Shiftings

Outer amateur soul rings

talmes-balmes

.. chestia asta a fost scrisa de mine.. acu` niste zile. se vroia a fi un editorial zefiralnic. nu le-a placut, nu-i nimic, punem aici. mie-mi place asa-si-asa.

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Talmes-balmes

Poate sunt intr-o zi proasta. Poate sunt sub presiunea termenului-limita. Poate n-am nici un pic de inspiratie sau poate n-am pic de chef. Azi am sa fiu roman pana-n plasele: am sa scriu mult si despre nimic.

Ar trebui sa fie o primavara pe care s-o vedem si s-o simtim, nu doar s-o tinem undeva, intr-un subconstient calendaristic. Dar afara e urat, frig, ploua, te chiauneste pe fond nervos vremea asta si eu unul sunt tare indemnat sa lancezesc acasa. Sunt doua feluri in care poti contracara sictirul martisorului: ori intri intr-o letargie asteptanda – doar-doar are sa te urneasca vreo indecenta raza de soare; ori devii hiperactiv si, in valtoarea tineretii, nu mai tii seama de subtilitatile naturii. Sunt avantaje si dezavantaje de fiecare parte, dar mi se pare ca avantajul de a avea mai mult timp de rumegare neuronala e hotarator in privinta hibernarii domestice.

Ai timp sa te gandesti ca poate ai sa reusesti sa ajungi pe unde ai de gand,, pentru ca ai un dor de duca de parc-ai fi nepotul lui Gingis-Han; dar pufnesti intr-un ranjet cand iti dai seama ca n-ai sa pleci nicaieri pentru ca ai prea multe de facut (nu conteaza ca nu le faci, dar sunt acolo, de facut) si, oricum, e prea urat afara.

Ai timp sa te gandesti ca avem o echipa de club intr-o semifinala a Cupei UEFA, si te gandesti ca e fantastic, ca uite, intram in Europa, ca sportul e cel mai competent ambasador al nostru.. si iar razi, oarecum trist in lingoarea ta, pentru ca am fi putut avea doua echipe in semifinale. Ai dracului, occidentalii, si lingoarea iti transforma rasul in rictus.

Ai timp sa te gandesti si la politica, asa, in treacat si-n gluma, ca Basescu oricum e puternic iar Nastase are cele trei gusi, patru case si `j de tablouri crapate de-atatea upercuturi venite din toate partile. Mda. Stiu ei ce fac, nu? Ca fac pentru ei sau pentru noi, deja nu prea mai avem ce face.

Ai timp sa te gandesti la ce e in jurul tau, la faptul ca un bun prieten impreuna cu tine va treziti, dupa aproape un an in care ati vorbit vrute si nevrute, ca prima ta prietena din generala si prima lui iubire din liceu e una si aceeasi fata (care-s sansele, considerand ca nu suntem nici macar din acelasi oras!?), o fata pe care nici unul dintre voi n-a uitat-o si nici n-are s-o uite vreodata. Si lanceziti amandoi, insoriti de alcool, intr-un ras isterico-himeric de primavara noroioasa, jilava si rece.

Apoi ai timp sa te gandesti ca esti atat de prins de o anume primavara putrida care dureaza de ani buni incat e greu sa gasesti vreun fond in formele ce te inconjoara si vreo importantsa unor pretense scrupule de care ai scapat si esti de mult satul. Nici ultima prietena nu-i de ajutor, simplul efort de-a te gandi la ea iti starneste reactia de fuga in letargie (nu-i vina ei deloc, de altfel), unde esti mai la adapost de propria ta viata.

In sfarsit, roman fiind, ai timp sa-ti imaginezi ca vegetezi constructiv, ca esti ca serpii care intra-ntr-un fel de transa inainte sa-si schimbe pielea, ca atunci cand ai sa iesi la soare (ma rog, cand are sa iasa si el la tine) cu solzii tai vii, vitezi si viteji, devorand corneele tuturor vietsuitoarelor, ai sa fii de neinvins. Mmmda. Ai timp si pentru asta.

Normal ca e mai bine sa stai asa, in siguranta, judecand la rece de la caldurica decat sa-nduri incinsoarea frigului de-afara. Tot textul asta e scris intr-o semi-coma de roman ganditor care-i fericit ca nu trebuie sa se chinuie sa dea nimanui de stire ca intra-n hibernare si ca nu are nici un fel de scrupule in a lasa totul balta pentru asta, dar care atunci cand iese, trebuie sa o faca exact ca la carte, cu surle si tobe. Adevarul e ca ne e mai usor sa mancam acasa un talmes-balmes cu lingura decat sa ne aflam in fata tacamurilor de receptie.

nick cave & the bad seeds - o`malley`s bar

I am tall and I am thin
Of an enviable height
And I've been known to be quite handsome
From a certain angle and a certain light
Well I entered into O'Malley's
Said, "O'Malley I have a thirst"
O'Malley merely smiled at me
said "You wouldn't be the first"
I knocked on the bar and pointed
To a bottle on the shelf
And as O'Malley poured me out a drink
I sniffed and crossed myself
My hand decided that the time was nigh
And for a moment it slipped from view
And when it returned, it fairly burned
With confidence anew
Well the thunder from my steely fist
Made all the glasses jangle
When I shot him, I was so handsome
It was the light, it was the angle
Huh! Hmmmmm
"Neighbours!" I cried, "Friends!" I screamed
I banged my fist upon the bar
"I bear no grudge against you!"
And my dick felt long and hard
"I am the man for which no God waits
And for which the whole world yearns
I'm marked by darkness and by blood
And one thousand powder-burns"
Well, you know those fish with swollen lips
That clean the ocean floor?
When I looked at poor O'Malley's wife
That is exactly what I saw
I jammed the barrel under her chin
And her face looked raw and vicious
Her head it landed in the sink
With all the dirty dishes
Her little daughter Siobhan
Pulled beers from dusk till dawn
And amongst the townfolk, she was a bit of a joke
But she pulled the best beers in town
I swooped magnificent upon her
As she sat shivering in her grief
Like the Madonna painted on the church-house wall
In whale's blood and banana leaf
Her throat it crumbled in my fist
And I spun heroically around
To see Caffrey rising from his seat
I shot that motherfucker down
Mmmmmmmmm Yeah Yeah Yeah
"I have no free will," I sang
As I flew about the murder
Mrs. Richard Holmes, she screamed
You really should have heard her
I sang and I laughed, I howled and I wept
I panted like a pup
I blew a hole in Mrs. Richard Holmes
And her husband stupidly stood up
And he screamed, "You are an evil man"
And I paused a while to wonder
"If I have no free will then how could I
Be morally culpable, I wonder"
I shot Richard Holmes in the stomach
And gingerly he sat down
And he whispered weirdly, "No offense"
And lay upon the ground
"None taken," I replied to him
With which he gave a little cough
With blazing wings I neatly aimed
And blew his head completely off
I've lived in this town for thirty years
And to no-one I am a stranger
And I put new bullets in my gun
Chamber upon chamber
And when I turned my gun on the bird-like Mr. Brookes
I thought of Saint Francis and his sparrows
And as I shot down the youthful Richardson
It was Sebastian I thought of, and his arrows
Hhhhhhhhhhhh Mmmmmmmmm
I said, "I want to introduce myself
And I'm glad that you all came"
And I leapt upon the bar
And shouted out my name
Well Jerry Bellows, he hugged his stool
Closed his eyes and shrugged and laughed
And with an ashtray as big as a fucking big brick
I split his head in half
His blood spilled across the bar
Like a streaming scarlet brook
And I knelt at it's edge on the counter
Wiped the tears away and looked
Well, the light in there was blinding
Full of God and ghosts and truth
I smiled at Henry Davenport
Who made an attempt to move
Well, from the position I was standing
The strangest thing I ever saw
The bullet entered through the top of his chest
And blew his bowels out on the floor
Well I floated down the counter
Showing no remorse
I shot a hole in Kathleen Carpenter
Recently divorced
But remorse I felt and remorse I had
It clung to everything
From the raven hair upon my head
To the feathers on my wings
Then I squeezed my hand in it's fraudulent claw
With it's golden hairless chest
And I glided through the bodies
And killed the fat man Vincent West
Who sat quietly in his chair
A man become a child
And I raised the gun up to his head
Executioner-style
He made no attempt to resist
So fat and dull and lazy
"Do you know I lived in your street?" I cried
And he looked at me as though I was crazy
"O", he said, "I had no idea"
And he grew as quiet as a mouse
And the roar of the pistol when it went off
Near blew the hat right off the house
Well, I caught my eye in the mirror
And gave it a long and loving inspection
"There stands some kind of man", I roared
And there did, in the reflection
My hair combed back like a raven's wing
My muscles hard and tight
And curling from he business end of my gun
Was a query-mark of cordite
Well I spun to the left, I spun to the right
And I spun to the left again
"Fear me! Fear me!"
But no one did cause they were all dead
Huh! Hmmmmmmmm
And then there were the police sirens wailing
And a bull-horn squelched and blared
"Drop your weapons and come out
With your hands held in the air"
Well, I checked the chambers of my gun
Saw I had one final bullet left
My hand, it looked almost human
As I help it to my head
"Drop your weapon and come out!
Keep you hands above your head!"
Well, I had one long hard think about dying
And did exactly what they said
There must have been fifty cops out there
In a circle around O'Malley's bar
"Don't shoot", I cried "I'm a man unarmed!"
So they put me in their car
And they sped me away from that terrible scene
And I glanced out of the window
Saw O'Malley's bar, saw the cops and the cars
And started counting on my fingers
Aaaaaaaaah One Aaaaaaaah Two Aaaaaah Three Aaaah Four
O'Malley's bar O'Malley's bar

fuckin` aye..!

.. m-am întors. m-am întors şi-s rău până-n măduva oaselor. rău, sictirit, misogin şi-acrit. chiar mi-a fost dor de mine, de ce să nu fiu sincer, mi-am lipsit. aveam chef de ceva al dracului, de nişte noxe spirituale proprii, de emanaţiile zvârlite din rictusuri, de zgârieturile tifoide. daaaa.. iar am praf de puşcă-n artere, iar nu pot să dorm, iar mă simt bine pe post de posedat de mine însumi. trăiască ura!

.. le stă bine zicând "pa", mă refer aici la fiinţele ce populează abuziv regnu` cu cruce. rochii lungi, translucide şi decolorate, sfârcuri ghicinde şi muntele lui venus mai mult închipuit, nişte arătări şui, despletite şi-ntoarse cu spatele cât să-ţi arunce un "pa.." răsucit cu nişte degete fuiorelnice şi cu şuviţe şatene-n gene.. argh! tertipuri muieratice, nene!! hai sictir, cu mreje dintr-astea.. cât de hamsie să fii?

mi-a pierit şi cheful de scris de-atâta sictir. v-ajunge o scamă de misoginism azi.