Diary of a Paranoid Skeptical Schizophrenic Manic-Depressive Sociopath

Yes, inspiration, such a great marvelous thing that fills you with a feeling of well being, which allows simple ideas to multiply into a more complex set of ideas and which brings creativity and wit into the equation. Of course, this is not the case here.

While documenting my past months, I figured that something is awfully wrong. Yet again, yes, but please bare with me as I try to formulate an idea whilst we go along. I often fantasize about being happy and, as often as that, I feel rather stupid and delusional. What are we if not beasts of burden, so lonely in essence, damned to carry a product of our own: joy and see it for more than it really is, just a joyful sound that three letters produce when spoken. When you finish repeating this sound loudly, please carry on reading. In desolation I sought happiness and I was led astray. Joy or happiness is something for which we constantly change meaning, thus it does not exist or it merely exists in the sense of the absence of sadness. What is joyful today can easily become sorrow tomorrow. What is happy tomorrow could have, just as easily, been sad yesterday. This concept is a measure of activity, something we produce and give meaning to, in our own subjective and temporary way, something that we need, something that we feed ourselves with and yet another plank in the picket fence that separates us from the beasts. Surely the donkey does not dress the clothes it carries and the ox doesn't eat the crops it helps plant. The opposite concept is a measure of a passive stance, thus is a measure of the essence of every human being.

I have agreed, a while ago, with the concept of life as a string. I simply added that the string is just the individual, subjective life which carries its course above and below perpendicular strings, parallel to other strings contributing to the braid: the objective, collective life - the universe. Before this, in the same line of thoughts, I have denied the existence of time as we perceived it and as we agree upon today, dismantling the concepts of past and future. Now the novelty - I came across this thought which incorporates both my previous statements as well as this change in perspective.

If each and everyone's string goes above and below perpendicular strings in order to create the braid, then I could deduce three things, each derived from the above one:

• Each string depends on the other strings, everything is interconnected.

• Each string is influenced by the relationship it develops with another string (a perpendicular string which goes above and below it).

• Each string is constantly respecting the above and below movement thus creating repetitive patterns which describe a sinusoidal shape.

• Time constantly repeats itself in a perpetual present, in a loop (already stated above and before, I tried to offer additional explanations).

The idea I wanted to reach and the idea I would like to insist on is, clearly, the third idea. I never liked the concepts of reincarnation or of life as a loop because it created certain paradoxes in my braid. For example, if a braid was to be in a loop, it could never evolve or constantly produce itself, thus demolishing the concept of the braid entirely. But looking more into the details of the braid, the basic element - the string - is, in its perfection, a loop. Considering the tip of the repetitive pattern in the sinusoidal shape as one point on this loop, the bottom of the same repetitive pattern would be the antipodal point. In other words, the repetitive pattern in the sinusoidal shape has the same tip and bottom every time making it easy to consider this repetitive pattern as an unfolded loop. But, just as a thought, - something else that bothered me while considering the ideas of reincarnation or looping life mentioned above - what is in the center of the loop? What is the loop filled with? Following another mathematical concept, between each two points there is an infinite number of points, thus making it impossible for the center of the loop to be empty. Why this vast emptiness, in larger quantities that the loop itself? I will not answer all these questions. Instead, you have the option to send your own thoughts below, whatever they are.

Having said that, what that this all mean? How have I reached this conclusion? I believe, based on what I have experienced until now, that in the course of a string we constantly evolve according to the connections we make and the relations we develop, but that we will always be variating between the tip and the bottom of the pattern. We will pass through numerous instances, we will acquire massive amounts of knowledge or understanding, we will modify our core and restructure our whole system of values and beliefs. We will constantly change only to fundamentally fluctuate between the same two constants: the tip and the bottom of the pattern only to finally close the loop and start all over again. You will, at some point (tip), return to something that you have believed in, to someone that you have loved, to something that you have cared about, to a tune that you have danced on, to a movie that you have enjoyed watching to one of these or all of these that, at another point (bottom), you will find useless, futile, worthless or simply forget about them.

However, I still cannot end this any other way than the way it will eventually end. I realized that no matter how much you have acquired, no matter how much you have learned and gathered, once you return to that thing of yours or, more importantly, to that someone you have always kept closest, you will come across a situation that you could solve as a different person, but the way of things inherits your past weaknesses or mistakes that stopped you in the first place to complete you wishes or desires.

Dependency

I am waiting, for some time now, for something new to write
But, lately, I can't really get anything right.
Words go as they come and I wish I could go too
At least as far as I can possibly be away from you.

But the way the future looks these days,
We're with one step ahead of us while our whole body stays.

Merry Crimbo to all and to all a Merry Crimbo!

...and a Happy New Year!

Odeur

This is a true story, something that really happenend to me. Now, women might want to lock their children, hide their pets and look away.
So, I was in the bus, right? Going towards the same place I go to every day, following the same route, my nose in between the pages of a book and other's noses in my business. The first thing you are going to notice in a bus is dirty noses from all the nosing in between other's ass cheeks. That's why I always keep a book or a sudoku magazine or even a notebook quite close to my nose. However, today, the two seats on each of my sides were empty. I was sitting there, isolated like a bomb waiting to be detonated. Nothing could go wrong with so many noses at such a distance, right? Wrong! Where have you read a story without conflict?
Bus stops. Open doors. Enter lady, mild aged. Unpleasent feeling. She asks me if the seat next to me is free, as if it wasn't obvious enough - I know now that the Universe was giving me the opportunity to change my fate, to shout: "NO!". I had a similar idea then but the confusion of not knowing which of the two seats she was referring to acted as a gag.
I returned to my undisturbed state of perfect calm and taoist inertia. People started gathering in a chicken-like fashion, with their eyes like those of pigeons - looking sideways, moving their heads in short bursts of agitated ample movements. The other seat was now occupied also. My claustophobia started pumping more blood in less time, filling the capillaries in the nose and increasing my respiration. And then the smell. The smell of cheap cologne combined with a few drops of perspiration that brought back memories that I was striving to unmemorize.
I was trapped in a death chamber. I knew then and there that, somehow, life was slowly but surely ending. I soon begged the Universe from all my heart for a quick death. It chose to ignore me. The agony lasted until I recovered my lucidity that had to make a detour because of the initial shock. I figured then that soon I would get used to that smell but, somehow, I didn't want to - I didn't want to embrace all those horrible memories that were trying to pierce my cranium. Instead, I challenged my mind to block the perfume but it was futile. I even tried to stop breathing but when I started feeling dizzy, I took a mouthful of air, perfume infested air, intoxicating me further and deepening my dizziness. That only intensified my suffering as I was now feeling every particle of it and I made a quick promise of not trying stupid ideas anymore.
I was now caged in the final stages of my detonation and I really felt like I was ready to blow. I challenged my mind again. I was now trying, with my remaining energy, to change that smell into a more pleasurable one. I provoked my imagination and I filled my mind with happy memories and happy thoughts. Pleasant ones. To no avail. The smell caused them to wither and burn like a flaming filmstrip or a polaroid on fire. Coincidently, that ignited the fuse and the bomb was seconds to explosion, despite my desperation.
My last attempt failed and the bomb went off. Last night's beans and beer were of great use now and, in no time, I was isolated again. The smell was replaced by a far better one and, relieved, I smiled.

This is Unfinished Because I Don't Know How it Ends...

When you wake up next to me
You find me up and running
And when you ask me how I slept
I tell you that you're funny.

But when you change your smile into a frown
I tell you not to worry,
It's normal not to sleep

When sleeping next to you
Turns every night to morning.

And now for something completely different (Bunnies of Values, new section Grand Opening!)

They say that a picture is like a thousand words. What about more than one? What about a polaroid?

Following the same philosophy, which you have been used with here, of saying a lot by short means, here is something completely different. And because comic strips should be just that, here are some filmstrips that describe human values in a quite original way - using bunnies, non-values and vices and trying to be comical in a very noir/noire way [typical]. For a period, this is how things will go around here and this is how everything will look like so don't be shy to share your thoughts and feel free to participate in any way you like (pun intended, click the like button - there's also one at the bottom for the facebook page).

Without further ado, click this link to go straight into the action or, for the dyslexic: click the polaroid! (you'll get used with these "on-purpose badly taken pictures") The next filmstrips will be posted here and in the Bunnies of Values section below where you can find them all. Also, there's going to be an ad somewhere around here which will remind you of your favourite bunnies!

Sketch

Yet another no-comment sketch for Comédie Noire/Noir in preparation for the upcoming new section. Does this count as a comment?

Prognoza pentru week-end III

E decembrie şi s-au schimbat multe şi câteva merită menţionate. Ceea ce nu s-a schimbat este vremea, deci şi week-end-ul ăsta vom avea lună şi, de fapt, şi după week-end. Şi frig. Frigul e îndeajuns pentru toată lumea, nu vă mai înghesuiţi.

Ce s-a schimbat: ce citeşti este scris cu un font diferit, atent ales. Am schimbat partea "Cititori" de jos de tot cu ceva mai modern şi mai interactiv. Are chiar şi un mare buton de like cu care vă puteţi "abona". Veţi primi actualizări şi titlurile celor mai noi vorbe direct pe facebook şi veţi putea participa la tot felul de discuţii. A apărut o listă cu blog-urile prietenilor, deasupra etichetelor şi, cel mai important, un nou concept original Prognoza meteo: Lună - Vorbe scurte. Le veţi putea găsi înşirate peste tot pe blog, de-obicei sub vorbe - sunt foarte drăguţe şi scurte. Nu vor sta mult ca să nu ocupe locul aşa că apucă-te să le colecţionezi pe toate.

De ce atâtea schimbări? Există un proiect în pregătire care, dacă totul merge bine, va fi o colaborare. Nu spun titlu, subiect, câţi se vor ocupa pentru că nimic nu e cert. E doar o imagine în capul meu. Probabil până anul viitor va apărea o nouă secţiune.

În rest, nu vă opriţi din a vă împărtăşi gândurile cu privire la oricare din vorbe sau chiar la Poetry of the Common Fellow şi nu uitaţi să folosiţi butonul de like cu folos şi cu sinceritate şi, dacă vă interesează, să vă alăturaţi paginii de facebook. (jos de tot-de tot)

Mai multe nu mai spun. Fugi de-aici! (nu fugi, poate mai e ceva de citit care ţi-ar plăcea)

Week-end plăcut!

Cuisine

Something that I said I'll never be, I'm slowly becoming. I was half way to a white empty plate when I realized it. Instinctively my eyes raised and stopped on where she sat, an empty seat now, next to a burning cigarette consuming itself in the ash tray on the table, the ignited tip far from the brown-yellowish end. I was reading but I stopped to concentrate in forming a dull and surprised-looking expression thinking of how I wanted her to see me when she would come, even though that moment would not arrive soon. I think she only mentioned it once, she didin't brag about it, she never felt superior or even different, for that matter, in any way, she wasn't trying to convince me or others of her belief. I don't really know how I came across the thought and feeling that something is missing, that something might be wrong or... not right, or different in any way but it hit me right there and then like the Sun temporarily blinds the caveman when he emerges from his cave. I looked again, just to be sure - you know - but reality was not to be altered, no matter how I was handling it. Somehow, it seemed pretty obvious, easy to explain. She was a vegetarian and, since she was cooking for me, she was not serving any meat. But the mere fact that she said nothing about it, that she would do it mellow - but not in a secretive fashion - made my discovery so much more interesting and surprising. The scary part was how I never noticed these simple facts until now, how she knew this and how she took pleasure abusing it. As unconscious as I was eating anything, I was unconsciously being turned to eat only some things.

The Tail I Couldn’t Dye Without Telling

I had received it four years ahead of the time I was supposed to receive it. They told me a lot of things, most of which my short termed memory could not satisfy me with, for now. As they were telling me everything they seemed to be instructed to tell me, I was staring them blankly, unmoved by Granpapa’s occasional spit, nor the often censorship from Aunt Pansy imposed on certain aspects of his storytelling nor the horrible things that they were actually trying to relate. In spite of my father’s wet-melted-wax-like face and my mother’s tears-eroded-canyons-like face I stood still, thinking of only one thing. All four looked very disappointed when I started smiling, becoming shades and outlines of the pale colors of their thick woolen clothes. Granpapa cried a distorted and flat sound followed by a strange alignment of his eyebrows in a way that his astonishment could easily control, but his aged muscles couldn’t anymore. He disappeared in the dark hole that was the bathroom entrance, enclosing himself behind the shut metal door. My mother started crying again and was led out of the small dark and dank kitchen that always had the curious smell of dirty-perspiration-soaked-socks-boiled-in-soup. It was me, my Aunt Pansy and her sadistic look upon her ugly face that brought back so many childhood memories that my mind was struggling to block. And there it was, creating shades of grey in the black kitchen. My big smile had an aura that shone. For a moment I forgot I was cold and shivering, even if my sweater was itching most horribly, irritating my sensible white skin. Aunt Pansy said something, but I can’t remember what right now. I only know that I asked her if it was really true. I think that my prolonged smile started to become a sinister grin because it reflected in Aunt Pansy’s witch-like nose which erected the solitary hair in its tip. That was all she permitted to show of her dread. I know now that she feared me. I asked her once again, almost angry, I even demanded her, taking profit of her unnoticeable moment of sensibility. It was only when my parents flung inside and snatched me, dragging me out of the frozen darkness that my Aunt Pansy stopped them, uttering the expected words: “He must have it. That’s what he would have wanted. It’s his now.”. Right there and then, I had forgiven all of Aunt Pansy’s abuses and tortures.

I hold the grey tail which belonged to my grandfather. I am on my balcony, trying to finish the bottle of brandy, though the heavy morning is pushing my shoulders like Atlas’ burden. I am trying to remember why I wanted this tail so much, why I dedicated my whole petty life and existence to it. I remember when my parents used to send me to my grandfather in the stifling hot summers and I used to sit there, doing absolutely nothing all day, in a small claustrophobic room that permitted no light, nor heat. I could choose, of course, each summer, to go either to the proprietor of the ant sized room or to Granpapa. The latter was a declared enemy of the former and, according to his philosophy; he was keeping his friend far away and his non-friends even further. In a way, my grandfather was the only family I had. I think I do remember how I came across the tail. But I could never say it now. What I need to say, what I need to let out, is that today I decided to dye it. I know you might not understand why I am doing it or why it is so hard to do it that I must empty a brandy bottle before. I am still not fully decided myself, but I know that I couldn’t do it alone. That’s why you are here. That’s your part. You are the impartial judge, the neutral witness, the uninvolved sideshow character. You are here because I needed you to know that I want to dye this tail, because it is the tail I couldn’t dye without telling.