The sky is the limit
When they don’t kill you, they must want you stronger.
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Recent past and recent future
Tough weekend and I am ready to leave.
La Gloriette
I have dreamt my usual recurrent dream, the labyrinth. This time it was a city and I had a friend to show me through, a beautiful girl. We ended on the
top of the… not a mountain, but a place with a view. I could not tell if this was night or day, or what time of the day, nor could I make sense of it being fully outdoor, or partially under a massive construction. Going through the city I was taking beautiful pictures and there on the top there was a small welcoming curved tunnel, like the inside of armadillo shell lying on its side, and I remember a beautiful warm red light and wanting to take a picture but didn’t. And then, when we came out at the other end of the armadillo, my friend got her face covered into flower powder and bees and bugs started roaming on her face and in the air around. It was a beautiful picture, but she was obviously terrified. I took that picture and helped her to get rid of bees and then I returned inside the armadillo only to discover the beautiful light was gone and there was no point in pressing the camera button.
I have slept for less than six hours. I woke up and it was raining. I like rain. I makes some things look cleaner. Like my car. That, however,
must be different for
these pour souls.
Coming through, moving along
More feelings at work than at home. At home there is work too. Mixed feelings about a new project. I especially dislike it when I don’t know what to think about a person. I am natural naive, I’ll give you credit until you step on the light-bulb. Which of course will be too late, and there is usually little use for crying over spilt milk. So, true or false, reliable or mitomaniac? That remains to be seen. I guess I’ll cover myself in contracts.
This is a post that is moving the rest of the posts to the bottom of the page.
If I were a bug, by a different kind of Kafka
I am a big buzz when I sit, mostly by myself, on my own branch, but as others come in the world gets larger.
Yesterday’s news
Lots of friends and three kinds of beer, Kwak, Carlsberg and Tuborg strong. Kwak tastes like beer, but smells like cheese, since you asked.
Fire (walk with me!)
I am dreaming thirstily of water, a glass, a bucket, a non-existent plentiful. I am waking up early in the morning, hit in the head with hangover like headache, and swirl around like I have a purpose at 7 am. Nope! Though luck. I drain the leftover orange juice from its box. Twice. Unsatisfactory. I am roaming some more, and find some stale cola. That’ll do too. Nope. My adversity to tap water is well known, the traces it leaves on face are the scars of a long fought war. Tap water is winning. I am boiling the water, to make some Indian aromatic tea. Still thirsty? Yeap. Coffee anyone? So later I lay in the bath tub. I am so thirsty my lips literally crack at the corner. I am laying in the bath and plan to write about this thirst in Romanian. I fill the bath tub three times. All the liquid I have had by now, wants out. In between, a new exercise: push my heals against the tub walls, then relax, my legs are slightly suspended in the liquid, then as the liquid swirls out, I gradually feel the water adherence, pressure, I am a drop in the ocean, but when everybody goes, I will still stay, because I am not the ocean.
Then, you wake up, and I am thinking you are funny, it’s a lovely morning, so I wrap myself around you. Unfortunately it is still early and you are getting neurotic. And we are having an argument about cleaning or not cleaning the house. We are spitting things at each other like two cobras, where is this coming from? I wonder. Before you start moving things and throwing them to make deliberate stomp noises there is a pause with threatening sickening silence. There is a lot of filth now on our things and we don’t want to pull this shit together.
Life is a tautological recurrent routine sometimes covered in a delicious icing sprinkled with events. Few buyers want to go deeper than that.
O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Not
the movie, not Matthew, but
Etwa. The site-less Romanian glossy Tabu, invites voyeur (?!) readers of their “Sex and the blogger” online to “
a well written blog“. Unfortunately the “
anonymous writer” has gone missing in action for too long now.
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(C)
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