un tramvai numit pian

you can't write about love

2011-06-20T05:01:00.001-07:00

a matter of tremendous comprehension
that requires much anticipation
and most of your attention
is more of a dissimulation
that always suffers alteration:

of all the tastes, colors and shapes
one type of love eliminates
all others.

sweet love is polite and shy
much like a big girl who failed as a spy

and bitter love is even worse
it's gloomy and at time morose

but sour love is march in bloom
it's not at all romantic doom
it's when you turn into an optimistic fool
and scream over the rooftops "you're so cool!"
only to find a minute later it's not how you presume.

gulp

2011-06-20T05:00:00.001-07:00

she looked at him and tried to say
"hooray!
you're here to stay!"
but much to her future dismay
he only came to stay one day
and then he'd be quick on his way
to ecuador

her words were stuck
hit by a truck
but she laughed and talked for hours
about ghosts and films with maurs
and didnt mention anything
about the feelings that would ring
inside of her

he wasn't stuck at all, he was ablaze,
and gave her such a funny gaze
then left for ecuador.

this boy who took life sip by sip
left on a neverending trip
because this girls' words wouldn't drip.
(she suffered from a rare case of severe sincere censorship)

angry rugs and angry bugs

2011-06-19T09:32:00.001-07:00

on my way to buy a rug

i met a little angry ladybug

who claimed that his name was doug

and all i did was give a shrug

doug's no lady name, he protested

but i felt a bit molested

so i very quickly had to split

(buying rugs put me in an awful fit)

now i think i could've been much kinder

cause afterwards doug met a spider

who was absolutely interested

so doug found his end, ingested.

ballad of a porky woman

2011-06-06T04:33:00.000-07:00

paul was a polish poker player
with one bad habit: to fart in the foyer
of the big casino where he used to mop
paul was hip and his hip used to pop

his job as a janitor made him very happy
he would hum and sway and be in a good mood
but his mean, fat wife only wanted food
so his life at home was really really crappy

so paul played more poker, stayed out all night,
while his wife ate and ate with all of her might
he didnt go home for a year and a month
and when he returned his wife was crying broth!

she had flooded the house with her tears
and all the windows and walls had greasy oil smears
she had quintupled in size
and had breadcrumbs in her eyes.

her hands had become giant spoons
and all of her body parts resembled balloons
her hair was like rice noodles before boiling
alas, there was no where she'd be going.

so paul sat and thought what to do
and got a great idea that would make money, too:
"come in for the meal of your life
a bite of poker playing polish paul's porky wife!"

it was a great success, everyone spread the word
people came in from all over the world!
in a month she was done
not dead, not at all, but to paul's surprise as slim as a cruton!

paul couldn't believe it, she became so nice
she was smiling at last and didn't think of rice
so he took the million dollars he made playing poker and serving his wife as a meal
and they eloped together to live the wondrous, happy life of freewheel.

The Story of the Doubt

2011-06-06T03:36:00.000-07:00

The Story of the Doubt

Threw down the phone

Threw up my bot ton

Threw nicest things out -

Remained with my doubt

Who did it? - I thought.

Who stole my Van Gogh?

Who knew that I'd put

The keys in my suit?

Who discover my vault?

Took it by assault?

It was safe by default

It must be my fault!

Even walls are suspicious.

This is not auspicious!

Maybe it was the cat

Hm – she did look at me like that...

Or maybe it was – oh! My bird!

Most cute in the world!

That filthy old parrot -

HE wanted my karat!

Or maybe my fish -

I'm sure that he wished

To beautify its shell.

You'll so go to jail!

I'm sure that I'm close,

I can smell with my nose!

The burglar is close,

His smell – it still flows.

I'm wondering in circles,

I am close..., I'm precocious...

I just need a break -

And then revenge I will take!

And then I hit the bottle,

And then I hit the bottom.

Of the glass that is.

Got lost in its fizz...

The Mellon - A Metaphor of the Future

2011-06-06T01:16:00.000-07:00

The Mellon - A Metaphor of the Future

"Today we'll get efficient!"

[And so the story started]

We'll make the mellon square

We'll stop being retarded!

We'll make one sheep be 2,

We'll make genetics better,

We'll show it in a Zoo,

And then we'll schedule weather!

We'll feed bottox to seals,

We'll teach marmots to dance,

Oh, Future! - you reveal

So brilliant, enhanced!

We'll make kids go to school,

And drink lots of green tea.

All scientist, all cool

We'll all turn out to be.

We'll make things cause we can.

We'd twist things cause we could.

We'll restart Frankenstein

And turn fire to wood!

"Today we'll get efficient!"

[And so the story started]

We'll make the mellon square

We'll stop being retarded.

smth smth

2011-02-21T10:32:00.001-08:00

fisty wristy

much cry and little wool
there' way too many lambs in-stable,
unresurcting fists of peace,
and thoughts knitted in cables.

too many sips of thirst
way outdated salt embraces
too many shades of sin
too many sliveless aces.

myself am gonna dance it soon
and slide and leave it senseless
can't live the only rule
this sanity is madness.

and there are cream pies that solve a lot of issues.

what's there left to laugh about?

2010-12-02T15:56:00.000-08:00

hands stuck in clay,
or phoebe bouffay,
rice pudding on your tie,
muffins that can cry,
a serious man on a bench
who falls in a pond and gets drenched,
mysterious eyebrow moves
and a 90 year old's grooves,
a knee cap wearing a mask,
or a head shaped like a flask.
so there comes a time to ask:

what's there left to laugh about?
you. and maybe sauerkraut.

New Poem

2010-12-02T08:30:00.000-08:00

---> waiting for the desert <---

dinner started slowly

i just got my phone bill,

i flinched, it was gigantic

i shivered, felt a chill

tried not to think of desert

i took a sip of soup

the small talk seemed to matter

but things went in a loop

t'was i who couldn't listen

I wasn't anymore

my finergnails were crimson

i laughed and mimed a snore

obsessive was this desert

you didn't really count

i quickly drank my beer

the smell was all around

i felt you didn't matter

you tried to prove me wrong,

for me it didn't matter,

the smell was in my lung.

i keep it undercover

it's only i who knows-

i'm dying for this desert

but still the dinner goes

it's on and on, it's deadly

eternity is here

for me, my dear, i worry

i wish you'd let me be.

I've eaten all the courses

I've even eaten stew

It's nonsense how i've waited

My desert, just for you!

I don't believe in standards

i know not any rule

To me it's just my desert

That makes me feel i'm full.

what's the use of doors (if i don't feel like music)?

2010-11-21T15:46:00.000-08:00

the question came from windows (oh, technology), who got jealous, being somewhat less musical. or it came from the window (where you where standing), and you got jealous, being somewhat more territorial. but music can be technical and territories don't have windows. and windows are smaller doors, they're doors for the eyes. therefore, doors are windows for the blind. or afraid. relax.

inima - perspectiva aproape anatomica

2009-02-19T13:00:00.000-08:00

scriu la cerere, cum un cobzar canta ce doreste domnul gras cu portmoneul plin. scriu in romana, andreea zice ca e limba mea si scrisul ar fi organic, ca inima. si doar despre asta scriu. dintr-o perspectiva aproape anatomica.

gasesc inima teribil de asemanatoare cu persoane reale, dar orice asemanare este, fireste, coincidentala, dar nu neadevarata. de exemplu, dar o las anonima, inima e ca un lacom. ii intinzi un deget si te ia cu totul, pe sus. sau ca un copil neascultator. ii zici sa stea locului, pare ca intelege. apoi face stanga-mprejur si te trezesti cu ea batand tare tare pentru cine nici nu gandeai, d-apai vroiai.

unii zic ca e bine sa iti asculti inima si au dreptate. e o procedura complicata, implica miscari complexe din partea gatului, dar el ti-e prieten si daca ii promiti ca fumezi mai putin sau nu mai canti sub dus te ajuta. si partea a doua din ascultat e interpretatul: daca bate normal, nu-ti pasa, nu e nimic de ingrijorat, dar daca bate prea tare e semn rau, inseamna ca esti in pericol. ea ti-ar spune ca e bine, dar tu nu trebuie sa o asculti asa. si daca o faci, esti pierdut.

inima e ca stomacul. e goala pe dinauntru, se macina aiurea, e lacoma si fie ca-i dai prea mult sau prea putin, o doare.

inima e o imbecila. o imbecila care te face sa arati prost in lume. as fi preferat sa am doua stomace.

the new restrictions for the wizard

2007-10-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

muu-muu:

la fiecare doua propozitii sa folosesti cuvantul tigara
sa se termine cu o concluzie legata de teoria relativitatii restransa
sa fie vorba de niste magneti de frigider

Surogat acut de plictiseala

2007-09-28T05:50:00.000-07:00

Nu ar fi trebuit sa visez in culori. Oare ce inseamna asta? Ca sunt bolnav? Ca sunt bolnav cu siguranta… dadada as putea avea ceva.. ceva cronic..cu siguranta cronic.. si ar mai trebui sa fie.. ceva grav si de neinchipuit- ceva de genul albinozitate cronica. De fapt si sufar de asta- ma fac alb ca varul de fiecare data cand ma las in locul batranului si-mi aduc aminte cum miroseam impreuna ce ne gatea Alina. Apoi ca sa rad de el rasuceam niste servetele, I le insurubam in nas, ii faceam o poza cu cannon-ul si ma moleseam ascultand cum fredoneaza ceva romantat.

16:54 – a 18a pauza de tigara
Pen-ultima oara, dupa criza de plans a Alinei am discutat despre importanta unghiilor de la picioare… evident..mai mult ea vorbea- eu numaram atent carligele de pe balcon si ma gandeam la vaza ramasa goala ca o gaura neagra. A trebuit sa ii inghit inca o data nervii si sa arunc la gunoi macii plasticului vietii care ii provocau nebunei criza varstei a treia; bul bul..la fiecare inceput de weekend cand avea prea mult timp liber, cateva sute de baloane de sapun se spargeau in capul meu varsand viituri de nemultumire..
Bine ca de de data asta a durat numai 10 minute dupa ne-am calmat discutand si clasificand degetele de la picioarele Alinei. De fapt mai mult ea. Eu numaram in continuare carligele, rugandu-ma sa nu ma oblige sa ma uit la falangele ei. Macar daca n-ar fi atat de strambe si colerice.

18:00- a 25a pauza de tigara daca nu mi se termina pachetul la a 20a.
Ultima oara, dupa criza de plans a Alinei, batranul mi-a zis ca i-ar fi placut sa simta miros de lamaie, dupa care a plecat in pas saltat pana in dormitor sa se uite la tablouri. Abia acum realizez ca dupa cateva saptamani bune de cand sta cu noi... e pentru prima oara cand stafiditul si-a lasat mandolina pe canapea… de fapt... cine naiba e si ce cauta la mine in sufragerie? Dar sa fiu al dracului daca-mi mai pasa...atat vreme cat zice frumos...

Prima tigara din pachetul nou
A fost chiar ultima criza de plans a Alinei care are impesia ca ukulelele nu i se mai potrivesc. De parca i s-ar fi potrivit vreodata- mi-a innebunit si ultimele ramasite de sanatate mentala pe care le mai aveam, si le-a facut sa o ia razna prin papusoi. I-am urat sa manance creta si sa moara de febra, si i-am spus ca plec sa imi caut identitatea.

Batranul nu mai misca de o saptamana...s-a rostogolit sub patul de la dormitor si acolo a ramas.. intr-un fel imi pare rau... zicea frumos…

un vechi inceput

2007-09-04T10:53:00.000-07:00

dupa esuarea balenei care o avea in burta pe sorina si fratii ei gemeni retarzi, o noua tema ciocane din cenusa unui gratar. ma rog. restrictiile sunt de la prea multa sare:

letzu saves the day: ok, trebuie sa aiba o pagina, sa fie cu ukulele si o mandolina, un batran si flori de plastic
letzu saves the day: trebuie sa folosesti hiperbola de cel putin 5 ori
letzu saves the day: si nu ai voie sa folosesti animale

consuela miranda mercedes dolores: tu- trebuie sa faci o poveste de groaza...care se termina cu cuvantul castravete si care sa implice un pod.
consuela miranda mercedes dolores: nu trebuie sa ai mai mult de 3 personaje, din care nici unul nu va primi nume.
consuela miranda mercedes dolores: nu ai voie sa folosesti cuvantul ceatza, dar trebuie sa folosesti cuvantul ciuperca de 3 ori, si existenta unor tenisi albi

Titlu

2007-06-14T12:55:00.000-07:00

Ma numesc Sorina. mamei i s-a parut un nume luminos.. probabil inca mai credea in ceva cand aproape a murit de vie ingropata in datorii vii, pe cand incerca sa o scoata la capat pentru mine si fratii mei, Visiniul si Roscatul. Gemeni. Nu blonzi.
Eu nu mai cred decat in urmatorii 5 ani; dupa care planul e sa-mi fac de capat, ca un copil rasfatat. de ce? de ce? pentru ca am chef sa nu am chef sa traiesc fara sa stiu ca o fac. si intotdeauna am trait bine sub stress. mai bine putin si de calitate decat putin sau mult si fara miros sau gust. oricum revoltele din mine au crescut atat de mult ca simt nevoia sa nasc un Panzer cu dublu sistem de tragere. si revolta asta din mine, nu stiu cum sa-ti explic dragule, dar decat sa explodez o grenada in casa popoului sau sa devin un mercenar platit (o, da!), prefer sa fac lumii un serviciu murdar si sa o las asa cum este.
deci sunt sorina. luminoasa ca o reclama de restaurant si singura cuc, ca un cuc.

.....

nimic nu s-a intamplat in ultimele zile. am sa incep ce trebuia sa fac de mai multa vreme. sa imi uit si iert greselile din ultima saptamana. sa nu mai astept sa ma sune trecutul pe vodafone si sa tac malc ignorandu-l. poate dispare. de asta nu o sa mai vorbesc de trecut. nu de cel care a insemnat ceva pentru mine, oricum. am sa vorbesc de viitor.
in fond misiunea mea e simpla: am 5 ani la dispozitie sa imi duc la un semnificativ sfarsit o viata. un task mai simplu decat pentru scenaristul de la tanar si nelinistit.

bad review

2007-05-07T07:56:00.000-07:00

I mean, me and the arks just dont go together well.

what about what about what about me (part 2)

2007-05-05T11:54:00.001-07:00

well. atleast i liked the movie

What Classic Movie Are You?
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what about what about what about me

2007-05-05T11:48:00.000-07:00

well... i am relieved. i could've been... i could've been...well.. somebody worse than him that might've existed in ..some ..dimension.

now all of ya just sit down and start eating only the pure green race particles from your nose!

comments anyone?

thought not!

heil!

What Famous Leader Are You?
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elefantish

2007-05-01T09:28:00.000-07:00

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Objective setting

2007-04-26T12:06:00.000-07:00

part one: tocmai mi-am dat seama ca vreau sa invat sa cant la pian.
part two: si eu am vrut dintotdeauna sa stiu sa cand la pian.