The games we play

You spent a lot of time with yourself beforehand, constructing your argument and tempering yourself. You do not want to come too weak or too strong. You want your point to be clear and concise, but not cruel.  You want to be as impartial as you can be. You manage to be composed and polite.  You tell them what you think happened. You tell them what you plan on doing.

Then you see how far they go to cover up their dishonorable ways. They criticize you and throw new hypotheses at you. They make sure the world they create turns you away from what they did. They cling onto a trait of your character, and assert its faultiness. They claim something is wrong with you and only you, and everything is in your head. With a lump in their throat, they interrupt you when you speak your mind. You know they want this to end. You know it’s hard for them, and you know it is hurting them. You know they hope for deliverance. But they got themselves into this situation.

And then you smile and feel relieved, you feel better, because you spoke your mind. Your actions led to someone feeling bad. You know they are themselves responsible for what they did.

We all are.


You are in limbo because you are not in control. You need someone to tell you what to do. You can be that person, too.  You are a poor soul, and not more. You wait. You have no lust for life. You let inertia take over…but for how long?

For me, being in limbo is easier each time. I know myself now. I know when I am hurting. I know how to take care of myself.


A twist in the flavor

A mere drop of wine can conjure in me the feeling of being close to someone very dear.

I associate her being with the taste. Each twist in the flavor reminds me of something about her. I feel injected with the feeling of communion. Sharing the wine is a growing-closer. As is love.

I shift focus onto introspection. I open my doors of perception. I become a human being whose main ambition is to feel. I do not need anything else. I am able to find abyssal depth in my experience. I can spend hours exploring, contrasting, being.

Such experiences make life worthwhile. My soul has someone close-by, an intimate friend. All daily conundrums  are wide asunder. There is no fear.

There is only love.

Tilting at windmills

I have to become important again. It’s time I stopped taking care of others, to my own detriment. The circumstances are always against me. The one to blame for this whole thing is far, far away, and out of my life, for good. I’ve changed my world, and I can change myself even more by giving everyone around me as much freedom as I can. But the more I leave some of my own dear feelings in limbo, the worse I feel. Maybe I should slip away, and leave those feelings behind. Maybe I should learn to give myself the freedom I give others. Maybe it’s time I stop tilting at windmills, be they mine or others’. Maybe it’s time I take better care of myself.

It’s all about me.

Static pressure

And stop.

The passing of time makes distances grow larger. I sometimes think my homeland is too far away to reach, too far away for me to grasp. That land and its people have become a living dream, where everything comes to life when I decide to pay it a visit.

My friends seem to be nothing but ghosts. From a thousand kilometers away, I cannot verify their existence. I cannot see whether they are alive or dead. I sometimes feel I share my deepest emotions with images that vanish and then reappear into my life.

It is confusing, because the soul does not want this sort of change. The soul is intrinsically afraid of solitude. The soul wants to be around solid figures, monuments, because monuments will always be there when he needs them. The soul wants eternity, because it needs to be reassured it will be loved forever. Otherwise, the soul becomes afraid.

I am always afraid when I leave. I feel I will never go back. I feel I will be alone. My soul is afraid.



Part two of my Romanian adventure. And here we go:

No sleep, taxi, join, wait, train, loud pitzi, can’t sleep, tame the pitzi, photos from train, miss two buses because of silly cash machines, get there, full, pitch up the tent, two beers, sleep, wake up, cold, dress, see friends, give advice, laugh, eat cream cheese and salami, go back, do nothing, walk, drink, talk, 8 hours of sleep, wake up, play guitar, talk, eat, swim, get hard nipples, cut yourself, freeze, wash, share soap, get warm, sleep in tent, more pictures, talk, eat, talk, take pictures, meet another vlad, discuss awesomeness, share a beer, share schnaps, talk, try to sleep, no warmth, wake up, bags, walk, taxi, funny policeman, cold six hour train ride, home, wash, eat, bags, alina, adi, eat again, talk in the park, taxi, airport, exit row seat, sleep, Vienna.

Joie de vivre.


And sometimes your life goes a mile a minute.

Wine with pretty girl on Wednesday (kissed her, she didn’t slap me), bags, three hours of sleep, airport, check in, loud americans, awesome flight, vortex generators on wing, 100 pages, bus and tram, grandma, meatballs, taxi, minibus, hometown, other grandma, minibus, old friend, kebabs and eclairs, 1 liter of milk, old friends, 1 liter of beer, taxi, five hours of sleep, guitar, omelette, buy guitar picks, tea with friend, walking around with other friend, excellent pizza, bags for seaside, old friend, walk, kebab, taxi, pick up bags, go to other friend, beer…and no sleep for me tonight!

This was the recap of the first two days of my epic five-day Romanian escapade.

It’s three thirty in the morning, and I’m loving every femtosecond of my life. Here’s to you, my friends.


I decided to invest some energy into lucid dreaming. I’m currently journaling everything I remember, with  clear results. My dreams are starting to be as intense as memories, because I experience the same story twice.

The first time is the dream itself. The world I see is lively, detailed, and it incorporates many thoughts and memories from my everyday life. I dreamed, for example, of a woman who in the real world had breast cancer. In my dream, she had filled her brassiere with padding. My dream world also incorporates novel ideas. Last night, I dreamed of this fixed-gear bike, which I saw online yesterday. The bike in my dream had furniture rollers for wheels.

The second time is when I recall the dream. I write everything down, and random details suddenly pop into my mind. I remember pretty much everything about the girl I was going to have sex with last night, had I not woken up. I’m able to recollect  into so much detail that I need to reassure myself it was only a dream, and that nothing really happened. It’s all in my head, and the ones around me don’t know about it. I’m a bit worried that one day, we may not have this degree of mental privacy – but that time is hopefully far away.

I think it is a pity to lose track of your dreams. They are the world in which you are free.

And sometimes II

I have realized how much I have changed. I am now closer to my own persona than I have ever been before. I feel inner peace, and, as a result, the need for perpetual change. I know I’ll be on this road for a long, long time.