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duminică, 11 august 2019

things could be different but they’re not (x2)

(same cup of coffee, same dull face, same inhibitions, same demons, same one life, one love, one sorrow slogan….a new morning- deghizata-n hainele celor mai vechi. pretending for a while…) sarbatorile au trecut cu viteza si superficialitatea unui film la care te uiti doar pentru ca e singura viata alternativa available. se spune ca ceea ce simtim noi acum e un fel de tristete, durerea particulara a pierderilor ireversibile, mahnirea aia care sondeaza-n foarte adanc, pana aproape de epicentru. se spune ca nu mai esti acelasi dupa asa ceva. si intr-adevar, scrisul meu si creierul meu nu-si revin din bucla temprala a catorva imagini pe care le tot derulez sperand sa-nteleg ceva mai mult. yet…socant cate lucruri si atitudini raman inca-n picioare. doar ca la bradul de craciun ma uit ca la un exponat din alt secol pe care daca l-as atinge s-ar face scrum. those dannish cookies au gust de sapun. iar vinul fiert pare promisiunea unui refugiu grotesc si-mi intoarce stomacul pe dos. am pe birou un makanin (underground), pamuk (cartea neagra), rushdie (versetele satanice), seria 1 din serialul roma, cateva dvd-uri inchiriate…incerc sa le fac sa complineasca disconfortul acestui fals in zambete si a bucuriilor ca niste guri stirbe pe care stii ca le poti restructura -dar in timp, iar timpul n-a fost niciodata de partea ta…vorbesc tot mai des la un plural colectiv- ma simt aici ca dupa o baie in mare, cand esti plin de alge, iar dupa ce te cureti, simti ca au mai ramas, ca mai sunt, pana ce nu te mai deranjeaza, iar jena aia devine o bucata integranta a eului/statusului tau. vorbesc tot mai des la pluralul colectiv care ma leaga de maica-mea si de frate-mio. pentru ca dupa aceasta mare schisma - taica-mio-dincolo, noi-aici, oricat imi doresc sa ma rup de hunedoara si terenul minat care-a devenit, in cvasi-logica masochista a lui "cand am mai fost pe-aici, el era inca un om viu", simt ca divided we fall. asta e…i-as transplanta totusi altundeva. pentru ca hunedoara (reala si existenta in imaginarul meu sick) mi se pare tot mai mult un factor esential al acestei povesti in care bunastarea si fericirea exista in granitele unei expectative a lor- autentice, forever…expectativa mereu inselata. nu mai pot vorbi despre viitor in, cum zicea cineva la tv, "termeni religiosi". - cred, nu cred. despre trecutul pe care tin neaparat sa nu-l insiropez au vbit "of montreal", o sa copy/pastez versurile unei piese "unhealthy" la nivelul asta textual - adica addictive, enjoy… The past is a grotesque animal And in its eyes you see How completely wrong you can be How completely wrong you can be The sun is out, it melts the snow that fell yesterday Makes you wonder why it bothered I fell in love with the first cute girl that I met Who could appreciate Georges Bataille Standing at Swedish festival discussing "Story of the Eye" Discussing "Story of the Eye" It's so embarrassing to need someone like I do you How can I explain, I need you here and not here too How can I explain, I need you here and not here too I'm flunking out, I'm flunking out, I'm gone, I'm just gone But at least I author my own disaster At least I author my own disaster Performance breakdown and I don't want to hear it I'm just not available Things could be different but they're not Things could be different but they're not The mousy girl screams, "Violence! Violence!" The mousy girl screams, "Violence! Violence!" She gets hysterical because they're both so mean And it's my favorite scene But the cruelty's so predictable It makes you sad on the stage Though our love project has so much potential But it's like we weren't made for this world (Though I wouldn't really want to meet someone who was) Do I have to scream in your face? I've been dodging lamps and vegetables Throw it all in my face, I don't care Let's just have some fun Let's tear this shit apart Let's tear the fucking house apart Let's tear our fucking bodies apart But let's just have some fun Somehow you've red-rovered the gestapo circling my heart And nothing can defeat you No death, no ugly world You've lived so brightly You've altered everything I find myself searching for old selves While speeding forward through the plate glass of maturing cells I've played the unraveler, the parhelion But even apocalypse is fleeting There's no death, no ugly world Sometimes I wonder if you're mythologizing me like I do you Mythologizing me like I do you We want our film to be beautiful, not realistic Perceive me in the radiance of terror dreams And you can betray me You can, you can betray me But teach me something wonderful Crown my head, crowd my head With your lilting effects Project your fears on to me, I need to view them See, there's nothing to them I promise you, there's nothing to them I'm so touched by your goodness You make me feel so criminal How do you keep it together? I'm all, all unraveled But you know, no matter where we are We're always touching by underground wires I've explored you with the detachment of an analyst But most nights we've raided the same kingdoms And none of our secrets are physical None of our secrets are physical None of our secrets are physical now

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