Citat / Quote

M-am apucat iar de citit, o pasiune mult neglijata, din cauze multiple, mai mult sau mai putin inventate. Si, cum sunt loiala, fidela si rutiniera, caracteristici care pana acum nu mi-au prins chiar bine, dar, asta e... am pus mana pe o carte de Pascal Bruckner, mi-a placut, si m-am decis instant sa ii citesc toata opera. Am cumparat 11 bucati carti scrise de susnumitul autor, deocamdata sunt in plina lectura al celui de-al patrulea exemplar, pana acum, nici urma de dezamagire.

Din cand in cand, in pauzele de citire, imi revine in minte cate un pasaj, metafora, poveste, fragment care ma marcheaza si ma urmareste. Ultimul paragraf de acest fel imi permit sa il citez mai jos. Citit ieri, in autobuz:

"Bantuit intotdeauna de dezintegrare, m-am nascut batran, secatuit de parca as apartine unei rase sfarsite. Am acum 38 de ani, insa par de 50. Adapostesc in mine un cadavru care ma roade si creste pe seama mea. Mi-ar fi placut, inca din adolescenta, sa cumpar de la vreun negustor transe de timp ca sa franez uzura. Cenusiul mi s-a asternut pe chip inca din leagan si nu m-a parasit de atunci". (Pascal Bruckner - "Hotii de frumusete", o carte recomandata chiar si pentru cei care nu apreciaza stilul aproape porno :) abordat de scriitorul francez).

***

I took up reading again, a long-neglected passion, for many reasons, more or less invented. And, as I am loyal, faithful and a routine lover, characteristics that so far haven't suited me very well, but, that's it... I got my hands on a book by Pascal Bruckner, liked it, and instantly decided to read his whole work. I bought 11 books written by the aforementioned author, so far I'm in the middle of reading the fourth copy, so far, no sign of disappointment.

From time to time, in the breaks of reading, a passage, a metaphor, a story, a fragment that marks me and follows me comes back in my mind. The last such paragraph I take the liberty of quoting below. Read yesterday, on the bus:

"Always haunted by disintegration, I was born old, drained as if I belonged to a finite race. I am now 38, but I look 50. I harbour within me a corpse that gnaws and grows at my expense. I would have liked, since I was a teenager, to buy from some merchant time tranches to brake the wear and tear. The ashes have been on my face since the cradle and have not left me since." (Pascal Bruckner - "The Thieves of Beauty", a book recommended even for those who do not appreciate the almost pornographic style :) approached by the French writer).

De la "Celei care pleaca" la "Celui ce-a plecat" / From "The one who's leaving" to "The one who has left"

Am o noua preocupare: imi forez in continuu in creierasi ca sa gasesc ce sa mai scriu pe blog. Si cum multe s-au spus deja, chiar si de catre mine, in cele 5 posturi (sau cate sunt ele), sarcina e destul de grea. Si e bine ca e grea, pentru ca niciodata nu am alergat dupa lucurile usoare.

Ziceam mai ieri de versuri transparente, mult prea transparente ca sa le iau ca sursa de inspiratie, si asta m-a purtat cu gandul usor la Minulescu, si la serile alea magice, de acum vreo... 20 de ani (uf, cum suna asta...), cand tu completai integrame, fumai tigara dupa tigara, si imi recitai din Minulescu. Iar eu stateam cu o ureche in radio, cu genunchii la gura, cu ochii mari si cu inima alergand aiurea prin bancile scolii, pentru ca usor, usor, incepusem sa iubesc. Cand ramaneam singura imi rupeam din suflet si insiram pe hartie franturi din ce simteam, in cea mai inocenta si mai naiva forma, versuri de inceput, povesti nevinovate, ganduri razlete, nelinistit si tulburari care nu aveau sa ajunga niciodata la destinatar.

Ma gandesc acum cat de ciudat e ca ani la rand m-am prostit cu ideea ca ne e dat sa iubim o singura data in viata, pana la lacrimi, pana la sange, pana la moarte. Si asta m-a facut sa ascund in uitare toate rascolirile de alta data, sa ma prefac ca nu eram eu, ca nu ma doare ce n-a iesit, ca nu a existat, ca nu m-a marcat, ca nu am trait, nu am visat, nu am plans, nu am strans din dinti amar. Si cum ajung toate sa se razbune...

Am luat de la tine sufletul sensibil, capacitatea de a simti puternic, uneori mai puternic decat ma tin picioarele, puterea de a exprima. As fi vrut sa mai stai, sa ma inveti cum trec peste un esec, cum ascund o durere, cum imi explic niste schimbari, cum sa ma prefac ca sunt bine atunci cand nu sunt... As fi vrut sa ma asculti acum, sa ma ghidezi, sa imi spui in ce parte sa caut raspusul, daca e vreo sansa sa il gasesc vreodata, ascuns printre alte banalitati.

***

I have a new preoccupation: I'm constantly digging into my brain to find what else to blog about. And as much has already been said, even by me, in the 5 posts (or however many there are), the task is quite hard. And it's good that it's hard, because I've never chased the easy stuff.

I was talking yesterday about transparent verses, far too transparent to take them as inspiration, and that led me to think back easily to Minulescu, and those magical evenings, some... 20 years ago (ugh, how does that sound...), when you were filling in crossword puzzles, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and reciting Minulescu to me. And I was sitting with one ear to the radio, knees to my mouth, eyes wide and heart running wild in the school benches, because slowly, slowly, I was beginning to love. When I was left alone I would tear from my soul and paste on paper fragments of what I was feeling, in the most innocent and naive form, beginning verses, innocent stories, rambling thoughts, restlessness and turmoil that would never reach the intended recipient.

I think now how strange it is that for years I fooled myself with the idea that we are given to love only once in our lives, to tears, to blood, to death. And that made me hide in oblivion all the laughter of another time, to pretend it wasn't me, that I didn't hurt what didn't come out, that it didn't exist, that it didn't mark me, that I didn't live, didn't dream, didn't cry, didn't grit my bitter teeth. And how they all end up taking revenge...

I took from you the sensitive soul, the ability to feel strongly, sometimes stronger than my legs hold me, the power to express. I wish you'd stayed, to teach me how to get over a failure, how to hide a pain, how to explain changes, how to pretend I'm fine when I'm not... I wish you'd listen to me now, guide me, tell me where to look for the answer, if there's any chance I'll ever find it, hidden among other trivialities.

Text din obligatie / A text because I have to

Mi-am luat un angajament fata de mine, in primul rand (incerc sa ma catar iar pe prima pozitie in clasamentul prioritatilor mele, e cam greu, dupa tot praful care s-a asternut in anii astia) sa scriu cate ceva in fiecare zi. Terapie, sa-i zicem, sau nevoie primordiana de a ma simti, intr-un fel, utila.

Azi n-am ce scrie, iar versurile pe care am zis ca o sa le citez sunt mult prea transparente pentru ce as avea de zis, asadar o sa imi rod gandurile in liniste si o sa astept sa se potoleasca si sa-mi dea pace, sau, daca nu, macar sa se aseze regulamentar intr-o ordine mai transparenta, pe care sa o pot analiza si transpune in practica.

Lumea se invarte fara mine. Ei, nu ca nu stiam, dar era placut sentimentul ala ca as fi, macar pentru unii, centrul universului. Ei bine, nu-s, si, in caz ca isi mai face cineva iluzii de acest gen, trag un semnal de trezire: niciunul nu suntem centrul niciunui univers! Si nici cei pe care ii alegem ca centru al universului nostru nu sunt deloc asa, fie ca nu-si doresc, fie ca dispar, fie ca se schimba. Ori, un centru ar trebui sa fie unic si stabil.

A dat soarele, probabil ca natura incepe usor sa isi iasa din amorteala. A trebuit sa se faca dupa-amiaza sa-l observ. O sa ma rup de tot ceea ce nu ma tine captiva si sa ma fortez sa admir privelistea, sa traiesc momentul, sa tac si sa uit.

Revin maine, cu aceleasi ineptii, scrise intr-o alta forma, mai mult sau mai putin patetica.

***

I made a commitment to myself, first of all (I'm trying to climb back to the top of my priority list, it's a bit hard, after all the dust that has settled over the years) to write something every day. Therapy, let's call it, or a primal need to feel somehow useful.

Today I have nothing to write, and the lines I said I'd quote are far too transparent for what I'd have to say, so I'll gnaw on my thoughts in silence and wait for them to subside and give me peace, or, if not, at least to settle into a more transparent order that I can analyze and put into practice.

The world is spinning without me. Well, not that I didn't know it, but it was nice that feeling that I was, at least for some, the center of the universe. Well, I'm not, and in case anyone else is under such illusions, I'm sounding a wake-up call: none of us are the centre of any universe! Nor are those we choose as the centre of our universe at all, either unwilling, disappearing or changing. Or, a centre should be unique and stable.

The sun rises, nature is probably slowly starting to break out of its numbness. I had to make it afternoon to notice it. I'm going to break away from everything that doesn't hold me captive and force myself to admire the view, live in the moment, shut up and forget.

I'll be back tomorrow, with the same nonsense, written in a different, more or less pathetic form.

Exista posibilitati care se poate si posibilitati care nu se poate / There are possible possibilities and also impossible possibilities

O sa ma apuc de scris un roman prost, bazat pe viata pe care n-am trait-o, pe experientele pe care nu le-am avut, pe toate "what if-urile" din viata mea, poate, citindu-l ulterior, voi simti ca am trait mai intens. Cu putin noroc, va fi ecranizat de o echipa de actori cu viitor stralucit, intr-o limba de origine latina, iar casnicele vor potopi pamantul cu lacrimi uitandu-se in fiecare dupa-amiaza, cu o lingura de lemn in mana dreapta si stergandu-si secretiile nazale pe sortul de bucatarie. Si isi vor jura ca isi schimba viata, si vor uita pana la urmatoarea telenovela.

Sau, o sa incep, in sfarsit, sa fac bine in lume, sa imi aduc contributia, activa, la orice. Mi-am dorit mereu, insa mereu am avut cate o piedica, bine plasata, chiar de catre mine, in calea fericirii. Si astfel, voi deveni peste noapte salvatoarea planetei...

Sau, o sa ma imbrac chiar eu cu sortul de bucatarie, sa ma plasez strategic langa aragaz si sa incep sa invat ce n-am stiut niciodata: sa gatesc! Mirosul de ceapa calita imi va deveni cel mai bun prieten, va inlocui toate aromele din borcanelele multicolore pe care le tin aruncate prin toata casa. Si mama va fi mandra, ca ce gospodina este fie-sa!

Sau, o sa invat peste noapte tot ce e de stiut despre un blog, si intr-o luna o sa rup toate topurile, indrugand cretinatati pe o foaie de hartie virtuala. In zilele fara inspiratie, voi copia idei din versuri si voi cita din romanul inceput in primul paragraf.

Sau, sau, sau...

DAR!

***

I'm going to start writing a bad novel, based on the life I didn't live, the experiences I didn't have, all the what ifs in my life, maybe, reading it afterwards, I'll feel like I lived more intensely. With any luck, it will be screened by a team of actors with bright futures, in a language of Latin origin, and the housewives will be choking the earth with tears as they watch it every afternoon, with a wooden spoon in their right hand and wiping their nasal secretions on the kitchen apron. And they'll swear they're changing their lives, and they'll forget until the next soap opera.

Or, I'll finally start doing good in the world, making my contribution, actively, to everything. I've always wanted to, but I've always had a well-placed, self-placed obstacle to happiness. And so, overnight, I become the savior of the planet...

Or, I'll dress myself in the kitchen apron, place myself strategically by the stove and start learning what I never knew: how to cook! The smell of the onion will become my best friend, it will replace all the aromas in the multicolored jars I keep lying around the house. And my mother will be proud, what a housewife daughter she has!

Or, I'll learn everything there is to know about blogging overnight, and in a month I'll be tearing up all the charts, writing nonsense on a virtual sheet of paper. On uninspired days, I'll copy ideas from the lyrics and quote from the novel I started in the first paragraph.

Or, or, or, or...

BUT!