She was so socially active it astounded him at times. She would throw her hair, arch her back and laugh whole heartedly at the jokes. She would be interested in what everyone had to say, a kind word and sympathetic advise following every confesion. She would down the shots and smoke the cigarettes, she would dance and taste the music. The cloths were spotless, the attitude was fresh. Sweet irony sometimes tainted her words. So interesting, so smart, so beautiful.
But his fascination had nothing to do with that outgoing side of her. It was in the dead of the night that his sight was offered the show it craved.
Wrapped in a sheat, thinking he was sleeping off their exhaustion, she would open the window and light one of her long cigarettes. Her mind on things he’d never know, her skin speaking a language he will never understand. She would watch the stars, she would feel the ground, she would hear the velvet texture of the air. Words would never exit her smoke drowned lips. Her eyes, green pools, would allude to depths unexplored. Those were the moments she spent with her secrets, with her scars… The woman smoking at that window was one he didn’t know. She was not social, she was not smiling. She was the present. Appreciating how the nicotine helped her think better, her mask off, her features unguarded but unrevealing.
He would go back to sleep, street lights caressing his eyelids.
joi, 10 iulie 2008
vineri, 23 mai 2008
Silence
A nice long drag out of my Dunhill. I hold the smoke in as much as my lungs will allow me and when I release it I follow it as it infects the air around it.
Control.
Hard thing to learn. Not many people master it. To know when to keep silent. To know when to sigh.
I’m afraid of the things I like. I like silence. I avoid it. It fills me up like a drug. It’s addictive. I’m waiting for the day when I will embrace it. When I will stop using words as shields to repel uncomfortable questions.
I want to live on a mountain with no company but uncaring trees and tired stones. Will anyone be there with me? To interrupt the whispers of the leaves? Will anyone else hear the water breathing? Do I want there to be anyone?
Control.
Hard thing to learn. Not many people master it. To know when to keep silent. To know when to sigh.
I’m afraid of the things I like. I like silence. I avoid it. It fills me up like a drug. It’s addictive. I’m waiting for the day when I will embrace it. When I will stop using words as shields to repel uncomfortable questions.
I want to live on a mountain with no company but uncaring trees and tired stones. Will anyone be there with me? To interrupt the whispers of the leaves? Will anyone else hear the water breathing? Do I want there to be anyone?
luni, 12 mai 2008
Permission
Let me cruise the world between the pages of a book.
Let me breathe until I'm high on oxygen.
Let me starve, I enjoy the diziness.
Tie me up with useless emotion like copper chains wrapped in velvet strands.
Let me forget to buy a watch, so you can't scold me when I'm late.
Let me spend hours watching my wrists, blood pumping underneath alabaster skin.
I don't want to fly with you, I don't want to fall with them, I want to float by myself.
Let me breathe until I'm high on oxygen.
Let me starve, I enjoy the diziness.
Tie me up with useless emotion like copper chains wrapped in velvet strands.
Let me forget to buy a watch, so you can't scold me when I'm late.
Let me spend hours watching my wrists, blood pumping underneath alabaster skin.
I don't want to fly with you, I don't want to fall with them, I want to float by myself.
...
Leaves of purple brush your wind.
Dust of gold grazes your soul.
Drops of light caress your skin.
Wheels of randomness guide your steps.
Paths of sun are closed to you.
Dust of gold grazes your soul.
Drops of light caress your skin.
Wheels of randomness guide your steps.
Paths of sun are closed to you.
Bits and pieces
A tip of despair is all you see even thought there are no corners around.
A strand of excitement, even thought the music is screaming and the hormones competing for dominance.
A branch of help is all you get. Always leaning, never caught. Teasingly retracting at the feel of your fingertips. Bits and pieces, parts of wholes. That's what your life is made of. Never matching, never ending.
A strand of excitement, even thought the music is screaming and the hormones competing for dominance.
A branch of help is all you get. Always leaning, never caught. Teasingly retracting at the feel of your fingertips. Bits and pieces, parts of wholes. That's what your life is made of. Never matching, never ending.
Currents
You inspire wind to fall. To abandon horizontal paths. It wants to feel your thrill. It wants to fill your pages. Floating becomes boring after a while, rainstorms are monotonous after a few millenia. It wants to join you on your way down. Screaming adrenalline and building floors to crash on.
Senses
Words taste like cherries from your mouth to mine.
Nightmares smell like grass, freshly cut and screming its loss.
Your air feels like velvet, thick and soft.
Your skin always sings exuberantly. Happy being tied to your flesh, but always searching for more.
Your eyes write volumes when you think that no one is watching.
Nightmares smell like grass, freshly cut and screming its loss.
Your air feels like velvet, thick and soft.
Your skin always sings exuberantly. Happy being tied to your flesh, but always searching for more.
Your eyes write volumes when you think that no one is watching.
Don't forget
Don't forget to breathe. Capture the air in your lungs and then free it from your body.
Don't forget to drink. Let unnatural liquid swallow your brain and make you someone else.
Don't forget to smoke. bathe in calm and aesthetic nicotine.
Don't foget to think. Be silent and reflective. Staring at something and transcending its form.
Don't forget to live. Breathe in, breathe out, forget about wanter and stay hydrated, tobacco makes the world better and thoughts make it yours.
Don't forget to drink. Let unnatural liquid swallow your brain and make you someone else.
Don't forget to smoke. bathe in calm and aesthetic nicotine.
Don't foget to think. Be silent and reflective. Staring at something and transcending its form.
Don't forget to live. Breathe in, breathe out, forget about wanter and stay hydrated, tobacco makes the world better and thoughts make it yours.
duminică, 13 aprilie 2008
Falling
Darling, you were made to fail. Your whole life has been a flight down, like you were waiting for the collision with the pavement. You knew it was going to come, and you decided to enjoy the fall. You called it "a flight towards nothingness" and in the early hours of the morning, while watching blood taint the sky, you waited and wondered about that final moment. You said your flight would be short and sweet, and your demise symbolic of the beautiful mess that was your life.
I’m not in love with you, but you fascinate me. And I’ve always been a sucker for things that manage to catch my attention and retain it. You’re the angel that never stopped fallin, the one who enjoying the sinful ride. And I’m nothing more than a spectator. Always with a cigarette between my fingers and a drink at hand, a malicious sneer caressing my lips as I watch you crash and burn. You’re another inspiration, another one that feeds my pages and keeps me awake at night by simply staring at my ceiling while I write or read.
I won’t miss you when you’re gone. Your kind is rare but they always find their way to me, like the gods have ensured my suply long before I realised I needed it. Looking at you now, laughing like you’ve forgotten that the pavement is closer and closer by the second, I can’t help but feel that there’s nothing more sublime than tragedy. And then I forget the thought as my attention is captured by the lyrics of another song.
I’m not in love with you, but you fascinate me. And I’ve always been a sucker for things that manage to catch my attention and retain it. You’re the angel that never stopped fallin, the one who enjoying the sinful ride. And I’m nothing more than a spectator. Always with a cigarette between my fingers and a drink at hand, a malicious sneer caressing my lips as I watch you crash and burn. You’re another inspiration, another one that feeds my pages and keeps me awake at night by simply staring at my ceiling while I write or read.
I won’t miss you when you’re gone. Your kind is rare but they always find their way to me, like the gods have ensured my suply long before I realised I needed it. Looking at you now, laughing like you’ve forgotten that the pavement is closer and closer by the second, I can’t help but feel that there’s nothing more sublime than tragedy. And then I forget the thought as my attention is captured by the lyrics of another song.
Bleed for it
Bleed for it, love.
You say you want me. I’m all you think about and when you sleep I haunt your nightmares. Your infatuation is now bordering obsession and you watch me from the shadows as I laugh. You say you’ve never felt such a need before. It makes your flesh burn and your bones melt. It enslaves you and it sets you apart. You’re no longer average… And if only you could have a taste, that mundane existance would be forever erased.
You always said you never begged. A victim of the stubborness of your generation, under the illusion that it made you unique when all it did was help you fit in among the faceless crowd.
But now you are. You’re on your knees pleading to be released from this spell or be given satisfaction, you don’t know which anymore.
But you’ve got to bleed for it, love. Wanting isn’t enough. Crying is only degrading. I only relent at the sight of live wine.
And when you give it to me, I’ll cast you aside and let you enjoy your misery. Because I am a tease. And because you wanted it too much.
You say you want me. I’m all you think about and when you sleep I haunt your nightmares. Your infatuation is now bordering obsession and you watch me from the shadows as I laugh. You say you’ve never felt such a need before. It makes your flesh burn and your bones melt. It enslaves you and it sets you apart. You’re no longer average… And if only you could have a taste, that mundane existance would be forever erased.
You always said you never begged. A victim of the stubborness of your generation, under the illusion that it made you unique when all it did was help you fit in among the faceless crowd.
But now you are. You’re on your knees pleading to be released from this spell or be given satisfaction, you don’t know which anymore.
But you’ve got to bleed for it, love. Wanting isn’t enough. Crying is only degrading. I only relent at the sight of live wine.
And when you give it to me, I’ll cast you aside and let you enjoy your misery. Because I am a tease. And because you wanted it too much.
joi, 10 aprilie 2008
Laughter
You laugh in the face of Death. Such a cliche, but oh-so-true. When the proverbial Grim Reaper strikes I see the corners of your mouth twitching, like you’re trying to hold back a grin. And then waves of laughter overcome your body and the phantom of your giggles resounds through echoless rooms.
Suffering and pain became a joke to you. Because fate is a cruel bitch and you find that by laughing at it you’ll at least manage to piss it off. Or maybe you just forgot how to cry.
To this day, everytime tragedy strikes I can hear you laughing from far away. A whole hearted laugh, like there is some sort of irony to the situation that only you can understand. Yours, my dear, is the saddest happiness I’ve ever heard.
Suffering and pain became a joke to you. Because fate is a cruel bitch and you find that by laughing at it you’ll at least manage to piss it off. Or maybe you just forgot how to cry.
To this day, everytime tragedy strikes I can hear you laughing from far away. A whole hearted laugh, like there is some sort of irony to the situation that only you can understand. Yours, my dear, is the saddest happiness I’ve ever heard.
marți, 8 aprilie 2008
Change me
You like to think you keep me grounded. You like to say you’re the one stable thing in my life. The air of self importance that surrounds you keeps me there, observing. Saying I agree when it’s required and promising I’ll change for you, when in fact I never intend to.
Your illusions of grandeur, your attempts at discarding the monotony that surrounds you and the mediocrity that’s eating you, fascinate me.
You say you want me to be free of my demons. That you have the power to chase them all away and if I only gave you the chance, if I only let you in, then things would be fine. But do you not know, love, how much i despise „fine”? I’ve grown quite fond of those demons you want to banish. They make me who I am. They make me the person you want to change so that I can fit into your world. I always silently believed that that’s the source of you attraction to me. That I broke the pattern you had established for your universe. And so you wanted to break me, so that things would be normal again. And I agreed to be broken only to see you struggle and become frustrated with the uselessness of your trials.
But then you took up smoking, because you inhaled the tabacco from my cigarettes anyway, so why fight it? And your sleeping patterns became erratic, because you can’t change someone if you’re not awake at the same time. You began to understand my perceptions of life, for how ca you modify something without comprehending it.
But sadly, darling… I stopped wanting you. Because playing with the same toy becomes boring after a while.
Your illusions of grandeur, your attempts at discarding the monotony that surrounds you and the mediocrity that’s eating you, fascinate me.
You say you want me to be free of my demons. That you have the power to chase them all away and if I only gave you the chance, if I only let you in, then things would be fine. But do you not know, love, how much i despise „fine”? I’ve grown quite fond of those demons you want to banish. They make me who I am. They make me the person you want to change so that I can fit into your world. I always silently believed that that’s the source of you attraction to me. That I broke the pattern you had established for your universe. And so you wanted to break me, so that things would be normal again. And I agreed to be broken only to see you struggle and become frustrated with the uselessness of your trials.
But then you took up smoking, because you inhaled the tabacco from my cigarettes anyway, so why fight it? And your sleeping patterns became erratic, because you can’t change someone if you’re not awake at the same time. You began to understand my perceptions of life, for how ca you modify something without comprehending it.
But sadly, darling… I stopped wanting you. Because playing with the same toy becomes boring after a while.
You
You know how to wink, my dear. Eyelash to eyelash… eyelash to eyelash.
You know how to hurt. You do a fine job at hurting me. But you are a master at hurting yourself. You learnt long ago that going up in flames only means that you can start over.
My sweet prince, you are the one.
You are the one that has no self respect. But self respect is over-rated, you always say. It involves caring too much and never having any fun. You once confessed that you only repeat that to see me throw my hair back, arch my throat and laugh whole-heartedly. I smirked mischievously because one of your other frequent statements it that I don’t have a heart.
You ask the most improbable questions. And that’s why I waste my time with you.
How can someone so lazy be ambitious?
How can someone so sociable be such an introvert?
How can I talk so much and say so little?
You looked at the pavement today. You didn’t stare. You just observed it. I could see you picturing the flight down from my roof. No obstacles in your path, for once. You are clinically depressed and I’m entertained by it. Because I don’t have a heart and sometimes I think you misplaced your common sense.
Why surround myself with normal individuals when I can live amongst the interesting ones?
You know how to hurt. You do a fine job at hurting me. But you are a master at hurting yourself. You learnt long ago that going up in flames only means that you can start over.
My sweet prince, you are the one.
You are the one that has no self respect. But self respect is over-rated, you always say. It involves caring too much and never having any fun. You once confessed that you only repeat that to see me throw my hair back, arch my throat and laugh whole-heartedly. I smirked mischievously because one of your other frequent statements it that I don’t have a heart.
You ask the most improbable questions. And that’s why I waste my time with you.
How can someone so lazy be ambitious?
How can someone so sociable be such an introvert?
How can I talk so much and say so little?
You looked at the pavement today. You didn’t stare. You just observed it. I could see you picturing the flight down from my roof. No obstacles in your path, for once. You are clinically depressed and I’m entertained by it. Because I don’t have a heart and sometimes I think you misplaced your common sense.
Why surround myself with normal individuals when I can live amongst the interesting ones?
Opposite
I hate being your muse. You make me free in my confinement. You put me in control. You strip life of the concrete.
You hate how absent I am around you. My touch makes your skin sing.
We love addiction. The intensity of the withdrawl symptoms, the beauty of this hideous world.
To disregard the rain. To ignore the sunshine. To feel the colors. To touch the music.
I want to be bright, and new, and shiny and yours.
You want to be free, and ephemeral.
Perfection is painful.
You hate how absent I am around you. My touch makes your skin sing.
We love addiction. The intensity of the withdrawl symptoms, the beauty of this hideous world.
To disregard the rain. To ignore the sunshine. To feel the colors. To touch the music.
I want to be bright, and new, and shiny and yours.
You want to be free, and ephemeral.
Perfection is painful.
roleplay
You used to drink and drink and drink.
You took my hand and guided me through the unfamiliar streets. You were scared of being found. I was scared of getting lost.
I never regretted your death. I shot you to hell and for a long time I didn't realise the boredom I was saving you from.
I showed you the door. I unceremoniously pushed you out of my life. You hated me for doing it. I hated you for never coming back.
Oh, how the roles have been reversed. I now run from reality and try to find an unshaped corner in which to hide. And you… I imagine you wandering paths as old as time in hell, hoping to know what the way back is. Cursing me for sentencing you to this fate.
But you’re but a ghost and, most of the time, I’m convinced I’m alive.
You took my hand and guided me through the unfamiliar streets. You were scared of being found. I was scared of getting lost.
I never regretted your death. I shot you to hell and for a long time I didn't realise the boredom I was saving you from.
I showed you the door. I unceremoniously pushed you out of my life. You hated me for doing it. I hated you for never coming back.
Oh, how the roles have been reversed. I now run from reality and try to find an unshaped corner in which to hide. And you… I imagine you wandering paths as old as time in hell, hoping to know what the way back is. Cursing me for sentencing you to this fate.
But you’re but a ghost and, most of the time, I’m convinced I’m alive.
Smoke
Why did I fall in love with you?
I couldn’t help but laugh. Darling, I didn’t fall in love, I fell in lust.
How, you ask?
I watched you smoke. Leaning against a fence, your leather trousers casually low on your hips. You were smoking with your whole body. Your wrist was rigid, your fingers relaxed. Your chest rising while you inhaled the sour nectar. You made the world glamorous and chic. I watched you wishing I was the cigarette in your mouth, the smoke swimming around your lips. And I was yours. You had me, because you didn’t try to.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Darling, I didn’t fall in love, I fell in lust.
How, you ask?
I watched you smoke. Leaning against a fence, your leather trousers casually low on your hips. You were smoking with your whole body. Your wrist was rigid, your fingers relaxed. Your chest rising while you inhaled the sour nectar. You made the world glamorous and chic. I watched you wishing I was the cigarette in your mouth, the smoke swimming around your lips. And I was yours. You had me, because you didn’t try to.
desperation
Desperation is a wonderful feeling. So sinfully sublime. One of the most intense cravings.
You stare at me with hollow eyes. You’re always elsewhere. Running towards far away lands that have nothing to do with me. You’ve let me to deal with my own hatred and loneliness. Because I once swore I would never need anyone. And right now the fury of the underworld is an unworthy rival of mine. Because I need you and a treacherous physical pain always accompanies that statement. And I revel in it for it is the only sensation I am allowed. You’ve stripped me of the freedom I once clutched and the most unnerving thing is that I don’t want it back. I love to be lost in the dispair that you casted upon me and I enjoy every ounce of pain the memory of you causes.
I like to play with people. And sometimes I think you’re playing with me. Like I’m the toy car your mother never bought you. But you don’t care enough to play. You cast me aside when you’ve had your fill and I’m left waiting for the next glance of you I might get. My muscles ache when you’re not near me and my brain seems sore when you are. I can never be happy. Because getting what I want is never what I expect it to be. Why do I love the torture you put me through? And why do I think of revenge everytime I’m in your arms?
You stare at me with hollow eyes. You’re always elsewhere. Running towards far away lands that have nothing to do with me. You’ve let me to deal with my own hatred and loneliness. Because I once swore I would never need anyone. And right now the fury of the underworld is an unworthy rival of mine. Because I need you and a treacherous physical pain always accompanies that statement. And I revel in it for it is the only sensation I am allowed. You’ve stripped me of the freedom I once clutched and the most unnerving thing is that I don’t want it back. I love to be lost in the dispair that you casted upon me and I enjoy every ounce of pain the memory of you causes.
I like to play with people. And sometimes I think you’re playing with me. Like I’m the toy car your mother never bought you. But you don’t care enough to play. You cast me aside when you’ve had your fill and I’m left waiting for the next glance of you I might get. My muscles ache when you’re not near me and my brain seems sore when you are. I can never be happy. Because getting what I want is never what I expect it to be. Why do I love the torture you put me through? And why do I think of revenge everytime I’m in your arms?
Miconceived Antonyms
The opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s indiference. -- He used to look right through me. Like I was air. When I was gone he started feeling a craving. A thirst that could not be quenched with liquid.
You never notice the air around you until it’s gone.
The opposite of pleasure isn’t pain. It’s lack of sensation. – He used to grip my waist with such strength that I was left to contemplate the way the bruise changed from dark purple to pale yellow. He used to kiss my wrists and then bite the soft skin until pearl like drops of blood stained his lips.
The opposite of black isn’t white, it’s gray. Because it strips the world of the certainty that good and evil offer.d
You never notice the air around you until it’s gone.
The opposite of pleasure isn’t pain. It’s lack of sensation. – He used to grip my waist with such strength that I was left to contemplate the way the bruise changed from dark purple to pale yellow. He used to kiss my wrists and then bite the soft skin until pearl like drops of blood stained his lips.
The opposite of black isn’t white, it’s gray. Because it strips the world of the certainty that good and evil offer.d
I like
I like to self-destruct. It is the only natural high I know of. It is the only form of control that the gods allowed us.
I like to feel too much. It makes me aware of death. It makes the world less graceful.
I like to fill shot glaces with expesive wine and drown my throat in crimson bliss.
I like the decadence of sin. I like to bathe in the forbidden.
I love the smell of the sunset. Purple and dead.
I like to feel too much. It makes me aware of death. It makes the world less graceful.
I like to fill shot glaces with expesive wine and drown my throat in crimson bliss.
I like the decadence of sin. I like to bathe in the forbidden.
I love the smell of the sunset. Purple and dead.
marți, 1 aprilie 2008
Retracting..
ok...so i might have gone a little overboard with the slitting the pop-culture infected wrists. I apologize profusely. I like recommendations and i was just focusing my unabomber tendencies towards something that didn't deserve the negative attention.
The romanian educational system is not all crap. there are a few great teachers. The point is that the mediocre ones outnumber the competent ones. And that makes for a sad situation. There are subjects i enjoy and teachers i admire and respect. I was wrong by generalizing. that does not however mean that I do not believe the system is wrong and has to change.... just that not all the people in it are resposible for the situation and that not everyone is contributing to the problem.
The romanian educational system is not all crap. there are a few great teachers. The point is that the mediocre ones outnumber the competent ones. And that makes for a sad situation. There are subjects i enjoy and teachers i admire and respect. I was wrong by generalizing. that does not however mean that I do not believe the system is wrong and has to change.... just that not all the people in it are resposible for the situation and that not everyone is contributing to the problem.
luni, 31 martie 2008
Cynicism
Yes, the world is wonderful and amazing. It can surprise you with how diverse it can be. Technology and art fighting for the upper-hand, advances all around. And I know that we need the idiosts in this world too, so that we have something to laugh at and occasionally something to feel better about. I know all this and yet I find myself stripping my mood of the amusement and finding the sheer stupidity of the human spieces annoying and frustrating.
But enough about that.
Let me tell you about music. Now that's a topic that always cheers me up. So, if your friends keep encouraging you to get off your ass and watch what they recommend then you'll feel my pain. If I hear on more person that I just have to watch that movie or listen to that song I will slit their pop culture-infected veins.
I'm very happy with the music I listen to, thank you very much. And though it I'm not saying you HAVE TO listen to it I am maybe adivising you to give it a listen if you're not too busy being lazy as I so often seem to be.
Ella Fitzgerald. Jazz singer. Amazing voice. Nice songs
Frank Sinatra. Well let's just say that if you don't know who this is I'm gonna have to insult you.
Nat King Cole. Jazz
BB King. Blues. Great blues guitarist. For discography IM me.
On a more sombre note. Why is school getting in the way of my education? Elementary, my dear readers. Because coma inducing boredom can not be good for one's intellect. Thus, my apathy is explained. And the romanian educational system will take a blow as I repeat this but if wikipedia is respnsible for more of my education than my high-school is we are in proverbially deep shit.
Sarcastic advertising has become a hobby and that's speaks volumes about how bored I am.
On that note: If you want to learn how to never work and how to actually get frustrated by the fact that you never do anything in school, by all means come to this wonderul country. Romania, the place where you can't get a decent teacher if you look for one... and trust me on this one if you've gotten so desperate that you've started looking for interesting teachers then you're definitely on the highway to hell.
Again...too lazy to proof post so mes excuses.
But enough about that.
Let me tell you about music. Now that's a topic that always cheers me up. So, if your friends keep encouraging you to get off your ass and watch what they recommend then you'll feel my pain. If I hear on more person that I just have to watch that movie or listen to that song I will slit their pop culture-infected veins.
I'm very happy with the music I listen to, thank you very much. And though it I'm not saying you HAVE TO listen to it I am maybe adivising you to give it a listen if you're not too busy being lazy as I so often seem to be.
Ella Fitzgerald. Jazz singer. Amazing voice. Nice songs
Frank Sinatra. Well let's just say that if you don't know who this is I'm gonna have to insult you.
Nat King Cole. Jazz
BB King. Blues. Great blues guitarist. For discography IM me.
On a more sombre note. Why is school getting in the way of my education? Elementary, my dear readers. Because coma inducing boredom can not be good for one's intellect. Thus, my apathy is explained. And the romanian educational system will take a blow as I repeat this but if wikipedia is respnsible for more of my education than my high-school is we are in proverbially deep shit.
Sarcastic advertising has become a hobby and that's speaks volumes about how bored I am.
On that note: If you want to learn how to never work and how to actually get frustrated by the fact that you never do anything in school, by all means come to this wonderul country. Romania, the place where you can't get a decent teacher if you look for one... and trust me on this one if you've gotten so desperate that you've started looking for interesting teachers then you're definitely on the highway to hell.
Again...too lazy to proof post so mes excuses.
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