Scrierile mele despre viaţă: June 2013

6/3/13

Aer

Acum inteleg ca in viata de este dor de oamenii care conteaza cu adevarat…ne este dor doar de oamenii de care am prins drag si ne intrebam cum oare am trait fara sa stim de existenta lor atata timp.

Si totusi…ce este dorul ? Cred ca poate fi definit astfel: elementul ce ne face mai creativi, mai buni, mai intelepti, care ne ajuta sa vedem ca nu traim degeaba si lasam ceva in urma noastra...chiar si, hmm...simple cuvinte scrise de pe un teatru de razboi muribund.

Nu ma intorc, fug de tine, de ei, de noi. Fug pentru a ma reculege si a intelege de ce oamenii ca noi nu pot fi fericiti in eternele lor umbre si dileme...

Cititorul meu preferat s-a stins in umbrele creionate chiar de el. Trist. Nu? Niciodata. Ar trebui sa citesti satisfactia de pe buzele mele.

6/1/13

Win some, lose some.

Nu stii niciodata ce sa iti spui pentru a te amagi frumos atunci cand ajungi firesc si consecvent la intrebarea "Ce ar fi fost daca...?"

Daca am cunoaste raspunsul, probabil ne-am gasi nemurirea si fericirea. Sau macar una din ele.

"If it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it. If you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don't do it. If you're doing it for money or fame, don't do it. If you're doing it because you want women in your bed, don't do it. If you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don't do it. If it's hard work just thinking about doing it, don't do it. If you're trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. If it never does roar out of you, do something else. If you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you're not ready. Don't be like so many writers, don't be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don't be dull and boring and pretentious, don't be consumed with self-love. The libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. Don't add to that. Don't do it. Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it. Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it. When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. There is no other way. And there never was." - Charles Bukowski

“Sit down. Inhale. Exhale. The gun will wait. The lake will wait. The tall gall in the small seductive vial will wait will wait: will wait a week: will wait through April. You do not have to die this certain day. Death will abide, will pamper your postponement. I assure you death will wait. Death has a lot of time. Death can attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is just down the street; is most obliging neighbor; can meet you any moment. You need not die today. Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness. Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow. Graves grow no green that you can use. Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.”