Pe Sokoe cel mai firesc s-o asculţi în momente cheie precum: lungi călătorii cu trenul peste câmpuri verzi care sparg cenuşiul noros, dimineţi apocaliptice post-despărţire, primăvara, în aprilie şi-n mai, când apartamentele sunt aerisite şi se pot umple de gângureala ei.
Pe bicicletă e cel mai firesc să înveţi să mergi ca să poţi să sfidezi viteza vântului şi vitejia însingurării atunci când ziua se anunţă tulbure. Dar şi ca să (în)frângi câteva rămăşiţe de inimi în moleşeala aia de după o zi întreagă de scris şi umblat, când nu vrei decât să nu-ţi mai simţi cămaşa lipită de coaste şi picioarele înţepenite unul într-altul pe scaunul din metrou.
Pe oameni e cel mai firesc să îi cauţi când ai doruri. Să-ţi laşi cuvintele, atunci când le ai, să ia calea eterului. Să deschidă uşi şi să spargă, uneori, ferestre. Să ademenească, să apropie, să surâdă în locul tău atunci când maxilarul ţi-e încleştat în faţa unei fete cu ochi mari şi haină albastră, care nu spune nimic pentru că ştie că ce-i al ei e pus departe.
Am obosit, am obosit, am obosit atât de tare. Mi-au tremurat genunchii azi pe niște scări prost luminate și am sperat, puțin, printre dinți, să mă prăbușesc, să-mi amintesc măcar un detaliu din scena fructuoasă a împiedicatului pe asfalt în copilarie. Toată povestea cu sângele proaspăt, cu ciorapul alb școlăresc rupt, cu lacrimile curse până în colțurile gurii, are ceva hulpav și dezbărat, ca o tartă cu fragi în care îți vine să îți înfigi tot maxilarul și să ți se năclăiască bărbia de zeama aia roșie plină de gelatină.
Emoțiile au devenit grele. Pasul cu lumea a devenit greu și el. Eroii mei de pe hârtie au devenit grei. Ce să mai scrii, la o adică, când muzele tale au devenit o masă de carne neconsumabilă trupește și afectiv, târșâită prin semiîntuneric, îmibată de alcool și afumată strașnic, ca șunca înainte de Crăciun? Evit să-mi duc lamentația până spre relații, concubinaje, forme de angajament sau sentimente mediocre precum îndrăgostitul, pentru că presimt că-mi vor sări în cap nălucile blazate de care mă ciocnesc în fiecare noapte albă pierdută în oraș, și-mi va zâmbi moralizator Evgheni de pe raftul cinci și mă va forța să citesc cu cinism acel cuvânt despre care am scris o carte și-acum noua fire a lucrurilor și-a lumii mi se întoarce împotrivă.
NOI.Nothing in the inside, n’ont pas intimité, numai orbul inimii, ni s-a prezis că vom sfârși departe de sentimente.
Lumea în care ne învârtim ca muștele bete a devenit atât de complicată. Uneori, tot ce vreau să fac sâmbătă seara e să schimb Controlul, acele cele mai proaste cocktailuri din lume și ghetele Sam Edelman pe confortul de a dansa în chiloți cu un băiat și cu o sticlă de vin în apartamentul meu.
I listen to this song whenever life seemes dull and wasted. Something’s gonna happen to make your whole life better. It reminds me of summers when I was a kid and vacation with my parents at the seaside made life glamorous, that kind of glitz only the start of the nineties had. The time when people still loved, loved better. It’s the kind of song you’d play at 5 am, before the dawn of a brilliant summer day, birds cross the sky and you know life will be good. People start walking on the street, cars start moving, you hear whistles and heels battering the pavement in the city morning glow, vacations look ahead, boats and trains and planes and the air feels warm and windy, your typing machine is filled with lust of creation. Lovers walk together side by side on the street, friends come for margaritas at seven and your Givenchy red coat hung in the door from last winter reminds you you’re still in a not-so-far but so different time and age, when all of the above were possible and normal.
Specialiştii mi-au găsit nouă talente speciale, cât pentru nouă suflete pe care am reuşit să le înmagazinez treptat, în toamne şi primăveri, undeva mai jos de torace. Mă minunez de vieţuirea lor comună în anotimpurile astea londoneze, potrivite pentru sandale Steve Madden, bălţi pe asfalt şi cafea cu flori.
Eu le-am găsit nouă motive pentru care viciile, supliciile şi armistiţiul sunt principalele valenţe de care nu mă pot descotorosi.
mă îndrăgostesc la a doua vedere şi musai de neîndrăgostibili, dar aproape că mă prefac într-un băiat imbecil şi turbat cu cei care mă plac
spun că am citit cărţi pe care nu le-am citit, râd când e de tăcut, inventez sms-uri invizibile ca să îmi ocup degetele şi să îmi păcălesc nerăbdarea
nu-mi simt mecanica inimii zburlindu-se decât când ne ciocnim, inevitabil, la şase dimineaţa sau la zece seara, în lumina stătută a acelui loc în care nimeni nu caută, de fapt, pe nimeni și nimic.
Mă uit pe radiografiile mele cu melci mari şi coroiaţi de funingine, mi se explică numărătoarea inversă a fantomelor în decembrie, pe care o repet fugitiv din 2006. La spital am făcut mereu bal, îi spun băiatului de lângă mine şi îmi simt deja obrajii aprinşi, ca bujorii însângeraţi în iunie sau ca vinul cel mai concentrat pe care îl bei fără prea multe amendamente sau prejudecăți la 9000 de metri deasupra foștilor iubiți, fostelor case și sincerelor păreri de rău.
Today I’m turning 25, yet this post is not going to be about me, but a generous thank you to all the old and new friends, people who entered my life this past year, to all those who inspired me, stood by me or made me think twice before looking back to the past. If the start of 2012 showed me a version of me I never actually met before, the best thing that 2011 got me was friendships. We’ve had enough senseless self promotion from yours truly, so this is about them:
This is for Shosho, my best and worst friend for 11 years now. She’s the person next to whom I felt the most free and also the most angry, but I guess age had a saying in that. We started talking again one year ago after a 3 year break and I’m glad the worst is gone with 2007 and we have the present for this magnificent, ongoing bound that made memories magic. Shosho is a bohemian girl with one too many graduation diplomas that turned her in the diplomate friend she is today.
For Catalin, who threw a hell of a happy nude year party. Catalin has two cats, introduced me to Cuba Libre and is an A M A Z I N G photographer.
This is nevertheless for Anna, who I never thought I’ll see again after high school, when we barely noticed each other. Me and Anna met again in 2011 and our agreement that whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you stranger, together with the cosmopolitan galore, stood grounds for a solid, vivid, blunt liaison. Anna studies Architecture at La Cambre in Brussels and is a very Manolo girl. She also has the gift of imagining things and making them come to life. Especially now that she drew her own Imaginez tattoo.
This is for Iulia, the most beautiful Sick Owens girl to ever hold a Margarita at 2 am, who taught me and a whole dazed and confused generation the miracles of real home made love and the unbearable lightness of a Marni dress.
This is for Martha, a supergirl and a real deal Sartorialist wise street style photographer. She took these of me and now she’s taking London.
For Alex, Ali and Adrian, the boys in my life with whom I had the most fun I could possibly get without taking my clothes off. Kidding. Alex is a soon to be doctor in France. If I were Carrie Bradshaw, he would be my Stanford. With Ali I danced insanely at 4 am, after we realized we like the same guy. Adrian is a fluent Finnish speaker. I taught him girl talk. He taught me the word pulla. It ‘s the national pastry in Finland.
This is for Vanessa, who proved me that friendships that glue after the age of twenty are the most honest. She’s the one who said I should never stop writing and suggested I grant her the Audrey prize for literature lol. Vanessa is a PHD in aerospace engineering and works on the development of a satellite that will strike space in 2015 in French Guyana. She’s a writer and the smartest person I know.
This is for Bogdan, who invited me in one of the best holidays in my life when I was freshly heartbroken and literally broke. Bogdan is in med school and has a passion for twisted girls who play piano. I totally get that, I would probably do the same if I were a guy.
This is for Miki, with whom I tied one of the most powerful friendships in my life. She’s the friend I’m discovering every day, at who I look in atonement because she has an amazing hard candy heart that shakes the disease in you regardless how messed out you may be and makes the best soup in the world. Miki is the owner of Mic Dejun de Bucuresti, a passionate writer and an uprising DJ. She made me breakfast and loved me when nobody else did.
This is for Ana, with whom I celebrate 2 years of friendship today. We met on February 10th, 2010, when she delivered a bucket of tulips to me from my former lover, gone in the States. I don’t think it was love at first sight but rather at first crappy fun time we had together with other friends, screaming PENIS from a car, passing by a wedding, in a children’s playground and in the mall. We wanted to recreate Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 500 days of Summer. I call her Santa Ana because of Que ora es? because she picked me up in some of the worst times in my life and convinced me to think for myself regardless what others will say. Ana was a punk, a model and a DJ. Now she’s the edgy badass superfeminine superfortunate mix of those three, with a big heart, long legs and a Jim Morisson t shirt she has to return to me haha!
This is also for my mom and dad, who did everything and beyond. My mother is a passionate travel blogger and in 2008 she wrote a book about Greece. My father was a terribly talented painter before he started losing sight. He promised to take me away to Africa when I was half dead on a hospital bed with a needle in my arm. They are happily together since 1975 and the coolest people I met.
And to all the ones who took their lugagge from my life in 2011 – this was a lesson i learnt the hard way, and only recently, after so much struggle. I guess in the end we have to be grateful for the people who walked in our lives and made us happy but also grateful for the ones who left and made more space for a bigger, brighter, future happiness.
Here’s to you all, me and TO THE NEXT 25 ♥ Iloveyou
1. Getting a tattoo (or more) doesn’t make you a convicted criminal, peasant, tosser, illiterate, creepy hobo with no teeth and no perspective. Except if you are all those already. My point – no need you have your arms cut/skin peeled to get rid of that embarrassing memory or just to please others. I actually agree to ink more than to any jewelry, bling, pierces or make-up. It’s timeless and makes a real statement.
2. I’ll always choose Photoshop over La Mer seven mineral eye cream. And that’s all I have to say about this.
3. I’m still struggling to guess why can’t we just be with a person we like. Why do you guys have to treat us like idiots? Is it asking too much if we, girls, in modern day, would like not to be called or treated like bitches/stupid/jerks/whores/trainwrecks? If we’d like you to hold the door for us? Ask us about our day? Clean your own rooms? How ’bout use protection in bed, f’cking retards! Well this really makes me wanna quit on life.
4. “Blame it on my ADD” is such a common excuse for being a shithead in this age, don’t you think? “Maybe I should kill myself” also. Maybe you should.
5. Why do so so many people rush to say I love you when it’s only desperation or hormones running wild but not the real thing? I think that’s the most dissapointing part of it. Why say I love you any more if it’s not even a promise? Cause that’s what it should express. Or that’s how things worked back in the day. But even just writing this I start to wonder if it wasn’t always the same, in every time and age, and we only look at people in the past preaching the same wish for better love, better people, times gone by – I guess every time we recall that people changed and in a previous decade they were better, smarter, more honest or generous we just live an illusion. We feed ourselves a bullshit hope that “for sure there is better and we deserve that better”, but I keep wondering where is it. People become more stupid as they progress with age..
6. The worst part about people who are jerks is that, regardless of how much you’d wanna stick around them or practice even minor conversation in their direction, they do something shitty and leave you no choice but to walk out and eventually feel bad about the whole deal, since you didn’t even ask for that in first place.
7. The best (and only) option when you’re in bed with a gorgeous girl is to shut the fuck up and deliver. Neverending talk is such a bone head move! I’m guessing we’re all anxious or moody from time to time, but instead of having those hard-off vagina monologues, grow a dick and learn how to use it.
