insight

"You are young yet‥but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself. 

‥Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see."
 (1845 E. A. Poe in Graham's Mag. Nov. 194)

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"My principal feeling, about this time, was an unsatiable longing for something that I cannot describe or denominate properly, unless I say it was for utter oblivion that I longed. I desired to sleep; but it was for a deeper and longer sleep that in which the senses were nightly stepped. I longed to be at rest and quiet, and close my eyes on the past and future alike, as far as this frail life was concerned." 

(James Hogg - Confessions of a Justified Sinner)

commun.icate

I do have the tendency to keep going beyond any reasonable limit, in a somewhat desperate trial of fixing what still can be fixed. I've always been afraid of the "too late", and of those tiny little monsters you thought you got over just to wake up in the middle of one random night and spend the rest of it wondering how they got so big.

Only a fortnight's time and I've already made so many mistakes, someone else's words flowing through my mouth. I'm just craving to get things back to the way they were before I screwed up.

Too late, too much, too soon. Seriously, timing really means a lot when you're living under pressure.

Stat focused, stay balanced. Have a grip on your own life.

Easier said than done, but I'm gonna get the whole package.

I don't know for how long, but I'm sort of back.

float, drift, sink

Did all the big places seem big just because of their emptiness? Somewhere in between those two stories, I discovered a new self. It's not just the transition, the change that made the game exhilarating, but the surprising conclusions and breaking the rules. Just to feel the blood rushing again. 

Come to think of everything I gave away, not about to get anything in return, I must've somehow ran out of generosity. Then, all of a sudden, some sort of karmic revenge: self sufficiency.

blanket for my bones

to think or not to think?

"Eu nu-mi am inimă în cap, nici creieri n-am în inimă."
...trebuie să fi ratat lecția asta de anatomie.

analyse, analyse, analyse all over again.

 

I'm a riddle in nine syllables

I got lost in the vacuum, the emptiness growing by the second. I fed it as if it were my own child, nurtured it by the laws of self-sufficiency, which would soon become a necessity. I only need sounds and words to comfort my struggling conscience, I only need warmth and gentle bites to keep my flesh alive.

Like a newborn, I felt the burning desire of creating my very own language, my own moral scale. I wanted to build myself inside autistic walls, as the were the only barrier preventing me from eventually stumbling upon you. I needed to draw the limits around my world and separate it from yours. And those sounds, encouraging my combustion, as if a funeral march was the perfect opportunity to show off new dance steps.

Assonance, vertigo, blood sucking egos. Is it impossible to find a way out of this labyrinth?

I wish I were a poet, so I could show you how I feel.

Your kisses were patchwork on my skin, but my honesty was something to worry about. As if our collision of truth and indifference would serve the purpose of filling the empty spaces, originating in our lack of mental chemistry. We spoke different languages, to be understood only by the very channel of our bodies. At first I thought I needn't mind, I shouldn't be caught adrift by  poor communication and its drawbacks, but it occured to me that such a restless spirit could not exist outside the laws of Speech. Its spell was deeply enthrenched into the depths of my own being, crawling and scratching my inner walls whenever I would refuse to equate touch and philosophy. But all of a sudden, your mouth errupted in lexical harmonies, as if my mind was laid open in front of that newly-born world. And when the distances  between us finally shrunk, the absence of a word able to hold all the meanings in my heart became unbearable.  
Then I fell in love with the sound.

pseudo-pseudo

Suntem ad(i)olescenti instruiti sa ne imbracam in cuvinte pretentioase si de calitate proasta. Ne-au invatat sa ne mutilam in stereotipuri cladite pe impresia originalitatii. Spiralam cuvinte, le disecam, aplicam chriurgia plastica si cream masti. Suntem artistii falsului. Dar uite ce am reusit sa facem! Nu mai exista noul, suntem doar noi, infatuatii si "micii tirani" care deja (ii) conduc din umbra. Combinatii ciudate, neobisnuitul socant, da, asta suntem: soc! Haide, spune-mi ca nu te asteptai la asta!! Sunt gata sa ma camuflez oricand intr-un artist de duzina, fara principii sau... cine stie ce-or mai fi si alea de fapt. Sunt aici ca sa imi ascund adevaratele intentii, dar poate vei intelege. Poate esti si tu ca si mine. Poate o sa reusim sa fim mai, prea, super, mega etc.

Mi se pare mie sau e mai cald aici?

Happy Valentine's day.

(by yagizyilmaz/deviantart.com)

in a dream, i was a werewolf.

simt.vad.aud.ma prabusesc.
simt cum fiecare pas imi aluneca sub strada, ii simt trecand neinchipuit de rapid; imi simt celulele dilatandu-se si curgandu-mi ametitor prin vene.fascicole fulgeratoare de lumina mi se zbat sub pleoape.vor sa iasa.treceti pe langa mine fara sa ma vedeti, si ce rost mai are sa astept semaforul sa se faca verde cand oricum nimic nu e real? totul o sa treaca in curand, eu o sa fiu mai rece si totul mai lent.si-atunci ma voi teleporta inapoi in universul meu in care oricate masini ma pot lovi cand inchid ochii, pentru ca apoi sa ii deschid si sa vad zambind cu gura pana la urechi peretii curbi si verzi si (deocamdata) goi. lumea e moale si flexibila, pot sa imi adancesc mainile in culori si texturi opace si apoi sa le retrag fara sa ma fi murdarit. viata mea este viteza. "schizofrenie pura, autista, catatonica."

nu mai vreau inapoi in lumea voastra. inca o picatura si nu ma mai intorc nicicand...