Din lecturile pentru licenţă

“Aşezăm pe masă o monedă, după plac. Cu capul sau cu coroana in sus. Automatul nu vede moneda. El trebuie sa ghicească cum am pus-o. Dacă a ghicit, câştigă. Informăm automatul dacă a câştigat sau nu. Aşezăm moneda din nou. Şi aşa mai departe. După un anumit timp automatul incepe să câştige. El ghiceşte tot mai des. A memorat sistemul nostru, l-a învăţat, ne-a descifrat (…).
Există o soluţie ca să nu pierdem. Nu mai punem moneda pe masă, nu mai facem opţiune. Pur şi simplu o aruncăm. Am renunţat la sistem. Ne lăsăm la voia întâmplării. Atunci avem şanse egale: şi noi, şi automatul. Probabilitatea că vom câştiga sau că vom pierde, probabilitatea că va cădea capul sau coroana este aceeaşi; e exact de 1:1. Automatul voia ca noi să-l tratăm cu seriozitate, automatul voia ca noi să jucăm cu el raţional, cu ajutorul unui sistem, cu metoda. Dar noi nu vrem. La rândul nostru, am dibuit principiul automatului (…).
Un asemenea om nu este, desigur, un erou tragic. El a adoptat o atitudine de bufon faţă de soartă.”

(Jan Kott, Shakespeare, contemporanul nostru)

Published in: on June 14, 2009 at 11:14 pm Leave a Comment
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Happy Birthday (La Mulţi Ani!), Romania!

I want to look up to the Romanian politicians. I want be able to trust the elders. I want to be appreciated for what I am. I want to feel that the Romanians are my friends, not my enemies. I want my education to be respected and my work to be rewarded appropriately. Making a decent living should go hand in hand with working. I don’t want to be considered a luxury traveling and having a house of my own to come back to. I’m tired of smelly Romanians. I’m sick of inhaling the dust in Bucharest. I want to see people getting tired of kitsch TV shows and demanding more quality. I want all the CD’s with “manele” burnt and the singers in jail. I want journalists to be well documented and to give pertinent commentaries and articles. I want violent football supporters to be prohibited ever watching a football game again. I don’t want to hear “Romania is a beautiful country, too bad it is inhabited” anymore. I want to be able to walk on the streets without being harassed. I don’t want to feel helpless in shaping Romania’s and Romanian’s future.

Inspired by this campaign, “We want a different Romania”, of which I’ve heard from Laura’s blog.

PS: writing in English on Romania’s National Day isn’t accidental.

Published in: on December 1, 2008 at 1:28 pm Comments (3)
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The Midnight Tune

Listening to Radio Guerrilla at midnight can enrich your musical tunes and give the kind of atmosphere that you would seek at the end of a crowded, noisy, at times suffocating day. Before falling asleep is the time when your mind tells you what information and feelings were the strongest during that day. And you hear parts of conversations. And you see yourself as a tiny spot in the great picture. And you look for something calm to hold on to, something safe to bring you to sleep.

This is a cover of John Lennon’s “Working Class Hero” made by Jerry Williams in 1984 (hmm…cute coincidence with Orwell’s novel).

Working Class Hero – Jerry Williams

As soon as your born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you’re clever and they despise a fool,
Till you’re so fucking crazy you can’t follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

When they’ve tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can’t really function you’re so full of fear,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you’re so clever and classless and free,
But you’re still fucking peasents as far as I can see,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

There’s room at the top they are telling you still,
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,
If you want to be like the folks on the hill,
A working class hero is something to be.
A working class hero is something to be.

If you want to be a hero well just follow me,
If you want to be a hero well just follow me.

Published in: on November 18, 2008 at 9:37 pm Comments (2)
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Missing the one

One of the principles which I’ve chosen to guide my evolution is trying not to regret anything that I do or don’t do. This is why I always have to make an agreement between my reason and my heart in order not to upset any of the two by acting in a certain way. Tonight, it seems, my heart has something to cast in my dish. Apparently, when there are plenty of offers and you have a hard time picking, you might just end up with an empty bag. Bucharest Days – museums opened during night, events in the old center, concerts, theater plays, fireworks, projections on the main historical buildings, readings, parades. What did I see from all these? Bryan Adams and some fireworks. Maybe the poorest choices. Names which I dreamt of seeing live in Bucharest: Metallica, Al Di Meola, Leonard Cohen. I’ve ended up missing them all. “Dance me to the end of love” was the first song which gave me physical, nervous, extreme emotional reactions. Connected strongly with its official video, the song became a personal weakness. This was 5 years ago. After discovering his other songs, I declared this man the ideal combination between poetry and its masculine articulation (the feminine one might be Tori Amos’s). Here I am, trying to convince my heart that listening to Cohen’s music is an intimate experience, just as listening to your beloved whispering a poem to your ears.

And you want to travel with him and you want to travel blind

And you think maybe you’ll trust him for he’s touched your perfect body

With his mind.

(Leonard Cohen)

Published in: on September 21, 2008 at 11:01 pm Comments (2)
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Friends will be friends

This is an announcement. My 7-year old computer had almost died three days ago. I have been pushing this moment for months, I’ve tried to surescitate him – yes, him -, to tell him that everything would work out just fine… I got so close to losing him. But then the wonders of science enlightened me and took me to a recommended doctor, licenced to bring my pal back to life. The poor, bad managed computer had suffered a surgery or better said, several transplants. Lose the old, bring in the new. Now we’re telling each other jokes again and I couldn’t be happier.

Published in: on September 19, 2008 at 6:50 pm Comments (1)
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About

-Şi? V-aţi certat vreun pic?

-Nu…

-Deloc?

-Cei mai mulţi se ceartă pentru a se elibera energia negativă. Unii se ceartă pentru ca sunt diferiţi şi netoleranţi. Puţini se ceartă de dragul împăcării. Noi am trecut direct la împăcare.

-Nu v-aţi plictisit?

-Tu, când savurezi o delicatesă, te plictiseşti?

-Nu, pentru că nu durează mult.

-Totul se reduce la timp?

-Păi, nu?

-Presupui că delicatesa are acelaşi gust de la început până la sfârşit, şi greşesti. Papilele tale vor sesiza multiplele arome şi se vor încânta. Concentrează-te şi gustă din plin. Poate fi sublim.

-Hai că mi s-a facut foame. Mă duc să îmbuc ceva.

-Eu beau puţină apă…

Published in: on August 2, 2008 at 10:35 am Comments (1)
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Frica – din 21 iunie 2007

De cine fugi?

De un scriitor. Vrea să mă fure.

De ce nu-i ceri ceva în schimb?

Eu nu sunt o piesă de schimb.

Nu vrei nemurirea?

Mă simt bine, om cum sunt.

Nu vrei libertate?

M-aş pierde în ea.

Nici frumuseţe?

M-ar sufoca epitetele ei.

Poate ţi-ar da o iubire…

O aştept să mi se-ntâmple.

Ai trăi în ochii tuturor.

M-ar toci cu-arătătoare.

Ai cunoaşte legende.

M-ar întrista singurătatea lor.

Ai fi artă.

Sunt deja.

Published in: on June 28, 2008 at 4:04 pm Leave a Comment
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LLS sau LSD – din 24 ianuarie 2007

Era odata un pix. Pe o foaie alba, scria odata un pix. Pe o banca aspra, statea odata o foaie pe care scria un pix. Intr-o sala intinsa, dormea odata o banca, pe care statea o foaie, pe care scria un pix. Intr-o cladire veche, se ascundea odata o sala, in care dormea o banca, pe care statea o foaie, pe care scria un pix. Pe o strada murdara, veghea odata o cladire veche, unde se ascundea o sala, in care dormea o banca, pe care statea o foaie, pe care scria un pix. Intr-un oras sensibil, lumina o strada murdara, pe care veghea o cladire veche, unde se ascundea o sala, in care dormea o banca, pe care statea o foaie, pe care scria un pix.

Aaah!Am uitat de mana care tinea pixul, de vopseaua de pe banca, de parchetul din sala,…

Punct si de la capat. Era odata..

Published in: on at 3:55 pm Leave a Comment
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