My one day misadventure in GuGu Land

    So, once upon nowhere, by a joke of destiny, my steps led me in a Pandorum-like land, at the doors of an empire built in a matchbox. There, the humble me met the self-pronounced king and queen of this, as I was about to find out, morbid masquerade, a horror remake of Alice in wonderland and Gulliver in Lilliput all together melting into an unbelievable reality. Because I wanted to know what was hiding in the rabbit hole and determined by other extremely important issues for me at that time, which are now perfectly growing into beautiful, I threw myself into the unknown. Wanting to learn and „explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life forms and new civilizations„ I accepted all the colored and bleached details I was served concerning this journey. 
      Ok ..now let me introduce you in the land of GuGu ( or gaga or blabla or whatever ) ..there was nothing special there..surroundings..trees or birds singing or Stuffstock, just plastics and wastes and at the very base of this unfortunate empire was the immense second belly-button of its king located in his forehead and surpassed in size only by the molecular ugliness of its queen. There were a few more humble servants that were trapped in the rat hole, I felt compassion for them but they were also feeding from „za ombelico del mondo„ as they fiercely embraced the cult of the self. 
    I saw no human face during my short foray in this circus-like scenery.                                                 The self-proclaimed king, the belly and the beard (the belly beard was his pen name- horrifying image! ) were one, and he liked his nom de plume as he liked to think of himself as the king of crosswords. He was as corrupt as a rotten apple and yet he spoke loudly about principles and values, erecting himself in monk statues in the desperate attempt to hide his flaws and falls that haunted him and which were about to burst into transparency with each second passing by. Then there was the atomic crap queen, the perfect replica of our dead beloved wife and mother of the people Helen, hideously simpleminded but twice as vicious. She liked luxury, everything that glittered and she was furious at the light of others around as their shinning charm totally eclipsed her fade and insipid self.
   I was then commanded to fulfill some tasks that were meant to protect their abject dictatorship and each task was the product of their incurable wickedness and hypocrisy . Beside these, other chores were invented (which of course nobody could actually handle) in order for me to kneel as low as possible in front of these masters of nothingness. They did not speak with the people face to face but always from behind a curtain and their madness became so sensational that they started to speak with each other in the same way.
    As I expected it was too much void for my humble understanding, so I got out my wax wings from my pocket and escaped from this wicked and monstrous labyrinth. When you build something on elephant dump you should expect to disintegrate, and it did , their worm empire has fallen apart after some not majestic last convulsions. Ex nihilo, nihil. 
    Their false kingdom, a swelling hot air balloon, has degraded as quickly as it was conceived and the smell of putrefaction is even today still very much present.  
   What is very interesting is the fact that even long after you have deleted these abjections (and kept in mind only what you had to learn from this shit) from your retina and agenda, they have not erased you from theirs, as they like to peek and feed with the sparks of light that others carry, like red rats with fast fingers swarming in darkness, not conscious or aware of the stink and the diseases they are infected with.
 

Bobul de oglinda

   Eclipsa marinareasca, mari fara neoane si vasle ghidate de busole empirice printr-un perpetuum mobile din catifea uda de albastru. Canturi innodate in surdina de balene discrete in flaut de vant oceanic cu belugi de ghetar care inventeaza ierni cu mai mult alb si mai putin intuneric. Fara sandale, degete libere de trac si inventii contemporane invata sa simta pentru a nu stie nimeni cata oara armonicele curentilor marini. Un soare fierbe melodramatic la inceput si sfarsit de clepsidra, la jumatatea distantei dintre doua culori, una de apa si una de aer, pe o coala de hartie care nu-si mai aminteste sa fi fost vreodata nescrisa. Culorile timpurii se prelig sub sudoarea secundei nestiute, viitoare si rezolute.  Narvali cu cornul de argint croiesc directii spre atlantide si o linie continua la orizont neatinsa de apropierea distantei. Valurile se urmaresc ca un permanent deja vu. Dileme colcaie in adancuri iar nautilii cara in spate semne de intrebare. In bobul de oglinda se numara stele, de fiecare data insirate altfel, margele mirate si sclipicioase, acrobati la Cirque du Soleil . Selena, timida,  isi acopera jumatati de obraz cu umbre si saruta pe furis oceane.

Contorsionism

    Sa te trezesti cu un Montmartre ca o perdea in culori de blues, romantat cu  niste trepte care se tin de maini indragostite si construite pleonastic sa urce mereu un turn Eiffel. Cu un inghet care se indreapta apoteotic spre emancipare, sau cel putin asa conspira revolutia din tine. Sa deliberezi nevinovatii speculand viitoare entorse de mentalitati seduse de propria lor nestiinta. Sau nepasare si motivatii ca niste arici fara butoane. Sa recunosti fire de vieti din jurnale personale puse la uscat ca niste cearceafuri proaspat spalate, creionate doar cu ochelari de soare supradimensionati. Sa te construiesti in piramide cu mult papirus fara haine poruncitoare si colorate mai mult in caramizi arbitrare. Sa salvezi usi nevinovate izbite pana la refuzuri de razbunari futile si traiectorii mutilate de izolare consimtita. Si te ocupi mai mult sa te preocupe mai putin transparentele la fel de evidente ca o cerneala simpatica. Sa te dezici de fasonari sarcastice in forme convenabile unor lipsuri acute de fond si incetezi sa trimiti in labirinturi abisale si cataloage ministeriale, profani ai introspectiei tale figurative. Sa ai un Hermitage numai al tau in care sa te refugiezi de strident, fosforescent si ambivalent si sa te hranesti egoist cu simfonii. Sa te scuturi de proverbial si scormonesti caligrafic necuprinsuri ca sa renasti din banalitate in fiecare primavara asemenea unui Phoenix modern al anotimpurilor . Sa..

Socoteli naive cu plus si minus

    Iti povesteam adesea despre socotelile mele naive asa, in virtutea conversatiei calculate. N-am inteles niciodata cum e cu adunarile astea. Cateodata oricat le-as rasfoi tot nu-mi da cu plus. De exemplu mie imi plac albinele. Albinele mici. Sunt moi si se lipesc repede daca le momesti cu niste dulcegarii cu miros de copilaresc. Odata ca nicaieri am daruit cu plus unui om singur si trist, caruia i se contura un minus in creier, una din albinele mele. Lui nu-i placusera niciodata albinele dar asta care o aveam eu i-a picat cu plus. I-am daruit compania ei. Eu aveam oricum multe albine si alte ganganii de preocupat. Asa ca mi-a dat cu plus. Egal doi acum si erau fericiti. Si in aorta mea plus cu plus. Anii trec unul plus unul dar daca scadem anii din tinerete ne da cu minus. Ar fi fost plus daca n-am fi asa uituci. Acum un minus imi tot bate la usa, tot insista sa mi se lipeasca de frunte ca o medalie nemeritata, de la omul caruia ii daruisem una din albinele mele...cica eu nu stiu ce-i aia albina si ca de fapt mie nici nu-mi plac albinele. De fapt nimanui de planeta nu-i plac albinele si suntem cu totii minusii albinelor. Si iarba a inceput sa creasca in eter la trei centimetri deasupra pamantului, din ceruri a inceput sa ninga cu capsuni multicolori iar toti restul (restul de la scadere , adica rezultatul, toti minus el) suntem niste „hateri„ cu minus de profesie. Eu m-am luat cu plusul meu de mana si dusa-am fost. M-am mai scocotit putin si daca adun ceva cu nimic inseamna ca e tot cu plus. Minusul cat si nimicul au ramas la el in buzunarul inimii lui scorojite. Am nevoie urgent de armata lui Freud. Cred ca n-ar ajunge un batalion intreg cu plus sa inteleaga absconsul minusului.

Despre ieri sau despre maine, nicidecum despre azi

   Ea isi urmareste timpul iar el nedescifrat si descatusat fuge in ea.  Un cantaret de jazz cauta sa-i linisteasca bataile neregulate ale sufletului si pleoapele incarcate de jumatati de noapte.  Amintiri sfaramicioase se picteaza in culori de bronz si incanta dame iubitoare de magnolii. Si camelii sau toate cuvintele care se scriu la sfarsit cu doua litere gemene. Mai sunt si suflete fara pereche si peregrinari la statuia unui Romeo din lut.  Au mostenire niste clisee nevinovate, poate exuberante sau naive dar de cele mai multe ori stirbite de farmec sau fara culoare. Sa nu te-nchini la chip de Icarus ca lumina soarelui sa-ti topeasca aripile de ceara. 

  Timpul din mine zboara aproape de ieri, aproape de maine si atat de departe de acum . 

   O spranceana insemnata de un magician glumet ca sa nu o uite si doi ochi negri prieteni cu noaptea ar vrea ca lumea sa viseze mai mult sa traiasca frumos. Infantul cand doarme calatoreste in alte jumatati de univers. Apoi se intoarce pe pamant. Nu in vant. Si nu aduce nici un viitor cu el. Nici vederi cu lumi desarte si furtuni, nici cifre, nici balauri. Doar gene umflate de amintiri. Cand se trezeste poate sa viseze cu ochii deschisi, in lumina. Sa imagineze in culori vii sau pastelate. Si sa descifreze mai multe gargarite cu haine rosii, buline negre si aripi rotunde.

 

Un dor antic

   A plouat cu Vezuviu. Rauri de struguri si o liniste de mozaic curg acum peste Pompei. Napoletane imbracate cu umbrele de soare se plimba printre jumatatile de coloane maturand cu pasii lor praful de gresie uscat dupa ploaia de noroi. Herculaneum e frate de piatra cu Pompei.  Peste oasele lor mai ploua cu timp, file de pergament si cateodata cu vin rosu. In catacombe Pompei isi viseaza gladiatorii si amfiteatrele. Un vulcan incapatanat refuza sa doarma. In parul meu s-au nascut prematur niste pere albe de toata tineretea iar in ventriculul stang mi s-a intepenit un dor ca un fistic, asa, dulce-sarat.