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Confesiunile unui motan halterofil 3

June 27, 2009 Leave a comment

Those were the last words of my father. He was an alley cat, born and raised. He had a tooth against living and a passion for mice. I was three months old when he died. He died alone, us cats always do. He left me a little, black book, two poems, a broken milk bottle and two little mice (he was saving them for a rainy day).

In the old days, he was a Shakespearean heavy weight lifter. That means he could lift huge weights, the size of a dog, while reciting Shakespeare. He had won three state championships and he had even met the president. They liked each other’s fur as a sign of respect. His favorite part was reciting poetry, but how else would you get cats to listen to Shakespeare, if not lifting weights and crashing beer cans on you skull?

My father lost everything in the war. Most of you don’t know, but the war started when a foolish German Siamese cat began to crave for all the mice of the world. My father lost my mum to a German land mine and my grandfather, who was a scout, to a tank. Even fewer of you know that it was my father who had put an end to the war. He became the mascot of the Manhattan Project and one night, while they were all sleeping, he designed the giant mushroom thingy that could end everything, once and for all.

Back then, he was drinking a lot and his tail wiggled with hatred. He never forgave himself for all the innocent cats he had killed, except for the dogs, we were pretty happy about them being dead.

In order to repair what he had done, my father invented a clock that works backwards, a tree that grows to the moon (us cats love the moon) and a mice fork. He had been working with a hairy human on something called time. And he was convinced that if we would get enough mice to climb the tree and eat the moon,  we could replace it with the clock. The clock would then reverse the sun to the place that it was when the war started. And we could change everything.

I planted the tree on the day of his funeral. I’ve been a vegetarian ever since. I lived with mice, I helped them eat and sleep safely. Tonight, there lie one billion mice at the roots of the tree. They’re waiting for my signal. I am the exact age my father was when he died. Tonight I’m going to set the record straight:

“Stars hide your fires,

Let no light see my black and deep desires”.

Categories: Uncategorized

confesiunile unui motan halterofil 2

June 26, 2009 Leave a comment

What do you see in morning’s mirror, my son? Is it the soft, silky spot your mother gave you as a child, or is it something else?

I remember the day that I met her. Her pale, white whiskers wondered in the grass like smell of cheese and trapped disbelief. I curled around her neck and she was mine. So young…and night grew still as our bodies lay to rest. The blisters of eternity couldn’t begin to describe that passion and that sorrow. And you were shedding the blue of your eyes for your grandfather’s Grey skin.

It’s older than a dream.

Categories: Uncategorized

Confesiunile unui motan halterofil 1

June 25, 2009 1 comment

You wake up one morning, head on the carpet and a beer can by your side. The room smells like drapes and the bitter taste of a new day drenches your throat. You’re whole apartment looks like a big fuckin’ help sign and the water from the kitchen sink dripps, like days gone by a big, nasty, neverending, sleppwalking, hair burning school daze.

O captain! My captain!

My hand is weak from burning desire, my face is injected with botulism and two little mice lie here with me. They’re chanting the songs of the dead as I wait. They dissappeared in 45 and no one spoke and no one cried.

Bury me in the orchyard, by the castle. It’s dark there and the wind never blows. It’s like the home we never had, it’s like the tears we never dropped. For being alive is a burden no man should carry to his grave.

Hear me, my son, as I lick my whiskers for the last time and know that the dog from which we run from is called Leopolod. His hate is our own, just like the blood of our forefathers, that washed the shores of Gallipoli.

And if you sigh, three springs from now, in the dark and the wet and the weary, remember that all that is never was, never will be and you shall be free.

Categories: Uncategorized

music is for the birds

June 20, 2009 Leave a comment

“When my fist clenches, crack it open / Before I use it and lose my cool / When I smile, tell me some bad news / Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil / Put your finger down my throat / If I shiver, please give me a blanket / Keep me warm, let me wear your coat.”

…tu esti din ce in ce mai frumoasa, mie chiar imi pasa.

Categories: papusha de la 2

Colectia Alt Tab: pauzele cat mai dese, cheia marilor succesuri

June 9, 2009 Leave a comment

Colectia Alt Tab se intoarce. Pentru ca e marti. Pentru ca a trecut furtuna, dar seful a insistat sa venim la munca. Pentru ca orice om, sanatos la cap, stie ca un uichend prelungit trebuie sa dureze macar doua saptamani.

Eram la metrou si un pustiulica, cu ascendenta de rocker, traducea mediul inconjurator pentru cele doua pupeze care-l insoteau si care se prapadeau de ras: “bla bla bla, stop homofobia: pink floyd”.

Ra-ti-ai dracu de emo…pai, pe vremea mea, cand ascultam floyd, la magnetofonu lu tata…auzi la el…ce, ba, tata era gay? M-am uitat urat. Eram un balaur cu trei capete si l-am cutitat mental, dupa care l-am pozitionat intr-o cladire cu bulina rosie si eu, care eram un balaur tandru, dar ferm,  hatzanam cladirea, asa…de noapte buna. El a coborat, eu am avut remuscari.

In vederea unei restitutio in integrum a karmei, vom difuza niste chestii simpatice, bune de leac pentru homofobie.

Incepem cu o executie tandra pentru tiff 2009, va pup, bai, prajiturilor!

Continuam cu un episod memorabil din southpark:  micutul Butters este trimis in tabara, unde trebuie sa pray the gay away, pentru ca este slighlty  bi-curios. Intre noi fie vorba,  Butters avea ceva antecedente, de pe vremea cand lansase acest  videoclip pe youtube.

Si incheiem cu o poveste de dragoste si un cantecel (youtube este in pauza de masa, semn ca nici ei n-au chef de munca. vom reveni)

Categories: doua groenlandeze

zen is for pussies: return of the jedi

June 6, 2009 Leave a comment

A man walking across a field encounters a tiger. He fled, the tiger chasing after him. Coming to a cliff, he caught hold of a wild vine and swung himself over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Terrified, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger had come, waiting to eat him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little began to gnaw away at the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine in one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

les jeux sont fait, rien ne va plus.

cu simtul umorului, in pas de defilare, companie, inainte mars! stang, stang, stang drept, stang:

Vrei blandete? Vrei finete? Vrei un suflet care sa te placa? Mangaie o vaca

Categories: Uncategorized

zen is for pussies

June 5, 2009 Leave a comment

sunt un tip simpatic, dar ma agit mult. am tulburari, frecvente, de personalitate. si, de multe ori, ma trezesc cu dintii inclestati si privirea tampa. mi-as fi dorit sa fiu actor, sa cant la vreo 4 instrumente, sa fi scris o carte, sa am pectoralii mai mari, sa am nasu mai mic si degetul mare mai mare. sufar de disperarea echivoca a orasului anonim, in care nimeni nu stie cine esti, pentru ca nu intereseaza pe nimeni. daca te uiti la stele, iti dai seama ca esti mic.

pe mine m-au pacalit si imi vreau fisa inapoi: nu sunt nici rockstar, nici supererou, nici erudit, peste masura. si nici nu atarn, racorind, in vreo vila, inconjurat de sute si sute de…dap, aia e: de sute si sute (si, ca sa ne intelegem: de sute!) si sute de femei! ura, ura, frustrare, unghii infipte in carne, dantura inclestata pe osul metafizic.

ce caut eu in viata mea? the meaning of life… carpe diem? bucuria lucrurilor marunte? fii tu insuti? always plan ahead? viata se intampla acum? fericiti cei saraci, caci ei vor mosteni imparatia? 5 pasi simpli pentru a atinge iluminarea? toate suna a bpt, colectia: cum sa-ti zugravesti singur casa, sau cum  sa dai gauri, cu bormasina, in baie.

moment de respiro : relax o vision de la freekazoid, ca nu se mai putea.

o revolutie, doua revolutii, trei revolutii. viata inseamna durere, lasa cele lumesti si mediteaza la vid. tine post, inghionteste-te in biserica. fa un drum prin desert, cu meniu de mescalina. fa un botez, o initiere, un rit de trecere si sport. fa mult sport. suntem generatiile care vor avea corpuri perfecte la 60 de ani, cand vom agata pustoaice de 18, dupa ce vom fi prestat un oli cu placa, pe partia din alpi…mai multa cultura, mai multe carti, mai multe filme, mai multe iesiri. pastila dupa pastila, raion dupa raion, bere dupa bere. pana cand?

prea multe optiuni…sa puna, bre, cineva niste indicatoare, sa le vada omu si sa stie ce are de facut! ce atata liber arbitru? hai, sa facem ca la serviciu clienti: pentru o viata linistita, dar impacata si implinita in sanul familiei, apasati tasta 1, pentru o viata de aventura, nopti dormite pe marginea soselei, dar incununate de o epifanie monumentala, tasta 2 samd. buna ziua, numele meu este xuleasca, cu ce va pot ajuta? alo, alo? doamna, mi s-a blocat cartela si-mi cere codu puk. asa, si vreau sa ma mai schimb si sa incerc optiunea aia 6, cu viata de gangster, scurta dar plina de impliniri. nici o problema, apasati tasta 6, in meniul anterior. pai, nu?

punct si de la capat: think happy thoughts.

Categories: doua groenlandeze