Am prins in ultimele saptamani, cu urechea, de parca ar fi o undita, niste idei si vorbulite, cum ca ar fi recomadat sa sa scrii, sa tii un fel de jurnal. Te ajuta sa iti aduci aminte lucruri, te face sa concretizezi si sa condensezi informaia acumulata peste zi.
Am incercat de multe ori in trecut sa fac asta dar nu am reusit din cauza de lipsa de consecventa.
Incerc o noua abordare. In loc sa scriu zilnic cate o nenorocire, imi impun sa notez lucrusoarele alea mici care imi plac.
Ideea e sa imi umplu spatiul in care vietuiesc cu modalitati de a nota: postituri langa pat, caiete in bucatarie, PC-ul de la birou, carnetel in geanta pentru "la metrou", orice metoda de inregistrare imediata a ceea ce imi place.
Pasul al doilea il reprezinta centralizarea acestor mici bucati de informatie aruncata in deriva, intr-o spatiu mare (document word, pe calc de acasa). Toate amestecate, juxtapuse si masticate dadaistic. Asta ar fi viitoarea mea sursa de inspiratie pentru proiectele mele creative cu durata fixa de o zi, pentru glume si alte nebunii, toate la randul lor surse de mici bucati de informatie aruncata in deriva. Va tin la curent!

Point at: Chew before you read!

Marile idei vin pe/la buda!

Da! Asa e! Marile idei vin la buda.
De asta am mereu acolo doua pixuri. Hartie oricum se gaseste.
Am inteles ca exista o sumedenie de femei, domnite si cuconeturi care se intreaba ce fac barbatii la buda atata timp. Si eu ma intreb!
Uneori ies de la buda si observ ca masina de spalat a ajuns la spin cycle, semn ca au trecut cel putin 45 de minute de la momentul T1 (cand am dat drumul spre curatire hainelor) si, implicit, 40 de minute de cand am intrat in acest "casnico-igienico-menajero" triunghi al bermudelor, buda.

Probabil ca ni se taie filmul!, imi vine sa zic.

Stiu ca are ceva de a face cu magia lierelor tiparite pentru ca ma pierd uneori in paginile uni reviste din teancul de glossy-uri de pe cosul de rufe.
Alt indiciu in acest sens este tatal unei foste colege de liceu care avea in buda o carte despre Revolutie, groasa de 500-600 de pagini.
Imi aduc aminte ca in cei 4 ani de liceu si chiar si dupa ei, in ocazionalele mele vizite, cartea era acolo. De fiecare data cand onoram vasul de portelan, sau el ma onora pe mine scapandu-ma de o apasare, o vedeam, era prezenta, mereu miscata, mereu in alta pozitie, semn ca era citita.

Calculand acum, frustrarea aritmetica e evidenta atunci cand vorbesc despre prioada liceului, cartea avea 600 de pagini maxim, hai sa zicem 700, ca sa fie de la nasu' mare inca o suta.
Un an are 365 de zile, si eu, cum am vizitat familia in cauza timp de 5 ani, am prins si un an bisect. In total 365*5+1=1826 de zile. 1826 de zile inseamna ca omul o putea termina inperioada asta citind mai putin de jumatate de pagina pe zi, sau in doi ani citind zilnic o pagina.
E matematic, e logic! Si totusi, NU! Forta aceasta providentiala sau diabolica, la alegere cum ar spune unii sau altii, care ne tine legati colacul de plastic, vroia ca tomul revolutionist sa ramana acolo cat mai mult timp. De ce? Pentru ca lume simte nevoia ca barbatii sa dispara din cand in cand iar noi, barbatii simtim nevoia de solitudine. Pentru aceasta situatie exista buda si ineviatbila ei atractie, aproape magnetica, ca loc in care poti scapa de cicalelile parintilor, fratilor sau partenerilor de viata.
Poate asa se explica si de ce sunt mai multe femei pe planeta. Poate ca nu sunt, ci doar lumea a uitat de acei barbati care au intrat acum o jumatate de ora in baie!
Inchei aici pentru ca unul din pixuri s-a terminat si acum scriu cu alta culoare, am consumat cam un sfert de rola de hartie pentru ca trebuie sa scriu mare si in plus aud si masina de spalta ca a inceput spin cycle-u'.
***Post redactat pe hartie igienica alba cu imprimeu mov, scris cu pix rosu si verde si copiat apoi la o tastaura gri***

Point at? (Spin Re)Cycle!!!

CThings, TCreatures

At first they were two. They were beautiful creatures. They lived in the small shell of what used to be a walnut, an old and dried up walnut.
The two were strange. They cared very much for one another and even though they did not always understand one another they saw no end and no future for their lives. They didn't need to look for such a thing.
.........
They lived for some time in this state of blissful ignorance that sheltered them.
.........
Everything changed when the second one started to see. It saw that the first one is special. The second one felt and knew that it was special too, but feared the specialness. Unknowingly it wanted to remain in the ignorance. The tension grew and the second one felt more and more apart from the first one. The first one did nothing as it didn't realize what happened to the second one. It could not see that the second one was hiding. It was too caught up in it's specialness.
It was like being caught in a black hole. The first one wanted all but punished itself for wanting so much and punished the second one for the self inflicted punishment. It also brought to the shell everything it could find outside. Soon stuff, thoughts and furniture started to pile on over their arms and souls. And this pressure, the was inside their small abode, cracked the walls of their dried up walnut. Dirt started to creep in through the cracks and transformed all that was left of their beauty.
It soon became apparent that they were separated and their bodies distorted by the dirt and worldly things.
One day/year/second the first one brought from outside a small, ugly and even dirtier thing. It was a creature. It was now the third. It could find its way in an easy fashion through the dirt and soon became the second one.
In time it became the first.





Point at? Create/Write even if you break it.

Favorite Words

I'm at the office. I'm asking what are your favorite words in the English language. Nobody answers. I start making a list in my head: Hence, Tortoise, Glance, Shilling etc.
Roxana, my colleague is humming a song. Something I can't make out. She's putting stuff in her handbag and getting ready to leave. She looks completely serene and happy, careless and free from any thought. She lifts her head and stairs for a brief moment at me and asks:
Adi, do you ever feel like an old maid, a spinster? She can't say why she asked me that.

Point at? Say things first in your head and after that say them out loud.

1947

I've already posted this on another blog.
I have no word for this. It's absolutely breathtaking! The photograph is called Weeki Wachee spring, Florida. It was taken by Toni Frissell in 1947. Doesn't it look brand new?!

Point at? Talent beats technology.