Saturday, July 30

Of Truth

"Totul e adevărat în măsura în care poate fi adevărat"
Adevărul e relativ
Adevărul are multe fețe
ca și oamenii

Wednesday, July 27


I began the journey
I remember this road
I remember these stairs
they only go one way:
Step by step
day by day
day with night
light with dark
I still pray for that truck,
For that drunk driver,
I still cross the street with my eyes closed

I shout my anguish to the world
—they only see the smile—
Three days after I am gone
they'll notice I've been there

Sunday, July 24

Hold on

It's getting late inside me
the birds of darkness
are starting their hunt.
The sun is setting in a sea of blood
and the seagulls' scream
is writing on my ribs,
on the inside part

The many unsatisfied wishes
paint in gray
the so-far-away horizon
Is that a falcon I see in the distance
or just the eyes of a demon?

Awaiting kills.

Hold out your hand
and tell me "come,"
Show me that morning will be here again.
It's all I'm waiting for.

Hold on...
       Hold on...

Thursday, July 21

It was all a dream

It's okay, I tell myself,
I guess it was never meant to be.
All I hope is I am gone before you read this
Because I couldn't stand to watch you break
under the burden of my love.

Wednesday, July 13

Material Girl

Poate de-aia ne atașăm de obiecte. Are și materialismul o explicație logică. Obiectele nu ne înșală. Nu ne trădează încrederea. Nu se prefac a fi ceva ce nu sunt de fapt. Spre deosebire de oameni, se pot repara sau înlocui cu ușurință dacă se strică.

Sunday, July 10

Let's just get this out in the open

by Daphne Gottlieb
I was 14 and madly in love for the first time. He was 21. He made me suddenly, unaccustomedly beautiful with his kisses and mix tapes. During the year of elation and longing, he never mentioned that he had a girlfriend who lived across the street. A serious girl. A girl his age. A girl he loved. Unlike inappropriate, high school, secret me. 
The next time, I was 15 visiting a friend at college. It was a friend’s friend’s boyfriend who looked like Jim Morrison and wore leather pants and burned candles and incense. She was at work and I wanted him to touch me. She found out. I don’t know what happened after that.
I was 19 and he was my boyfriend’s archrival. I was 20 and it was my lover’s girlfriend and we had to lie because otherwise he always wanted to watch. I was 24 and her girlfriend knew about it but then changed her mind about the open relationship. We saw each other anyway. I was 30 and we wanted each other but were committed to other people; the way we look at each other still scorches the walls. I turned thirty-something and pointedly wasn’t invited to a funeral/ a wedding/ a baby shower because of a rumor. 
I am a few years older now and I know this: There are tastes of mouths I could not have lived without; there are times I’ve pretended it was just about the sex because I couldn’t stand the way my heart was about to burst with happiness and awe and I couldn’t be that vulnerable, not again, not with this one.  That waiting to have someone’s stolen seconds can burn you alive. That the shittiest thing you can do in the world is lie to someone you love; also that there are certain times you have no other choice – not honoring this fascination, this car crash of desire, is also a lie. [cliché] That there is power in having someone risk everything for you. That there is nothing more frightening than being willing to take this free fall. That it is not as simple as we were always promised. Love – at least the pair-bonded, prescribed love – does not conquer all.
Arrow, meet heart. Apple, meet Eve.   
Here then, I hope, are stories, poems and essays about the way it really breaks down, about what desire does to us, about what happens when we’re incandescent but are not allowed to be, about what we look like when we adore, and, in the end, what it cost.
(emphasis mine

Thursday, July 7


It's 11:11
and I'm not making wishes anymore.
New Year's fireworks,
first taste of cherry blood this year,
dandelions, shooting stars, eyelashes, ladybugs,
and let's not forget the fuckin' birthday candles,
And all my wishes were one.
But you ... you were not to come


Sunday, July 3


Lași să curgă printre degete nisipul clepsidrei
deși-ar fi trebuit deja să știi că e mai prețios ca aurul
Mă dezlipești de tine
--autocolant de duzină--
Cât te aștepți să te aștept?

Îmi vor crește din nou aripile
pe care le-ai ars cu focul pasiunii tale
Și mă întreb dacă vei fugi de mine sau spre mine
și dacă va mai fi vreo diferență
sau dacă vei privi resemnat
la ce-ar fi fost dac-ar fi fost să fie
plecând umerii sub greutatea detaliilor
continuând să târâi lanțuri
ce îți legi singur de picioare.

Te-nvârți în cercuri concentrice
spre eșafodul ce așteaptă în centru
Dorința se topește în vis
iar visul în fum
amar de țigară
Photo by Kristina Alegro