What dreams are made of...

understanding

papyy — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 22:45:35 +0000

I’m pretty sure I know what my biggest problem is: understanding. I understand almost everything that is going on, I know the solutions and I know that there are things that wont come easy at all.

In the past I was always keen on knowing&understanding everything, what went wrong in the past, whats going on in the present and what I’m supposed to do right now.

Well, I did that and big time. I was always Curious George, always wanting to know more and to get things done my way.

Since I went to the shrink a few years ago, I started reading a lot about getting to know and accept my past in orded to be ok and happy with myself. I maybe doing it too much.

I just think that for some people it might be easier to go around not knowing what exactly went wrong and cant be fixed. I just know I can accept what happened in my early years, I can be OK with it at some point but there are times when some problems reoccur and I know that the source its smth from the past that I cant resolve by myself.

It was better to walk around not knowing whats the cause of some of my problems. I know too much, I understand too much and feel too much of anything.

In the same time,there’s two good things that I think of: 1.I think someone with a bit of patience could help me get things straight for real. 2.I think that I might be able to get over some things at one point, Im still young so I cant so many things for now.

Its stupid saying this, I love my deep &artistic side but its kind of tiring to deal with it. or maybe i just dont have enough time to express everything that im feelin’ through creation so I hold it all inside.

well, going on with hope

insomnia

papyy — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 00:29:50 +0000

that is what i tell myself when i can’t stop thinking about you.

There’s enough for everyone but I’m still standing in line

papyy — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 20:18:44 +0000

my head cracks open while I try to think straight. it’s like a bottle of red whisky with a bit of tongue in it. it seems rusty but it’s new. my head opens up like a peanut jar while the seeds, the fruits, the hard-rock fruits will fall down to the ground in a forceless explosion.

just think about it:

“I will take the other half”

“I will be the other half”

“I will take half of your dream” and make it true

“We’ll split this dream in half” and we’ll dream it together

If I could, I would take your nightmares in my dreams just to make you safe. I would share your fears when you feel like you’re isolated and in the dark. I would spend hours trying to explain myself just to make sure your head will not crack like mine did.

If I were to choose between being frightful and being lonely, I’d choose being frighful anytime. I’d choose a lifetime of insecurities instead of a lifetime of wandering around the streets of London.

It’s been always my dream. I was lonely boy. Wandering around. The streets. Of London. Looking for something. That was not there to be found. That was not proper at that moment. But it felt right. It still feels right. It feels exciting and joyful and keeps me wandering.

Wandering around in my head. And the streets of London. Looking for a hot treat, cuz it sounded so cool. Looking for myself, more like. And I did find myself. I do find myself everyday in the mirror. Sometimes I’m a scared little boy. Sometimes I’m a funny little boy. Sometimes I’m a fearful man. Sometimes I’m a happy man. Sometimes I just like pretending I’m a little boy with no worries. Sometimes I like to pretend that I know what I’m doing. Sometimes I smile. And sometimes, not that often, I take your face in the palms of my hands and hold your head.

You won’t miss this when you will see me. And I stopped asking myself questions about love. I just look at the sky and think about something mysterious…

A few days ago, for the first time, I asked myself if I actually loved one of them for real. Until now, I was certain I did. Now I’m not anymore. I don’t think I got the chance to be completely honest with myself regarding it. It’s still out there.

fara oprire

papyy — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 22:55:58 +0000

loveste-ti capul de o caramida pana curge zeama verde.
sparge geamul pe umar ca sa auzi murmurul cristalelor.
topeste sarea pe buzele tale arzand pana vei simti uimirea.
inchina-te la icoana si smulge-ti inima cea noua ca sa o simti pe aia veche.
Sterge praful si ia cutitul si infige-l in faianta. misca-l pe ea pana se face mov.

umfla un balon cu apa si da-i drumul pe apa. scrie-ti singuratatea pe el si du-te inapoi la somn.

mol-col-m

papyy — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 22:25:30 +0000

Girafa scoare capul din sticla si o sparge. Isi sparge arcada iar sangele ii inunda ochii. Corpul ii este sfartecat de Cristale iar bucatile de carne se intind la podea fara zgomot. Din nas curge intai miere si apoi ochii se sparg in gauri cu zmoala care inghit tot sangele de pe fata. Picioarele se ridica in aer se incruciseaza si raman sprijinite pe Mormanul de oase de pe spinare. Adulmeca. isi scapa ochelarii pentru momente si a disparut.

Tin

papyy — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 22:22:32 +0000

For once i thought there is order there is silence. I thought the universe had its own balance and there was the time for it to be silent.

i thought your skin glowing in the dark meant something. I refuse to think that your eyes look better in the daylight. Your eyes change their colour when the sun goes down

the sun is down. the upside is down. the mirrors are down. there’s this too-loud-whisper of something so well-known that i feel like throwing up an getting my stomach and my gutts out. getting every piece of dust and hands dirty with mining, lovers crying waiting for their dreams to be fulfilled, kids running in circle just to stay focused and in shape, minds going in and out of consciousness.

nothing seems meaningful. seems everything. write me a poem, cry me a river, spit me your heart out and let me heal the wounds you’ve made. Blow me with every piece of blood that’s falling down my knee.. keep my hands above my wrist, above my head and above everything.

I could keep my soul up high but it feels so much better when u do it. Except you hands are dirty and you lost your gun. blood is flowing everywhere and your heart stopped beating at the sound of my whisper for help.

Stop crying your heart out, you say. stop breaking it in pieces and pretend to gather it from the floor. it’s still there, lying on a bed of rusty papers wet with gin.

Or your brain could stop at the the sound of the new car? Or shoulders could begin to tremble and stop playing? Or i could just say stop and not let myself get carried away by independence. i won’t repeat.

like crows rest their claws, like snakes eat their tongue filled with spicy pickles, like mothers feed their children and after start eating their toenails while sticking their fingers in their eyes while they are still blue. like your head falls down and your body freezes still believing that it’s there and it can work without it.

there is.. And i waited for the not. I got my not. i didn’t wait for it but i want to believe i wanted it. i didn’t. i thought there is.. but there is not.

despaducherea simturilor mele

papyy — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 10:28:56 +0000

gandaci. mii. arme. slabe. clauze. niciuna. urme. indoite.

gheare. trei. gaura. superficiala. momente. gri.

clinchet. masini. creta. crispat. inovator.

confort. afara. alearga in cerc. fuge. alearga in cerc. se arunca la pamant. fuge. alearga in cerc. alearga in cerc.

stop listening and start looking at me

papyy — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 20:31:33 +0000

Moving from the warmest place on Earth, being one of the first times I stopped feeling lonely.. going from that to sitting in a corner, not wanting to talk to anyone, feeling the whispers again, the mud and the face of the pure gold drowned in holy water. Misery could be a state of being but your soul drags me there because it’s broken in pieces.. Bits and pieces.. Bits and accolades and scars and wounds and cold tunes.. it’s not about screaming, it’s about shuting ur brain down when u need it the most. It’s about the mistic pleasure of knowing the only truth there is, not yours, not his, the truth. And u know it so that’s craving inside you in every second of loneliness.. you hear the beats and you see the storms, they all mix with their faces, mostly his face but there’s more of them.

Purify your veins with my eyes and electrify your wounds with my smile. You need to listen my voice instead of the whispers. salvation or a new war.. What are u looking for?

clear thoughts in a fog and blue skies reflecting in the water.. Seems like crunching bugs on your head while you bite your tongue with pain and drown it in blood. you gnash your teeth until you feel them breaking up like glass.. Every feeling feels 1000 times more intense than it should because your head feels like an oven ready to blow up.

The loneliest thing there is is a piano. I always rely on the piano to get the tears out on my face and get those wounds out in the sunlight where they will burn and make u scream, at last.. u will scream because it’s ur wounds are getting sun-dried and cured. U are getting salvation even though u refuse to receive it…. U’r empty and waiting to be filled again.. Oh, look, there’s an SMS!

Snow

papyy — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 03:29:47 +0000

Imi fixez castile pe urechi, manusile in maini si ma pregatesc sa urc pe scarile de la Universitate. ma ridic in ninsoare, in lumini puternice si colorate, in vise si fantezii infinite.

ma opresc o clipa si privesc lumea, privesc decorul, privesc viscolul. e bucuria mea. e un secret pe care nu-l voi dezvalui decat celui care are urechile deschise pentru mine.

mii de stelute, oameni care alearga in toate partile de crivatul care ii intoarce pe dos, ii ravaseste si ii copleseste. pe Magheru, aceeasi agitatie – imi dau piesa cea noua la maxim si incep sa fredonez. zambesc iar zambetul meu straluceste in tot universul. stiu ca e un zambet sincer, un zambet aprins, inocent, coerent. ma invart si privesc in sus, dansez, alerg si ma bucur de fiecare fulg care pare ca imi taie fata. de fapt, ma gadila. de fapt, e magie, e bucuria anotimpului alb, a frigului, a vinului cald, a intrunirilor prietenesti in mansarde vechi, a sedintelor de brainstorming care nu se mai termina.

nu am dezlegat secretul dragostei anul asta. am inteles ca nu are o culoare anume, am inteles ca e magie, insa nu mai stiu cum se simte. as fi curios sa invat, din nou. miracolele se pot intampla, oricand, nu numai in preajma Craciunului.

sunt dement, un dement fericit.

lend me your wings for a while, angel…

Quote #2

papyy — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 01:04:33 +0000

“Why can’t you call him?”
“I can’t call him. Rule #5!”
“To call is to pursue and to pursue makes you look too interested and then it makes him desire you less and then…”

Mcbealism

Quote #1

papyy — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 00:56:22 +0000

“I think I need to believe that it works”
“What works?”
“Love, couplehood, partnerships, the idea that when people came together they stay together. I have to take that with me when I go to bed at night even if I’m going to bed alone.”
“That’s a Mcbealism”

The hours

papyy — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 00:30:31 +0000

E un amestesc de fericire si confuzie. Mi-am dat seama ca imi iubesc munca mai mult decat ma iubesc pe mine, mai mult decat am iubit vreodata pe cineva. De 4 zile nu prea am dormit, nu am mancat mai nimic si nu am iesit din casa aproape deloc.

Ma pierd in grafice, in vectori, in culori, in jpg, psd, png. Din Photoshop in PhotoScape si inapoi. Din My Documents in My Pictures si inapoi. Din camera in baie si inapoi.

Cand vine noaptea simt un amalgam de sentimente, de emotii, de impliniri, de neimpliniri, de regrete, de visuri, de visari si scantei, o multime de stele ce nu isi gasesc locul pe cerul meu. Intotdeauna m-au fascinat puzzle-urile si mi-aduc aminte ca aveam 15 ani cand am rezolvat unul de vreo 10000 de piese. Nu e la fel de usor. Nu imi plac puzzle-urile in real life. Nu imi place nici labirintul pe care trebuie sa il strabat de fiecare data ca sa ajung la luceafar.

Sunt uimit. Nu exista somn, mancare, aer, spatiu, apa, odihna, prieteni. Totul se evapora. Resping 3/4 din apelurile primite pe telefon. Arunc mancarea stricata in cosul de gunoi. Arunc cartile pe care trebuie sa le citesc, in valiza. Sterg mailuri fara sa le citesc sau le tranfer in spam. Totul ar putea sa se prabuseasca iar eu tot as fi invingator, as sari de pe scauna tipand ca mi-a iesit ce voiam si ca sunt bun.

O veche iubire se vrea reinodata. Am spus nu. Una noua se vrea legata cu niste intalniri. Am spus nu. Sunt niste lucruri pe care nu pot sa le reprim. E tot cald. E inca puternic.

Pentru prima oara, dupa mult timp, am facut ce mi-am propus. Am lasat munca sa ma depaseasca.

Si cu toate astea…

the nights… the minutes.. the hours

Tick tock

papyy — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 22:12:24 +0000

Mi s-a parut dintotdeauna al naibii de greu sa imi reprim niste sentimente puternice. Undeva pe la inceputul verii, am avut o discutie cu cineva care m-a facut sa imi dau seama ca am pierdut ceva important in urma cu 4 ani, pentru ca mi-am reprimat niste idei.

Cercul meu s-a inchis de mult si mi se intampla de fiecare data sa dau peste cineva care a fost cu altcineva cu care am fost si eu or smth like that. Si asta se intampla indiferent de oras, regiune, tara.

tick tock

aceleasi fraze, aceleasi intrebari, aceleasi mutre, aceleasi povesti, aceleasi haine, aceleasi locuri de intalnire, aceleasi parcuri, aceleasi miscari, aceleasi zambete, aceleasi priviri, aceleasi locuri, aceiasi oameni. tick tock. tot ce astept e sa se termine si sa ajung acasa, sa primesc mesajul ala in care imi spune ca ii plac. dupa care nu ma mai intereseaza. mi-am alimentat self-esteem-ul. stiu. stii. sunt bun. stiu. nu stiu. nu o sa fim impreuna. iar daca nu ma cauti, o sa ma indragostesc de tine. sunt un artist devotat iubirilor imposibile. atunci cand imi dau seama ca nu ii par f.bun, atunci ma indragostesc. pentru ca imi place sa ma torturez. pentru ca atunci simt ca traiesc. si pentru ca pot sa ma zbat intre fericire si neimplinire. pentru ca intru in stari incarcate cu emotii si creez. atunci ma simt un artist care isi face treaba cum trebuie. mai ales atunci cand nu sunt eu cel care varsa lacrimile.

tick tock.

intalnirile se termina si noptile se termina pe tavan. cu telefonul care vibreaza. cu mesaje care merg direct in cosul de gunoi fara sa le deschid. cu apeluri respinse si intr-un final telefonul inchis. sunt eu. e tavanul. e racoarea noptii. ma ridic si imi ating umarul cu palma stanga. ma asez inapoi in pat. tresar. ma gandesc la oamenii pe care ii iubesc si asta ma pune la somn.

Colloque sentimental (par Paul Verlaine)

papyy — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 09:43:58 +0000

Dans le vieux parc solitaire et glacé
Deux formes ont tout à l’heure passé.

Leurs yeux sont morts et leurs lèvres sont molles,
Et l’on entend à peine leurs paroles.

Dans le vieux parc solitaire et glacé
Deux spectres ont évoqué le passé.

- Te souvient-il de notre extase ancienne?
- Pourquoi voulez-vous donc qu’il m’en souvienne?

- Ton coeur bat-il toujours à mon seul nom?
Toujours vois-tu mon âme en rêve? – Non.

Ah ! les beaux jours de bonheur indicible
Où nous joignions nos bouches ! – C’est possible.

- Qu’il était bleu, le ciel, et grand, l’espoir !
- L’espoir a fui, vaincu, vers le ciel noir.

Tels ils marchaient dans les avoines folles,
Et la nuit seule entendit leurs paroles.

vrascuri. paiete.

papyy — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 14:23:06 +0000

Ai primit vreodata un iatagan in stomac? Se izbeste brusc de tine. Corpul explodeaza in scancete si spasme iar simturile se desprind de tine ca de un gard electric. Durerea se disperseaza in mii de intepaturi. Viermi care te rod. Forfaie si te mesteca. Te lasa vlaguit si de fiecare data cand crezi ca… vine inca un banc si iti taie energia. Vrasc! Te uiti in jur si nu mai e nimic frumos in lume. O furtuna in care mii de carii iti rod mintile, un uragan care te dezgoleste. Esti un pustiu, fara ganduri, fara lumina, fara aer. Esti un orb iar tesuturile iti sunt spintecate. Simti otrava? Mai mult decat durere… e otrava, e ura, e hidosenie, sunt toate lucrurile intunecate, mizerabile, umede care put a razbunare. Nu exista urme, nu exista prezent. Exista un viitor de care s-ar teme insusi Creatorul. Un sarpe se incolaceste ca un bob de strugure si se agata de pieptul tau. Te insfaca, se infasoara in ultima picatura de speranta si trage cu coltii de ea pana o nimiceste. Se desprind de tine ca niste melci salbatici. Trec ore. Acesti paraziti ai placerilor intunecate, raci avari, miriapode cu gheare ascutite si dinti de clestar. Ramai ca un cadavru fara umbra. Un hoit de care nu se ating nici mustele. Ramasite de carne ranceda din care au muscat toti strigoii. Un suflet frigid, secular. O cioara fara ochi se apropie si te arunca inapoi in cripta. E frig.