De ce nu se scriu carti despre catelusi care se joaca in iarba din fata casei? Cand merg prin librarii si stau cu orele si ma uit la carti, nu vad nici un caine pe coperta. De ce multi scriu despre sinucidere, femei care si-au pierdut iubitii si intelectuali expulzati din societate? Temele astea au farmecul lor si imi plac, dar as vrea sa citesc ceva despre un catel care se joaca in iarba.
Autorii nu pot fi simplisti astazi pentru ca deja nu au incredere de sine si se straduiesc sa invete viata cat mai mult, intrucat nu mai au timp de asa ceva. Incearca sa soarba totul intr-o picatura, sau invers, sa disece firul in saispe, dar nu mai pot sta pe peluza matusii imaginandu-si ca vor scrie despre cainele ei.
Si eu uit sa scriu despre catei. O faceam cand eram mica, dar asta nu e subiect de copilarie.
Am vazut totusi o carte despre gandurile unui caine. Deci speranta nu e pierduta total.

Miss Jones

I'd like to be a plump blonde woman in her thirties, wearing a bunny suit and drinking like a fish.
I'd like to stuff myself with croissants in the morning and eat rancid cheese at midnight.
I'd like to wear granny panties and buy cheap souvenirs that I trip on around the house.
I'd like to laugh after reading the Bell Jar.
I'd like to have see-through shirts.
I'd like to eat turkey curry.
I'd like to fantasize about strange men that are complete and total fuckwits.
I'd like to be a terrible public speaker.
I'd like to smoke while I'm waxing my legs.
I'd like to cook atrocious food.
I'd like to run naked in a paddling pool.

Gotta love Bridget Jones. She's the best role model a girl could have.

Crappy Fantasy

I want out from everything, leave me alone I want my rest. If there's no one here that's fine, I'd like to trash my thoughts, they don't mean a dime, I'm having memories go blind. And English is stupid cuz you can't write something deep, which I guess is good cuz depth is shit. But still, why can't I say stuff that means more? That's the language, not me. Let's have seizures and pray they'll last long because only when you're acting out you're really yourself, cuz that's your inner desire, to be a total attention whore.
So all you little songs that talk about this girl that's so indie and so "uplifting" so unprejudiced, such a strong believer, such an Alice in Wonderland, such a friggin Audrey Hepburn, let me tell you this:
whatever you do, whatever you preach all girls do the same, open their legs and hope they look good doing it. So don't try to say that Lyla or Lucy or Annie or Carol or any of these washed up ladies know a thing about humanity.
And yeah, I'm not saying this cuz I'm better. I'm saying this cuz I don't like it.
Stop trying to make us feel cleaner, you alternative bands. It does not work.
Better tell us we're drowning in our own decadent beauty and we love it, just like we don't love anything.
I wanna live in a pomegrenate.

Words won't last forever more

Strugurii se leagana in vant si e o banca mica si un gard si un tipat undeva in fundul ierbii si nu imi amintesc casa cu peretii galbeni pe care am scrijelit cu creionul tot felul de nume, mai ales Veronica sau Loredana. Mi se pareau nume frumoase si as fi vrut sa ma fi chemat asa.
Nu imi mai amintesc casa si atunci nu stiu cine statea acolo dar in vale (caci via se intindea spre o apa, o baltoaca mai mare care mie mi se parea capat de tara) se jucau doi baieti cu un caine. Am alergat spre ei dar ei tot fugeau de mine si nu vroiau deloc sa ma primeasca in jocul lor. Am aruncat cu pietre dupa ei si a sarit colbul ca un val de apa sarata si mi-a facut fata cenusie si negricioasa. M-am urcat pe o buturuga si m-am uitat dupa ei cum au sarit in apa si s-au scufundat in adancuri. Si nu i-am mai vazut venind la suprafata. Am crezut ca s-au inecat. Am ramas, uitandu-ma in zare, cu miros de vin sec in urma mea.
Si tot nu imi amintesc casa, dar poate e mai bine asa.