Scrisori care nu se vor trimite niciodata ...

Dumnezeule, cat erai de frumoasa!

De multe ori simteam nevoia sa te ating doar ca sa inlatur senzatia crunta ca nu esti decat o plasmuire a imaginatiei mele.  

Niciodata reflexia mea nu a aratat mai curata ca atunci cand o  vedeam in ochii tai. Amintirea privirii tale ma izbeste si-acum, din cand in cand, facandu-ma sa-mi pierd directia pe strada, sau somnul atunci cand am mai multa nevoie de el.

Nu-mi mai amintesc vorbele tale. Din gesturi n-au ramas decat cateva. Ai murit de mult pentru mine, iar eu n-am fost niciodata viu in ceea ce te privea. Am bifat probabil toate casutele din nevoile tale, toate, mai putin pe aceea in care imaginea mea trebuia sa se suprapuna cu cea creata de jocul mintii tale. Vesnica ironie a sortii...

Te iubeam sincer si atat de dureros incat dupa aceea mi-am dorit sa nu mai iubesc vreodata. Tu nu ma iubeai pe mine si asta trebuie sa fi fost durerea ta. Poate ai vrut si n-ai putut sau poate n-ai vrut suficient, cine stie, nu mai are nicio importanta oricum.

Din tine n-au ramas decat urme din ceea ce era doar o iluzie, o scamatorie cu oglinzi. Eu iubeam in mod evident ceea ce credeam ca esti, ceea ce vedeam filtrat, iar nu ceea ce era intr-adevar acolo. Intr-un fel iubeam ideea de a iubi. Intr-un fel ma iubeam pe mine. Era o noutate si asta si poate si de aceea era atat de bine...

Multi mi-au reprosat faptul ca te-am pastrat prea mult in gand chiar si dupa ce ai plecat. Realitatea e ca ti-am dat drumul foarte rapid. Nu m-am indurat insa sa ma despart de mine, de acea versiune imbunatatita a mea, care era vie. N-am pastrat nostalgia inca unei relatii ratate, ci pe aceea a unui eu diferit de eul meu obisnuit. Nu pe tine te-am regretat. Ci pe mine. In timp s-a dus si asta...

Da, erai extraordinar de frumoasa. Si stiai sa te joci. Eu n-am stiut sa ma joc niciodata. Iar dragostea e ca jucariile copilariei: te bucuri, descoperi, demontezi, inlocuiesti. De copil insa nu m-am putut desprinde de teama ca o jucarie mult dorita e de neinlocuit. Ca atare le-am pazit si protejat pe ale mele, pastrandu-le in cutiile originale, admirandu-le si curatandu-le de praf, folosindu-le cu grija sa nu pateasca ceva,  pana cand un alt copil, o prezenta pasagera, a stiut cum sa profite la maxim de distrugerea lor exuberanta. Iar femeile nu sunt altceva decat jucarii ce se vor demontate, scormonite, distruse fara mila si nesatioasa curiozitate. 

Cuvintele nu mai au sens acum, nu ma credeai cand erai, nu ma vei crede cand nu mai esti si cu atat mai putin cand nu mai sunt. Intr-o zi, pana si amintirea - deja palida - a momentului cand m-ai luat de mana se va sterge. La fel cum s-a sters zambetul tau. Intr-o zi, lumina albastra ce palpaia in ochii tai, va deveni tot una cu intunericul asternut in mine.

nonexistence...

late. when everyone else is sleeping, i listen to bits of classical music. so beautiful they make me wanna sleep. forever.

everything is a screen. reacting to a touch or a bump. these people button, button, button a glass or plastic cover. on the crosswalk. on the street. at coffee. at lunch. in metros. at work. probably in bed too. illusion of communication.

i never existed. nor will i. am a blind spot against the light. sometimes i can see my shadow. but most don't even get a glimpse of me. i am not anonymous. i simply am not.

what is the screen if not the reminder that you are not where you want or should be? that you are not. there. screens are not communication. screens are painful absence. screens are insurmountable distances.

i am bunch of letters in an agenda. some lines in a virtual memory of a phone. an empty shape in a photo. i am not even the proof of a memory.

screens are what separates us from others and the world. u button, hence u don't talk. u keep distance, hence u don't approach, u reinvent yourself virtually, hence you change nothing in reality, u don't see anymore, hence u capture and post. so that no one sees. screens are not communication, but the very lack of it. they don't connect but keep as separate. even when together.

u know u don't exist when there is no reply back. to ur hello, to ur goodbye, to ur questions or ur wishes. screeners don't bother answering to a ghost.

emoticons are not smiles. badges and stickers are not lips. nor hands. videos are not presence. we claim to be surpassing miles. in reality we simply get used to them. one can't make love thru texts and iMessages.

screens affected our sense of reality. modified it completely. they even changed the meanings of words. zounds of friends we don't know or care about define our 'social' status. we are active on 'social networks' without moving away from the screen. we take the screen with us to any gathering and can't enjoy the time without checking in. screen is our best pal. most likely the only one too.

i am the ghost of my desires and wishes. the scrap nobody wanted or needed. the spare parts i didn't know what to do with. waste. trash. i am the silence behind the many words. "i speak...to hear...my voice". i tell everyone cause i cannot tell anyone. the sound of my written words falls blind and mute, as the many don't care about what i have to say, and the few are too far away to hear it. too far away. in time, in space.

all the social networks did was to alienate us from each other. screens took over. screen zombies everywhere. not paying attention. divided. alone in their own world. unaware of the others. non existent.

i don't exist. and though the only one to realize it, i am also the only one having troubles accepting it. let go, let go, let go... I did with (almost) everything else. All i have left is to let go of myself. u can't really die when u don't exist, anyway...

(Another week in London)

I read once an article about the coupling terror over single people. It was inferred that being single was not a disease but a mere choice or simply impossibility of being or finding the right person to be with. Definitely it was not contagious and no reason to throw a stigmata over those who find themselves in such a social state. But then there's the family terror as well. It's not only that you're alone. It's that you will never have kids, never have responsibilities and worries as an adult. You live only your selfish, quiet, little life. And as you refuse or you are unable to join the social matrix, there must be definitely something wrong with you.

You're a human failure... And hence, you are treated like one. You become invisible.

The truth is in your social life you are treated like in your financial one: richer get richer and poorer get poorer. Those socially involved will find more and more similar people to themselves, while singles...well, they'll just stay single. Parents gather to parks and kindergartens and schools and hospitals and thus share a common ground for worrying, for being proud or for discussion. A single person at some parents convention could only look suspicious: a pedophile, a mad person or kidnapper... That's how it works.

Once you're out, you're out. Freedom is a terrible Greek gift.

The worst part is that you end up like that Matrix character who was willing to betray and sell his peers and his freedom just to be "happy", back in the illusion created by the Matrix. You really feel like there is something wrong with you. That it is impossible not to like having a mortgage, indulge a fat, annoying wife,  a stinking, impotent husband, raising some dumb-cunt whining kid, and share the general feeling of all no-gooders on this planet, sighing with self satisfaction while looking at their offspring: "At least i've done something in this life".

What an accomplishment...

We exist through the others, and that's a sad truth i keep repeating. Only others give us meaning, which is both false and fucked up, cause it is only us who know our true worth. Our true value. Christ - aware of being God's son and having it confirmed publicly by God Himself - was asking his apostles: "Who do people say i am?". He knew perfectly that though he was "the Truth, the Path, the Life" themselves, unless people came to acknowledge and accept that, any deed or self sacrifice would have been in vain. He had to become a miracle making man, a trickster, a propagandist and an agitator, a martyr to get the right result. We all live His life in this respect. We pretend, everyday. Unless others accept as as worthy, smart, beautiful, lovable, or whatever other quality we might possess, we are nothing. Unless others acknowledge our existence, we are not even alive...

Can't shake this feeling in London's underground.

I feel people bumping into me, like a cockroach nest it is, and still i doubt my own existence. In this week, the only human contact i had was with the librarian. I follow a strictly and daily routine, that leaves out exactly the three things i need most, to remember i'm alive. I cut off all sources of feelings to avoid pain, but i've stopped those causing pleasure as well. I know it cause i couldn't stop my brain from working. It didn't work otherwise. And while i stare at these people staring into their screens (phones, tablets, computers, e-readers) i wonder if any of them sees me. And if they do, what do they really see?

For sure they are not seeing what i see. Can't tell if that is good or bad.

Been thinking lately a lot to the fact that once close to the end - the death, the sacrifice, the redemption of all sins, which was the whole purpose if His coming anyway - Christ asked God to deliver Him from what was to happen. To deliver Him from: betrayal, loneliness, suffering and death. He knew why, He knew it's temporary (after all he did tell the apostles He will be resurrected) and yet, starring in the face of death He wanted out. Why? The answer to this question scares the Hell out of me...

Gods fear death too... Especially Gods!

 I've reached 33. As I like to say,  many, including the son of God, were done with their missions and lives by the time they've reached it. The only change i sense is in the mirror. And in myself: I know i'm older because I feel more and more dead inside. Because instead of settling with myself, i grow more and more restless, doubtful, lonelier. Because i keep asking questions i don't know the answer to. And it doesn't seem i will ever know it. Doubt is the only certainty.

If there's a point to my life i've most definitely missed it. Hope i'll get the joke at least.