Len

O vama, sau un fel de purgatoriu. Vamesul pare englez, cu o uniforma perfecta care are tunica din material de pulover cu umeri. Albastra, cu cateva insemne discrete. Pare mai mult un profesor asezat la catedra intr-o camera care seamana mult cu o sala de clasa paraginita. In fata lui pe masa sunt multe instrumente. Par mai mult instrumente de alchimist din secolul 19, negre, lucioase cu striatii aurii, cu forme mai mult artistice decat functionale. Lucreaza de zor la niste cuburi de 30 cm. E o sursa de energie. Inauntru lor mai multe filtre paralele se intersecteaza sfidand fizica pe 2 directii. Unele din ele sunt topite, consumate, trebuie schimbate. Cateva filtre topite stau pe masa. Desi innegrite imi aduc cumva aminte de zlavia prajitura din miere si faina. Suntem mai multi in sala ca de clasa, asteptand sa intram intr-o lume mai buna. (more…)

The dream

I was visiting some friends. They has a house with white walls textured like in old houses. It felt like I was in southern France and the house was surrounded by hills. They had a wooden table with lion legs and they wanted me to cook for them. So I started to inspect their long and narrow kitchen. I searched the fridge, there was none. On the cooking table there was a fish. I my mind I knew, I had to do a fish soup. I started boiling water, cutting vegetables then I realized I did not had everything I needed. Yet the ingredients where all there: ginger, onion, noodles. I took my bicycle on a long S-shaped road along the hills covered with olives searching for … the missing piece, curcuma… I woke up.

Fish soup

(more…)

I was cycling around the forest with T. as we did in high school. He was still ridding his old, blue bike with red wires coming out his settle. The leaves were covering the ground yet it was not autumn. In a clearing, on the top of a small hill somewhat deep into the forest we found a church, maybe a cathedral. It seemed buried into the ground and there were 2 distinct parts coming out. A round, glass covered tower and a rectangular part which could have hold a clock tower. Yet there was no entry. Now on foot we circled around the round building coming out of the ground, finding no entry then moved to the next building to find a small staircase going down into the hill. A priest was just opening the small door at the other end. (more…)

In fundul gradinii stiam ca trece un rau mare dar niciodata nu ma gandisem prea mult la el, doar ca in dimineata asta vroiam sa fac o supa de peste si chiar daca toti au ras de mine mi-am injghebat un mecanism facut dintr-o plasa de plastic cu mici impunsaturi de ac (ca sa se scurga apa) si agatata de o sarma. Cu un pic de neincredere m-am intins pe ponton si am cufundat plasa in apa tragand-o apoi cu miscari circulare ca sa ramana deschisa. Pregatit pentru o lunga asteptare incepusem sa remarc un tantar care imi dadea ture dar am revenit destul de usor asupra plasei. Doar cateva ture si am tras-o afara ca sa vad cu uimire ca e plina cu pestisori. Am inceput sa strig apoi dupa o galeata in timp ce tineam plasa ridicata in sus ca un trofeu. Dupa cateva strigari cineva s-a prezentat cu o plasa alba in care am inceput sa transfer peste cu peste, 2, 3, … 5. Am cufundat din nou mecanismul sub ponton si din nou l-am ridicat, dupa cateva miscari circulare, plin cu peste. De data asta putea si sa vad, concentrandu-ma putin, numarul mare de pesti care dadeau tarcoale picioarelor pontonului. Am ridicat din nou plasa, de data asta plina cu pesti mari pe care am inceput sa-i transfer in punga cea mare care in curand s-a umplut. Am ramas astfel cu un mare peste pe care nu mai stiam unde sa-l pun. M-am intors spre apa si l-am aruncat inapoi. Nu s-a scufundat insa. Mirat m-am aplecat pana la nivelul apei unde zacea un mare covor de cauciuc chiar sub nivelul apei. Aplecat pe ponton am inceput sa-l misc ca sa o ia la vale. Am reusit destul de usor ca sa observ ca in dreapta s-a deschis o caverna plina cu gunoaie unde a curs aproape toata apa inclusiv covorul de cauciuc. Chiar sub el insa era inca unul si inca unul. Le-am impins unul cate unul la vale pana cand dedesupt nu mai era decat pietris si un firicel de apa care se scurgea si el in caverna gaunoasa. Din spatele meu incepura atunci sa sara la vale, ca pe un tobogan oameni. Unul cate unul alunecau la vale in gaura al carui fund nu se vedea in adancime. Am ramas trist pe ponton incuranjand firicelul de apa in care un peste bolnav, cu pete rosii statea blocat in niste pietre inainte sa cada si el pe toboganul captusit cu covoare de cauciuc.

I remember walking this street countless times. I cannot shake the familiarity of this place. I remember it in sun and in rain. The old, white buildings, the perfect sidewalk, the square stones rounded by time. The people, smiling, quietly walking. It must be years since I walk here. (more…)

The cave is full of wonders but they all fade around the great statue which lie broken on the ground. The copper plates covering it are since long time green, moist, scary. It’s cold. On the floor it’s surrounded by fragments of metal lace. Semicircles of intricate models. (more…)

Textura si reflexia luminii pe o usa de lemn lacuit in negru mi-a starnit o amintire. O alta usa lacuita in negru, putin imbatranita. Apoi un hol cu peretii in calciu vechi, asta inainte sa dau totul jos. O camera mare cu geamuri pana la podea. Cu jaluzele de lemn spre o terasa circulara inconjurata cu o margine de piatra un pic sparta si veche. Am sarit de multe ori marginea asta de piatra. Imi aduc aminte primul pas pe care-l puneam dincolo, in gradina acoperita cu frunze uscate si putrezite. Imi tineam rasuflarea pentru o secunda, sa nu alunec. Doar cativa pasi pana la un alt gard inalt si gri. Spre strada insa gardul era din ochiuri de metal, ruginite, inverzite vara si aramii toamna. Imi aduc aminte peretii, geamurile, funia de la jaluzele. Amintiri care insa nu exista. Nu au existat niciodata. Incerc sa le pun undeva, sa gasesc perioada, momentul. Nu sunt nici atunci, nici atunci. Sunt lucruri care nu au existat probabil decat intr-un vis, intr-o alta viata. Si atunci de ce simt inca textura aspra a peretelui de la intrare si atingerea rece a marginii de piatra de la terasa …

Lots, parcels. Each one is different like somebody separated all life with fences and in each parcels a different type was contained. I am walking a road on sloppy hill filled with these parcels. One is peaceful, filed with green grass and trees which shine in the afternoon sun. There is no fence on the road side and I can see a bench a bit further inside. I enter it and walk to the bench. I am walking for some time towards the bench yet it does not seem closer. I hear a buzz, then I feel a sting in the arm. Sharp and very short. Then pain is replaced by a stiffness which seems to grow. I hear the buzz again and I start running. The air is filled with stinging, paralyzing bugs. A sting, then another. It’s harder to run with a dragged let. I run toward the fence. Another sting. I manage to climb. On the other side a helping hand grabs me. I am half the fence like a stiff plank of wood. I look at the helping hand and it’s face. It’s me. Grabbing a stiffened body balancing in equilibrium on the top of the white painted fence. I wake up.

I was at home, everything was sunny. I my secret corner I was tinkering, I was growing happiness. She was mine, all mine. A calm corner. I went on the terrace to help with some repairs. The fence had to be fixed and I started digging, hammering. My brother T. and my sister R. also came on the terrace. At some point they started talking. T. had found my secret corner. He was happy to share it with the others. I was happy too. But just for a moment. Then everything was taken away. (more…)

Dupa aproape trei zile de somn la un moment dat m-am trezit. Bucati din vise agitate atarnau pe perete.

O dara luminoasa printre pleoape transformata intr-un pitic uracios si pufos cu un fes alb.

O imagine neclara, o umbra pixelizata a unui mechanism infernal, zgomotos, probabil cineva turand o masina la colt.

O foame, o pofta, ceva dulce, cu crusta de zahar si ciocolata, prabusindu-se alb peste mine.

Bucati de perete, munca, cursuri de schimb, albe, cu ochii incetosati.

Orele nu mai sunt albastre, totul e invaluit in ochi alburii, plini de ceata, oboseala de ne-oboseala.