Things of Life

     The substance of a created thing it's about authenticity. It's becoming more and more rare in a world headed for degradation, where everybody wants things stimulating, fast and cheap. Creation takes time, it's not cheap, and it may not be too glamorous, although if you have eyes to see, it may shine with its simplicity.       I am going ballistic when kids are not excited for going to the beach or hiking a trail, to see something real, because they prefer to stay in some virtual world, and be happy with the  ready-made. Or choosing to eat some fried mixtures from a plastic bag rather than an apple. The world drains me sometimes with its ignorance for authenticity...      I am looking for a spot to look at the veins of a leaf... One that just fell from a tree...

In tremurarea violet-albastra, Gândurile si visele se contopesc Nestingherite... Fără tridimensionalitate, O lume se contureaza Nestraina si calda...  Și foșnetul de frunze in geam   Se transforma in atingeri pe buze, Neoprite...

Food is scarce. I am constantly looking for it. Sometimes in the most remote places.  Small and transparent producers. Ancient grains and traditions unaltered. Fruits picked in their due season. Me... the modern gatherer.

     I can't believe I'm writing about it... I guess I got to the point where I am more conscious that what's happening in the country's leadership affects my life more than I may think...       When I was adolescent I would often hear my dad yelling at some people they were communist... "What is he talking about...?", me rolling my eyes... Why should I have cared...? In love most of my time, it was the only thing that mattered... Now it seems like I got home after a long journey, put things in order, plunged in an armchair, and found time for politics. Let's see, what's going on, what do we have here...?      So, there are these forces that constantly fight, apparently, their language is often twisted, and I am following an invizible ball from one to another. History was not exactly my favorite subject: after some nostalgic era with nice pottery, cave paintings, animal husbandry, some trades, and even wars that did not seem as dramatic ...

Oamenii dispar ca florile când se schimbă anotimpul, Te uiți în locul in care au stat și vezi materia înghețată... Cu toate astea, unii marchează locul acesta cu sânge, Ca și cum simpla plecare nu ar răni destul... 

     I remember Steve as a middle-aged fat man who was making balloons. I mean... it was his thing, he could do all kinds of recognizable shapes of animals or objects from some elongated colorful balloons. He was pretty much like a busker who was constantly carrying with him the paraphernalia of his craft. To be ready on the spot for whoever would be interested. Kids were thrilled and all over him with their special requests. I may still have some parts of broken balloons littered in some corners of my house...       I was getting exasperated sometimes when he was around... Already thinking how much I had to clean after kids got home with their hands full of the most bizarre looking balloons, very short lived...       What do you want... a sword, a puppy, a flower...?       He liked to do stuff for kids, he said, and beside balloons he was mastering tricks just to give them joy. Things with ropes, for exampl...

Lasă-mă umplută de-acasă,  Și să mă-mbăt... Ca apoi sa fug iar' in lume  Si sa mă satur de ea...