When we decided

When we decided to jump in the big sea water
and engulf ourselves in salt,
we ended up covered in sand.
We looked at ourselves and laughed
and lifted ourselves while
the warm sand grains pleasantly tumbled down.
We visualized the water: its coolness,
its immense fluidity, its danger...
We opened our eyes to jump in again,
but where there was salt
we saw only sand.

F(or)lea

A guilty flea sat by the tree
Questioning its will to flee.

With one leap no one can see,
It could be elsewhere, could be free.

(Leaping carelessly and aimlessly
Is what best defines a flea.)

Still deciding what to plea,
Its heavy legs won't make that leap.

If it's guilty, it's of glee;
If it's not, it's got to be,

Otherwise it would be free
To jump, to leap, to preach, to teach.
.........

But even for this nimble flea,
You've never felt so out of reach.

Breakthrough

While you were being captive
A world of beauty went its way unnoticed.
Wonders unfolded outside your little cell
and you only dreamed of that which you missed.

Time is merciless, waiting for no one.
You needed too much time to explore.
Prickles only sting the crude,
now someone else's blood paints this wooden floor.

Clasped from the side, you succumb to an urge
to never touch the rose you adore.
Held back by fears by shadows of doubt,
you watch the waves leaving the shore.

Your high ambitions left you unscathed,
although your soul perhaps a cloudy mist.
Yet the blue horizon still gleams in your wet eye
along with a wish to exist...

Ordinary love

Thinking of you on the way to the supermarket

Is like melting chocolate on a hot day:

It feels so natural, knowing what you like

I know now why supermarkets are there.

I almost forgot that yesterday was your birthday;

In my world this is not important.

You made a big deal out of it

I decided I would go buy you a present today.

The supermarket is open just for you

You don't like chocolate,

So I guess I will get you flowers

You don't like flowers either, but this is our little secret..

Katharsis

I am not forgetting
I'm just letting go
said one of my favorite Greek gods
to me on the phone
I turn on the TV and check the news
only to see bloodshed and tears
In an act of desperation
I try to invoke your image
but you won't appear
desolate snippets and broken cues
... not forgetting, just letting go...
My Greek god left me
and I can't stop the wars
with my mind
anymore

the negative to the positive

How many lost memories are in this universe? How many moments which "lasted forever" are long gone and forgotten? A memory is perfect, in that it remains untainted, untarred by the passing turmoil of corporeal life. But as the past's crust hardens, remembering becomes painful. Like tearing into a stubborn tangerine with the flat part of your thumb, you startle at the durability of its skin. This resistance brings a faint glimpse of the realization that the threshold into the past is more and more out of reach. Just like many a nice memory, you want to hold it, squeeze out all its juice. For sometimes, reality is just too cruel. Or inconvenient... As your finger presses feverishly through the orange peel, you feel the cold, familiar rush of the fruit's wet inner life, relieving the pain caused upon your overworked thumb. Like a drug, it offers relief, easing out the tension, temporarily untying the knots of your own disturbed soul. For a moment, the contrast is so great, like in a black-and-white photograph: ironically, a relic of the past. From shade to light, white to black, pain to shelter, present to past. How much can one take this abruptness? For how long can one hold on to a memory, to the negative of an unyielding present? or perhaps the positive? Well, perfection is neither positive nor negative, it should not matter in the end. And yet... The further the memory drifts off, the more difficult it is to conjure it. Such perfection should not be touched, we say to ourselves. We will let it live on its own terms, somewhere in the undefined parts of our brain; there is enough storage room for all which is perfect. We will not let it affect our everyday life, our imperfection. So... Is perfection really necessary? does it find a place in our lives? They say that the true sign of love is when you start liking someone's blemishes, or... imperfections. Presence is stronger than the absence, yet the lack of presence sometimes overpowers its negative, in which case it becomes the presence. So when presence is negative and anti-presence is positive, everything which isn't becomes great! What a sad realization... The tangerine stands untouched on the table, its crust hardening by the second. On the outside, nothing ever changes, yet inside is the unattainable perfection of a Dali painting... or of a dream... or of a memory... of you.

Neue Prüfungsordnung in der Musikschule

Der Alltag kann manchmal fad und undankbar sein, vor allem wenn man den Beruf des Lehrers praktiziert.  Unterricht, Prüfungen, Klassenkataloge und Reiserechnungen sind der Grund für manch einen viel zu frühen Burnout. Insofern habe ich mich entschlossen, meine Arbeit lustig und interessant zu gestalten, indem ich eine neue Prüfungsordnung, die einstimmig akzeptiert wurde, eingeführt habe:

Die Übertrittsprüfung kann X an der Gemeinde ablegen. Derer Ausgestaltung hängt unausweichlich von der Laune und Stimmung der Prüfungskommission ab. Seinen Mangel an Technik kann er durch seine feine Musikalität nicht ausgleichen. Alles muss perfekt sein. Nach seinem Spiel wird ein Gespräch gehalten und anschließend ein Prüfungsprotokoll angefertigt. X.s Teilnahme an der Prüfung setzt einen fiktiven, abgelegten Theoriekurs voraus, den er 10 Minuten vor der Prüfung und vor Ort und Stelle mit seinem Lehrer durchführen muss. Eine Einwandfreie und umformungslose Wiedergabe des gelernten Stoffes wird vom Prüfling erwartet, wobei er unbestimmte, undeutlich formulierte Aufgaben vornehmen soll. Seine Gesamtnote wird die Prüfungskommission dann seiner Hingabe und Begeisterung zugrunde legen. Gefordert wird darüber hinaus Ehrgeiz und Konkurrenzgeist. Jedoch werden weiche Charakterzüge und seltsame Persönlichkeitsmerkmale besonders positiv gewichtet.

Dead of Night

Silence in the dead of night
Makes waning stars tremble with fright
Makes your lips seem so so far,
Further than that dying star;
Dying is our love tonight.

Words which only we knew say,
Thrills we had each coming day,
All will turn to memories,
Turn to gold, like autumn leaves......
Why do you pretend to stay?

Why did we not ever know
Our love to shelter from this foe?
I break the silence with my cry,
And somewhere in the broken sky
A lonely star has lost its glow...

Credo

Let the sun shine through your fingers,
Let the rain pour from your heart,
Let the loneliness that lingers
burn to ashes, just like tinder,
leaving nothing else to hinder
your surrendering to art.

passing by

I don't think my collegues ever fully understood the reason why I seemed to show no sign of regret or remorse for my behaviour with the 'passer-by'. It piques them that I had the courage to stand my ground and not become intimidated by the less fortunate's stentorian voice, imposing physical abilities and intimidating political connections. No, he was no ordinary passer-by, not the average grocery store shopper or the weekend barbeque lover. Niether his unlucky facial expression nor his reckless gait were in the least bit usual. One often began stammering when looking in his deep, purple eyes, and the lack of contextuality which seemed to loom over his persona whenever he appeared left many a soft-hearted novice in our field befuddled and doumbfounded. Why did I choose to act against the common flow imposed by such an intriguing man? The circumstances of our confrontation involve a fortuitous discussion that I had the previous day with my wife, which did nothing less than mount my self-confidence to the point of indestructible. Therefore my supplicatory attitude, which I subliminally believed to be expected from me, was replaced with a very clear point: I would not give in, and not let anybody, especially not the scheming likes of him, give me less than I deserve. So when he told me I was to be relegated and work with people much less qualified and unexperienced than me, I decided he'd gone too far. What followed need not be described. It suffices to say that the 'passer-by' has finally replaced the 'by' with 'away'. For some, his absence is a plaintive source of recollections, others take his non-existence with alacrity and buoyancy. I am on neither side. I know what was right and what wasn't and acted accordingly. The rest is to be decided on the Great Day of Days...

about certain people

I find it quite difficult to trust very sociable people. I think that sociable people are at the core either profoundly asocial, or they simply couldn't care less about the people with whom they so overtly mingle. I, however, understand both categories of people. I find it exciting to interact with their sociable, voluble personas, as often I feel an attractive, perverted complicity with their intimate, non-social thoughts. I am in awe of antisocial, shy people. They are the ones who retain simple truths in their profoundness. They are the ones who build meaningful relationships, who are more likely to impress you once you really get to know them. The first category of sociable humans, of those who are actually asocial, is the scariest. Those people know that they will never reach a true connection with another, but will indefinetely dream about it, and they will instinctively try to replace this void by being open and friendly. They are really smart though. They know what a relationship requires, and how much effort and time it takes to build a meaningful relationship. So in the meantime, they will anyways have to interact, then why not do it in a pleasurable way? The other sociables who just don't care will hurt you... but don't let them.
I find it interesting how people resist being categorized and labeled. Everybody has the chance to change if they want. Of course, there are many more types of people that I have not even met yet, or people that have changed in the course of their lives, or people who are a mix of everything I said above. I just made a spontaneous assertion, which might even seem immature. And then of course there are women.... They just destroy you and then rebuild you ten times stronger. You just have to have patience my friend. Just don't freak out so easily!

primul post

acesta este primul meu post
pe primul meu blog.
voi fi citit in fine de miliarde de oameni
carora le voi schimba viata
pe care ii voi face
mai fericiti
mai optimisti
mai vii.
cand ma gandesc la aceasta
imi tresalta mie inima de bucurie!
este de-ajuns un post, un blog, un scriitor, un cititor si solitudinea amara in care ne aflam,
pentru ca voluptatile si energiile vietii sa tasneasca din noi precum sunetele launtrice si inaltatoare dintr-un pian parasit de curtezani!