Archive for November 2019

somn. somn. somn. somn cumplit. mantra obsesiva a ultimilor luni. as dormi intruna. cand mananc. cand citesc. cand lucrez. cand merg. cand ma uit la tv. cand imi fac dus. cand respir. cand dorm. cand nu dorm. adica mai tot timpul. merg pe strada precum un zombie si imi vine sa ma agat de fiecare trecator, sa il iau in brate ancorandu-mi astfel trupul de un punct fix si sa ma pot cufunda putin in somn. in uitare. trecut de patru noaptea-dimineata. stau cu fruntea sprijinta pe marginea taioasa a mesei, cu ochii inchisi sa nu ma trezesc de tot (huh?) in timp ce bratele-mi moarte, cazute pe langa corp, o tin in pozitie verticala sa poata manca. bem apoi apa incet, in instalments. lipaituri precipitate cateva secunde, urmate de tras sufletul alte cateva secunde. coregrafie anevoioasa si minutioasa care dureaza aproape zece minute. intre timp, de oboseala, potpuriuri de culori, fractali si forme geometrice mi se valmasesc in cap ca un televizor stricat care nu se mai opreste. timpul se dilata ca o peltea translucida. trupul doare all over, acoperit parca de mii de echimoze. ii asez picioarele din fata, singurele care i-au mai ramas functionale, intr-o postura care ar putea sa-i sustina corpul, insa-i aluneca si ele, moi, inerte, ca limburile de carpa ale unei jucarii de plus. slabita beyond recognition, e precum o trestie fragila care se poate frange in orice moment dintr-o miscare nepotrivita. o pun la pieptul meu un minut doua si depanam amintiri pisicesti. barbia imi tremura a plans dar stiu ca ar trebui sa ma opresc din wallowing in self-pity. e momentul cand ma rusinez si ii spun ca oricat de istovit sunt si oricat de greu imi este, stiu ca ei ii este de sute de ori mai greu. ma priveste cu ochii ei mari in care viata palpaie cu obstinatie si simt ca nu vrea sa plece pentru mine. pentru ca stie cat de mult o iubesc si cat de imputinat o sa fiu fara ea. imi spun ca daca as iubi-o mai putin poate s-ar simti mai libera sa renunte si sa moara in pace. dar cum sa opresti pamantul sa graviteze in jurul soarelui? cum sa opresti ploaia sa cada? cum sa opresti copacul sa se intinda dupa lumina? cum sa opresti raul sa curga? cum sa opresti un parinte sa-si iubeasca puiul? nu poti.




black friday cu carti. endless rabbit hole din care nu mai iesi altfel decat sleit de puteri si falit. bucuros de achizitiile facute sau nefericit de cele nefacute. in functie de limita cardului sau de ce negot ai cu continutul paharului. in sus sau in jos. una din cele mai intense bucurii ale mele este cand termin o carte si devin astfel liber sa incep alta. altele. mana mea mangaie torsul cartilor eligibile, intrate acum de pe lista de asteptare in cursa ultima pentru a fi citite si rasfatate. ma uit prin ele indecis inca, le rasfoiesc paginile avid si sunt coplesit de promisiunile orgasmelor livresti oferite. memorialistica. istorie. psihologie. biografie. teologie. filozofie. politica. o vreau si pe asta. si pe asta. si pe asta. vreau sa cunosc si sa aflu toate lucrurile alea de acolo, daca s-ar putea, in acelasi timp. sa citesc si povestea asteia. si a asteia. si a asteia. si a asteia. da, stiu, sunt un curvar incurabil. nu reusesc sa scap niciodata de promiscuitatea asta academica de a citi mai multe carti in acelasi timp. de a trai mai multe vieti simultan. visez la o vreme in viitor, cand o sa pot, gratie tehnologiilor, sa imi pot face nush ce implanturi high tech si ma vad pe o canapea ca un junkie carturaresc, cu ochii dati peste cap, clipind ca un neon stricat, plin de catetere, perfuzoare, tuburi prin care cartile isi pot injecta continutul lor miraculos. at the same time. carpe librum.

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I am a slow learner. It’s not that I don’t see what’s coming or that I don’t hear what people are saying. It’s just that it takes me a great deal of time to take the foreseen threat all in and get ready to take a hit. Once I come across something stressful I find myself moving and thinking in slow motion, playing for time. I’m rather a freezer or a flighter to quote a classical reference from ethology. Never a fighter. I’m a hopeless procrastinator, so kicking the can down the road comes naturally to me. Hoping against all odds that the bitter pill will be taken away from me. But it never does and I know it all too well, I am no fool – anything but. Eventually the painful truth catches up with me. Eventually I give in to the gathering storm.

At any point in time I have a couple of unpleasant realities and truths I am in no hurry to acknowledge, even though like I said I am not oblivious to them and I know I will bow to truth eventually. Looking back at my recent years I realized there’s a common thread running through these off-putting truths, a leitmotiv easy to discern, so here they are:

Friendship. For some people friendship extends only to the point where you burst their bubble. Once their frail narrative is exposed they solve the cognitive dissonance that comes with it not by aligning themselves with truth but by deserting the friendship and leaving. If walking on eggs was never your strength you know you would eventually get tired of dancing around the truth. As much as you try to avoid speaking truthfully outright at first, sooner or later you put your foot in it. You might as well stop even trying and be straightforward from the very beginning. If a friendship requires calling a spade something else than a spade then maybe that friendship is not for you or is not worth saving. While it’s true that bursting someone’s bubble and ripping off the mask people decide to put on for whatever reasons is none of our business it’s also true that we cannot distort the truth to the point where that friendship becomes a farce.

Death. It’s in the order of nature that children survive their parents. It’s natural that parents go first. Nevertheless, if you find yourself in a position where you raise a pet like a member of your family, that law of nature is broken and the order reversed. Eventually all these beautiful creatures are leaving and contrary to the order of nature parents survive their offspring. You subject yourself to a devastating event for there’s nothing more agonizing in this life than burying your child. I knew this all along, from the moment I kept her, but there was no need to dwell on this unnecessarily so I pushed that nagging apprehension to the back of my mind for years. Cancer short-circuited this convenience abruptly and left me no respite. Cancer is a monstrous machine that turns future to present. It brings that end from an indefinite future and makes it real. It makes it now. You can’t procrastinate cancer for long for cancer is like a nuclear bomb to your conscience. It doesn’t give a shit that you are not ready to face the dire reality just yet.

Family. For some siblings kinship ends where the inheritance begins. The idea of relatives fighting over a house or a plot of land is so preposterous and alien to me that I never thought this could possibly happen to me. And so when it did it shook me to the core. Coming from a rather close sister and one that happens to obey the same God made all this even more appalling. As a result I spent a couple of years struggling to come to terms with her pettiness and meanness of spirit. I was in no way ready to accept that people close to you  can be sheer evil and do you harm on purpose so I kept trying to justify her sordid behaviour in any reasonable ways. Given that I am a rather judgemental beast I should be quite proud of my self-restraint. Once again I procrastinated accepting the obvious truth: being born by the same mother is irrelevant to ethics.  Consanguinity doesn’t mean we all share the same moral compass. Your closest kin can be farther than a stranger. Trying to empathize with people when not at their best and making excuses for them is one (honourable) thing, seeing goodness in some deeds where there’s none is entirely another matter. At the end of the day, you are not responsible for their reputation but your own and so you shouldn’t see things through the coloured lens of your feelings for them. A bad thing is a bad thing and the fact that is perpetrated by your kin or someone you love doesn’t make it a good thing.

Love. Some people marry down and some people marry up. Some people are better than others, for we are not equal, obviously. It’s a common fact of life. But it’s also true that in many cases people marry down and marry up at the same time. It’s just that it happens on different levels. Because in these many cases, people are neither exceptional nor awful throughout. They are better than their partners in some respects and worse than them in other respects. So unbalanced relationships are more common than we think and that’s perfectly fine. The only time when this becomes critical is when you marry someone beneath yourself on something that is fundamental to you. For instance, I don’t give a damn about money, wealth, professional status, paygrade, education degrees, age, even looks up to a point, but I do give one about intellect, reliability, morals, set of values, authenticity etc. If I happen to enter a relationship that is not well balanced on the later, on the things that really matter to me, then it could be a dealbreaker. I could never stress enough the importance of having the same set of values and worshipping the same gods (i.e. admiring the same things). In my past relationships these differences put a huge strain on them and made them vulnerable to the point people felt like walking away. You might find in the great works of literature that love trumps everything, but in real life, as I found in my last relationships, social ambition trumps love. Different set of values leads to different paths in life.




As you can easily tell, the common theme running through all of these foreseen outcomes is loss. In the first case I tried to delay the loss of a friend by being less outspoken at first and handling him with gloves for a while. In the second I tried to put off dealing with loss and death but cancer shattered my oblivion and left me no choice in the matter. In the third case I tried to avoid the loss of a sister by sugar-coating her transgression and making excuses for her. In the last one I tried to avoid the loss of a lover by letting the dust settle when the feel of inadequacy kicked in.

When loss starts to rear its ugly head and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it from happening you could throw yourself into it and be done with it. You can put your suicide vest on and detonate yourself. Or you hold fire and brace yourself for the expected loss. You freeze. You go in sloooow motion. At the end of the day, if you are a believer a miracle could still happen. You make haste slowly for “the hurrier you go, the behinder you get“…




(9/11 – freeze response)


“Two nurses led me into a cold, gray room with a big mirror, morning light. They asked me to undress. It seemed excessive. I did not understand why I needed to reveal my skin, but my hands began removing my clohes before my mind approved the request. Listen to them. They held open a white paper lunch bag and I placed my beige padded bra with the worn straps inside. My gray dress went into another bag, never to be seen again. Something about checking for semen. When everything was gone, I stood naked, nipples staring back at me, unsure where to put my arms, wanting to cross them over my chest. They told me to hold still while they photographed my head from different angles. For portraits I was accustomed to smoothing my hair down, parting it on the side, but I was afraid to touch the lopsided mess. I wondered if I was supposed to smile with teeth, where I should be looking. I wanted to close my eyes, as if this could conceal me. One nurse slid a blue plastic ruler from her pocket. The other held a heavy black camera. To measure and document the abrasions, she said. I felt latex fingertips crawling over my skin, the crisp edge of the ruler pressed against the side of my neck, my stomach, my butt cheeks, my thighs. I heard each click, the black lens of a camera hovering over every hair, goose bump, vein, pore. Skin had always been my deepest source of  self-consciousness. I froze, magnified beneath the lens.

(Chanel Miller – Know my name. A memoir)


“E uşor să te târăşti ca un vierme; greu e să înveţi cum să-ţi crească aripi.
E uşor să pleci; greu e să rămâi şi să faci să conteze cu adevărat asta.
E uşor să învinovăţeşti pe alţii; greu e să priveşti adânc în tine şi să fii cinstit până la durere cu ceea ce găseşti acolo.
E uşor să spui “
m-a dezamăgit“; greu e să spui “m-am dezamăgit“.
E uşor să treci de la o … poartă la alta; greu e să rămâi şi să-i construieşti poveştii ziduri de apărare.
E uşor să te faci aplaudat de cineva; greu e să reuşeşti să nu te raportezi la aplauzele alea îmbolnăvindu-te de autosuficienţă.
E atât de uşor, cumplit de uşor, să-ţi îmbraci laşităţile în haine strălucitoare, să le dai o tentă de eroism ieftin, să-ţi justifici alegerile cu menajamente generos acordate ţie însuţi; e greu însă când rămâi doar cu tine, tragi linie între cine eşti şi cine ai fi vrut să fii iar rezultatul îţi dă cu minus.
E greu să rămâi vertical! Dar e şi mai greu să te doară cocoaşa o viaţă!”

Nina Tărchilă

Blogs I Follow

literatura e efortul inepuizabil de a transforma viaţa în ceva real

The priest: Aren't you afraid of hell? J. Kerouac: No, no. I'm more concerned with heaven.

literatura e efortul inepuizabil de a transforma viaţa în ceva real

The priest: Aren't you afraid of hell? J. Kerouac: No, no. I'm more concerned with heaven.