a screenshot of reality

its always been dead real like this, ever since childhood i guess. but as a black and white world is to a dog, i've alwys considered them as THE big problems. mine were just the most meaningful and the most trustworthy, like everyone else thinks. i've put so much faith in my own illusions that sometimes i lose the grip, i see a scattered image that never becomes. i'm afraid i'm turning into my enemy, the one that ive always feared, respected and loathed. its only in times like this that i seem to react against it, to observe its transformation into...myself. its funny how extraordinary lies can be hidden under a smile, sometimes altered until so perfect that it deceives even its owner too. so the circle never ends. it gets dissolved and back to sanity.

Tales from Dreams

Part 7:

Ca sa o povestesc ceva mai taios, cred ca am redescoperit iesirea. Si inca una atat de frumoasa ca aproape am confundat-o cu minciuna. Intai am vazut-o pe Ea si rolul ei jucat ca un obicei tembel generat de o neputinta prost inteleasa , la fel ca atunci cand te inveti sa mananci cozonac daca nu mai ai paine. O constanta ce vegheaza umilitor (fata de cei care intr-adevar cu asta se ocupa) si fara de care efectiv nu mi le-as putea imagina. Pe ele visele. Stadiul de cosmar demult depasit incepe sa se transforme intr-un loc "bine" meritat. Obisnuinta dar nu acceptare. Mi se spunea ca trebuie sa beau apa plata si sa nu ma ating de cea carbogazoasa. Nu pot sa sufar apa plata, dar am inghitit-o pentru mult timp. Sentimentul de repulsie nu s-a schimbat. Presupun ca trebuie sa lucrez la acceptare. Defapt la intelegere. Prezenta familiara o sa cresca si mai multe radacini asta pana cand n-o sa gasesc toporul sa le tai. Toporul ca toporul, dar ce te faci dupa? My perfect enemy. O sa-mi fie dor de tine dar promit ca-ti pastrez un loc "la noi in celula".

To choose or not the complexity of a character, this seen mainly through the often wondering of what would it be like to be a different person for each and everyone else. In this case it breeds, not a second too late, an idea that a true moment of your mind would be crushed by a chameleon-like behavior, censored by the need of the above presented circumstance. but how much of this is accurate and to what extend? However no answer found, the question here is not how you're seen in the others perspective, too often chained by a personal illusion mimicking experience, instead it's a question of identity. The self. That so-called unique entity given/started by (sometimes unfortunate circumstances) the so-named birth. Not sure where it ends or starts, but I will assume for the sake of it that this particular self starts and finishes with birth - death. How did this all begin?

To mark a setting, more of an imaginary one, I pictured a character a while ago (this time with a social function / persona) that presented him/herself as a human deprived of consistency in actions. An ideal of trans-formation, a morphing individual that displays a ridiculous ability to become what the surrounding rational beings desire or on the contrary never expect. A child with the eyes of your worst enemy, an innocent murderer, a friendly slave leader of your fears or a humorous depressed genius of simplicity. All-in one and yet never the same. The easy part of this contradiction would fall on the viewers, the victims of interactions with this personality, who would probably see it as a flaw of nature, a disturbed, an intentional or occasional misleading individual. However this is not the point of discussion.

Having pointed out the general traits, what really matters is the own perception over this particular self. Would an independent personality be able to resist the ever-changing environment and even more, remain as a flag, as the basis and creator of the others? Is this complexity, an evolution of self, or a human with no face, that has no answer to the riddle "do you drink the water or the wave"? Driven by fear and defensive measures would that person withstand the dissonance or perfectly conscious ....

Iluzie pretentioasa

"cinismul de orice fel este o masca pentru neputinta de adaptare - pe scurt un fel de impotenta si a dispretui orice fel de efort este cel mai mare efort".

"sa le cerem oamenilor sa traiasca rational ar fi ca si cum le-ai cere sa traiasca cu analgezice".

Letter to the Truth

Beautiful you,I guess you're in my way
With such a pretty face,
disguised under a shallow mind...
Whatever happened to the lies,
becoming less the conservation of truth,
they are no longer beautiful.
"You're such an inspiration for the things
that I will never ever choose to be".
And so I thank you dearly for you will always be with me
As a reminder of insanity.

Tales from Dreams

Part2:

The small dot was definitely not marking an end this time. As soon as I reached for the cup I was surprised to find it moved to a blank page. It dripped once, then twice, and then a small stain of black ink was suddenly alive on the white surface. It sounded comforting and relaxing. And then the sounds echoed like frozen. The small dark paint was now a pool of ice. I stood still, not wanting to disturb its evolution. I guess anyone in my place would have been terrified but not me. I suspect it was the lack of motivation. What if you have no reason, nothing to motivate your actions or responses, would you still be afraid?

The Apples

sun was dripping its last drops on a cold winter day. The red apples argued heavily in her arms. Wind, grey. She could never stand wind, it always came as a bad reminder of those days. Those past recollections threw an image before her eyes. Subtle and gently the warmth made her step slowly. A flash at the crossing, a sign. The white road just touched by the now silent apples was disturbed by her presence. The icy girl couloured in red the peaceful road. The weight was lifted, they were not heavy anymore.