Archive for April, 2007

Observatii colaterale: 4 oameni in schema grabita

Tipul cu alura de post-Alex Leo Serban, cu unghiile calcifiate si pete/rani care urlau “sifilis” pe antebrate, tipul acesta a stat langa mine mai bine de 5 statii in 311, cu un miros dulceag de fructe putrede emanand din el spre mine. Cu trench de piele roasa a la film noir prost, cu lantug de gablontz la ochelari, si eu care nu puteam decat sa ma gandesc cat de stupid e ca “highlight”-ul zilei e faptul ca am aflat ca nunta fiicei fostei colege de facultate la care vrea sa ma traga mama beneficiaza pe post de ginerica de Cheloo de la Parazitii. Veste care mi-a provocat o picare paralela cu planul propriu a fetei mele, si un gust salciu in avans.
Apoi tipa cu alura de post-PJ Harvey trecuta prin zeci de dezintoxicari si mult mai multe intoxicari, care zacea pe banca de pe la Piata Muncii, cu ciorapi din plasa neagra, pana la jumatatea gambei, cu o haina din vinil rosu si cu culoarea parului neidentificabila si cu un copil mic intins incomod in bratele ei. Trist, dar nu mai trist decat…
…tipul si tipa – ea, prototipul matroanei fellinian-dambovitene, el o mixtura sinistra de Mr.Bean la senectute “altoit” cu Anthony Perkins si Ciorbea, si matreata all over – care conduc, de dupa un culoar murdar si intunecos, de dupa 2 caini betegi tolaniti pe jos si de dupa perdelute din materialul din care se faceau fetele de masa ale catedrei in generala si husele scaunelor de sofer in autobuz – ei bine, conduc o carciuma imputita de/cu muncitori pe numele ei “Z****”, si care vor pleca “de data asta” in vacanta in circuit de 8 zile “doar” la castelele Bavariei. Data trecuta au fost cele de pe Valea Loirei.
In momente ca astea, nu ma mai gandesc la diversitatea uimitoare a gradinii lumii asteia, ci daca mai au vreo relevanta “Rezolutiile tampite pentru o viata mai putin tampita” pe care le scriu mare si labartat in caietul meu , proasta de mine.
wjohnson.jpg

Post-profesional si ante-diluvian

sherman_untitled_175.jpgsherman_jpg.jpg
I spy a boy, I spy a girl.
I spy the worst place in the world,
in the whole wide world.
Oh you didn’t do bad,
you made it out,
I’m still stuck here oh but I’ll get out.
Oh yeah I’ll get out.
Can’t you see the giant that walks around you seeing through your petty lives?
Do you think I do these things for real?
I do these things just so I survive.
And you know I will survive.
It may look to the untrained eye,
I’m sitting on my arse all day.
I’m biding time until I take you all on.
My Lords and Ladies,
I will prevail,
I cannot fail.
Cos I spy.
Oh I’ve got your numbers,
taken notes,
I know the ways your minds work;
I’ve studied.
And your minds are just the same as mine
except that you are clever swines,
you never let mask slip,
you never admit to it,
you’re never hurried.
Oh no no no.
And every night I hone my plan
how I will get my satisfaction,
how I will blow your paradise away away, away.
Cos I spy.
And it’s just like in the old days –
I used to compose my own critical notices in my head.
“The crowd gasp at Cocker’s masterful control of the bicycle,
skilfully avoiding the dog turd next to the corner shop.”
Imagining a blue plaque
above the place I first ever touched a girl’s chest,
but hold on,
you’ve got to wait for the best.
You see you should take me seriously.
Very seriously indeed.
Cause I’ve been sleeping with your wife for the past sixteen weeks,
smoking your cigarettes,
drinking your brandy,
messing up the bed that you chose together.
And in all that time I just wanted you to come home unexpectedly one afternoon,
and catch us at it in the front room.
You see I spy for a living,
and I specialise in revenge,
on taking the things I know will cause you pain.
I can’t help it,
I was dragged up.
My favourite parks are car parks,
grass is something you smoke,
birds are something you shag.
Take your “Year in Provence”
and shove it up your arse.
Your Ladbroke Grove looks turn me on, yeah.
With roach burns in designer dresses,
skin stretched tight over high cheek-bones,
and thousands of tiny dryness lines beating a path to the corners of your eyes.
And every night I hatch my plan,
it’s not a case of woman v man.
It’s more a case of haves against haven’ts.
And I just happen to have got what you need,
just exactly what you need yeah.
La la la la la la la la la la,
in the midnight hour.
La la la la la la la la la la,
I will come to you,
I will come to you,
I will take you from this sickness,
dinner parties and champagne,
I’ll hold your body and make it sing again.
Come on – sing again,
let’s sing again, oh yeah,
Cos I spy,
yes,
I spy.
I spy a boy,
and I spy a girl.
I spy the chance,
to change the world,
to change your world.

Cu ura, patima si cel mai amar grin (ca nu pot sa-i zic zambet) pe care l-am avut de mult timp. Si cu madama Cindy Sherman fiind, mai mult ca sigur, on similar wavelenghts….

The University Quiz: Which University are you?



You’re the University of Virginia!
A fan of nickels and the Declaration of Independence, you
are an established member of the good old boys club. You spent a long time
trying to exclude people, but now you have managed to get a lot of
publicity for being good at publicity. Though you do have a darker side,
delving into Poe and pyromania. Some have said that you’re best known for
being a bit rotund. Still, people can’t wait to meet you.


Take the University Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

lol. deci nu a cazut aiurea pe teren sterp CarsonMcCullers si T.Williams, I guess

The Book Quiz : What Book Are You?



You’re Love in the Time of Cholera!
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Like Odysseus in a work of Homer, you demonstrate undying loyalty by
sleeping with as many people as you possibly can. But in your heart you never give
consent! This creates a strange quandary of what love really means to you. On the
one hand, you’ve loved the same person your whole life, but on the other, your actions
barely speak to this fact. Whatever you do, stick to bottled water. The other stuff
could get you killed.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

hahahhaahhahahhaha………..told ya….. told ya……

Voodoo Girl (another Tim Burton delightful poem)

Her skin is white cloth,
and she’s all sewn apart
and she has many colored pins
sticking out of her heart.

She has many different zombies
who are deeply in her trance.
She even has a zombie
who was originally from France.

But she knows she has a curse on her,
a curse she cannot win.
For if someone gets
too close to her,

the pins stick farther in.voodoo_girl_1.gifvoodoo_girl_2.gifvoodoo_girl_4.gif

Ptr restul de rime haios-macabre, dintre care poezioara mea preferata este de departe “The Melancholy Death Of Oyster Boy”, gasiti

Junk Girl (Tim Burton’s exquisite lil’poems)

There once was a girl
who was made up of junk.
She looked really dirty,
and she smelled like a skunk.

She was always unhappy,
or in one of her slumps-perhaps ’cause she spent
so much time down in the dumps.

The only bright moment
was from a guy named Stan.
He was from the neighborhood
garbage man.

He loved her a lot
and made a marriage proposal,
but she already thrown herself
in the garbage disposal.junk_girl_1.gifjunk_girl_2.gifjunk_girl_3.gif

Flood – [coming of a] great quantity of water

Raining Pleasure in ziua a doua la B’Estival, ca sa vezi si sa nu crezi.

Gata, am convins-o pe a mea sora sa mergem in ziua a doua, what with Kasabian si…ermm…Kasabian ca puncte de interes. Si da, salivez semi-matinal gandindu-ma la lining-up-ul de la Summercase din iulie/spania, in idolatrie post-ado, ptr ca am de ce: Air, Arcade Fire, The Chemical Brothers, DJ Shadow, The Jesus and Mary Chain,My Brightest Diamond, PJ Harvey, ufa ufa, si Soulsavers feat.Mark Lanegan.
Dar da, ma pot multumi momentan si cu un pahar cu suc de portocale stoarse cu grija si saliva anticipativa, si cu un basm (feerie tragicomica mnuahaha) de-al lui Gozzi.

Si voila mai jos o poza cu unul din cei mai faimosi si frumosi copaci din lume, care se afla undeva cu numele improbabil-de-basm Allouville-Bellefosse (or so the website boasts…). Nu stiu altii cum sunt, dar mie imi populeaza deja visele de noapte sau de amiaza-mare: copacu-modificat.jpg

Linkuricii zilei

hmmmm…. se vede ca brusc am mai mult timp liber….
deci: odiseea anxious-artsy nipona, hehe

Turner Classis Movies and Hermès present
Behind the Camera The Short Circuit
A Celebration of Cinematic Shorts.
nu toate filmuletele merita, dar e interesant

si ca ciresica recalcitranta de pe tort,
The Beat Page, ptr mai multa sau mai putina literatura “de nisa”

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mais qu’est-ce que c’est que ca?

Acumulari nediferentiate de peste zi, care fac ca tocmai aceasta zi sa fie mai ceva ca alelalte:
– mirosul familiar si “a la fois” incontestabil nou din holul unui bloc in care am intrat azi ptr prima oara, hol care se preteaza la statutul de locatie ideala ptr filmat doomed milosformanesque parties desuete si tulburator-tragicomice. Cu mai multe scari care se aduna si se impart in toate colturile, cu miros de bloc din centru in care doar se lucreaza si nu prea se traieste, cu vechimea ante-comunista intacta si cu insemnele comunismului, la fel, intacte, cu soarele decupind felii filtrate ca prin miere zaharisita prin glasvandurile “gritty” de la usa de la intrare. explozie in gama complet minora, 30 de secunde cat mi-a luat sa ajung in apartamentul-destinatie
– ochelarii stil aviator peste tunsoarea Grigore TM, trivialitate asumata cu cinci garoafe in staniol balanganindu-se in mana stanga, cu tigara (a cata?) in dreapta
– o cizma neagra de catifea cazuta in mijlocul strazii, zarita din autobuzul in mers
– “Wunderkind” de Carson McCullers si coloana sonora a lui Preisner la “Trois couleurs: blanc” – motive de nostalgie/astenie dulceaga de primavara
– progresiva crestere a batailor inimii odata cu a doua cana de cafea si goana “fussy” a acelorasi batai odata cu a treia, in cana promotionala “GoodBye Lenin”, care nu e a mea si pe care,totusi, ca fetita cu maniere, am spalat-o dupa
– lapsus-ul impartasit apropo de Floria Sigismondi, cu Lexi, ieri, in ambientul perfect ptr a NU purta o discutie sentimental-orientata, si pe care – evident – pana la urma am purtat-o
– recurenta enervanta anuala a acelorasi trasee in aceleasi perioade, care nu au nimic de-a face cu circumstantialul, sunt sigura, ci cu predeterminarea de cacat care (hate to admit it) isi scoate coltisorii peste tot
– vizualizarea cap-coada a unei Intrari Furtunos-Cliseistice In Apartamentul Lui, Pentru A-l Saruta cum numai eu stiu sa fac :)) Si Apoi A Pleca Luand Cu Mine Unul Din Pachetele Goale De Marlboro Rosu Care Zac Prin Camera, Fredonand Ceva PJ Harvey Binenteles – si nu, in vizualizarea mea el nu vine dupa mine
– ideea de a o filma pe vara-mea, Ioana, pe care n-am mai vazut-o de ani buni, dar care intruchipeaza idealul Boticelli meets Modigliani de frumusete dezarmanta
– incredibila confuzie asupra sexului meu in 116 (go figure), doar ptr ca se pare ca am maxilarul intr-adevar prea colturos si gura prea botoasa, si ptr ca haina acoperea intr-adevar sanii
– “Ten” al lui Kiarostami care a venit sa inlocuiasca voma previously-seen de “Taming Of The Shrew”
– compozitia perfecta a zilei pe Calea Vacaresti: pe maidanul verde crud, verde crud bla, un foc aprins si un nene arzand chestii, cu gardul de tabla si macaraua caramizie in fundal
– constientizarea celui mai stenchy colt din oras ptr narile mele, acolo unde Mendeleev face colt cu straduta de vizavi de Simona, doamnesfinte! cadavre medievale pangarite dupa asediu, mutanti de sobolan-caine si petice de fosti-oameni. si fix peste drum, Miss Sixty Energy si alte magazine neococalare. talk about urban…
– felul in care ma trag si ma imping inainte si inapoi in mini-trecutul meuFrankHolding near and dear …. nu doar ptr postura, ci si pentru consistenta :), avand in plus si pretentia ridicola sa mi se intample SI ceva nou Holding near and dear …. nu doar ptr postura, ci si pentru consistenta :)Frank