To care is to endure

While everybody is busy on focusing on their own things I am busy on knitting hope strings.
Getting attached and then cutting lose and letting go.

Standing alone on this side lone, traveling to nowhere, to where your hands are warm and your heart is hot but black like burning coal.
There's no station when you become a train, racing through the life of others and your own.

Abandon yourself to me, abandon grace and loneliness and hold me once and for all.
I have died in your arms many times, I have lived in your memory for decades but now I dissolve myself not into the past but into the future.

Farewell my lover, farewell ruler of the lights
This time our songs end
No rewind, no pause, no breaks
Just present tense
A lullaby as warm as a mother's embrace
Remember me
Because now my love will have no face
Trace
Whatever is left of a heart as genuine as the sky
Farewell my love
This is an ode to goodbye
This night I saw a shadow
He whispered as I left
What can not be cured
By your eyes
It shall be endured.

Open Geometric Structure

Everything constructed strictly by humans lacks humanity.

The paradox of loving and the noble art of letting go.

The Goddess of being and the God without a name.

You try to hold on to new things, new hands, get attached, run away, write poetry, sing new songs, search for past lovers under new blankets, translate manuscripts of the who knows what abstract artist that nobody heard of.

Search for meaning inside of yourself when you my love, my life are just an empty shell.
He told me: you are a beautiful art instalation in this wasteland, and what I can offer is mainly a shadow of who I am.
But darling we're both hung on string,
Of everything
Of everyone,
You were my autumn,
You were my spring,
You became the end where I begin.

So hold me tightly and then let go, it's you that I love and it's you I don't know.
While you are asking for infinite
I merely want what is an end
I don't wish for the abyss
I can not pretend
I want to stop
And offer you
A jungle of dreams
That will never come true.

I can only fly
If I live inside of you,
My quiet rectangle
With dark brush strokes
My
accidental love
On the wrong angle.

Sketches of you

You are the sketch that I have been exploring continuously since I meet you.
Unexplored pastels, unexplored dimensions of black and white.

I've told you ever since I meet you. I love those edges of yours, those violent strokes, those unfinished lines.
I feel in love with the sketch of you, because if you were complete I couldn't add fractures of me.
The beautiful thing is that we don't need to blend in, we'll stay incomplete and we'll face the world together whatever that may be.

The autumn of your leaving is permanent.
You're always absent in this sketch and I am permanently looking everywhere for those abstract strokes of you.
Staring longly and hoping that I'll find you at the corner of the street.
With a limping heart and a narrow view that contains a bruised emotional connection.
Meeting on streets that we didn't plan, getting in debt for borrowing the sky's drawer of colours.

Cover your mind with polka dots and let's escape.
But you are just like me.
A sketch and you won't leave your paper to blend in on mine.
It's paper and strings and pins that separate us.

Until one day your sketch will melt like an ice cube being dragged around in the sun.
In your last moments of consciousness you will see how the sketch of me got so monochrome.
It missed you ...
I lost you in the artificial and selfishness of becoming a piece of architecture.

It's pieces of you I could not catch.
As pieces of me they didn't match.

Naive-The Ghoul and The Glass

Trying to understand.
Why so many time those soulless ghosts seem a lot more fitted to contain a fully functional heart.
It's similar to the relationship between an empath and a narcissist . Obviously the empath in his naivety will try to fix the narcissist, but all he will do is to become a sponge that will swallow all of the negativity and willing imperfections.

If you were a ghoul from the start I probably dropped my expectations on your canvas of wine, and confused you for divine instead of just fine.
It was nothingness you offered wanting to express more and offer less.
Your name didn't open up any gates, not even the ones of memory it was just a weak attempt at a temporary love.
A love ephemeral like a headless beast that feeds on hidden desires, on what is dark, on what is bleak, on the things that we said to each other when we did not speak.

Casually you left, like before, you left your wine on the table and my heart in a heart shaped glass right on the edge.
Oh how I wish it would have broke, on the last minute that we spoke.
But the glass broke somehow inside of me, inside of that unparalleled universe where you took me.
The glass broke inside my escape and inside our moment, shame but I don't want to recreate you.
Not even fragments of you.

And so she left. His doll of glass with eyes of wine as her compass.

Rataciri

Iubitului meu de niciodata,

Si daca tot ratacesc as vrea sa ratacesc cu tine.
Sa ne pierdem prin fiecare colt de nicaieri, sa ne trezim la fel de ametiti si la fel de indragostiti de iluzia asta. Sa te impiedici de fiecare treapta dar cumva sa stii ca singurul lucrul care va durea va fi faptul ca mi-ai dat drumul la mana.
Sa ma saruti pe tample de fiecare data cand simti nevoia sa ma protejezi.
Sa ma imbratisezi la capatul lumii de parca noi am fi creatorii inceputului.
Sa iti doresti ca norii sa acopere soarele indelung incat sa nu mai apara razele plecarii mele.
Sa iti iei ramas bun de la o iubire mica pastrata de oameni mari.
Sa iti fiu tie elan azi si pentru totdeauna.

The Bird

I lived only for you she said, once upon a time when the skies were building up to swallow the moon, as the lovers from the moon, the first lovers in the world, decided to destroy each other as their love was more than they can take.

We are in a war. A never ending war of You and I and Us. The art of war is forgetting that there is a love as deep that can cover the whole skies in rhythms of melancholy and blues.
Let's dance he says, then he steps on her foot and she cries. He apologises for his clumsiness grabs her hand and asks her to marry him. Only spiritually as he will take her to a a place covered where they can read poetry from another world through binoculars and sip on the most renowned wines straight from Dyonysus's orchards.
She cries even more as his image fades away. It was just her imagination.  He was the potential of a man and she was the potential of a lover. Of a bird straight out of an old magazine that wanted for someone to simply swipe the dust of her feathers.

The bird grew old and nobody dared to open the book. Nobody wanted to see a dusty bird that would chant about poetry while saying that she forgot how to dance.
Until one day...The owner of a rabbit thought he should start a magazine collection. So he looked at this one magazine covered in dust, broken and torn on the edges but as bright as ever. The book would stay on his shelf and as the sun shined it's colours shined even brighter. He was looking at the bird every day and the bird was somehow changing.
He got inspired, he even did a magazine gallery that everyone attended to.
One day he made a collage with birds and there She was. Euphoria he called her.

Featherless or not, it's simple, take the dust off whatever dreams you have and chase them. Whatever shadows will follow they will surely be scared of how bright your life path will become.

Boxes and magazine pages don't mean containment ---
--- They are simply birds that will inspire you once you release the dream, they will also be free in your imagination.

Transitory Hope/ Stardust

There is more to me
There was more to us
We are in a dream
Of rubble and of fuss
Always transitory
Like any earthly joy
You are my highway
And I am your
Emotional territory
And your river
Don't float too far my love
It's way too dark
There's too much smoke
And not a spark
Don't melt in my arms
As I can not clean
My sympathetic smile
And this ethereal dream.
I have no trust
I have no other
You are me
I am your double.

Every dream I have had lately presents me with unexplored territories of your imagination. Where your dream ends mine begins very abrupt like a water that is out of control. I dismantle images with every change and create musical notes from them. I recreate joy and passion and simply swim through it so at the end of all this troublesome dream I wake up lonelier than at first. I wake up with symptoms of Amy, Charles, Edwards, Catherine and all of these people I never meet. One day I woke up with a key that opened up paths to the gateway of cloud zebra. Nobody to be found there. Just dyonisiac music and people with a lot of imagination, which for most people is nothing.

But here there are people like you and me. They breathe through music and dissolve through every single note into something more magical which is truly ineffable. There only wish is just like our own. To change the world. Paint it into something different through sound and images that only the most vivid imagination can create. It seems centuries away but in this dream, in this book, it's possible. It's alive and it has a heart. I water it using only stardust and hope for it to shine one day.

Until then goodbye my dreamers.

Shadow Syndrome -> London Calling

Your hands so torn
Tearful joy and a storm of wine
Remain with me
To where we're not
I am the thirst
Have you forgot?

Euphoria
How have you been
Let's make new words
Burn them with our shadows
Like Arrows
We will break ourselves apart
Two souls
Into one leafy dramatic part.

Acolo.

Acolo unde ma uiti,
Acolo unde ma asculti,
Acolo unde ma vezi,
Acolo unde undele sunt ale noastre,
Acolo unde nu-mi esti,
Acolo unde ma lasi,
Acolo unde imi scapi,
Acolo unde ma scrii.

In fiecare zi personajul trecea prin mai multe cercuri * dupa posibilitati de fum, oceaniace, transparente, imaginare. E ca si cum naiv ramasese in sertarul tau cu parfum si cu deschizatoarul de suflet. Acolo unde primul ramas bun ramasese prins printre ruinele lui Septembrie. Invizibil. Indivizibil. Emotie. Contrast. Un vis al nimanui. Ea printre oameni. El abisal. Am sa te scriu pana te gasesc. Am sa iti caut fiecare umbra prin fiecare rand si vei fi tu. Nu voi fi acolo. Nu am fost niciodata. Nu ai scris niciodata despre mine. Idea de a fi eu e aceeasi idealizare. Ani. Noi. Ramai cu mine. In absentia. Daca ai putea ramane in locul in care nu ai fost, crezand ca ai putea sa fi mai mult decat ceea ce esti, fiind ceea ce potential ai putea sa fii dar autorul nu iti permite sa faci asta. Actorii sunt jalnici la matematica. De asta si autorii sunt confuzi. Nu e nimeni confuz. Aici. Acolo. Esti tu. Nu suntem. Lumini. Lipsa actiunii. Contrast. Buze. Maine. Timp.

Ai prea plecat sau iar ai uitat? Am ramas tot acolo unde nu am fost. Esti tu? Sunt. Prin tine.

The dreamer's soundtrack

You are too much butter
And I too little bread
To spread
The beauty
From that silly head.


Asa a inceput totul. Concluzie nu valiza te cara pe tine ci tu devii una. Exista psihologia calatorului. Casa universala. Omul cochilie valiza. Nimic enigmatic. E peste tot si e de nicaieri.
Viseaza etern.
Alterneaza.

Citeste naiv. Se pierde printre diverte obiecte de arta sau non arta in fuctie de posibilati. Se indragosteste constant de Matisse dar isi pierde constant cheile.
E capabil sa perceapa diferenta dintre mundan si abstract dar a uitat sa manance azi.
A uitat sa comunice.
S-a uitat.
S-a dezumanizat.

Pinguinul de demult s-a adaptat si a devenit un fel de cuvant.
Cuvant vorbit de multi inteles de putini.
Ca un glob bizar agatat de un perete.
Nu, nu am spus sa asumati neaparat ca fiind pozitiv.
Un trend condimentat cu insolatie si ramas bun.

A fugit de aici inainte sa scrie asta.
S-a intamplat ca scrisul sa plece ceva mai tarziu.

Intr-o seara a cunoscut autorul. Dar cine esti tu.Dar ce cauti tu aici.Dar nu inteleg. De fiecare cand trebuie sa fac ceva cu actoria o patesc.Nu patesti nimic pur si simplu am si eu nevoie de o intriga. Dar eu nu am cerut sa fi tu autor. Dar nici nu m-am oferit. Efectiv nu pot sa imi dau demisia, te rog sa inteleg. Si atunci ce o sa fac. O sa te descalti, te inchizi in tine, fugi, te intorci, mai alergi odata, te rotesti in glob ca de obicei si gata. Gata. Asta e actoria. Un glob. Am inteles acum. Asadar raman. Daca e complicat ramai. Raman. Cu tot cu glob asta e tot ce ai. Incredibil 24 de ani, un glob, curs al actiunii nederminat dar relativ congestionat. Stii deja. Globul, visul, globul, visul, stiu. NU. Nu ai inteles. Am inteles. Visul,globul,visul. Globul esti tu, limita esti tu, realitatea esti tu. Eu sunt drumul.Mergi. Nu. Mergem. Nu. Aproape. Mai sunt 678 zile, 34 de vise,  23 de oameni, numai 12 maini, numai 2 ochi, nelocalizat. Localizat.Septembrie.Insista. Tu. Nu Septembrie insista.

Aici.Tai inceputul. Simti niste batai pulsand in aerul pe care il respiri. Ajungi acolo. Am ajuns. Nu stiu cum. Imi e bine. Visul.