luciabordeianu

while praying, my own way, for an angel

to come and fly with me higher than

airplanes,

the only rescue I find to escape from here

is in my devil side.

never sold me bullshit,

always there through times,

never relied on keeping in close touch,

always gone when things were done.

my devil side, I love and I hate

and this mystic relation has no end.

doomed to never rise,

me and my devil side are walking on earth

or diving deep beneath its surfaces,

with masks on our faces,

we hide.

(RATM, Take the Power Back)

an ex once told me how to face

the drink sickness.

he was experimented, so I kept it in mind

and checked theory one time,

when I got very drunk,

few years later.

I was living seaside then.

I successfully escaped bar, alone.

I had a small chat with taxi driver.

I went upstairs without balance.

I put the key in front door with one hand movement.

I reached the dark room.

I fell into my empty bed.

I was victorious.

then universe started to jump around my corpse,

my head was its basketball.

too many lights behind my closed eyes

were running in circles.

sudently, in that infinite madness,

I remembered the words of my ex

and I said, stuttering, load voice,

why not?

the position is to fix your body straight,

while tilting your head one side.

for the perfect side, you have to try

which suits you better.

I used my left, till morning.

you came with your beautiful mind,

rendered me speechless.

and now teeth feel all

Sahara’s sand, gathered into my mouth.

our bloodied swords have fallen down

on the room’s floor.

none of these killers will hurt us anymore,

as long as we’re surrendering.

as long as all I want is touch each part,

the endless magic,

of the most beautiful existing mind.

I am so bad with names,

thing which threw me in strange situations,

many times when was important

to know who the fuck

I was speaking with.

but not remembering the name of single girl

I kissed?!

how to forget and forgive this?

well, is not really pushing me to call

and schedule an hour for psyhichological consultation,

but I am one step away to text

an old highshool friend and question him.

man, do you remind that blonde,

long hair, dark round eyes,

from the ten grade, chemistry class?

you don’t?

why not?

she was hot…

sometimes I wonder why I keep in touch

with these guys?

I cannot rely on them, on their memories,

to complete my missing ones.

it’s almost as in highschool,

you can’t rely on them.

always together, whenever,

in real, always alone.

I think her name starts with R.

or B?

mneah! damn my brain!

I am sure was a round letter,

like her big dark eyes,

her pink lips,

that mouth and tongue I taught

how to kiss boys.

hope she’s happy, there, into the world!

las nopțile deschisa fereastra,

să ne acopere același cer,

si ploi,

de cad, să ude cald tâmplă cu tâmplă.

întregul spațiu dintre noi

se strânge, împărțit la doi, la doi, la doi…

oricând, în gând, îți lasă pașii mei

un semn, o urmă, o fărâmă

din tot ce sunt, cât încă sunt.

I became writer was not to lead world

onto its right path.

nor fear of death and be forgotten,

not money, not hunger or anger.

I didn’t even feel the need for one single reader!

editors, I hope will never come close.

all was because I’m antisocial

till my body’s smallest bone and,

took me time to realise I don’t

like humans come around.

but who can stop them?

humans are unstopable!

so I chose transform anyone

would dare make a step,

touch me in or out.

so they all become

characters.

Yes folks, this is my reason.

a good healthy one for my brain,

for unwished pain that comes and goes.

now I am having these thougts

and I smile that you might judge me.

Onestly, I don’t give a damn shit

on opinions.

I’m eating at 1 p.m. my toasted bread

and look!

outside, there is a kiddo on the street.

he can’t see me, I can watch him carring

the huge load of trash, plastic empty bottles,

on his bent skinny back.

and first I do is not crying his fate.

I’ m so fucking busy building him a story,

where he might be the king of this world…

we’ll see then if he’ll be a good or a bad leader.

shall he piss on us, who are now pissing on him?

his name will be… George.

when I started to write the book,

I was not sure I will manage to move from

its first page.

when I was successfully passing to the next one,

its white was so hypnotic, that stoned me for hours.

some sheets did same to me for some good years.

but my thoughts weren’t patient.

seeds don’t wait such long time to come up

and meet the sun.

they need to spread.

I once set with a friend for a beer,

on a green garden terrace in the middle

of old Bucharest.

we were enjoying our kind of conversation.

she asked me did you read Hemingway and I said no.

she said you should and after, I did.

she said you remind me of Hemingway and I didn’t ask why.

later some guy came and we talked about

the painting art, rroma people

and what we did

and are still doing to them.

I am not sure if same time or with other occasion,

she confessed to me that she started hate artists.

poets, painters, sculptures, writers.

she was madly upset because of not knowing

how to make a way through their jungle.

because, dears, there is a jungle there!

if you don’t pay attention, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

like poverty and famine, like death.

if you didn’t yet meet, beware, they’re watching

each of your steps!

later after the trip,

I started to think of her words

and my thoughts started to ask themselves

if that would suit me.

to go or not to into that jungle?

this was the question.

and answer came after some long years,

after I realized it’s only a matter of changing jungles.

if you think you’re not a part of one,

in this very moment when you’re reading,

oh, let me tell you’re blind!

just open eyes, to see where you are right now!

so I did change the jungle and I became a writer.

as a writer I wrote my first book.

and now here we are: hunters and hunted.

has all kind of needs and not so shy to demand to me

all kind of things it thinks are usefull

or necessary to keep its functions on.

sometimes, I find the energy to argue with my body,

sometimes I don’t,

and some other times I, sincerely, don’t care.

it’s because I am preocupated with my mind.

rarely, even with my soul.

each time (please, believe me, each time!)

when I don’t give a shit about it,

my body goes nuts!

like crazy people with no meds,

in a shiny day,

right in the middle of a street.

a hopeless case, let’s point that!

one of those who doesn’t stop screeming,

who starts undress, naked right there,

in front of our own eyes,

with hands fighting the air or pulling his hair.

would you care for such a human being?

would you go next to and dare to touch

or more, to hug?

give your expensive coat to protect

that unperfect, wounded body?

neah! I don’t think!

so that’s exactly how I tried to deal with

my own body’s requests, yesterday afternoon,

during the visit to the hyper market,

end of town.

body gave me signs.

was hungry and angry

‘cause being hungry.

it kept telling me with loud voice:

no food, no love, woman!

that’ s no life!

not even a hug?!

( but we all know hugs are not just like that,

for anybody and in any circumstances).

so went on, so went on…

body started to cry, and cry.

I was so busy to finish my shoppings until 7 p.m.

tho I told it once or twice to shut the fuck up!

I had to concentrate NOT buy things I don’t need,

with all those colored friendly commercials surrounding me.

plus, all shops were for my body:

the fish, the vegetables, the milk, even the 3 beers.

one moment, because it has so many buttons to push,

body almost made me throw up in the middle of the store.

so I said okay okay! tell me what you want?

I listen, buuut!

don’t start again asking me to get you another body next to you!

we talked before on the subject and is almost impossible,

you know, man!

stop chasing dreams!

after my poor speech, it relaxed and asked for

pineapple and vitamin C juice.

reasonable.

we made the deal, I paid with card and ran outside!

there, I took my body on a bench, opened the pineapple plastic case

and I started to share.

that soft juicy fruit made my body smile,

so I smiled too.

then I opened the vitamin C bottle.

we drank together half of it.

we were both so thirsty!

much better, I heard my body said

when it is pleased, usually asks for a smoke.

I lit a cigarette and looked above the market parking,

beyond the communist blocks,

over some high mountains and farther, to the sky.

right there I found my mind!

she uses to get lost frequently.

fortunately, she always returns to me.

I don’t mind, I dare her be adventurous.

otherwise we would get bored.

we don’t afford.

we would die.

we don’t wanna die, yet!

my body still smoking that filtered cigarette…

I had time to ask my mind what she knows about my soul?

seems centuries passed since I saw him last time, I said.

she shrugged and nodded left, right,

sign that even she was not sure which is the right answer.

but now, before leaving you, because I have to go back home

till midnight,

I must tell you that I have this deep feeling inside:

my soul is waiting to get in touch soon!

and can’t even read a lyric.

the words get tangled up before they have the chance

to form on your tongue and between your teeth.

you’re so drunk so that French seems the easiest to pronounce.

maybe that’s why French literature sounds beautiful.

maybe they all get drunk with wine before starting

any story.

if you want a French to be nice and decent, pour some wine in his glass

and you will enjoy.

in any other case, I personally would prefer the silence of a Nordic guy.

Latins are like waters.

you never know when the storm will start

and you never know if you will escape from that ocean alive.

but if you die, you will die brave.

ah! you’re drunk and you don’t even care a single word

I hardly try to explain here, for you!

but that’s what’s happening when two strangers share alcohol

at bar.

poor bartender…

when I was student at first university I quit,

we adapted the minimalist style,

me and the other two girls.

the food was not important.

maybe only for the dark brown roaches.

which let us split their two rooms apartment,

no balcony, on Victoria Boulevard.

they seemed the only ones disperate to dig for food

inside our small kitchen.

and whenever we swiched on the lights,

were running all over the floor,

as Olympic athletes.

(this is a situation you have to take on

when you’re part of such big bug family).

for us, money for cigarettes and chocolate were important

and

we could have become criminals in their absence,

even back then we knew to kill only time.

especially in those disco Wednesday days.

with free entry for girls.

and above all these, we were very rich!

a small Motorola mobile phone.

a black and white TV.

a cd cassette player.

a real treasure for any first year student!

for private parties, we played live sessions

with dance, with voices.

the only album we ever had

was that B.U.G . Mafia album,

featuring Catalina.

I know all lyrics by heart.

thanks Roxana & Raluca,
gyeah!