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Da, am citit Pendulul, dar nu, inca nu va povestesc impresii. Sper ca nu o veti abandona. As vrea sa spun ca merita citita, dar nu pot sa afirm decat ca e o experienta. Si ca orice lucru interesant si care nu dauneaza (prea mult), cred ca i se poate acorda o sansa. Imi ramane Tolstoi, cu a sa interpretare a Sonatei.

In rest, e clar, trecem printr-o criza. Andreea zice blogspot, eu ma gandeam la un wordpress, dar de dragul ei s-ar putea sa renunt. Bineinteles, mai ramane Yahoo, cred ca o sa imi transfer si acolo blogul, just in case. Imi va fi dor de omuletul trist cu umbrela albastra. De cand l-am descoperit, I instantly fell in love. Nu cred ca voi gasi o imagine mai buna care sa rezume atat de simplu cele peste 100 de posturi pe care le-am scris pana acum.

I never spoke about that, but I feel that it should be written here, on this blog. I don’t even know where to begin. I just wanted to talk about the need for human touch, or more likely, the lack of it.

I didn’t exactly realize it until I’ve spent two whole months away from friends and family, somewhere on the other side of the world. It was all about etiquette, it was all about being professional. The hugs were impersonal, the hand-shakes – formal. I soon began to wish for people in the streets flashing „Free Hugs” boards.

I don’t think you can really picture it. No simple, friendly hug. No pat on the shoulder. Not even a forehead leaning on your shoulder at a late hour, in a bar. No funny looks for funny pictures. Kidding about something like that was out of the question.

Someone did break the silence at a certain point. He had no idea how much that insignificant gesture brought to my life. I instantly acknowledged the void surrounding me.

Meanwhile, Cosmopolitan is my best friend…

Undoubtedly, we need skin. Someone else’s soft skin to touch. Warm flesh, blood pumping through tiny vessels. So, go hug a parent, kiss a brother, or a cousin, or a friend. Touch. Feel. Live.

Deadlineul pentru Umberto Eco si al sau Pendul a fost stabilit pe data de 21 iunie. Doriti o prelungire de o saptamana?

Eu voi pleca la tara weekendul asta. Daca ma lasa plozii cei mici sa respir, poate voi termina cartea.

Va doresc vacanta placuta! (cine n-o are sa isi ia concediu!!!)

…si am inceput sa citesc in autobuz. Not a good idea! Prea multe referinte, prea multe nume care nu-mi zic nimic, prea multe locuri pe care nu le cunosc, ocult si filosofic. Imi aduce aminte de Daniken, cartea asta ma depaseste. Is it me? Sa inteleg ca am o problema?

These days…I’m feeling like a little kid, with a huge bag of candies. I’m so excited, but I can’t eat any of them, I keep running away from the mean kids that might steal my bag. I just need some time alone, to get used to my treasure…

Simt nevoia sa notez cateva concluzii ale unei saptamani nebune, nebune de tot. Deja am uitat o parte din ceea ce voiam sa tin minte, prin urmare, voi incepe o lista inainte sa nu mai am ce scrie.

  1. Daca inca nu ati aflat cum suna engleza britanica, cu accent perfect si dictie impecabila, n-ati intalnit britanicii (britanicul) care trebuie.
  2. Slibovita e periculoasa.
  3. Kripton will never be the same again…

Lucrurile mai serioase, sper sa mi le aduc aminte pe parcurs.

I’m just the pieces of the man I used to be
Too many bitter tears are rainin’ down on me
I’m far away from home
And I’ve been facing this alone
For much too long, ohoo
I feel like no-one ever told the truth to me
About growin’ up and what a struggle it would be
In my tangled state of mind
I’ve been lookin’ back to find
Where I went wrong

Too much love will kill you
If you can’t make up your mind
Torn between the lover
And the love you leave behind
You’re headed for disaster
‘cos you never read the signs
Too much love will kill you
Every time

I’m just the shadow of the man I used to be
And it seems like there’s no way out of this for me
I used to bring you sunshine
Now all I ever do is bring you down, ooohh
How would it be if you were standing in my shoes
Can’t you see that it’s impossible to choose
Oh there’s no making sense of it
Every way I go I’m about to lose
Oho oh!

Yeah, too much love will kill you
Just as sure as none at all
It’ll drain the power that’s in you
Make you plead and scream and crawl
And the pain will make you crazy
You’re the victim of your crime
Too much love will kill you
Every time

Yeah, too much love will kill you
It’ll make your life a lie
Yes, too much love will kill you
And you won’t understand why
You’d give your life, you’d sell your soul
But here it comes again
Too much love will kill you
In the end…
In the end…

I somehow realized the truth behind the old American cliche related to dates and the particular phone call that girls are anxiously waiting for after such a date is consumed. No, it’s not about wanting to hear him again, it’s not about being afraid that you were a horrible partner, it’s not about any sort of recognition of your growing relationship. It’s all about restoring the facts, the actual status before the wacky date happened. It’s a chance to put that person back on its pedestal, where he/she has been sitting before you started to get acquainted. It’s also a check up of the present situation. Still, sometimes it doesn’t really worked as planned, things might not clear out at all. I’m crazy, it seems…

I just wanted you to know…I was there in that lifetime you were talking about. Right next to you, in spite of the entire world separating us. We did talk, on numerous occasions. I tried to teach you everything I had learn, but you wouldn’t listen.

I still don’t understand how you could feel me that night, me sitting in the balcony, you driving in that cab. And how come you didn’t know it every time we met. I noticed, though, your strange behaviour at a certain point. I suppose you figured out by that time that something just wasn’t right about us.

I almost had the courage to tell you, once. I even pictured ourselves, sitting on that stone in the park, me at one end, you at the other, and talking without looking at each other. Because the words would have been to heavy and adding up the burden of your slightest glimpse would make communication impossible. I think I would have said,

„It’s me, and I know you were there in that cab that night…”

I can’t imagine your answer. And that’s been eating me inside ever since. Terrible life we lived, indeed…




O pata gri intr-un ocean de culoare.

iunie 2009