Trees that wear hats

How's it been going lately, dear? I've been so at war with myself that I forgot about you... your needs that is, what is you has always been with me. Do you remember the flowers, the poetry? Were those just my dreams itching to return, have us...... Feelings too override over nonesense, cuff it, I'm out lodging pointlessness in my head, my own uglily beautifully full of lying truthness I need ityou

Do we only need faith to discover or create God? And if so, is the knowing of self even possible through detachment of self and relationship toward others? Could we be great just because we truly believe we are? (Do frustration and other alterations of view-of-self count)? Are the definition of God and that of self similar? Do they employ the same logical process? And if I wanted to be God...

Pick an object whose existence is not caused by the Industrial Revolution and write books about it.

Flirt.

Honestly, I could never miss a sunset such as this. No matter how deep I was gone into my senses. It was the end... desperation in need in my stranger's hands, the end. How it all converges. The way you know it'll be there for you. Lost in an always-future romance. It's the mind breaking free from the dirt you own. Swing, slide... time on my own. A better way to find my way home.. To your smile. I long the mind focused. Hours pass by senselessly, I want to break free, can I? 4 more authors and 6... meh. Could care way less. My feet kicks, I can write without you watching, I long no form, I play no game no more. What is mine I treasure, for I know I'll keep it forever... better way to find my way home... Smile, smile, smile, smile till it loses sense, till you break up and you can't see the sun... Sun is down, types on quarter-notes, clouds wanna reflect, give it back to you. How beautiful for doing so. It still converges. Red gives way to blue, the b

Why would you believe that when I love, I love for myself, when I am with you, I am only with myself? I won't prove my desire but through my actions and my being. Should you choose not to believe them, I would know you don't share my feelings, that it is you who, all this time, only thought of yourself when being with me. Am I more than a reflection of your sharded being? Is it fair that I should long myself in the eyes of a virtual, selfless machine? You won't find yourself in me, you should have found more already, so that we can become more together. Yet, I can say the same things to both of us, so perhaps through this non-sense, we are truly alike. My illegitimate concerns.

In this crumbling of self I... It's because I am less self-aware, maybe. There are needs, obviously. Senseless talks of myself about myself, only I is listening, only I is there, but it substitutes group therapy. There are things I lack, that obsess me... things I receive and I fail to recognize. The longing for the material... I wish I could just detach. The solution appears to need to manifest itself in an instant, but more and more work is required, I... This is the time when I acknowledge my broken-ness, and my inability to tell the world about it. Down this spiral, every concept breaks down, every rule loses sense, there is a void. "Oh, I need love so badly..." How do I put that in a way that seems genuine without repeating clichees? It would seem that our... OUR generation needs to reinvent cultural movements just to be able to save itself... is it just me? But I am broken. Like a misused toy. My body is in atrophy, my mind is nothing but a under-stretch

Dear reader, What ideals I have projected onto you, whoever you are, define me of sorts. You are the whole of my all. There is absolutely no action that I could have taken that would have meant anything if it weren't for you. Dearest of awesomest of beings, you have created another of your culture consuming kind. The absolutely only way for me to thank you is to make myself and our world, this grand everything, mutually beneficial. However, it wouldn't work if I wasn't as dear to you as you are to me so... I guess it doesn't really matter anyaway. From wherever you are, to however I am.

Pe un plan ce încearcă să mi se asemene, ce sunt eu acum, când totul e anulat? De ce răul nu poate să iasă tot, în același timp, din mine, iar eu să mă pot reconstrui? Sensul se pierde iar zilele trec. De câte ori te poți ridica și să înduri frustrarea? Este capacitatea de reînnoire a omului chiar infinită? Trebuie să aflu, trebuie să o fac? Când un apus de soare înseamnă mult, iar apoi vieți de oameni nu înseamnă nimic, greșeala e a mea și doar a mea. Vreau să reproduc schimbarea ce într-o secundă reușește să inspire, să reconstruiască. Când răul se înțelenește în mine și când se acoperă de zâmbete și încercări de bine, se face comod și nu dă să plece. Se hrănește din speranța că va pleca. Și bat la uși închise, căci doare când se face curent în casă din cauza musafirilor. E mult rău, ori iese prin război, ori mor, ori prin perseverență. Lumea se preface închisă. Știu că nu este. Dar intențiile bune rar își fac loc între o cunună de intenții și strategii politice. Între mii de o

Extremist ideas are born in times of a crisis. Picture laws abolished. People running for their lives. The hardest struggle for survival, where all that is rancid inside ourselves surfaces. Millions just die. We rob our grand civilisation of everything anyone had ever constructed. Spaceships turned to tanks. Cans turned to bullet-shells. General fear is everywhere. Peace has no meaning. There is no "Greater Good" beyond survival. The world succumbs to all the evil things that the laws have kept inside and frustration fuelled. But, since there are no laws, what is evil? We just are, no thinking for the future, no consideration for the legacy. Reproduce, feed, we return to the natural state (modern writers so wished for it). And so we decay in violence. And as the world shatters, there remains little of religion, of "good-ness". There are no heros if the heros need to be saved. And so we bring ourselves to the brink of extinction. The few of us left are scarred

hgnbhgfgjmhjjmjkjhngfdfhgfnhmghjhjgjukl;/k -holds more meaning than the entirety of my stubborn life

Why does the sunset have to be so much more beautiful than me? Why does one get to hold more meaning than any part of me? Even severed, as insignificant. How does one manage to not choke on all the self-infatuation and safety that kind words provide? Who dictates the currents when no one wants to swim at all? Who are you, careless deity that sits atop a mountain of youth? What is youth anyway, since time follows no law? Can time follow anything? Is it being followed? And if so, what goes behind it, what kind of information is there before light reaches the retina, just before you wake from a coma or you realise you've wasted it all? Is it non-existance the dawn of boredom in this dance of meaningless words? What comes just before words, in the instant when meaning is produced, what comes before? Right before you decide, right before nothing is able to stop waves after waves of russian literature? Just before I started this sentence, there was another. Did that before... sente

It is here, at the crossroads. A dangerous place. What was initially the euphoria of a crowd and the tear of a statue or flag has to be replaced by scafolding, a building site. Here, far in the in-between, where neither party wins, where the center is defined by so much more than two dimensions, that the story truly begins. Past the point when we've poured the filth in our systems that we need to see holes and blood rushing from all around. To end the ever-fulfilling anger, the constant crave for attention, the hatred... targets rarely last forever. A dictatorship always has to have an enemy to rattle their hatred against. No more dictatorships. To live and die through others in the detriment of the being. And in the process, preserve whatever ancestral flaws have been given to us. Dismiss any acknowledgements of virtue and merit. Only look ahead in the crowd, never back at those following. Nowhere does a droplet of the ocean lead the waves.  For once, be a center. If

We exploit fish by using their instinct to eat. Similarly, economies feed on our instinct to acquire and establish comfort. Except there is a difference, for the fish do not influence our thinking... but economy generally thinks the way we do. It is not a superior colonial organism, since not all of us want the economy to grow. It is rather group intuition. That was a general thing. My numbness seems to be provoked by a lack of care for the self. Why do we so easily develop mental pathways that quickly become fixated and cyclicly misfire? Isn't it amazing how the mind is able to quickly process complex logical pathways that underly frustration and fear, without it being brought to the conscious? Perhaps sometimes we just so badly require a renewal of self that any lack of care for the mind leads to an inevitable spiral towards unending interior conflict. Or perhaps the desire for attention, fear of rejection and other social impairments just occupy so much of our "ape-d

We live through watching energy fade. So, we stand by fuel as it burns. We comfort in the heat, only to give it away. Do we see others as fuel? Age of enclosure, of recycling pain and comfort. Words fade quickly, mistery multiplies.  The tired mind of a a mouth stuck with the idea of the original between everything that's already been said. To innovate, negate, to develop, build not upon. Words are meaningless. You will care not for them, for they won't satisfy anything in you. It takes to much just to burn like fuel. Oh, but don't you see, the mean will take your heat without you even knowing. You could have been merciful, now you're being robbed.

The army of water strikes. Few snowflakes remain intact. The rest just make the colors wither. Effort rewarded with pain. Pain followed by serenity. Pitches rise and rise. Drop, rise, drop, rise, rise. The world lives through its limits and heartfelt disasters. To be alive is to run away from something. It is nice, it is all that it needs to be. A known tune. To tease the skin or the mind? Who knows, really rely?

To be almost extinct, and have no contribution to your own survival. But nonetheless be yourself and be loved solely for it. To long for the outside to offer what you cannot provide to your inner world. To be afraid of eternal solitude. To endlessly give, with the hope of being given.. Stuck at an infinite between two extremes that converge. More can only do more harm, less can mean damnation. Equilibrium is a curse in of itself. What remains is what God always wanted us to achieve. Nothing through access to it all, enlessly give and be given, for it means nothing but the same thing. To say too much and say nothing.

Crisis overcome. Vow of silence. Challenges going strong. Lost feeling of anger, at least as I am writing. I again choose the easier path. Still determined. The world seems harsh at my throat. Judged for everything that could be. Comfort in memories and dreams only. Cultivating discipline. Anger lingers. Mind feels lighter. I need work, I shall. Moving on. As the world caves in, spirit explodes and blows up the outside.

With nothing, to become everything. An exercise of discipline, with its start in every moment, with no end in sight, ever. To overcome genes, habits, predispositions, anxiety, frustration, peer pressure and angst. To analyze the developement of one's psyche, constantly. To improve and build upon. To save a life so it can save more. To manage to make up for mistakes, lies and mishaps. To reward giving hands and give more. To solve more than to cause. To know and explore. Day 0: there is nothing good.

Some are bathing in comfort and our minds are numb. Some can barely (if at all) sympathize with the poor, the starving, the fleeing, the beaten, the uneducated. And by some, I mean those with fridges and baths in their homes, with credit cards and tumblr accounts, with internet connection, full libraries of unread books, hedonistic and forgetfull of the harshness, or true condition of life. In health, we like to think of the ill as unfortunate, we put labels, we have them in hospitals. There simply is a difference we make between the healthy and the sick. Malaria is far away, it is other people's problem, like we don't have enough already.  Culture stands as proof of all this. Arrogance, irony, sarcasm, disregard of the seriousness of "why so serious?" Governments do everything in this race for material security and prosperity, as we chew away from earth's food like it is endless. Easy mistake to make, this end is, afterall, burried underneath piles of fuel

THAT'S IT I KNOW WHAT THE NEXT CULTURAL CURRENT WILL BE! Post new-post-modern-post-crisis new age thing. No thing. Nothing. We will all remain silent in the face of our decadence and of the all-ness that has been said by our ancestors. We will shut up and have no choice but to face all that we've been given, that which we have altered. Ladies and gentlemen, laugh now and bathe in sarcasm, irony and lack of respect. Enjoy these last moments. We're in this together and our voices will become thick with anger.

Now I have to write the nothing and enjoy the silence. Empty rooms. Empty hearts. Generational pressure. Absence. You hope they will change their minds. There is void we do not know if we perceive. Bend on and on, like the drifting days. Gone. Without end.                <---- why is there a space? Forgottenness.          Language, weapon of detachment and forgetfullenss.

The of and to. A in is I. That it, for you, was with on. As have ... but be they. Top 20 words of the English language

I am angry now. Really angry now. Been swearin for 10 minutes. Not good. Need help. Need work. Guilt, I feel guilt. But I'm angry. paralyzingly angry. Or something. Will not succumb. Prison. Angry. Need relief. Cannot find. Won't lash. Need people. Do not bother. I am angry.

Caloriferul se încăpățânează să rămână rece. Îți amintesc simetric. Mintea caută sedative, să stăpânească ceva ce vrea să iasă. Sau să se manifeste. Îi dai să rumege ceva dureros, să se zbată peste vreo dilemă minoră legată de perseverență sau motivație. Faci ceva, dar știi că va reveni. Să fie prima lume ce vrea să înțeleagă mintea? Greșești, te simți vonovat, dar simți. Ai vrut să scrii vinovat, dar nu te mai întorci. Nu ai cum, totul e acum.

Passage of time. How quickly I'm eating. How fast I' breathing. How much information I perceive. Smaller brain, less information. Time goes quicker? Is time just an illusion to enable us to categorize information in an order? Is that order just some metainformation? Is time just information? Second law of thermodynamics. Entropy increases, hence information increases, time moves forward. This is a definition game. But language is not time. Time.(n.): The indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole. Think about it, or just spend time.

All the ghosts from your photos Are inside here, I point to my head A gun, that only extra 8-bit lives could toss A sun, cancering all of us dead Beaten, battered, burried and beasts and birds all converge on my queen Of clubs I speak, a deduction based solely on my thirst Obvious intention of getting close to you, noticed by your ego Obliterated, never even the chance. You can't Google Translate my first Opening into your visceral spine. I'd die for a chance, I'm like a crow Pity you feel, pits you wish for me, peasant I am in my own garden. And at least I tend the garden, I visit my inspiration from time to time Pety references to actors, bands and little trivia you find in books I think, I live. You only keep inputs, where I connect dots, don't frown at me. Do you know? That I can sit with you at a table and have you remember what never happened? My nature is natural as yours. I don't hide it with books, I write. I'm ignorant

I just have the urge of yelling "I need help, get me out of here!" And every memory punishes me for it.

It is the time for a Brand NEW! Guaranteed to make ME feel free and YOU feel concerned Completely original Totally NOT childish and profoundly deep and mysterious (May include frustrated sarcasm and opressed emotional problems) Ladies and gentlemen SHUT UP!

Read and read and read and read until my fears are repaired and then read and read until I lose all pleasure and then don't read and ignore and ignore until I collapse and return to the raw passion of writing and then wait a few days until I give any high ideals to the easier, more comfortable pain of gaining happiness of you reading and reading until my fear of not aknowledging my passion and ending up alone come back and then read and read and... Read, live, sing, work... not a difference. Love, cry, whatever. Why a circle? And if I say "NO! ENOUGH! I SHALL BEBORN ANEW AND BREAK THIS VICIOUS..." bullsh!t. Starting is easy. How do you keep it going? Why? I need someone to keep me up to it. Or do I only imagine I need, in sort of a stupid excuse? Well, I am pretty stupid. I want it to stop.  I say this because I am frustrated. yay. I mistake and mistake and mistake... And it keeps occuring to me that if only there was that someone... and then I go on and on

I am, hapf, absolutely convinced you've heard this before. "What happened, why the face? I am terrified. Of what? I am truly... profoundly happy. I don't quite get the.. They only let you be happy when they want to take something from you.." And it's alright, a way to make an idea of the world, how it's chaotic, incomprehensible due to the sheer size and speed of information.. Something else strikes me in moments of numbness such as these... why don't we figure out... the pursuit of happiness implies the everlasting fear that it might vanish. And even worse... what happiness... through the eyes, hands, ears? Is the mental one safer, or does it imply the same fear... Numb... so numb you don't even pronounce the final "b". In a sort of cosmological principle, They become One... life itself. What?

Bine. Nu știu ce să scriu. Ceea ce e ciudat. E a suta oară când stau pe același scaun. Cu aceeași melodie, simțind același lucru. Lucruri, adică. Mintea mea merge iar în fraze scurte, caută dramatism, știi tu. Îmi e frică pentru că retrăiesc același lucru de prea mult timp... simt că omoară tot ce e mai bun în mine, dacă a mai rămas ceva...  Mi-am pus jurnalul pe un blog în ideea că o idee explicată cuiva nu e chiar la fel de pierdută. Când cânți, nu vrei ca sunetele să se piardă în pereți și în urechile tale. Când plângi, e bine să fie cineva acolo. În fiecare cotlon se răspândește frica, mâhnirea, singurătatea. Oriunde ești nesigur, singur, înfricoșat, frustrat. Să îi înveți pe alții din greșelile tale. Nobil. O iluzie. Aștept cu picioarele-mi legănându-se peste bordură. Poate am să învăț într-o zi, mereu încerc, mereu greșesc. Oversharing with the void. Best fucking illusion I could have been sold. Go team I, go, go...

Lasă 2015. E anul 25 după Revoluție. Secolul I, spiritualitate în fașă, idei extremiste, oameni fără echilibru, dragoste nechibzuită și confuzie. Adepți ai democrației merg prin țări și bombardează oamenii cu un concept. Urmează căderea unui mare Imperiu, scindarea în 2 lumi. Apoi o perioadă întunecată, plină de boli, de un desfrâu hedonist, de dorința de a deține ceva, crezând că materialul ne face nemuritori. Apoi vine Renașterea, idei, inventatori, artiști, curente literare, ne scriem istoria pe noi hârtii. Noi teritorii descoperim, ducem și aducem boli, vânăm munca de mii de ani a altora, cucerim, ne certăm, ne batem și scindăm popoare. Găsim cartofi, devenim dependenți. Cartofii se îmbolnăvesc, rămânem fără, unii mor, alții sunt încoronați. Ne săturăm de tot, ne revoltăm din nou. Regi și armate mărșăluiesc prin fața publicului avid de viață. Istoria se repetă. Dar stai. E secolul I, acum se scriu apocrife. Cine să mă creadă sau înțeleagă pe mine.. acum?

You just heard it. No memory to which I'm bound... I move on.

Poate mintea să se afunde încet... atât de încet... în un nimic. Să primească doar informație și să tacă. Nu știu. Poate e capabilă să refuze. Tu ce crezi, libertate? Vreau o plimbare în care să fiu mai obosit, să nu-ți spun nimic și ție să îți placă. Vreau să nu cred nimic cu tine. Și să fiu cu atât mai sigur. Să fiu obosit și să mă răsfețe, iar eu să nu mă simt îndatorat... cât ar fi de greu de crescut.. Cred că din nou îmi este dor. Ce pierdere... renunț să tac.

Dar eu vreaaaaaaau să vorbesc. Și chiar nu mă interesează și chiar sunt eu când trece tramvaiul pe lângă casa scării, casa treptelor mele, casa cântecului necântat fără voce. Voce, te iubesc!

Trage pe dreapta, drumul converge aici. Tobe foste scuturi lipsite de valuri prelungi și de zâmbetul fetei care cotrobăie prin poveste. Nu știu de orizont, vântul îmi bate... Quit it, dear, the realm of the new will never welcome your tired mind only capable of randomizing... You think that hiding hypocrisy with words and declarative intentions can go on forever? Am uitat... dar tu îmi stai pe umeri... uite, ca cifre în roșu pe un caiet cu spire. Îmi e li mie frică, știi... The world has only this much mercy and compassion. Dragul meu, pune ceva în loc, fâlfâie foi iar eu mă ascund în sunete și imagini și... știu că doar așa e, dar este, și a fost pentru prea mult timp. You're just postponing the inevitable conclusion. You'll just have to succumb eventually... Poate te-am rănit toată viața... You should thank it. Și totuși ai trăit. Și pot și eu trăi, chiar dacă mintea-mi e secată, ochii Dumnezeului cu textul sub ochi mă judecă... poate pot trăi ș

"Vis ce da in complacere, in pierderea ambitiei... Iubeste-o pentru ea insasi.. Nu pentru atentia ce ti-o ofera, nu pentru imaginea ei/voastra. Nu pentru egoul umflat... nu te gandi la ce castigi, la ce primesti, la ce trebuie sa dai. Iubeste-o daca ai iubi-o fiind departe. Iubeste-o pentru ea insasi."  Zise copilul cu flori grabit batranului ce astepta sa traiasca.

"In terms of sensory happiness, I guess you can listen to music all day but you can't have sex alone. In terms of... long-lasting, mental, healthy happiness, I imagine you have to be surrounded by people, after you have surrounded yourself with yourself first. Both so natural, yet one of constant pains and cravings (which I have chased) and the other almost invisible, feeble, but nonetheless rewarding, restricted only to the humans who have not forgotten to be more than nature but less than truly human. Because I believe being human is just what sets man appart from nature, how he denies trying to just follow its flow, but master it, crave comfort and insist that change is obsolete and that evrything can be controlled and predicted... we have to have that, but being natural helps, because full humans are either robots or anarchists. Which happiness to follow? Come on. You're not an ubermensch... and you wouldn't want to be either. And I hope you're not an a

Monthly: I love you, miss you and thank you. How making these sayings a routine makes the words lifeless and devoid of soul... it's your perception, dear, always has, always will be. Let's pain together.

Acum, repede, cât mi se răcesc gândurile... repede, repede.. Aș vrea să mă visez la nesfârșit cântând, să mă pierd ca într-o boală psihică în închipuiri... aș vrea să fie pur romantism... dar îmi e teamă că e doar slăbiciune.. Să aleg mereu calea minimei rezistențe, să îmi las nevoia de atenție, de acceptare, de un "tu" mai înțelegător... să mă prindă, să mă învăluie. E atât de fals, totuși... nici nu mai știu ce idei noi să spun. Uite-mă în propriul meu nicăieri, unde singurele minciuni înseamnă doar slăbiciuni, unde orice renunțare înseamnă moarte, unde viitorul și trecutul nu există. Contează doar ce sunt acum, dacă doare. Mereu trebuie să doară. Infuziile de încredere în sine, de fericire, de viață calmă... sunt așa trecătoare... starea de bine pare să aleagă să se exprime doar în comprimate filmate. Glumesc, evident. E doar percepția noastră. Așa e bine... durerea și fericirea pot fi congruente... durere fiind doar... ca ieșirea fătului din uter. Ca trauma ce lasă

Little psychotic laughter. Ahahahaha... Where have the friends gone? Why would I anything? Can I be forgotten quicker than this each second vanishing into obscurity since its conception? What? Classic boredom, mind too numb and excited by all unnatural neon lights, pharmaceuticals, LED screens, ads... Yea, we know that... I know, why would I say anything... you can already find out pretty much everything... Why are you such a... no, won't define you. Just drowned in senseless compliments, lacking goals, lacking pain, training, people... parenting makes it not worth living. And besides, my mind begins conquering me again... this path of minimal resistence is so... irresistible.  Just hold on to your colors... Could be... The past is a person too... less knowledgeable... When the others fade and romance creeps in, sure he is. 

Just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, yaay :D

Trying to prolong my words is just useless now. It's people, it's all about people. We live for people... I am weakest when alone, forgetful when in the comfort of attention... It's all about how we treat everyone. Why sarcasm is so linked with frustration, why I've been day-dreaming today... And come on! I even judge what I write and delete based on what people think... I try to be who I want so that I can fit, I can balance out communities. I choose not to be creative and just say... I don't know, I keep thinking about what you want or need to hear... who the hell are you anyway? Is it only you? Am I trying to gain attention? All that day-dreaming is my unparalleled need for attention and ability to express myself. Are you there? Can you see me? And everytime we go past each other and I don't tell you... or actually every moment I don't tell you... it hurts. And I don't even care who, where or how you are... you can understand... because

Sun goes down, thoughts go wild... we may tend to lose ourselves among egocentric scenarios and excuses.. Sometimes the image becomes more potent than the core.. to stray... I mean stay true to a representative motivation. I wish to pray, really... perhaps the deity between man and information will listen. The nevers and the nows seem absent. We need that warmth of security, whilst letting the frost of adaptation bite from our bones. I write slow... the words seem to sink and I can see my typical origins. I pray so that both of us can know the love and the self-esteem are continuous motions in constant redefinition. I pray so that both of us can be thankful even when an ego would dictate otherwise. To realize how much of a secondary character we are, owing our good to the world through not sharing evil, to allowance and inspiration, rather than compliments, lies and faked altruism or nobility. I am guilty of the all and I need to thank you, darling. Only I gave you meaning, bu

Hey, welcome! ^^ It is summer! Ship tilted 24 degrees, blossoming in less, simpler words. This maybe just another song of the album, with meaning only in relationship to other plays... But unlike the times before, to embrace the all, be there ever-thankful in harshness. Thanks and honesty, lack of regret, attention of the pain, of the bad. D.I.v.s.f.c.t.

Uite... eu astăzi nu pot scrie cu plăcerea și pasiunea pe care o am de obicei. Tocmai din această cauză, probabil, nu îmi mai cunosc motivele și am o strângere continuă de inimă... o senzație la fel de viscerală ca... poate ca niște amintiri, poate ca niște poze, poate ca un cuvânt pe care tot îl rumeg... Logica și cunoștințele îmi stau în calea cunoașterii momentan... a spontaneității și a sincerității. Obișnuiesc să fiu destul de atent, nu vreau să pierd nimănui intenționat timpul. Dar nu așa se joacă jocul ăsta. Parșiv... cu cât mă axez mai mult pe obiectiv... mă îndepărtez de el. Așa că fac din asta un exercițiu de atentă nepăsare. Ne-ar mai trebui un război. Violența fizică pare atât de naturală... atât de cunoscută... e o problemă ce îți ține mintea ocupată, de dezvoltă... și are soluții clare... pacea. Acum e atât de disimulată... în sarcasm, în uitare, în indiferență... vreau înțelegere. E normal... adică fără o schimbare... stagnăm... e doar altă problemă ce ne forțe

Și când e personal, nu înțelegi. Și când înțelegi, deja o interiorizezi, o faci a ta. Cum vrem noi totul, mereu. Dar nu așa, ci totul totului. Cu cuțitul ală de ți l-ai înfipt în suflet și acum curge toată lumea prin el, fără să lași nimic... nu te gândi prea departe, ia-o literalmente, asta vreau să spun, că vrei tot. Din momentul în care înțelegi, îți asumi tot creditul, discreditezi orice simțământ al altei persoane. De aia există clișee, sunt ușor de înțeles. Iar eu când fac, nu vreau să dau altora. E al meu. Mi-e frică să te văd cu sufletul perforat așa. Vreau să șterg rândurile astea. Simt că sunt copiate de undeva, că ideile sunt vechi, ușoare. Iar că eu nu pot să le dau și tu le ignori de îndată ce le primești. Mă judeci. Sau eu nu sunt încă suficient de matur. Vreau să zic că mi-e frică? Că iar ajung în stadiul inferior celui care mă aflu? De data asta măcar știu că e inferior... deși mă face să mă simt atât de greșit. Da, sunt greșit. Omoară-mă, doar lasă-mă în con

As minds and thoughts settle, there is but one pattern to be seen - amongst countless cheesy lines we forgot to feel, amongst the fears that render us old and arrogant - there is still as much sensation in touch, comfort in eyesight and pain in devotion as there is human in people. Stop being afraid, you 21st century thinker, owning is not knowledge. So spread love, and cash in some cheesy heartbeat.

Short reminder: i thought that anger is a result of fear. It may be otherwise.

If you would ask me why I'd rather read a fiction book rather than one that depicts reality as it was, when both books would convey the same message... I'd be smiling. In a fiction book... characters have to be, ultimately... good or bad. No matter how many layers covering that core, in a fictional world, the ultimate good versus evil struggle will always press on. Then, we look into our lives, into the many stories that depict what happened or what could happen. Books on wars, on crimes and detectives, on inventors and masterminds, on petty thieves, on poverty and wealth. But how could we, us the great family of man, ever be granted the freedom of choosing sides? We are all good and bad. And so, any story that is not fiction... has to put tags on people... and how could I read about men and women that only show half their whole character? How could I learn from a hero who has the same potential as a thief? Am I to hate the thief? Am I that hypocrite? My dear heroes and

It's all a continuous draft of ideas, sinking and appearing all over again. Shifting through stages, through certain patterns of emotion, with no beginning nor end. It's terrifying, how you cannot grasp a beginning, only an end. The present is so... temporary in the vast network of things... hard it is to rise above it and see it full. Minds around begin to deny it all, walls between them and this network grow stronger... so obssessed with walking forward, can we remember not to forget the dear ones besides us?.. Even if the most discussed and debated subjects, the many questions that amalgamate into one giant cheesy novels-inspiring block of words... all this, are not answered. We used to talk in order to solve problems... yet now... talking seems to have become an alternative to problems. The real problems are always avoided. Why so much theory... so much fear of saying or hearing truths? Do we need another war to reveal our true natures? Do we think that in an era o

A tribute to anyone's past... like a claw trying to pull us into being conservative. For the lessons it derives... hopefully we won't forget that their circumstances change. For the welcoming cell of happy memories and comfortable pains that our minds seek in times of trouble. For restricting our eyes to only see biased, to search for what reaffirms our beliefs. For creating all other biases. For teaching us to seek patterns and familiar figures in the world. For allowing our species to make so many mistakes that forged surprising adaptations. For never forgiving. For being so fearsome it manages to make us try and forget it, isolating in the future. For being a ruthless instructor. I bow before thee... I mean you. But you knew both. But change drives evolution. And there cannot be change if we ignore the past.

"Now... even if I wanted to romanticize it, I could not. I cannot remember. Will I know how to see its beauty should it ever strike me again?" -said the distracted mentor to his naive, arrogant and weak student. "But teacher, I was supposed to be promising." "We all are. It was not a compliment, but a really sad fact. Please grasp its meaning... and all its responsibility before my lessons become ghosts, your motivation and ambitions mutate into pursuits of easier paths and fade... before you learn many lessons and you are sure you know everything." "How could I live so far from the edge, when the abiss calls for my presence? I know I cannot root anything without foundation... but does it mean I have to?" "No." "So it means I can pursue desire all my life and nothing would be different?" "Yes." "With no punishment?" "Only if you want to punish yourself." "With everything I

Hello. Not another diary of apology, of learned lessons through mistakes. Let it all come, cruising through,blending within yourself. Accept, just... give away the preconceived. Exercise, practice. Be naive. Knowledge and lessons stand between you and the ability to assimilate information. Be mentally naive. Not a lesson, no certainty in what you believe or say, merely observe the train of thought in its actual form, let it shape itself. Practice on and on. Do not even believe. But aren't you addicted to reading quality stuff? Always expecting the best from the one's that have once impressed you through their passion. And you praise them...and you keep expecting better, always wanting more. And they enjoy being praised... and will strive to suit you rather than themselves... Like there isn't beauty or lessons or attitude to be found in the crappy pages. Please, don't steal one's love for writing. Humans will be humans. Deserve nothing more or less. 

Show me how to live

I bow in respect to all who would give these words any meaning. I exhale gratitude for, like my world, it is only the outside that could reflect the inside. Yes, it's you. You and me. Ever realizing how entangled we have become. How improbable... yet should it have been different, my love for you would have vanished. As I rust in yet another attempt at your changing heart, let me bore you yet again. An April. One friend, yet another grateful soul. Excited, watching the seed sprout. One step. Another yet. Waves after waves of appearance, of a naive grape juice fermenting inside. It would grow out of me... holding my hand whilst being part of me. It would hide my evilest intentions and mirror my selfless acts. It is whatever I make of it, for each of us, unique. If it rhymes, it's because we decided. Should I learn, it's because we needed it. One wrong step being nothing more than a curious dive into the unknown, only to reveal a path I wish not to predict. To get r

This is group therapy. Otherwise known as... self-therapy involving the gratitude and sense of belonging offered by knowing you have aided other people. But it won't work. What does it mean "to aid other people"? Is it to help one manage difficult times? Ease emotional pain or offer material support? If the answer was yes, then we would be faced with a very subtle problem. An organism that bathes in comfort, not having to face life-threatening challenges... is prone to decay. Obviously, it is not that simple. Aiding comes in many forms... even a lesson, even though transmitted through a painful experience... can be considered aid. It's like history that proves how humanity is cruel... or how, as we grow older, hopefully begin to realise our own hypocrisy. It's like gravity, it never  misses a chance to punish us for every mistake and misballance. Yes, but the outcome is gorgeous, we get to walk. To conclude... aid can be considered either offering support o

Hah, I almost fell prey to emotions again... almost descending to your level. Wrote a whole post, and now you will never know how I feel. Again. If I kept being angry, maybe you would have figured out that there is something wrong with you... but I just have to remember to understand you, remind myself that you are a human among human and that... no matter what you'd do to me or to others... I am capable of understanding and loving you... and I cannot keep being angry. I am tired and alone. And my constant drift between patterns and well-defined types has cast me away in too much solitude... it would be so easy to just go back to being a hedonistic cry-baby... I cannot afford to complain or to demand any less struggle, I am already working way less than I should be. It is, all my fault. But... here's a glimpse of the part of me that I hope I'll always keep under control: "4th post of stress. Ok. There has always been anger in my drafts... no, not the pints, the

Of violence, of hatred I siphon through thy veins. On the lack of truth, on the masks and the momentary lapses of reasons. Hope... begone. Life unleashed. Come, stab all young seedlings until you can understand their ashes. Go, kill unpurged tales of two evils symbiotically twisted. Begone, cousin of the unleashed... child of the untrue. Ensued in the walks if life this... message sent through blazing intuition, keeps working through mangled ventures. Have we, have all, pushed away all we cannot understand... would not understand? Manifest of the undertaken, my sibling develops, my brothers whisper. Forsaken are all children in seas of ignorance. To understand is to love. Shred along, my mind... depleted. Should these be my last words, regret would overcome me. Should these be my last, fear would obsess me. Yet who am I in the face of my appearance, insecurities and enclosed minds of others? Used to be a tree, became charcoal.

Seek change. Pain and pleasure alike. Work and care alike.

Oh, tu: vrăjitoare. La mine vii. Cum mintea îmi sucești, ochii amețești iar eu sfârâi în propria-mi dorință de confort. Să continui, să nu mă las, oh, tu trandafir alb de mult uitat în adâncurile unei inime de mult stinse. Când te chemi în oglindă, când vorbești cu a ta dorință, fii tu fir de copac, fă-mă drag și dor în culcușul pleoapelor tale. Brațe firave, ochii fug de ai mei... Îți scriu o oglindă, să mă vezi cum nu renunț. Cum încă regret și continui să învăț și să muncesc... și acum ești aici în vârfurile degetelor mele și îmi ții de cald. Oh, de te-ai vedea... Cum încă am ambiție... cum încă am un randament... Dragele mele legi ale termodinamicii, mă asigurați că ma voi desprinde de mine, că voi toți veți vedea cum suntem toți egali, când doar praf va fi între noi, iar noi tot praf vom fi. Înțeleg, nu te mai supăra pe mine. Scopul nu este confort, nici fericire. Scopul se schimbă, e frustrant să îl cauți. Așa că mă vei căuta, și ne vom găsi îmbrățișați, departe de o

Is there nothing? Isn't.  Nothing can be achieved without its contrary. Inexistance demands it to be.  Devoid in a thundering chasm, a fiery salient and write. Write away, write till you erase what would be. Living in an age of recycling. Drawing the same lines our predecessors did, with no other curves, keeping the direction. If you gave me an enormous line, and i continued it a bit, would I matter? Fearesome in front of change. Stability and certainty... bastions upon which our minds rest, unable to cope with the system that... oh, damn... I got sure again. I am afraid of not being alright. Devoid of all desire. Devoid in a thundering chasm, a fiery salient and read. Read away, read till you fill in what wouldn't be. Dying in an age of renewing. Erasing other lines our successors would draw, many other curves, keeping the motion. If I gave you my little drawing, and you'd close an eye, would I remain? Brave in front of... wait. Fearsome in f

A moment to acknowledge my personal broken-ness. This rusty old machine build to fear and love... She seeks pleasure and can think deeply for very brief times. The idea of setting aside all desire in the conquest of peace is slowly and painfully creeping in... whilst the old rusty machine remains. I am still craving for someone to ackowledge my rustiness, I am still trying to escape the harsh whirlwind of my perceived reality through efemere and unproductive, hedonistic habits, that only seem to kill my mind. I hold out hope, but I feel tired. Should or should not have sort of blended within me. Paradoxes cloud my mind... perhaps my curiosity (awh, what an ego)... I mean... my questions... have gone too far. My cracks itch to be revealed... I still hope you are there. I wanted to write about politics and economy... utterly couldn't, sorry. But holding hope. Peace sells. Too little buyers. Adolescents. By the way... do re mi fa sol la si do... the guy who invented these s

I thought I saw my greatness overcoming all the evil... oh. It was just a shadow, extending from within. A car yawns by... it smells of rosemary... The sage has fallen from the edge... asleep. The crown itself was beheaded. The raging seas quacke beneath the shadow of the Earth... grass has ceased to consume America's fresh water. The empire stretches and marches on... like a balloon forgeting from where the air comes. Nonsense... irrelevant,  irreligious,  U.N. Charisma seems to have made itself into a throne... or a C.E.O's desk... from which letters of apology are being sent: "In your last letter you asked me: who do you love? I am sorry you have to share that green presidential mirror." The sage is blinded by his own sun. The same son that carried out his words. Overgrown and underachieved... overrated and unemployed. Peace has been sold. Main ingredients: war, change, adolescentine armies. Who buys? I keep praying to the snow outside... but its March alrea

I really love you... but I hate it when you want to taste the moment because of your need of comfort and happiness and not because of the experience it gives. A trunk growing too freely ends having knots and not strong enough to withstand the force of the sun. I apologize for my direct and shallow train of relentless thoughts. But I care... and you seem not to.

What was carved to relieve pain now serves more hedonistic purposes... how momentary ideas seem to affect every touch and conversation... up to the very writings fingers will leave to the posterity... To receive more than you give seems unreachable. To receive as much as you give... is that happiness? Why be happy? It never lasts, it always wants more... digs a hole that demands to be filled...  To give more than to receive... how noble. But does one really? "You'll feel good if you help. Help to go to heaven. If you help, the world will be a better place." NO! Maybe my world will be a better place, but the world entire will hate and despise me. People do not need help nor machines. We need constant lessons. Can you not see? How computers steal our concepts of nature, of natural, of beauty and of rigour? We demand our minds to be taught and entertained, we criticize, we're afraid to the point of fear... People need lessons. Cruelty can be sublime... for

-Ce? -Nu: ce. Poftim. -Ma rog. Ce ai pana acum? -Paai... "Sitting at an empty bar/watching people from afar..." -Slab, slab. Vrei sa portretizezi un om melancolic si indurerat din nou... a ajuns sa te defineasca. -Si? De ce judeci asa mult? Nu e o idee originala, dar e ce simt eu... -Si crezi ca... -Taaci! Uite... ti-ar prinde bine sa te gandesti la individul asta. Si tu esti singur si frustrat si faci la fel. -Dar sunt doar un copil... nu am voie sa iau o pauza de la morala? -La viata nu poti sa dai pauza decat o data... -Puteam sa jur ca ai sa spui dragoste in loc de viata... -Nu imi place cand vorbim asa... -Imi pare rau... oare de ce gandim asa irational cateodata... cat de rau imi pare... ma doare rau, rau de tot. Dar am sa ma iert... asa ajung la tine. -Si eu am stat departe, ce e drept... -Si toata discutia asta si invataturile sunt asa puerile si previzibile... -Hey... vrei sa-mi arati partitura aia de care ai avut grija? -Da... e scrisa in Mi. -Minor

My tired hands have worked hundreds of circuits and motherboards and have teased kilometres of skin and they look for a glass of water. Suddenly, the kitchen window is broken by a smoke bomb. I forget about you and jump for safety. In my childhood, my mother used to forget me in the bus station. A masked man enters the kitchen and steals my glass of water. You have been my lover for 15 years, and get reminded of how much you miss your heart, which i own. Then I reprogramme you to repair the window and a tree suddenly grows through the living room. We make a seasaw through its trunk and fall into the love-slumber. When we were kids, we were afraid of each-other. I am crazy.

God is... the bloodstream before it reaches the brain. Obviously, the brain cannot survive without the blood. But if the blood doesn't reach the brain, it stops being blood, for there is nothing to call it blood. Personally, I am quite fond of this... interdependance, arisen from mere dormant thoughts, suddenly clashing together in my... sigh... brain. Yet, everything seems to be fueled by paradoxes... or rather, ignorance and uncertainty.... I hate to leave things unfinished (hopefully not deception)... But there are things I cannot put an end to... so, for the sake of my own sanity, here they are: The world has (no) intrinsique purpose. Our free will is (not) a paradox. We can (never) be sure of anything. (deeply sorry for the misused English... or is it misused?) I am afraid that people help others only to satisfy themselves. Sarcasm is (not) a form of frustration. The mind is either adapting or growing weaker. You either discover or create

There was a time when a man used to let himself starve in order to audition for a band. There was a time when all the pain a child could suffer amalgamated into a mind to produce the words that would heal others drowning in despair. There was a time when a note, held for longer than it was the custom, broke millions of hearts.. A time when teachers were afraid, when insane men were at ease. When Time and Money were finally separated... Marooned, On an island. Hey you, the man who has set my mind free, who has broken my heart only to mend it again... Hey you, my idol and my friend... How I wish you were hear, Thank you for not letting me exchange my heroes for ghosts... Thank you for tearing down the pink wall of emptiness. Thank you, my hero. Thank you, David Gilmour. And happy birthday.

get me out of here because i am losing hope that i can myself and i am really scared because i do not know where i am and i am so afraid i can barely breathe anymore... come on, you've always been there, helping me, feeding on the fake promises i could never keep... please, please, please, i am crying and feeling bad for myself like a child, please, i am too afraid and i feel alone and i just want to say that i am sorry, at the least... show up, am i not a human anymore... i know i'm lazy and don't deserve it... i know some fake problems got me here... i know i shouldn't but please, please, my bones have started bleeding and my spirit is shattered and i can't be anything anymore... i know i shouldn't even be crying, that i have the solution in my hand and no excuses. there is no but... i cannot go on without a but... too hard to grow up, to be responsible... too much failure, too much fear and hatred, i just want it to stop... i'm weak and ravaged, in an oc

"Ai un singur bloc de marmură: dacă îl întrebuințezi pentru o figură caricată, de unde să mai poți sculpta o Minervă?" T. M. "Din combaterea fricii de neînțelesul grotesc uman prin parcurgerea unui alt nivel de deschidere față de natural, unul în care să domnească, cum se cuvine, nesiguranța și certitudinea inexistenței unui absolut, în care nu cunoștințele și principiile, ci adaptarea și înțelegerea să sculpteze pentru ca noi să continuăm. Nu apele liniștite au creat Marele Canion. Nu lucrurile ușor de înțeles ne-au împins spre a întreba mai departe. Dar înțeleg frica."

Pentru că mi-e frică să ți-o spun în față... nu prea mă ajută. Dar da, mi-e foarte dor de tine... nu știu, sunt cam ciudat, nu știu ce să fac. Știu, știu... nu e lung, e siropos, nu e prea social acceptabil, nimănui nu-i pasă, e plictisitor de citit, e prea sincer. Nu e complet lipsit de interpretări. Adică, dacă ai vrea, ai putea să faci din astea niște rânduri foarte frumoase, chiar sper asta. Dar mna, nu mi-e dor de tine pentru că mă vezi des așa cum sunt. Frustrări, vin, le accepți și trec și mergi și mori și trebuie să sacrifici sentimentul de împlinire dacă vrei ca viața ta să poată continua. E așa de sec, de tipic, de adolescentin. Nu a absolut nimic special. Dar și când era special, era la fel. Deci și cele mai seci rânduri sunt speciale. Le scriu pentru tine, deci normal. Dar în x cuvinte nu am să mai scriu. Deci te poți reîntoarce la a nu primi nimic special de la mine. Nu se schimbă nimic, ne vedem în 4 zile, și nimeni nu se simte împlinit. Dar dacă îmi răspunzi, nu mai

You sit in a corner, I sit in a corner. You're afraid, I'm frustrated. You need to forgive me, I need to forgive me. You lie, I crash. The tap leaks anti-venom while the gilded waters roar about. I roam the empty streets of the island while you spark a doubt. The economy shivers, I cast arrows away... while your shadow lingers on the warm morning ray. You turn to save a child of forsaken education while I cleanse the walls of their graffitti damnation. Perhaps it's in the sharks that swim in the circles or in the folks that grow violent... Maybe in the honor of a scoutsman's endorsement.  In the mortgage, obituaries and the long-lasting scar In the lies, the canvas and the road-covered tar. We dance about frightened that our world may end. We strive to preserve comfort, in the spirit and in the letters we send. Some write manifests and others admire fruits, while many a robber just dress in dark suits. Some hide blades in their minds and forge numbers

That harmonic struck just when the tram hit the rails. The restless phone call has yet to end, and my security has yet to be renewed. My first programme lies waiting for the world to see... But it's not finished yet. Phone call ends and the sun sets. Sunset colors... one of the last things to allow me to act like a normal person. I've grown wrinkles under my mask, it's time to let the wind straighten the old paperfolds threefold. When he comes home, he won't be noticing me. I'd be left a discontinued spike in his eternal timeline, I guess I should apologize. Even so, it all appears melodic, with just a mellow touch of reverb from the chamber of crimson walls and biology books. The tram hasn't passed in a while. I wonder if it's still up to get me... But it won't matter. If I don't get to live forever, at least the answers I long for will take me to my end. Answers are really all I need, confirmed over and over and over again. Actually it's jus

And so you've been sitting in deep and profound silence. Just a cup if coffee, steaming nostrils still allergic to yesterday's smog. Your mind's restless... as it's normal, given the scent of power that struck your fingers appart. So much power, it seems incomprehensible... almost Godly. For, I believe, the greatest victory is indeed in stirring the hearts of brave men. Your sting's behind my throat, should I move, I'd die in your arms.. or at your feet, depending on how much the coffee has cooled down in time. Your windows filter all but blue light. It almost feels like home, here, in your claws. I'm analysing you. There's fear in your deep and melancholic sight, staring through the nickel bedsheets.. it would seem as if my presence causes waves of minuscule muscular wrinkles across your lips, as if you were undecided wether to accept me or not. You hold so much power that you're afraid to use it... or perhaps it's just your careless game.

In the end, it is the certainty of death that renders us forgiven, in spite of all the entropy we had no chance but to produce.

I think I heard the old man say Leave her, Johnny, leave her... For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her. Gawking in the eyes of the great monster, regrets do fill me. For I wish I'd have said farewell, that I would've been the one to lay it to rest. Mistaken and unacknowledged for my boys have run home and I haven't told her how much I love her. But who would I be if I gave my prize away... too bad my trophy is nothing but a shell. Marry her and take her home, even if the home's a trip. Marry her and hold her close, the winds don't blow for the rocks. Did you run away with them lads, left me here unadorned?  I did lead them here, in the end, at the end. The world is getting bigger, I'm a lesser part of it. You seem to not abide to this rule, for the love for you keeps you great. So it's me who blindfolds you, darling... the scythe,  the architect.  I am tired, my live. The monster will rot along with m

We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas Until we strike soundings in the channel of Old England From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues. Now the first land we made it is called the Deadman Next Ram Head off Plymouth, off Portland the Wight We sailed by Beachy, by Fairlee and Dungeness Till we came abreast of the South Foreland Light We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas Until we strike soundings in the channel of Old England From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues Then the signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor All in the Downs that night for to lie Then it's stand by your stoppers, see clear your shank-painters, Haul all your clew garnets, let tacks and sheets fly We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas Until we strike

De o parte şi de alta a hipocampusului şobolanilor s-au pus nişte electrozi pentru a stimula hipersecreţia unor hormoni responsabili pentru senzaţia pe care o simţim când spunem "Sunt fericit!" Nimic nou sub soare. Doar că asta înseamnă că fericirea (in forma ei pură, chimică) poate fi fabricată. De fiecare dată când e fericit, se intreabă ce îl motivează. Să păstrezi fericirea... e atât de relativ, nu prea motivează. Probabil pentru că vede fericirea ca pe ceva material, pe care o data ce îl are nu îl poate scăpa. Sau poate nu caută fericirea, ci satisfacţia. Adevărul e ca nici unul din noi nu ştie. Şi poate aici ar trebui să facem o schimbare. Se gândea... "Ştii, până la urma orice bine tot pentru tine îl faci... ca să traieşti Tu sănătos. Motivaţia a fost mereu intrinsecă. Frica de lege, de Dumnezeu, de mâna părintelui, de o viaţă clasificată ca fiind un eşec. De eşec. Oare aici e locul în care specia umană va claca? Oare aici genele noastre descoperă că au apuc