Relics

                                                                                                        Surfin' USA

                                                                                                                    Self

                                                                                                        Hat Sisters

                                                                                                        Tree of Life

                                                                                                          Wild Hair

                                                                                                               Bullshit

The One With The Cold Bitch

Things. Situations. People. Will settle.

My life will start making sense again.

I feel a childish love creeping in.

I’m not in love. I’m infatuated.

If only I could describe.

I’ve grown older. Distant.

The version of me I used to know is gone.

Go Quiet

I wake up every day knowing I won’t find happiness. 

I keep and open mind and my mouth shut.

I feel as if I’m about to go to prison.

I wish time could stop.

I wish I actually had time to get used to everything.

I wish I could live my life in cafés, sipping on the bitter liquid, postponing a drag and talking to people. If life inside a university taught me anything, it certainly taught me sharing my opinions and thoughts on different aspects of art. I told a friend I should become a life counselor – I hand out good advice, I’m a mess when it comes to my own existence.

The feelings, the experiences, the images, people, they will all become, with time - once they become part of the past - censored material, pretty memories. Life becomes a projection, within its temporal boundaries.

I hate to go back in time and admit I was once wrong. This is why, with every event in my life, I try to imagine it was probably for the best, imagine the good action it could bring.  If everything changes at some point, at least I know I once had depth.

I used to be in love – now I’m cynical.

Exit the wise, enter the wild. Or viceversa. 

                                                                            photo credit: Cristina Matei

Rebelling Wives

                                                                    Melancholia - Lars von Trier, 2011

                                                   Marie Antoinette - Sofia Ford Coppola, 2006

                                                    Nunta de piatra - Dan Pita (part.II), 1973


Tristesse globale.
Lust for life or death.
Signs. Apocalypse.
Too much. Too little. Too late.

Call It Quits

ALT + F4 real life until I can get back to Bucharest. Over here, I’m protected by my room and the nice smell of fresh coffee. I’ve always seen this room as my own paradise, where I was always buried in books and movies and surrounded by pictures and music and, why not, love.

So about this, this year I’m diving deep into the Valentine’s Day cliché, because I’ve just realized I’ve never done it. It seems appropriate since I’m single and happy for the first time in my life. I’m making plans. I’m going to spend the entire day in my room, with coffee and tea, ‘The Time Traveler’s Wife’ (I’m going to tell you more about this, don’t worry) and the Oscar nominated movies. Probably some Led Zeppelin and Billie Holiday to mix it up. The heart-shaped box of chocolates is never going to happen, sadly.

I never liked Valentine’s Day [before]. But somehow I’ve never been able to make myself actually believe it. Just like everyone else, I don’t think there should be a special day to share your love. But, since there is, why not do it? Maybe it’s age making me wiser and less of a h8ter, but I actually think people should find reasons to celebrate certain days. My brain just needs to acknowledge the fact that certain days are better than others, or that they are just somehow special to me.

So, I’m celebrating Valentine’s tomorrow. Even if it’s just for the sake of my brain and the fear of Alzheimer. I’ll dedicate this day to love (I’ll just turn it into a guilty hedonism) and to the people who have found love.

Prescilla Etienne and Erwann Chopin, à la votre!

When I Look

Nobody knows what I’ve been,

                          where I’ve been,

                          who I’ve been.

I have feathers hanging off of my ears, blonde locks of hair but no fairy tales. I love children’s books and fairy tales. I’ve made a habit of picking them up in libraries.

Soundtracks are the type of music that would put me in a happy mood and for some reason, make me think of Christmas. I walk through my home town and make people say August when what they actually mean is January. Thank you.

I had my curtains pulled to the right (left?) for the most part of the day and a mess in my room. But when I walked to the window to close them I saw three little boys watching me. I was reading in my bed covered in multiple layers (onion?) the entire time. Wave, smile and close.

Green tea makes me hungry and Earl Grey reminds me of 34A, September 2010. Soon 2012. When and where does time fly (to)?

I’m a dreamer

       a traveler

       a searcher

       a questioner

       an artist

       a balance seeker

       a help

       an onion

       a vertigo.

I miss people I’ve barely met. Or never met. I love music when shouted into empty spaces. Such as Kings of Leon’s  ‘Closer’. I dream of you every night. I make promises and keep them. New Year’s resolution – to watch all of Akira Kurosawa’s movies (as a director).

I see. Immensely.  

The Fall Within

I fell through the rabbit hole one winter afternoon and ended up in an autumn landscape I knew.
It's been inside me for many years now.

At the end of the forest, there's an answer.

Now I'm Stepping Back

Don't forget don't forget  don't forget don't forget don't forget don't forget don't forget don't forget
That it's been bad that it's been bad that it's been bad that it's been bad that it's been bad
That it's been good that it's been good that it's been good that it's been good that it's been good
Sometimes sometimes sometimes sometimes sometimes sometimes sometimes sometimes sometimes.

A mess.

I'll become invisible

Don't worry.
About me.

Orange Dots On White Skin

Deconstructing Water

Wiser Back Then

We should live every day making sure there will be a tomorrow.
Hope's here for a reason.
Life is glorious.
Wild.
Worth it all.

A Straight Line

And when you thought nothing else could happen, the idea you’d leave again torments you to the point where you ask yourself what you’re looking for. When will you finally stop – if this is even going to happen, if you’ll ever be able to detach completely.

As soon as I’m alone I long for your company. When you leave, in my mind you leave for forever. I can’t even open my mouth to say goodbye. When I know you’ll come by, I try to expand time. Neither of us allows moments to happen. We run from each other, but in the same direction. In a world where everything moves, you stand still, undecided. You allow for the fall to happen. You’d rather wait.

I walked through town today. I watched strangers. I admired their children. I’ve been a stranger in too many places. It’s been hard for me to blend in. It’s been hard for me to make plans.

I’m in no relation to time, undecided. My life’s a circle and I can’t figure out how to turn it into a straight line.

Game of Bow and Arrow

You would want every girl in the world while I’ll wait until you realize that when I say the game doesn’t mean more than a few hours spent in the company of a stranger, I mean I am done searching. 

Even when I allow people to get close, to understand, it doesn’t mean that much, as long as it is me who settles the rules and limits. 

For me, the game is DONE. It doesn’t get my attention anymore. I remain silent and wait for you to read me – like a book that would never tell its story unless you open it.

White Room

A single fluorescent light bulb rules over the white room. It's preferable to watch the walls than to let your eyes drop on the piles on the floor. Two chairs play the role of bedsides or hangers, whatever the situation. Jars full of change await their turn. The DVD boxes  brace one another. The rug is blue and it's barely visible.
While I lay on my back in the fluffy cloud - blue, but mostly white - the vertical lines of the curtain start moving. I look away, but look to the right, where an acid trip is perfectly illustrated: the green curtain is covered in red spots through which, even at night time, light seems to be passing. I lay there silently for more than half an hour, after which I start to lose control over my body and conscience. The orange curtain's stripes play tricks on my perception. Music underlines words like 'world', ' yours', 'devoured', the back of my neck seems to get deeper and deeper into the blanket.
Randomly,  you're telling me about how this song always makes you think of me - the one without a future, the undefined being, I say to myself -, and my right knee touches your leg, while it keeps a beat. I wish we talked more, but there's never enough will for this. I fall asleep.

Straight shadows, stern shadows decompose to form other curly shadows on these white, empty walls. 

Smell My Memories

In a strange house, shortly after stepping inside the room, vaguely knowing the host, I discovered in a bottom cabinet. At some point in my life, it just happened that I opened a jar. You open it and, as an instinct, try to smell inside of it. You will then feel a smell of food. Which arrived - or better - stayed there from past times. No matter how well that jar had been washed in the beginning, once closed the glass will send out all of the flavor it was keeping for itself.
After stepping inside my freshly rented apartment, i started to check it out and opened some drawers and some cabinets. I took out a 400gr jar, with a red-orange cover. The tempting smell of baked red peppers came out, from across time. I mentally said hello to the grandma that cooked them and put them inside the jar. I was happy to smell the flavor of some food from the 90s, sitting on some plate near an audacious high school student, wearing a white ribbon in her hair, and a blue uniform.
The smell is the universal sense, the one that spills the jar of memories.

The Scars We Don't Show

For those of you who spent hours in the bathtub, the shower hitting you with every drop, having visions of it being rain, for you who hours seemed like days and days turned into terrible decisions, for all of you - I have the answer: do I really?

There's no kindness in any type of words. Promises turn into smoke as soon they're pronounced. For those of you who still seek the right path, I respect your belief.
 

I wish I could still see clearly.
And tell right from wrong.

The Story of Waiting

There’s this numb silence sitting all over the place. I thought you’d hear it when you went outside this morning. The stillness hasn’t changed – it never does. Even when the wind blows, you can tell only by the movement of trees and by the circling of the little iron bird on top of the building. I feel like I’m watching this great landscape – it doesn’t even change throughout the seasons.

Outside, the bench is cold and the grass is dewy. The air is clean – it’s an exact opposite of what we share. I sit alone, legs crossed, listening to the sounds of the street. My heart pounds with every car I head, every footstep gives me anxiety.

Even from the inside, I make all noises disappear. I can almost see the exterior with my ears. You lack from this picture.

It would’ve been so much nicer with you in it