Cad picuri calzi, urzind melancolii
si picuri reci, ca zilele incete.
Culeg in pumni nisipuri timpurii
si-ncerc sa ii prefac in pietre.
Ma arde noaptea-n miez de zi
si-un ochi lovit de cataracta,
eram pe punctul de-a orbi
privind cu scarba lumea toata.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
- It’s awfully quiet …
- … challenging day.
I walked across the room,
but half way there
I tripped on the carpet.
It wasn’t an elegant move…
- But you walked across that room …
- …you’re much too quiet.
When we subtract both our voices,
the silence becomes substantial.
Vara e transparenta, nu-i asa? ;op
Imi amintesc ca acum mai bine de 3 ani mi-am propus un joc; anul asta am inceput sa vad rezultatele. Jocul a inceput dupa ce am citit ”manifestul” Ioanei, o colega de facultate; mesajul ei facea o critica subtila la dezbracatul in vazul tuturor, asa cum il practica unii dintre noi, in limita spatiului alocat. Asa ca Eu si cu Mine am inceput un joc; un joc in care vroiam sa gasim cat mai multe motive pentru care sa nu ne dezbracam. START!
7 motive par suficiente. Cum arata insa exercitiul invers … Imi amintesc spunand ca e nevoie sa fii intr-un fel ca sa te asezi intr-o vitrina. Ca e nevoie de curaj sau de o doza de nebunie sa ma uit in ochii celor care trec pe langa vitrina mea si ma privesc prin ea. Si ma percep in functie de o suma de variabile, mereu altfel. Depinde de cat de goala sunt dispusa sa fiu. Depinde si cat sunt de atragatoare. Depinde mult si de decor. Depinde, iarasi, de cat sunt de curate geamurile vitrinei.
E clar ca in momentul in care ma dezbrac, iarna sau vara, fie pentru ca ma incita sa starnesc senzatii dintr-o vitrina fie pentru ca experimentez, astept ceva. Pentru mine experimentul are o miza. Astept ca prin expunerea in vitrina sa primesc reactii de invidie, de complicitate, de consternare, sa primesc zambete, sa vad jena, admitatie, obscenitiate sau tandrete. Vria asta a reactiilor ma face sa cred ca vitrina mea poate manipula. Simt ca e vie si mereu in miscare. Incep sa am asteptari si sa le proiectez asupra celorlalti. Ignor faptul ca vitrina e un “zid” cu 2 fete, ca asa cum ei ma percep prin ea, asa si eu primesc reactiile lor. Reactii care nu-mi mai par unice. Egoul e ranit si maraie. Dupa o vreme, lectia de exhibitionism ajunge mereu sa rezulte in altceva decat ceea ce astept. Automatismele pe care le-am construit din cele cateva reactii care mi-au confirmat, intamplator, asteptarile, pierzand forta contextului (in spatiu si timp), acum ma intristeaza. Ma deprima fiecare reactie care nu se incadreaza in limitele acelor automatisme. Simt cum trecatorii ma ignora, cum nu ma (mai) vad. Ma (de)valorizez.
Insa, tot intamplator, intr-un exercitiu de ascultare si introspectie, aflu ca orice expunerea aduce un risc, ca ori de cate ori cer ceva de la celalalt, imi asum posibilitatea unui refuz.
Acum incerc sa inteleg mecanismul prin care orice asteptare proiectata si neimplinita devine o frustrare … si tot acum incerc sa accept faptul ca fiecare reactie pe care o primesc nu e indreptata impotriva mea, ci e un raspuns la mesajul meu…
the man with the beautiful eyes – charles bukowski
when we were kids there was a strange house.
all the shades were always drawn and we never heard voices in there
and the yard was full of bamboo and we liked to play in the bamboo pretend we were Tarzan (although there was no Jane).
and there was a fish pond, a large one, full of the fattest goldfish you ever saw and they were tame.
they came to the surface of the water and took pieces of bread from our hands.
our parents had told us: “never go near that house.”
so, of course, we went. we wondered if anybody lived there.
weeks went by and we never saw anybody.
then one day we heard a voice from the house “YOU GOD DAMNED WHORE!”
it was a man’s voice.
then the screen door of the house was flung open and the man walked out.
he was holding a fifth of whiskey in his right hand.
he was about 30.
he had a cigar in his mouth, needed a shave.
his hair was wild and uncombed and he was barefoot in undershirt and pants.
but his eyes were bright.
they blazed with brightness and he said, “hey little gentlemen, having a good time, I hope?”
then he gave a little laugh and walked back into the house.
we left, went back to my parent’s yard and thought about it.
our parents, we decided had wanted us to stay away from there because they never wanted us to see a man like that, a strong natural man with beautiful eyes.
our parents were ashamed that they were not like that man, that’s why they wanted us to stay away.
but we went back to that house and the bamboo and the tame goldfish.
we went back many times for many weeks but we never saw or heard the man again.
the shades were down as always and it was quiet.
then one day as we came back from school we saw the house.
it had burned down, there was nothing left, just a smoldering twisted black foundation and we went to the fish pond and there was no water in it and the fat orange goldfish were dead there, drying out.
we went back to my parents’ yard and talked about it and decided that our parents had burned their house down, had killed them had killed the goldfish because it was all too beautiful, even the bamboo forest had burned.
they had been afraid of the man with the beautiful eyes.
And we were afraid then that all through our lives things like that would happen, that nobody wanted anybody to be strong and beautiful like that, that others would never allow it, and that many people would have to die.
