Trees that wear hats

 Astazi a fost serios. Cred ca pentru prima data in viata mea, am simtit negru in mine. Vorbea cu "eu", era un dialog, un conflict. Trece ziua iar eu raman perplexat. De fapt unde raman? Permit unui asemenea lucru sa prinda radacini in mine? Renunt? Nu am ascultat muzica. Nu am iesit din casa. Nu m-am putut simti bine in nici un fel. Doar am existat, si ce existenta crunta. Plansul uscat, tipatul in asternuturi, neputinta, lipsa de speranta. Un iures de emotie estompat in nimic, in acest hau atat de negru, care vine tot din mine. Cata groaza. Cata durere in sufletul meu, incat sa vad asa ceva. Maine se fac alegeri, dar cea mai importanta alegere pe care o pot face este cat de mult permit negrului sa acapareze. Am luat un cutit si l-am tot invartit. Si nu trebuie sa-mi fie frica sa zic, dar am nevoie de o trezire urgenta. Nu mai e o joaca, s-ar putea sa nu mai existe un maine spre care sa imping problemele daca o tin tot asa. Este trist si dureros ca am ajuns in punctul asta, ...

I feel empty, alone and destitute of power . I wallow in excuses, in addictive loops.  I live the sadness of millions one more time, I feel guilty and I incrementally kill myself for it. I look around this desert, and the good things are like water to the coarsest throat. Someone to get in touch, someone to call out. Here in the depths of nothing, in the outreach of hormonal imbalance, there is nothing. Here is Hel. Of the self-made kind.  Obsession with self. I, I and I again. Stuck in a cage, holding the key, and being blinded by its shine. Hitting the head on the railing. Wallow. Determinism. Where do I go, how do I go. Stuck for so long I forgot even how to stretch my legs, my back, my spirit. How to talk, how to bring out the beauty. Punishment. Sins. Guilt. Fever. Hel. On the bring of losing hope. I stare down the ledge, I feel the call of the abyss and can barely make out its enormity. Its seriousness. If I give up hope, there's nothing but darker cages, colder railings...

Un rece adanc roade constiinta. Amintirile sunt o lumanare, dar si aceasta rece. Cautand intelegere intre milioanele de decizii, ma privesc afundat intr-un amestec de melancolie si fantezie. Nu pot scapa la nesfarsit de frigul transant. Lumea trecuta ma cheama inapoi, insa nu pot trai in amintiri, si nici din ele. Certitudinea rutinei se transforma intr-un sir nesfarsit de intrebari legate despre ce ar fi putut sa fie.  Pe limba cui pot intelege singuratatea proprie? Ma uit gresit in oglinda, caut in nestire pentru ce? Caut in muzica, in scriere, in limbi straine, in parcuri, si in mine uneori. Caut infometat, si totusi raman flamand. Copacii se scutura si se inchid in ei. Lumina ne-o facem noi. Caldura o facem noi.  Tot ce era frumos se scurge printre degete, precum amintirile. Nu le poti apuca, ele vin si trec. Vin si trec. Nu pot forta, nu pot intelege, nu pot cuprinde cu imaginatia, ce ar trebui sa fac. Simt ca nu ma pot ruga decat, sa se intample ceva, precum au scris si ...

 Grapevine ghoul, hear me, hear me Fiend, fire, phantom, fool, welcome me Childhood stricken with long life, behold the image of grandparents Grapevine ghoul, fear me, fear me Pumpkin seeds and rotten deeds In the oven - bless me, bless me In the scarlet of leaves I'm dressed In the harvest - caressed I scream - it is me! Cup of storm, plate of gold Silverware in the drawers Earthly mother has been told A chalice of songs - behold A higher power in a lower drawer A deck of cards, in the grass, a lover Heart of hearts and king of queens Charm and luck and cats and autumn All on the oven burn, they burn All the heat for the coming winter Why the words spew forth, I linger I lust and I call and the wind is busy Summer overstayed, in the shadow of equinox Do not mistake me for the beaten ox For I am woven, pack is laden Have your break, then go back at'em For I am comfort, soul endearing Hushes from the woods I'm hearing But between my walls I rule The empty memories of a ghoul...

 I watch as my dreams dissolve into the uncaring world.  I watch the oak gently reaching for the sky, its open palm lay open, fingers outstretched, gathering bronze. Hail autumn, your winds have reached me. They are gentle, fatherly, easing nature into the inevitable change to come. The linden aroma crumbles amidst the seeds of harvest, and so work and toil has to begin. Fittingly, I reap what I've sown. Loneliness, longing, lust. I harvest lessons from the deathly shell of my ego, my soul, my shroud of lies. They've bloomed into an abyss of no margin. The wind rustles my leaves and I'm left feeling its unfairly gentle to me. Of course I'm but a sapling, so it doesn't matter. The water is gentle, the wind caresses, the birds are calm, and I even find a way to smile, but I feel so damn close to looking too deep into the black. My 28th autumn, and I hear all the echoes, its melancholy is gripping. And I find myself as I've always been.

Why is it trees that wear hats? It's as simple as, there's strength and verticality. Nurturing, shelter, ecosystem. There's communion through the roots and canopy, there's green from white, health from pollution. Silence, yet presence.  The coldness and serenity of the forest walk, the shielding from the wind. There's homes upon homes amidst the branches. Cling onto them to stay away from pests. Climb the hardened hull, it will be there for you.  The colors change with the winds, as it must be, for without change there is nothing but death. Yet the forest persists, through fire and brimstone and chill and thaw. We move from side to side yet never waver. And when you become a target from the know-it-all, you know you've made it. You know the essence is within. The smell lingers and burns and rejuvenates and refreshes. The water clings, yet it is gently let onto the ground. Mating is elegant, unimposing, the three finds roots eventually. There is Tao, there is lig...

 Tell me, Could you be a reverie  Or a haunting specter Are you magically Turning daydreams into being Turning my cascade of floods Into sweet meadows. Pray tell me, Do you hide between Candle's mist Behind God's fist Are you innocently Stepping on my freshly cut grass Turning it into a graveyard Of memories. Howling "if", then screaming "only". It takes me back It sickens me and makes me nostalgic and I wish that for one second destiny dared dance closer than arms length.  Or did it come so close that I simply chose to look away? Have I looked away again.

Cu totii suntem cine suntem din necesitate. I wish I were yours to be missed. In continuare, o lista cu ideile scrise in 10 ani, in care ma regasesc: Aplatizat intre o dulce profunzime care se prelinge si se atenueaza in multele ore de frustrare si un amar vis catre ce a fost si ce ar putea fi.   The darkness, the rain outside, the instrumentals, the urge to just write away at life, trying to prove a point to it all.. Iar moartea aduce impreuna, iar povestile deformeaza, consumul nu satisface. Sunt în butoi, butoiul în ocean. Dar eu nu sunt în ocean, nu am voie. Sunt doar pierdut, condus de forțe ce nu țin de mine. Pot vâsli cu mintea mea micuța împotriva curenților de circumstanțe ce mă încojoară? Peace is not a state, however. It is a process of becoming, of constant self-check and self-change. Deci nu te plange ca nu ai timp, asta inseamna sa existi, sa fii mereu mai in viitor decat iti dai seama. I can't remember if I ever deserved you, but you wouldn't know or care, for y...

So powerful the feeling that these visions come to me when I'm awake. In them, you are angry with me, you chastise me for all I've wronged. You tell me again and again, ever in more eloquent forms, how I've betrayed your very being. You curse me and kick me and explain to me the depths of your despair and I sit there, willingly, and take it all for I know I've earned it. And in your fury I repent for my actions. And my demeanor falls and meets your wrathful gaze. And most importantly, it's salvation. For I get to say to all this: yes, I see now, I'm wide awake. Bruise me, but my skin knows to be angry at my soul for welcoming the devil within, instead of you. So compelling, so intimate and wishful this is, that I see it happening before me, even though I stay, locked with key in hand, in an ivory tower. Yet I cannot ask you to kill me, to salvage me. I want to, so badly. But my punishment is more worthy of the ultimate domain of hell, betrayal. Instead of anger ...

 No matter what I do or what I tell myself, I long for you. I've been so damn irresponsible, negligent and careless, I couldn't speak or act or come forth with any sort of truth. Such a great length of time I've spent torn between the anxiety of commitment and this damn longing. What kept me back was a stupid sense of  overbearing childish immaturity. So many dreams and "could've been" mixed with regret. Washing me over, wave after wave, and me instead of surfing the surface and coming on top with what I truly felt, I let it drown me into nothing.  Yet time never fails to roll over any ocean. Waters consume and dissipate. In the wake, my mind left with only one course: leave. Shut up and leave. At least stop causing any more suffering around you. Live with the misery that only a semi-awake mind can impose over itself. Live and let die and let live and die.  Yet the smell of linden and the sun-kiss of early summer, time after time, takes me into her arms and ta...