Chemversation

December 27, 2009

Since the dawn of self-reflection, I have been an inert gas,
Other atoms’ interactions mocking me, as I flew past.
Every time I saw two bonding, I would quickly look away,
My full outer shell reminding, solitude is here to stay.

Looking at those lucky ions, never did I see the facts,
Never did I grasp the science, one who gives, and one who takes.
Can the atoms both be merry if their dipole is so charged?
Or do their nuclei carry hearts that shattered into shards?

I have circled a few atoms, now that I can speak their tongue:
Those with brains looked unimpressive; those with good looks sounded dumb.
Those with both were cold and distant, their electrons long since shared,
Atoms much stronger than this one waiting for their chance with her.

Now you beckon me with riddles, and all of this is so new —
Our polarity is brittle, and I don’t know what to do.
But regardless of what happens, Heisenberg remains unkind:
One of two forever present: thirst of flesh, and thirst of mind.

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V

September 20, 2009

Păşind spre mine ai căzut;
Eram pe ceruri diferite.
(Nu ştiam, a fost vina mea.)

Tăcerea
S-a spart în aşchii ascuţite
Şi te-ai întors
(Nu meritam.)

Mai târziu am aflat
Că un da fără ecou
Doare mai mult decât un nu.

Şi aşa am rămas
Îngeri în ceruri paralele,
Comunicând prin nori,
Ne vom atinge niciodată.


Fără titlu

September 13, 2009

Pe cer plutesc vise ca frunze albastre.
În aer dansează, se împletesc,
Devin prea grele şi cad.
Curg pe ferestre ca tăceri sărate,
Dau de pământ şi fac rădăcini
Care foşnesc cu frustrări verzi abia ascunse,
Reflectate în două scântei care au uitat să doară,
Şi au durut să se uite
Cum de pe cer cad visele ca frunzele.


Deer Amaranth

May 31, 2009

keywords: unfinished, experimental, expired, extinct

In a forest with no mirror,
To the eyes of God none dearer,
Lives a lone fawn that fawns not.

Treading softly on the grass she’s
Crushed the rush and rushed the crushes,
Dreaming of her amaranth.

She knows not the rocks from flowers,
For amidst these early hours
She’s only been hit by one.

Her mind raced in thoughts confounded,
But despite heartthrobs unwanted,
Her step is again now calm.

Eyes dancing with joyous laughter,
She sings out her silent light that
Rocks and flowers like alike.

Looking high at heaven’s towers,
From afar she smells the flowers
Waiting to be kissed by one.

But my dear deer, not a flower
By its own will and its power
Ever leaves the land he loves.

They too wait for a desired
Brown-eyed fawn to quench their fire,
But alas they move cannot.

Thus Sisyphus’ sweet sweat showers
Brows of deer and crowns of flowers
In a world that’s wired weird.

Now the forest with no mirror
To the eyes of God none dearer
Witnesses the fawn’s first tear.

She will learn amid her hours
To dodge rocks and pluck the flowers
Till she finds her amaranth.

And the forest will behold her
Eyes of brown alone no longer
Grow old with her amaranth.


ingenting nej ingenting (and i love* you)

February 20, 2009

*wakeup wanttosleep
want nothing but
thedreamisdead longlivethedream
may be youll see her to day
so getup

bathroom disinfectant like putrid chestnuts
sit and shit and ponder the meaning of life
and forgodssakes keep your eyes closed when brushing your teeth
(thirld wolrld)
out

food minus taste
add mustard or ketchup or mayonnaise
not nonsweet sugar but
sweet sugarfree sweetener
and filteredwater with a distinct taste
the taste of chewinggum overchewed

blur
free hugs sorries and thanks no thanks
freewithafineprint
blur
unblur
her eyes smile
but she dreamsnot what youdream
(first world)
blur

outofphase ambulance wails
twelvestrobes in fivedirections
smilingfaces on the website
of a mental hospital
cheerful noises
onholdonthephone
and a twentyfourseven funeral service

albino squirrels
pin ging stree tlights
walk inwhite stop inred
newspeak in the t station

noise repeat
blur repeat
depth of field decrease
in stay(up)
and pull the shades down

planes taking off at threeinthemorning
surroundsound fire alarms
sweaty feet under nylon sheets
the sound of ventilation is your lullaby

overload not sensory synesthetic
colors of france britain russia and the czech republic
despair brown. cells abcdeeing you
hope not from above from the underground
from the grave of beethoven

stomach rumbling like a badharddisk
to forgetsomeone is as easy as removefromcontactlist
the wood texture on this nonwood desk is p i x e l a t e d
(beculeţeledelamodemclipesc) thereforeIam


Freak

May 21, 2008

I’m such a freak.

I thought you were happy.
I thought you had a girlfriend
and you had money
and that made you happy.
I was wrong.
I’m such a freak.

I thought you were happy
and I thought I envied you,
or perhaps I really did.
But not anymore.
I was blind.
I’m such a freak.

We went to a pub.
You drank.
I didn’t.
You said I was missing out.
Maybe you’re right.
I thought you were like me.
I’m such a freak.

Peer pressure.
Fuck it.
Fuck you all!
Hate me!
I hate you too.
I’m such a freak.

Every time I’m supposed to be happy,
I think of some part of my life which is not OK.
I thought,
I’m such a freak,
I don’t know how to be happy.
But you don’t know either.
Oh wait,
you do.
C2H5OH.
But that doesn’t work for me.
I’m such a freak.

The smoke stung my eyes
and I felt like I wanted to cry.
Because I wasn’t like you.
Because I never could be.
Because I felt more alone than ever.
I’m such a freak.

I don’t understand.
Show me an adult that’s happy.
Really happy,
not just a mask
like you.
Or me.
Is this the big lesson in life?
The final revelation?
“Congratulations, you’ve come to the end of the line.
There’s nothing for you to see here.
Now you die.”
Congratulate me,
I’m such a freak.

Right now I’m sitting on a chair.
My breath is shallow.
My butt hurts.
And sad music is in my ears.
And I’m writing this freakish poem.
Which is not even a poem
but some kind of hate speech
or a confession
or a cry for help.
I’m such a freak.

And maybe I’ll delete everything I wrote
or maybe I’ll throw my laptop out the window
or maybe I’ll throw myself.
Then maybe I’ll somehow stop being
such a freak.

Clint Mansell is a genius.
And I’m thinking of a drama.
Someone else’s drama.
And how easy it is to feel compassion.
And how hard it is to express it.
And what good does compassion do,
when everybody else just makes fun of you.
(Nineteen Minutes taught you nothing.)
I feel like tapping you on the shoulder
and saying
“Don’t worry —
they’re all idiots.”
But I can’t do it.
And maybe that’s not even true.
Like you,
I’m such a freak.

An idiot and his “social skills”
and his way to laugh loudly
go a longer way
than a freak with his compassion.
This world is so unfair
and it makes me want to cry.
I’m such a freak.

I didn’t know you smoked.
Is it wrong to hate you for doing it?
I feel like I’ve been lied to.
But I saw you
simulating pleasure
as you drew in smoke.
Then throwing your head back
and simulating pleasure again
as you opened your mouth wide
to let the smoke out.
Eyes narrowed.
A superior smirk on your face
as you tapped the thin cigar
(I always thought they were for women)
upon the ashtray.
It was so fake.
Aren’t you disgusted?
Are you all blind?
Or am I
such a freak?

I know.
I do that too.
I try to look cheerful on the outside
and normal
and composed,
when inside my guts are boiling.
That’s why I’m so afraid
of showing my real self,
because everyone will hate me then.
And I’ll be even more
of a freak.

That’s why if you meet my eyes
and I don’t know you
and I’m not somewhere familiar,
you’ll likely see anger on my face.
Because anger is easy to muster.
Because anger is better than fear.
No I cannot afford to show fear.
Or you’ll all know
that I’m such a freak.

That’s why I have S.A.D.
(or at least I think so)
in a mild form
and I never told anybody.
Because that would be
scientific proof
that I’m such a freak.

That’s why I jump if you touch my back.
That’s why I want to hide my face all the time.
That’s why I don’t have a cellphone
and I dread calling you up.
That’s why if you point at me
and laugh
I’ll probably swallow it
and get out as fast as I can
and feel bad all day
and listen to Katatonia.
Like a freak.

That’s why girls are a different species
and I don’t have a definition for “friend”
and like Joel in Eternal Sunshine,
I fall in love with every woman I see
who shows me the least bit of attention.
I’m only brave
when I am alone.
And books are my closest friends.
What a freak.

But I digress.
(Or maybe a digression
is the best way
to make you understand
this hate speech
or confession
or whatever,
and that’s why
I’m going to make this sentence
longer by three words:
one two three.)
This was about you,
and how you make me feel.
I don’t care if you read this.
In fact, I hope you do.
I’m not sure why.
I’m such a freak.

You drew the line some place else.
And I don’t blame you
as long as it makes you happy
(whatever that means).
In fact you almost convinced me
that you’re right and I’m wrong
like so many other times.
But I never learn,
because I’m such a freak.

I won’t do the accounting for you
because I’m sober.
Fuck you!
It feels good to tell people to fuck off,
it gives me power.
That’s where I’ve been missing out.
I never knew the power of the middle finger.
I never thought I could actually choose.
You freed me in a way.
I’m such a proud freak now.


Note #1: I’ve just had a conversation which made me unable to write this any further. But since this does reflect my thoughts at a certain moment in time, I want to publish it as is before I decide to delete it.

Note #2: If you feel that I’ve personally mentioned you in the text above, please understand that nobody except you knows that. So don’t feel threatened.


Neterminat Uitat Expirat

May 15, 2008

Parfumul cald al unei veri
S-a dus;
Azi visul gloriei de ieri
I-apus.

În van am încercat mai sus
Să sar.
Şi tot ce mi-a rămas e-un gust
Amar.

Oraşul tot, asfalt topit
Şi fum;
Plonjează în nemărginit
Acum.

Luna în templu s-a ivit;
Adorm.
Trăiesc ce încă n-am trăit
În somn.

Din cerul singur, dureros
De alb
Se prăbuşeşte-un luminos
Catarg.

Un soare nou rege va fi
Mâine.
Nici zeii nordici nu vor şti
Cine.

Miticul lanţ nu a cedat
Nicicând.
Şi lumea asta nu-i decât
Un gând.