and;

and so lately i haven't been doing much; i just wake up in the morning and eat my cereal, go to school and read a bunch of philosophy books; oh...and eat cheerios;
and so i wake up every morning and do the same stuff, give or take a few unexpected events, and i've figured that this is how it's going to be, that eventually it's all a routine, give or take a few unexpected events;
every day i wonder why should i always bother to explain what i am trying to say and don't just say whatever crosses my mind, like Narcis does, without explaining it;
and i've stopped dreaming about prince charming and me, long time ago and yet from time to time when i look out my window i wish all these were possible; but then i return in from of my laptop and eat some cheerios and write a crappy something like this one;
and then i wonder about the meaning of life and why my handwriting isn't nicer and readable; i drink a lot of water and then i have a conversation with some guy over the internet and for about 45 minutes i am shallow and silly and submit myself to all these really stupid social rules; and then i wish i could paint more and better and sell more paintings so that i could have more money to buy books; and then i think about that really cool dress i saw and wish i'd sell more paintings so i could buy it;
i have moments when i think i should learn funnier words like antidestablishmentarianism and hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia; and then there are days when i wish i could die but i eat some cheerios and drink some water and i am fine again;
but one morning i wake up and i have these doubts and then i don't; and it's all a matter of a certain whatever that i can't seem to be able to put my finger on right now...

Yell from Hell

Yell from Hell

Cause they shoot horses, don't they?
They throw a bullet in their heads,
They spare them the suffering
And she'll be apples!

She'll be apples even if she's bananas.
I am never any type of fruit.
I think I am more of a vegetable.

That's my name: Vegetable girl.
I'd be peas, 'cause I always eat them.
And now I know why people don't like me,
'Cause I am a vegetable.
So I'll yell from Hell
That they shoot horses, don't they?
But chico, they won't hear me!
They're like the fuking El Nino!
And they sweep you off your feet
Leave you empty-handed, headed,
Heading for nowhere.

So, I won't yell from Hell
'Cause what's the use of screaming...

Shutters closed and they don't know it.
So I'll shut my mouth in Hell
And bear.

Give me a map

I do not want to fight anymore. I've fought for long enough. I've lost enough. I don't want to try anymore. I will just accept it. I can't win. What bothers me is the fact that there still is an ounce of hope somewhere. If I could get rid of that, then I could finally be free from all this disappointment. But the hope... it still exists, hidden in the folds and creases of my being and I can't find it and make it go away. And where the hell is that map of myself that I was supposed to have by now? Where the hell is it?
One only goal I had, to have that accurate map and use it. And I only have a twisted drawing whose symbols I can't read.
Where the hell's that map?

Pure Truth - Stories of a boy

It's not going to be OK. Your life is not going to be great, it's not even going to be OK. Your life will probably suck forever and ever and you can either keep on hoping that things will change or you can start accepting the pure truth. There are people who are unhappy, hate their lives and until their final breaths live in a state of misery. Stop considering them to be far away concepts. They are you. You are one of the few people in the world whose life is never going to be better. Since you were born everything was horrible and up to now nothing changed. Stop hoping, stop dreaming, stop trying to change something. It won't work. I know you don't want to accept it, but whether you do or don't, things will be the same. The pain will be the same. No, nothing good will happen once you accept your sad, miserable state. You'll just continue to be miserable, until you die, and who knows? Maybe even after death.
Why should you accept pure truth? I don't know. Maybe because when your life will suck forever, you need something good even if that good means accepting the fact that you were never happy and never will be. Those few moments of "happiness" were transitory and not enough for your entire existence. So, there you have it, the only good thing in your life: pure truth. Good things suck, don't they?

Din pamant ne nastem, in pamant ne intoarcem

- Ei, prostie!
- Ei, comedie!
- Ce comedie, dom'le ?! Asta-i o adevarata drama!
- Drama, drama da...tot de la o doamna!
- Ce doamna, draga?
- Eh, nu stiu. Am zis si eu asa. Nu poate omul sa mai zica nimic zilele astea.
- Nici noptile...
- Ce zici?
- Zic ca nici noptile.
- Ah, daaa! E greu acuma. Greu la deal, da' greu la vale!
- Nu era altfel?
- Nu era defel!
- Nu era, greu la vale, dar greu la deal?
- Nu, asa era.
- E mai greu la deal. La vale la o adica, dai drumul la tot si pana ajungi tu jos, te asteapta acolo.
- Da, dar nu poti sa le aduci vatamari.
- Pai nu le aduci. Se fac singure... Si-acuma cu doua, trei vanatai, ce mai conteaza.
- Pai conteaza. Daca duci oua?
- De ce ai duce oua?
- De ce ai duce altceva? (enervat) Lasa asta... Daca ai duce oua s-ar sparge pana jos.
- Bine ca nu se sparg in capul tau.
- Oalele se sparg in capul meu mereu.
- Sa nu stai sa aduni cioburile ca e ghinion.
- S-a spart deja ghinionul.
- Da, dar sa nu stai sa le lipesti la loc. Stiu eu pe un om care odata a spart o vaza...
- Da si mie imi placea varza...dar cu orez.
- Nu varza! Va-za!
- Ah, o vaza! Ce sa faci cu o vaza? Lasa florile sa traiasca in pamant. Din pamant ne nastem, in pamant ne intoarcem.

The windmills of your mind

What if this morning I won't put on my mask? What if this morning I won't change my mask? What if I go out into the world just as I am, with my own self? So what if they won't like me, what if? Who gives a damn about them? They are the reason I wake up broken every morning, trying to unbreak myself, undo what has been done. I want to have cracks and ridges and lines, because this is who I am, this is how I am. And even if they can't see it, I am more beautiful this way. I am more beautiful when I am ugly. We always look for that perfect vase with no flaws and we all end up having identical vases. We should see beauty in misery and sadness, in ulginess and imperfections, in what's broken, in what has been done without possibility of undoing. We are fools who chase nothingness. We get happiness as it is described by everyone, we get what they say you should get when you are happy. We feel what they say happiness is and yet we never know true happiness, for true happiness is when you love the ugly, the malformed, the troubled, the misery. Happiness is when you love all these and find pleasure and greater accomplishment than if you loved beauty and normality. In the end nothing truly matters, but we understand this way too late.

A day in the life - Stories of a boy

There are moments of certitude in one's life, when he knows exactly what is going to happen and yet he keeps believing it might not end like that. That day, that night, while I was gazing at the sky I knew I will never talk to her and time will pass and we shall leave this bloody school. We shall leave this walls that keep us locked inside like dead people in tombs. And the sun will shine just as bright in the hot summer days and the wind will blow just as cold and other pupils will live our fears and loves and yet not ours. They will live their own and we, we will never know anything about each other. We will be strangers. And one day, one windy rainy day, I shall see her face, her figure waiting for the bus that will take her to the hospital, where she will work. I shall see her and she shall see me and we will both feel a great pain in our chests and we will sigh and we will realize for the first time what we have lost. We will know why we are unhappy. And when we do know it will be so painful that we will try to forget. And the following weeks will be just that, a continuous, ardent try to forget the words that were left unspoken and the looks that were never sustained.
And then we will forget again and we shall live, and one day, years after, she might catch a glimpse of my face and her whole mind will be turned up side down..and mine. And then we will forget again.
In a minute I just saw it all, I saw all the regrets, I saw the bitter smiles. I saw her and I saw myself.
And I will forget this and I shall try to forget this moment, but I will always remember it. It will always come back to me and I will try to wipe it off my chest and live..
And I shall live and she shall live... But that won't be life.

Perfection

Perfection

Nobody pours water into a
glass better than I do.
There is this gracious movement
in my wrist
And the way I touch the bottle...
It tingles and then it
makes this clear, crisp sound.

Drops and drops fall down
Into the glass.
And nobody drinks the water
from a glass better than I do.

Finger prints and lip balm traces
And then this half full glass.
There's no more to poetry than this.

And no one pours water into
a glass better than I do.
When I take the cap off
And then place it on the table,
There's this heavy weight
that pushes the sticky air away
from the glass cap.
And then it reaches the table
putting some more pressure onto it.

And my desk is heavy now.
Too heavy.
But for how long will it
hold the water and the glass cap?
It pushes its weight onto
the wooden floor
Until one day it will crash,
One floor on top of the other,
Till it gets deep down in Hell's gutter.

Painting day - Stories of a boy

I am so sick of every little aspect of this life. I loathe our society and her social values. I despise humanity and I have somehow reached that point in which I despise myself too. I don't feel sorry for me as I used to, I just think highly of myself but see that everything is useless. No matter how hard I try, no matter how far I push it, it is meaningless. The ungifted, the sloppy, boring and superficial ones get everything. I am sick of people who succeed by doing things they hate, for money. They are all silly and stupid and haven't reached my level of knowledge. Today it was just another boring day in which I have realized that I do not win anymore. That I am not committing suicide is only because I manage to keep myself in good spirits. It just sucks man, this whole life...this hole life. But I guess that I need, have to live it as it is and then, at the end of my life, just smile and say "I've done this too. I have lived a complete life...". Sounds so silly and yet somehow today it seems like the only reasonable thing to do. I am so bored with every little aspect of life and it is not normal to feel like such when you are only 18, barely 18.

One night is not enough to keep someone entrapped in your mind forever. Sometimes even multiple nights are not enough. You just forget her scent, forget her touch or her kiss. You forget them all because you never actually felt them. They don't get under your skin, they don't make you tingle more than usual. It's funny how some people just exist in your life without producing major emotions and yet you just let them exist there. Maybe from vanity, maybe because we don't have something better, maybe because we like to cajole ourselves with the idea of a better life, of a happier life.
We just tempt ourselves with blank pictures that we want to be coloured.

The Doll Graveyard

The Doll Graveyard

I've got a bullet in my tummy,
I'll just breathe in and let it out.
I've always been a cute-faced dolly
But for some reason time is up.

I slipped on a banana peel
And broke my little shoe heel.
Now every time I take a step
I limp and can't stand up straight.

And when I breathe just in and out,
A gust of wind makes a new mark
On my oh, so tiny cavity
That has no signs of lividity.

The bullet hole has pierced the cloth
Making some burns on the way in an out.
But if you take a closer look
And handle it right by the book
You'll see a small, dark lock of hair
That in this world has no other pair.

You match it with the fingerprint
And see my darling, there's a hint.
Of who might have just killed this doll
Be sure to not end up making a poll.

You must be certain when you press charges.
You might just miss out on those smudges,
They'll lead you straight to him
And you'll have the glass full to the brim.

One single drop and then it's out,
Forming a single dim-lit spot
On your one and only "guilty as charged".
Be careful when in you barge
To pick his ugly ass up
And let the judges lock him up.

And then my little feet and arms,
My cute bonnet and my charms,
Could rest in peace and be sewn up
In the little, doll graveyard.