai iesi. Esti un Univers intr-un Univers si eu sunt un vers dupa un vers si ma consideram ceva! Si-acum, din vina ta –
Ma visez o furtuna de doruri
Si gusturi incurcate
Pe brate-amestecate
Slugarnice si hoate.
Parul tau ascutit urzeste umezeala si intuneric. Este cald si nehotarat ca un milion de lumanari. Este lingusitor si timid ca pielea mea, cerandu-mi fericirea. Este egoist, ca sufletul meu, daruindu-ma pe ascuns.
Oh, really? :D
The account of a bear, related to the acts of selflessness manifested by Miss Dreamy on a stormy night, in the valley.
Fairy Policewoman Wanderson: Good morning Sir. I’m afraid that couch is the best we can offer you. We didn’t expect to interview bears when we set up this field office – no offence meant.
Bear: None taken, Madam. I hadn’t expected to be involved in N’land Yard Investigations either.
FPW: Could you present yourself?
B: Theodore Mark MCIX, or Teddy Bear, as my common nickname.
continuă să citeşti ‘Neverland Yard Investigations – The case of the lovely Miss Dreamy (2)’
