luni, martie 25, 2013

Freedom in the 21st century

You just wake up one day and can’t stop thinking that the world spins around idiotic rules and old conceptions about the way you’re supposed to live your life, the way you should eat, sleep, drink, fuck. 

People try so hard to impregnate their ideology into your brains; and just like the religious fanatics, they’re so buried into what they've been taught that they can’t seem to understand they might be wrong about everything, there’s no recipe for living your life.

I’m not rebelling against anything; it’s not that I would give a fuck about your personal opinion, because I don’t. I’m angry at people not knowing what to do to be fully satisfied, even for a second. I won’t tell anyone how to live their lives because I’m still searching for different ways of enjoying the time that seems to run so fast. The most important thing is freedom, or at least the impression of feeling free.

One sad thing is that we’re not aware of the unwritten rules from this society and some of us walk through this world without even noticing that they’re controlled by every little thing, like advertisements, shoes, newspapers, TV, internet, phones and so on. Your life depends on that thick jacket you bought to keep you warm or on the uncharged phone when you can’t listen to music anymore.

There’s people who walk the streets like brainwashed trained dogs, wagging their tails and responding to the commands they've been taught. Red light, yellow light, green light, WALK. These dogs are happy, they don’t even realize their state of mind, they think everything’s normal. The untrained dogs, the wild ones, let’s say, they’re different. They run and never stop when you yell orders at them. They won’t sit, they’ll show you their teeth in anger and they’ll bite to feel safe.

All of these thoughts mean nothing in a world full of domesticated animals that look at the wild counterpart with confusion, judging what they can’t understand. We've created a world where in order to live a decent life you have to waste 90% of your lifespan and then you get to the point where you ask yourself “what for?”.

miercuri, martie 13, 2013

Ellie's rants 1.

gathering pieces for the WIP story.

                “Trying to numb the pain away, I ran away from home for the weekend. Nobody worried about me because they all knew I would be back soon; too soon for my taste though. It was always the same. Running away from thoughts meant meeting friends, talking, drinking till my mouth felt stuck while the brain was still working at its best performance. I swore at it for being that clear and went dancing.
                Swaying through the crowd with my eyes closed I almost felt as if I wasn't myself anymore. But the moments lasted less than you could hold your breath. So sipping again from my glass of apple vodka I hoped for the best and went deeper through the crowd, staring at the filthy floor for no damn reason. Spinning around and catching glimpses of colored clothes, mixed perfume, broken smiles, I realized we were all a sad bunch of dancing drunkards that have this need to be different even for a split second. But then again we would all end up on a sofa in the morning, weeping all by ourselves or if some of us would get to be lucky enough we’d hold deep in that despair, so that the person sleeping beside us won’t hear a soul.
                I swallowed a bitter sour taste that came along with the last sip of alcohol and went outside the club to do what? To walk away from the noise, to be alone with my headaches and to get back to my own normal life which included thoughts and images stuffed along the roads I walked every day.
                A friend of mine told me to try something new to forget things but I told her that this is how everything starts. You try something in order to kill one thought and like a hydra’s head the thought multiplies and suddenly they seem to spill off from your brain, leaking through the eyeballs. She asked me if I wanted to talk about it but I said that I’m afraid of these thoughts, because if I tell them out loud, they’d get real by second and they’ll rip off the last healthy and remaining piece of my brain. Or I might cry and it’s not even worth it.”


It doesn't matter

                 She likes to roam the streets, stare at things, people, sky, trees, nothing. She listens to music or sometimes she just wants to enjoy the urban noises. There’s nobody who can judge her way of walking, the silence, her smiles or her frowns.

                Walking on the dark gray pavement she tries to think about nothing, but every time she ends up silently talking to herself. Most of the thoughts are nonsense; they have no importance. Like her own existence. Every little detail of her torments starts with "i'm fine" and ends up with the “it doesn't matter” phrases.

                Passing by strangers she catches glimpses of faces, hair, coats, maybe stories between two lovers or the cry of a desperate child who dropped its candy. Dogs wagging their tails follow her through the park, and old men walk their sticks on the roads to pass the time away. 

                The road seems long when there’s no real destination; sometimes she walks in circles, sometimes she walks as fast as she can. But now she’s counting the seconds that pass away, slowly stepping with one foot in front of the other, breathing the cold air, strolling through the fog, never wondering what’s in front of her or behind.

                Feeling the sand under her boots, she smiles and follows the path to nowhere. She holds still and the wind brushes past her locks of hair, drawing shadows over the still face. Having no wish to sigh or cry for help, she slowly sits on the icy sand, leaning her back against it, letting the wind and millions of sand particles bury her body.

                Closing her eyes and inhaling a mouthful of air, unwilling to let it go, she says: “I’m done for today.”

marți, martie 12, 2013

Never Ending Stories

It's always the same. I start writing stories and I never finish them. Does this mean I like never ending stories or i'm too lazy to find an ending?
Look what I found in my folders. Yes, another beginning of a story. :))

“- Hello, said the little girl. My name is Suzie. But my mom calls me Anne, dunno why…”
Persse looked around to see from where the voice appeared, but he saw nothing but the rain.
“I know how you’re going to die, said Suzie.”


 “She died when she was 5 years old. A car hit her while she was walking in the rain, looking for snails. Anne was supposed to take care of her, because Suzie was a …special kid, said Anne’s mom.

Persse was still confused and couldn’t put the pieces of the story together.

"- You mean that the person I talked to for 3 years is dead?”

luni, martie 04, 2013

How would you describe...?

“how would you describe love?” I asked myself.
“well…”, I thought, “it’s a sort of physical attraction mixed with feelings like caring and... it’s respect, trust…stuff like that.”
“you’re wrong” my inner voice said. “it’s got nothing to do with caring and respect and trust. it’s all bullshit.”
“so you mean it’s only the physical attraction?”
“that and obsession.”
“but that would make me a creepy lover.”
I looked at myself in the mirror and gave a fake smile. 
“well… we could handle the awkwardness.” 

sâmbătă, martie 02, 2013

Mein Nebelland

i didn't have enough time to post anything related to the WIP story, but here's an old poem :))

Mein Nebelland

Red glass was all I could see.
The Marching cough, a March of words,
of drops…

A March of Fog,
when people faded, and red clouds
walked on the streets.

She stood there, red.
She said red words and thoughts
and spread red drops
and grasped my hand.

And with her wasted voice she said:
“Nebelland hab’ ich gesehen
Nebelherz hab’ ich gegessen”
She cried, she laughed and coughed
and spit her pain away…
Her tears were red, her lips as well.

She said: “I am confused.”
“they lied to me that March is life.
that it’s rebirth…
But no. For me it’s Death.
For me it’s Pain.
For I shall die this March,
when red flowers rise
and spread their smell.”

She laughed and coughed and smiled…

I raised my hands to wipe away her tears
and whispered: “You’ll get…”
Her face was still. And
her last smile was mine to keep.

Death was no “better”.

Here I was, thinking 
that hope was life itself,
For I still hoped 
to see her

marți, februarie 26, 2013

WIP. ch2.

Chapter 2, some more sections.

                Although it was Sunday, it was a busy day, which he started in a great company: some bacon and internet stalking, while the TV was just the usual background noise. Elisabeth had Facebook and Blogger accounts, so it was easy to spot some new information about her. When he saw she had an e-job account, we came up with a better plan and called his partner from the Agency.

                 “Yeah?” the man answered his call at the first ring. “Bored much?”

                “Not at all, I’m actually good at procrastinating” replied “James”. “Tell me”, he continued,  munching on his bacon, “what do you do when your target is a geeky chick looking for a job and you work in a bookshop?

                   “You get me to hire her?” he answered pleased to know he could help.

                “Yep, do it ASAP and we’re almost getting to the end of this mission.” 

              James hung up and continued to search more personal info from her internet accounts. She was keen on writing, liked to doodle and that’s about it. Her social life was a mess; she had few friends, mostly from her university or high school. There were several recent pictures with Elisabeth on her profile, taken in different clubs. James realized that she wasn't an emo low profile geek like he thought she was. There were photos with her dancing and smiling among two or three friends. She really looked happy. And a bit dizzy and cute, he noticed while grinning like the creepy stalker he was. James looked around to see if any of the cameras noticed his face and gave out a sigh of relief.

                She used to post abstract stories on her blog. It was an interesting reading at first sight. Looking closer, he could see that some dreams were related with the paranormal stuff he’d encountered throughout his life. She wrote them as if they were blurry dreams, full of confusion; some stories had accurate description of places and actions, even creatures or other fantastical things that really happened long time ago and about which the agency kept a large written account. He’s read some of the archives from the agency, but lots of stories were quite new to what he’d learned. How did she know about that sort of things? James was sure she had a spark inside her brain and the Agency needed her.

                He fell asleep on the couch, and woke up in the morning when his phone rang. It was six o’clock, he’d been sleeping for 12 hours and his partner was getting worried as he saw that James was still on the couch.

                “Hey, Jamie boy, wake up. Take your laptop and go to work. We’ll keep in touch online. We took the time to add some pictures on your FB account, since you've never bothered to do so.
                James reloaded the web page and looked at his profile.

                “Am I stalked too? And photographed? Were you paparazzi in an afterlife? Damn, I look good! Is there something you should tell me? Like…  'I like the color of your eyes?' ” He looked into one of the cameras. “Are you in love with me?” his partner laughed.

                “Good one. Remember you always make faces at the camera? well, you look too derpy to impress any girls with the 'official' pictures we took when you were 'posing'.”

                “Nothing but the UGLY truth”, replied.

                “Now to the point; I’m Adam C, accept my friend request.”

                “You’re my brother; from Canada. UGH! Man, why Canada?” he laughed.

                “Just carry on with the mission and stop laughing at me,” “Adam C.” refrained from chuckling and hung up on his partner before bursting into laughter.

                “You forgot to say 'please'! You’re supposed to be polite if you’re a Canadian”, he mocked his friend looking at the camera which was recording every move. His partner was in charge of keeping an eye on the cameras from James’ house and the ones put at the bookshop. The so called “Adam” was a competent agent, always taking care of “Jamie’s back” and the latter knew he’d be dead without him.

                Monday was indeed the most boring day; time strolled so slow, you could count ten times and swear that it only passed one second. He made an unwritten rule in his first day of work: “people don’t buy music on Mondays.” He wondered what else people didn't do on Mondays, but he never really bothered about the days of the week, since all his life has been thrilling and full of events.

                Elisabeth’s interview for the job was settled for the next day. She’d work at the new arrivals, in the fantasy department; and that meant a few feet away from Jamie's desk. If anything weird happened, he would be close to notice and take some action. Till then he had to act like the sales manager he was and get crazy with the music he had at his disposal. James played “The Jack” and the cashier turned his head to check the new co-worker. James smiled friendly and received an even friendlier reply from the dude. 
                  After fooling around at the shelves where the "pop DVD's" were displayed and made fun of Justin Bieber, James  looked again at Ellie’s blog, where she was talking in a new post about “a dreamlike shadow, with its dark hair flying in the breezy night” which passed by her and smiled “its luring smile in the middle of the forest.”

                “Am I that thin? Do I look like a shadow?” he frowned, while looking at his arms, flexing his muscles till he felt that he was being watched. The cashier who was heading for the restroom smiled at James and passed by. The sales manager lowered his arms and took a serious stand, looking at his laptop and mumbling an “okay… that was awkward”.

                His great mission for 8 hours at his cover job resumed to stalking a future co-worker, selling one CD and getting periodically checked by the cashier - boy.

                “Tomorrow should be more interesting” he said to himself and jumped as the cashier passed too close to him and smiled again, staring up and down at James as if he was a fridge full of booze.

                “Zip it off, mate!” he told the cashier keeping the most severe position and trying not to swear at the lad. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he thought.

                A new message from Adam on Facebook said: “Lol u made a new friend?”. “GTFO” James replied, looking around for the cameras that Adam planted in the shop.

                Before closing the store he received another hot look from the cashier who seemed to like his men hard to get.

duminică, februarie 24, 2013


Work in process.
Chapter 1.
                   “All I've got now is this piece of paper on which I’m trying to write smaller and smaller as I see that words flow endlessly. And maybe I’ll stop doing it one day… when the only pen I got will run out of ink, when the paper will look like a tattoo, when I’ll no longer understand what I wanted to say at the beginning.
                … I’ll stop doing it when I’ll stop falling in love with every sound I hear, with every face I lay my eyes on, with everything I touch. I’ll stop writing when I’ll stop hating myself and loving you. Or maybe I’ll stop when I’ll close my eyes never to open them again.
                Until then I’ll just squeeze my words on this scrap of paper and let them flow as I continue my days of breathing, loving, hating.
                But it doesn't concern you or anybody else, because this is just rubbish; these words I write down make me feel better or worse. And I love every second of whatever I get to write, because you see, I love feeling miserable as much as I love feeling good. I love feeling frightened or despised as much as I love feeling safe or worshiped  and because through writing I can feel every piece of those emotions whenever I want to. I’d rather feel something than nothing at all…
                This paper might not be enough to tell you what I was thinking in the first place because I got lost into my own thoughts again…”
  She raised her head to see if she was still alone in the park. “Good” she mumbled.

                “There are some memories which should have already been erased from my mind. But they keep on tormenting me and I can’t help thinking about them.”
                She kept on writing as there was no tomorrow.
                “I can’t tell you this sort of things personally. Not that I’m scared of what I’d say or how you’d react. It’s just that I couldn't be able to say anything at all. I might choke on a word and end up dead in your arms. Not that dying in your arms would be a bad thing; I’d be one of Shakespeare’s lunatic ladies from a tragedy.”

                She looked around with a bitter smile. The park was still empty. Pulling her coat closer she continued to draw more letters on the page.

                “I know I’m a daydreamer. I might mean nothing to you, but you see… I can’t help uselessly falling for you every time you smile when I’m near. Does it please you? To see me struggling for words that would never convince you of anything? Why don’t you just say that you don’t want me at all and get it over with? Why are we fooling around?”

                Where the park kept its deadly silence for hours, leaves started to crunch under heavy steps. The sounds seemed to come from far away. Sitting still to hear them leave, she slowly looked sideways and behind the bench she was sitting on - nothing to see through the dark trees. She took her purse as she heard the footsteps coming closer and closer with every heart beat. Rising with the pen and that piece of paper in her other hand, she started to walk fast, with a catlike silence, hoping she’ll get out of the park until the footsteps would catch up with her.
                You never know what kind of creeps could appear in a deserted park.
               At first she didn't really care about that. But the unfinished letter kept her walking and that was all she cared about.
                It was too late, the footsteps got closer and closer, until they reached behind her. Looking at the pavement she could see the shadow of the person following her. It was a man, considering the steady pace. She heard boots hitting the pavement, while a long coat fluttered; making his shadow creepy as it almost ate her silhouette.


                Hearing his voice she froze in the middle of her failed escape plan and resumed to turn around and mumble the single phrase she could think of:

                “What are you doing here?”

                Wearing his charming half smile, he removed a lock of hair from his eyes and walked closer to her.

                “I followed you.”

                Never has she felt a panic attack mixed with confusion and happiness. It was the best one she had so far, but it was the worst timing ever. As she was looking for her inhaler (which should have been somewhere in the damn purse), he was getting closer. Her lungs started to ache while she inhaled less air, struggling to keep herself together and on her feet. Her eyes stung as she forced them to stay wide open. She looked at him, hoping he’ll understand she’s going to faint. He was worried, confused and felt sorry about scaring her (?) that way. As she was slowly losing her feet, dizziness kicked in, and she thanked God she fell in his arms and not on the pavement.

                Then she cursed herself for being a pussy, fainting at the sight of her prince charming.

Chapter 2. One month earlier.

                He looked at his boss and nodded at every order he had to accomplish.

                “Your mission has been settled. We’ll cancel the last one until we get new Intel. Now all you have to do is follow her everywhere she goes, see with whom she’ll interact and so on. You know the rest.” The boss handed him new fake ID and started to give a phone call, ignoring his agent.

                “The right sign to get out of here”, he thought, closing the door. He then headed to the car parked at the back of a small corner shop and started to flick through the files and photos he received about his target, and then took a closer look at his ID.

                 Hmm… James Wilde. 27 years old.” He checked himself out in the rear view mirror. “Do I look that old?” Winking as if he intended to charm himself, he added: “Naaaah! You’re great, buddy!” James checked the details of his new mission, as well as photos of people he had to get in touch with, the main target and some info about his workplace.

                “No, no, no” he jumped from his seat. “Not a bookshop! That’s boring!” Looking closely, he felt nothing but relief, as he saw his position: Sales manager at the music department. The job sounded fancy but he was actually the handy boy who had to sell CDs or DVDs by himself, as he was the manager and had no assistant - that was the job description, and as long as it was his cover, he had to take it seriously. “Hmm… sounds interesting. At least I’m not selling books.” The bookshop was close enough to the target’s house.

                “Okay, Jamie boy” he talked to himself, “you’re a stalker. An officially creepy old one, but at least I’m handsome, he checked himself in the mirror again with more satisfaction. Taking a look at the photos again, he read about her education, family, hobbies and so on. They contained even more than a girl of her age would possibly know about herself, so the mission was easy, she should be easy to catch off guard. Her photos showed a small and thin figure, curly hair. In most of the pictures she wore leather jackets, a big black postman bag, and books in her hands, waking in the park or jogging in the woods, laying in the grass near the seaside. A few pictures were taken when she was walking with a few girls or a boy. The details about her life were pretty normal. She was adopted, like all the other targets he’d chased in the past 2 years. She graduated high school and a decent university, all with good grades. He turned another page. She followed some extracurricular classes regarding literature and Belle Arts and now she was searching for a part time job, while she volunteered to write for a fiction magazine.

                “So what’s wrong with the geeky chick?” he asked himself while he turned several pages, searching for the last part of info. The title was in italics and it wrote: “Abilities discovered: ” and the rest of the page was blank, ready to be filled in with new Intel.

                “What was I saying? That it will be easy? Never have I been so wrong! Now I have to be sociable and use a lot of my talking to get her show some sparks of paranormal goo.

                He started the engine and headed to check the new flat, which was not very far from the bookshop. First floor, first door and, obviously, the “Wilde” name tag on the door which made him chuckle. “My partner is so serious about this mission” he mumbled while he tried all his 10 keys to see which one fit in the lock. After seeing the kitchen, living room and the rest of the flat, he headed back to the kitchen to grab some food.

                The perks of being an agent was that you did what you had to do and they’d provide anything for you. You had no life, of course. Not even after you turned 40, when you had to work from the inside, in a big office, planning missions, escape plans, therapies and other special assignments. You had to gather Intel about the targets, extractions and further training.
                 But now he enjoyed his lifestyle, never regretted that he knew a lot about the weird world he lived in. He knew that other people caught glimpses of paranormal but were unable to understand it. He’s seen the weird stuff. “And when I mean weird, it’s pretty nasty!” he talked to himself, looking around to see where the agents put cameras and mics. He took a sandwich from the fridge and wondered through the flat with a pickle in his other hand.

                While munching on his food he found 10 hidden cameras: three in the hallway, two in the kitchen, four in the living room and one in the bedroom. Again, he was thankful that the bathroom was clear and he had full privacy. After he enjoyed a long hot shower, he got into the dressing and grabbed a black skull t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans.

                “Hell yeah, Mister Wilde! I like our style” he said while he admired some black boots and his new leather jackets. Thinking his outfits through, he mouthed his sole thought: “Oh, please tell me you got a motorcycle in the garage for this Jamie boy!” he said, looking with his fake puppy eyes at one of the cameras which taped every single move from the flat. “Her Intel shows I got to make a good impression”, he winked and laughed while he sat on the king sized bed. Looking at the ceiling, he raised an eyebrow: “what the heck? Who got the marvelous idea to glue this stuff on the ceiling? I’m impressed, guys! I do love glow in the dark stuff and lasers. And guns.” he laughed again. He stopped fooling around and went to the living room to look through the files to memorize as much info as he could. His target’s name was Elisabeth Ray, known by her friends as Ellie and named Subject E. throughout the mission.

                “What’s your super power, kiddo?” he said while staring at a picture with a close up portrait. Full lips and dreamy eyes was all he could say about her. “Not bad.” Right after choosing a pair of boots he headed to the garage to find out what car he got for his mission.

                Of course they gave him a motorcycle. And it wasn't just “a bike”; it was a Confederate P120 Fighter, which was only $80,000. All black and sharp, she was standing there, shining near the black Impala he didn't notice at the first glance through his big garage. That baby was stunning. It was “wilde” and he desperately wanted to try her strength that instant. He climbed the two wheeled beauty and raced to the park because he knew that Ellie used to walk in the late Sunday evenings for hours, wandering through the empty alleys.

                It wasn't hard to spot her after he left his bike in a parking lot not far away from the alley she was strolling. The weather was chilly and that’s why the area seemed deserted. She was there, slowly walking along the alley which was covered with the shadows of some low branches. They seemed to protect her. She stood still, looking at the dark sky through the trees. Walking towards her, he searched high and low for any other people but they were alone.

                “Don’t spook her out”, he thought while he tried to walk noisily, faking that he was looking at his phone, until she became aware of his presence and froze in the middle of the way. He ignored her for a few seconds, as if to show he was not a stalker, and after a short eye contact, he passed near her. Counting to 3, he turned back for another successful eye contact; and her blushed pretty face looked away.

                “Good” he thought. He knew that all the right moves would pay off in the future. Walking round the park, he took his “baby monster” back to the garage and went “home” to get some rest.

to be continued. and to be revised (too tired to realize I have any mistakes and too eager not to post it.)

miercuri, februarie 20, 2013


Work in progress.

He kept on smiling at everything she said. When she told him she missed his warm embrace he smiled. It thrilled her to pieces but something didn't feel right. 
What did he think? Or did he think about something when he was with her? 

Surrounded by nothing but fog, she walked to her house dreaming about his face and wondering about his feelings.

She saw stars when they span round and round in long embraces. Sometimes she could glance through the thick fog and see a piece of moon.
She smiled, looking straight ahead, hoping he’ll stand in her way. But then again, he would have never showed up in front of her anyway.

“You showed me half of that moon and a handful of stars.”

 She stopped with her phone in one hand thinking about calling, but it was too late and too lame to say such sort of things to someone who’d find it funny. 

“I’d show you the other half moon and a sky full of stars” she whispered.

Turning around to make sure she was alone in the street, she kept on mumbling:
“So what’s wrong with you?”

luni, februarie 18, 2013


Piesa 2. „Sfarsit”

                                     - 3 scaune si o masa.
                                     - un personaj beat (B1), doarme cu capul pe masa, cu o bere cazuta si una pe jumatate plina langa mana lui,
                                    - al doilea (B2) sta langa el si vorbeste cu cel care doarme.
                                    - ospatarul (O.)

B2. - Te-ai intrebat vreodata de ce suntem noi aici?

(nu primeste niciun raspuns)

Nu aici, in barul asta. Ca suntem niste lichele imbibate in alcool, asta o stiam si eu.

(se uita spre B1, care doarme si mormaie. B2 se rasteste la el:)

Ce tot asteptam? Tot zici de sfarsit. Sfarsit! Da-l dracu’ de sfarsit! ala tre’ sa vina candva...
Pana atunci mai e o intrebare: de ce existam? Doar ca sa umplem planeta pana la refuz ca apoi sa crapam pe rand, odata cu tot ce ne inconjoara?
De ce traim? Pentru sfarsitul ala de care tot mormai acolo?

(se uita spre public)

Si ce? (numara pe degete) Traim sa mancam.
Sa bem.
Sa futem.
Sa dormim. (rade)

(arata cu degetul spre o tipa din public)

Aia ar fi un motiv sa mai traiesc o zi... Poate doua.

(isi linge buzele, ia berea si frige un gat)

Si dupa aia? Care sa fie sfarsitul?

(rade din nou, de data asta fara viata)

Toti ma intreaba ce vreau sa fac pe viitor. Asta ma intreb si eu. Ce sa fac? Ce rost are sa stiu ce vreau sa fac saptamana viitoare cand eu nu stiu nici ce vreau in momentul asta.

(se cauta de bani in buzunare, scoate o bancnota)

Vezi? (se uita spre B1) Am aflat ce vreau sa fac acum.
Mai vreau o bere. Tu?

(B1 mormaie, se suceste pe masa. B2 se incrunta, nu intelege, dar deduce ceea ce ii convine:)

Atunci doua beri sa fie. (razand:) Pline, de data asta.

(face cu mana la ospatar, incearca sa-l fluiere, dar nu reuseste decat sa se scuipe pe degete)
(vorbeste catre ospatarul care se apropie:)

Inca doua! Seara asta petrecem, amice.

O. - In fiecare seara petreceti. Pot sa intreb ce-i cu atata fericire?

B2. - Fericire? (intreaba surprins) Ce fericire, domne? Uita-te la fetele noastre. (face o grimasa de om serios) Numai fericiti nu suntem.

(se uita spre ospatar, apoi spre B1 si dupa aia ramane cu privirea spre public)

O. - Atunci? Sa petreci de necaz n-am mai auzit!

(B2 trage un al treilea scaun si-i face semn ospatarului sa se aseze. O. se uita in jurul lui sa vada daca are de debarasat vreo masa, se uita la ceas si apoi se aseaza linistit.)
(B2 sta atarnat spre ospatar, chiar balanganindu-se in scaun, si rosteste urmatoarea propozitie ca si cum ar divulga un secret:)

B2. - Petrecem ssssfarsitul. (face cu capul spre B1:) Sau cel putin asa zice tampitul asta.

(O. pufneste in ras, apoi se lasa pe spatar, incercand sa se indeparteze de B2.)

O. - Ce sfarsit? Al lumii? Nu vedeti ca intarzie mai mult decat trenurile CFR?

(B2 rade)

B2. - Asta-i buna. Fa-te comediant, amice. Poate scoti un ban mai bun decat ce aduni din bodega asta.

(O. pune capul in pamant, dezamagit)

O. - Nu poti sa le ai pe toate in viata...

(O. ramane pe ganduri, nu mai e atent la ce spune B2 in continuare, pana cand isi da seama ca trebuie sa ii aduca cele 2 beri) (B2 iar se atarna spre O. sa se faca remarcat si inteles:)

B2. - Ori nu poti, ori ti-e lene sa-ti faci poftele. De exemplu eu nu stiu daca daca pot sa ma ridic de pe scaun sa-mi iau berile alea sau doar mi-e lene.

(auzind din doi in doi ce spune B1, O. incepe sa rada. B1 mormaie ceva si se intoarce pe cealalta parte.)

O. - Dar de-asta sunt eu aici! (pleaca sa ii aduca berile)

(intre timp B2 vorbeste singur, nu vede ca O. a plecat)

B2. - Pana cand? Cand o sa ajung sa nu-mi mai aduca nimeni nimic? Asta-mi aduce berea, ca i-o platesc, dar cand n-oi mai avea niciun chior? (ramane ganditor)

(O. se intoarce cu berile)

O. - Ati spus ceva?

(B2. ridica ochii spre O.)

B2. - Nimic, amice. Bateam campii. (ranjeste)

O. - Deci? ce sfarsit petreceti? (toarna berea in pahare)

(B2. se uita la el, apoi la B1, la public. Da sa se ridice de pe scaun, cade la loc, incearca din nou, il trage si pe B1, care-si revine din betie treptat, O. se chinuie sa ii spriine pe amandoi, stand intre ei.-totul trebuie sa fie comic.- Toti trei se apropie balansandu-se spre public. B2 tipa la public, frustrat:)

B2. - Ce petrecem, domne?! Nu petrecem nimic aici!

(O. e bulversat, dar calm:)

O. - Pai ati zis ca petreceti sfarsitul...

(B1. isi revine cand aude replica lui O., se separa de acesta si dupa cateva secunde de echilibru incert, ramane drept si se uita in fata, spre public, cercetand multimea, incercand sa rosteasca:)

B1. - Sf-sfar-ssff-sfarsitul...

(isi sterge buzele cu dosul palmei si reuseste sa spuna calm urmatoarea fraza, timp in care priveste in gol, drept in fata, fixand un punct imaginar in multime:)

B1. - Sfarsitul care incepe in fiecare seara.

(iese impleticindu-se de pe scena, ii lasa pe O. si pe B2 sa se uite in gol)


duminică, februarie 17, 2013


(Piesa de teatru)
- un scaun, o canapea pe care singurul personaj sta culcat, cu capul pe o perna colorata (roz?)
- langa canapea o masuta cu 2 pahare cu apa
- personajul este in camasa de forta, insa se comporta absolut normal
- intretine dialog cu psihologul sau (care nu exista), si care nu il poate ajuta cu prea multe sfaturi.

Pacientul e culcat pe canapea. Se ridica si se uita in dreapta lui, spre scaunul gol. incepe sa rada, incercand sa-si traga mainile din stransoarea camasii de forta.

-          Stii, ieri ma plimbam prin parc si ma gandeam ca tu esti singurul meu prieten.

(asteapta cateva secunde si asculta linistea - ceea ce ii spune psihologul).

Nu, nu, nu. Iubita mea nu mi-e prietena. Degeaba ii vorbesc, nu-mi spune niciodata ce as vrea sa aud. Dar tu...

(din nou asteapta. cu un ton glumet:).

Nici tu nu dai sfaturi magnifice, dar cel putin ma asculti.

(liniste cateva secunde)

Cred ca am o problema. Tu ce zici?

(pauza, asteapta o replica de la psiholog)

Nu mi se pare nimic. Ma uit in jurul meu si ma intreb daca totul e o minciuna sau daca suntem pe bune. Imi sarut iubita in fiecare zi inainte sa ma lase cu masina in fata blocului. Si de fiecare ma mint ca o sa mearga si ca o sa ne vedem si a doua zi. (pauza scurta)
Dar nu ne vedem.

(psihologul ii spune ceva)

Locul meu de munca? Un ban castigat pe timp pierdut. Prieteni?

(se uita spre psiholog)

Doar unul, si p-ala il platesc sa ma asculte.

(se uita inapoi spre public).

Sau gresesc? (rade)
De-aia sunt aici. Spune-mi ce gresesc, poate repar ceva, cat inca mai e timp. Cat... inca... mai pot... (ultima propozitie spusa rar, ca si cum cade pe ganduri) (intoarce capul spre psiholog, ascultadu-l).

Da, normal ca am luat pastilele alea in fiecare zi. Degeaba. Ce-ar mai putea baga astia in ele sa ma faca fericit? (pufneste ironic si rade) Praf de curcubeu? Vodka-i mai buna.

(pauza)(se pare ca psihologul ii spune ceva)

Eh... daca rad asta nu inseamna ca-s fericit, amice. Poate rad de mine, poate am fost invatat sa rad cu un scop pe care acum l-am uitat. L-am... uitat... (se gandeste din nou in departare) (isi revine si vorbeste, uitandu-se spre public).

Ce o sa patim daca toti o sa incepem sa uitam? Ne-am trezi in mijlocul strazii fara sa stim unde sa mergem. Sau ce sa facem.

(se uita spre scaunul psihologului, raspunde la ceva ce a spus cel dintai.)

Asta nu ar fi sfarsitul lumii, iti zic eu. Ar fi sfarsitul omenirii.


Eu? paranoic? Nu te-ai gandit niciodata la asta?

(primeste raspuns)

Atunci ori esti prost, ori sanatos la cap.

(Se ridica nervos, se uita in jur nelinistit si se aseaza, rastindu-se spre scaunul gol)

Uita-te in jurul tau! Lumea se destrama si eu am o problema?

(se calmeaza, isi linge buzele de sete, dar nu bea apa, se uita la ea si vorbeste in continuare)

Vrei exemple? Pai uite... ieri. Era ieri? Da. Inainte sa ies in parc.

(sta pe ganduri, parca incercand sa-si aminteasca)

Da-da-da. M-am ridicat din pat, si-am iesit la usa. Parca auzisem o zdranganitura pe scara, asa ca dupa ce am verificat vizorul, am deschis usa. Un caine cobora scarile cu lesa taraindu-se pe trepte.

(sta picior peste picior si-si pune barbia in mainile pe care reuseste cu greu sa si le elibereze. se uita spre scaun si da din cap, aprobandu-l pe psiholog).

Curios, da! asta am zis si eu. Pe-aici oricum pute de javre fara stapani. Desi... ajungi sa te intrebi daca nu cumva stapanul e o javra... In fine, am inchis usa. M-am imbracat, am baut cafeaua, am luat o gura din sticla de vodka, mi-am luat pastilele si am iesit sa ma plimb prin parc. Era noapte deja. Si totusi... nu trecuse mai mult de o ora de la pranz.

(Isi intoarce capul spre public, mijind ochii. Incepe sa rada. se opreste, intoarce capul spre psiholog, ascultand.)

Ah, nu, n-aveam intalnire cu nimeni. Iubita m-a parasit anul trecut, nu am mai vazut-o de atunci.

(i se adreseaza o intrebare)

Ce panarama esti, ma iei cu texte d-astea „cum ma face sa ma simt”. Hai ca ti-am spus si saptamana trecuta si uiti mereu. Ma simt ca un cacat. Ce faceam in parc? Nimic.


Potecile erau goale la 12 noaptea. Nici javre, nici stapani. Doar eu, boschetaream singur si ma gandeam la... nimic. (cu voce solemna, badjocoritoare) Caci din nimic suntem facuti si in nimic ne intoarcem.

(rade, apoi raspunde serios:)

Bine, ma plimbam. De fapt cautam raspunsurile pe care nu mi le poti da nici tu. Am vrut poate sa evadez, sa scap de tot, dar uite ca ma intorc mereu aici sa stam de vorba.

(isi intoarce privirea spre public)

Cu cine altcineva sa vorbesc daca nu cu noi doi?

(Se ridica de pe canapea, bajbaie sa bea apa si arunca paharul.Tipa:)

De ce nu te uiti la mine? O sa pleci si tu odata de aici si o sa ma uiti.

(da sa coboare de pe scena, furios, injurandu-si psihologul, dar doi gardieni il prind si-l duc inapoi in pat. Nebunul rade si apoi se calmeaza, asezandu-se inapoi ca la inceputul piesei, pe perna roz.Intoarce capul spre scaun si spune:)

Stii, ieri ma plimbam prin parc si ma gandeam ca tu esti singurul meu prieten.

(Inchide ochii si zambeste.)