brixton with lizards

surreal walk yesterday, through brixton. sunny, like spring. i am with a guy with huge cowboy leather boots and 2 plastic lizards in a pink purse. they are his lizards- a big one and a small one. we get out from a house in brixton- a party with his friends- his birthday.knew him from the behind the bars night last week- was doing a scatman performance. first thing i see when we get out from the house are 5 planes at the same time on the sky. you must know that you can see loads of planes on the sky everyday here. whenever you raise your eyes there's a plane. that's for sure. but now there were five, at the same time, through the clouds, different distances, different dimensions, and my eye caught them in the same instant flash. five. the closest one was like a toy that somebody was keeping hanged above us. white belly through the clouds. almost could reach the hand and touch it. zoom. then, the walk goes on in brixton. small houses, open air. lots of people. most of them looking down. i feel we walk on a thin plateau, max's boots keep our walking real, tok-tok-tok. everybody is looking down and all the people seem worried, they all seem to bear big burdens inside, except the children. get to the post office soo my scatman friend could get some money. a red post office. many people on the row. a kid looking into my eyes. smiles. shy. time passes. we get the money, i mean the guy gets the money, we walk off. incredible weather, spring. sun. it is beautiful. we find the station, get a big bottle of water and the bus. we sit without moving. the scatman's pants are full of ash. i look at my hands- remember we were all pouring purple glitter on our hands last night. no traces now. gloves look decent, to say the least. shoes dirty as hell. like marching through the swamp. max is worried about a friend. "i do the most retarded things when i'm drunk". tells me about the first party they went to, before coming to the place we met- says they were stripping on the tables and then he got worried about his friend who was working there, afraid she might loose her job after that. we drink water. "brixton and hackney were good places for squating", he says. "but the police came and began cleaning everything up." the bus floats through the sunny city. so what're your plans for today? "i guess i will take my friend shopping, i say. "or maybe just sleep the day off- that's more close to the truth." "i will do the same, he says. sleep all day." we are peaceful and cold and tranquilized. the light of the day is flowing around us. i feel the world with light is less mysterious and more brutal, seeing things in full shape is a bit too much, it amplifies them. but the light has someting magical and healing. just as the big bottle of cold water. i get off at holborn, get a bit messy with my directions, manage to find a way then get to elephant and castle, where the bus apparently terminates. i have to get down and take another one. but first get some money from a bank machine and top up my oyster card. and buy me some food. so i get to visit all the entries and exits of the elephant and castle stations to get my things sorted out. it is a round station. people sell things in a market who is one level below, and some scattered groups of young people with microphones sing about jesus christ and eternal salvation one floor above. they seem like some party people with the wrong lyrics. i try to get some food. i stare at some shelf with undefined jamaican or something like that. i don't know. i don't care. everything is overwhelming. just want to get to my bed. i take some spinach pie and try to find my way without looking around. i feel like i'm crossing through hell- the place and the people seem evil, grey and schizophrenic. try to not look around, but bang! one of the singers catches my eye and in a second he's near me. didn't even got to take a bite from my spinach pie. "do you believe in jesus"? he says full of hope, thrusting his eyes into mine. "well, yes, i mean not exactly like that, i mean not exactly if you put it like that, but..." i try to mumble. he takes me by the arm "then if you believe in jesus, why don't you give your life to him now? " he says, like the next thing possible would have been me stabbing myself in the middle of elephant and castle and singing in a mystical orgasm about my sacrifice for jesus. i look at him, i'm like- you are kind of radical, man, but he seems to be convinced that he is saving my life by telling me all these, that i will die if i don't give my life to jesus, and i'm more and more like- hey man who even brought such grave things like life and death into this pleasant conversation we were having?, and when he is basically telling me that if i'm walking away i will die soon, i shake his hand firmly and say goodbye. nice talking to you!! he shouts, and all his mates singing and applausing and praising the lord, oh, man, i manage to get myself a big orangejuice can and jump into a bus.then head home, to the darkness of my sleeping duvet.

fiona, leon and the married guy

last week, shoreditch. james goes home and me and gabi sandu are still at the party. after the bouncers get everybody out, we run on the street randomly after after a guy to ask where's the next party. the guy turns back and is like- you want another party? come with me.his name is leon. leon is spanish and is very happy that we came with him. talks about his friends that were supposed to go with him but left him alone. talks about the first time he came out- he told his friends that he is gay, and everybody was like- no shit! after you slept with all of us, now you decided to make it official?? we laugh. leon takes us to another bar, who was opening that night. it's 4 o'clock and it's the only place opened. not many people inside, we take some drinks, dance a bit, a tall guy follows me like i'm the squirrel of his dream or something like that- he takes me up in the air and makes those kind of facial expressions about love and devotion, i escape, the bar closes, we go. there's leon, fiona, and a fat sad guy. fiona is blonde, short hair, glasses. nice and cerebral. nobody knew eachother from before except me and gabi. the married guy wants to take me home. he is sad. he says it's his birthday, he is 36. i am like- why don't you go home? he's like- oh, if you only knew what's home!! a wife and 2 kids. i am like- well, it's sounds like you have a family. isn't that nice? "it's hell", he says. "i'm very sad. come home with me." i tell him that i don't wanna, and he is like- "but i like you! it's my birthday. i'm sad." i give him the family speeches, think about your kids and all the rest. he doesn't understand shit. then i go to walk with leon, who's much more positive. leon tells me about the flower market which is close to brick lane, and about how i should try to go there on pills- it blows your head, man!! he's like- imagine a street FULL of flowers?!??! and you are just.... WOW. we finally get to the bus station, we stop. the sad fat married guy levitates around us. gabi and leona are cerebrally talking. leon explains me about the flowers, and then he suddenly looks up and sees the full moon- and he is- NOOOO, it's full moon. he hits the wall. everytime it's full moon it messes me up. i tell him i know, and he almost starts crying. you don't understand, it really messes me up, i can't sleep, i become nervous, i don't know what's with me... he looks beautiful, almost crying in the moonlight of the full moon. the sad married guy is almost disgusted with this show. i hold leon's hand and say it will be ok. we gloss our lips with lip gloss. now we are beautiful. the bus comes. me and gabi run inside, the bus driver looks at me- i have a beer in my hand. i throw the beer to leon and the bus doors close. the married guy waves sadly, as the bus goes by.

beautiful marek

found a passport on the streets some days ago. a czech passport- inside, the picture of a beautiful boy named marek. i was secretly hoping i will find him at the czech embassy and that he will love me forever because i saved his life. so i took the passport at the czech emb, which is somewhere near notting hill. 2 blonde guys in front of the door, looking at the speaker. i ask them what's the main entrance, they show me the door in front of them. the door opens, and a huge guy, 3 sizes me looks at me from up and asks what do i want. "i found a passport", i say. "on the street". oh, says the huge guy and makes me a sign to go in. i go in, the door closes. the 2 blonde guys remain outside. they look at me with hatred. the bodyguard, who seems a quarter afro-american, a quarter latin blood, and the rest of 2 quarters the human version od moby dick, looks at me, smiles and asks: "ce faci?". oh, you know romanian... i say. and answer- "bine". he smiles back. he knows: "bine", "foarte bine", "noapte buna", "la revedere". while waiting for the clerk guy at the office to finish his appointment, we talk more. "i love manele", he says. i laugh. he tells me he worked at a romanian restaurant - or a restaurant ran by romanians, i don't understand, and that they were always playing manele. romanians do a lot of bad things in europe, he says. and then- i had a girlfriend who was romanian. he smiles again. aha, i say, so that's hoe you know romanian. yes, he nods his head. i wonder how his girlfriend looked like. i recap the words he knows, which can be in fact the essence of their relationship: bine, foarte bine, noapte buna, la revedere. (good, very good, good night, good bye). then he looks at me and says- "foarte bine"!(very good) and he winks at the passport. many poeple would do all sprts of crazy things with a found passport. and then, to the office clerk, who is now looking at us: this nice lady found a passport. i give the passport in, the guy opens it, and looks at the picture- "my goodness", he says. i have the impression that's a reaction to marek's beauty. then he recovers from his amazement and says - it is still valid. then he smiles at me, a very nice guy, and says- thank you. i'm sure he will be very happy when he finds it. on my way out, moby dick waves his hand and says: "la revedere"! I pass the 2 blonde guys who definitely hate me for going in and out just like that, and head on to buy christmas presents.

milk

harvey milk.beautiful.

spend a lot

what a mess what a mess

my desk. benylin chesty coughs. biologie manual pentru clasa a XIa. my cup with the little prince from belgrade. lemsip max for cold&flu. nivea. lime natural strenghts lime juice. nescafe. bubblz superbubbles.aspirin plus c. royal court wig out ticket. rabiesbabies sticker. sainsbury's british 8 peppered ham slices. the camera. a lighter. a mess.
blocked in front of this computer. trying to deal with your anger. ten ways of dealing with anger. take a walk. breathe. walk away. do some sports. run in the park. listen to music. watch tv. get some drugs. get drunk. go dance.
nurofen drajeuri.
2 months.
the first place i ever went to when i got here was embankment. i remembered walking there with you.
i don't understand shit about love anymore. i don't get it. it's a mess. it's a huge mess. feeling down and alone and constantly thinking that you are there somewhere and feeling better at the thought that i know you love me so this is supposed to make me happy and protect me. when in fact all i feel is that i constantly miss you and that i always have to fight with everything to make it work, and i get pissed when anybody else tries to mess with my feelings, acting like a hysterical freak if i feel like "the danger" of caring about somebody else like they are in fact enemies or they will turn up to be at some point all i cannot face is the anger of not having you here with me, the anger when i read your answer to my mail, the anger that i was so happy with you that i could do anything, the anger that once i've found that person that makes me fuckin dance when i walk down a street, that person that is so perfectly fit for me and i love, i have to understand and deal with the fact that we cannot be together. a mess. this is a mess. i've been trying to play brave but i am not brave i am a mess, i am emotionally fryed. i don't know what people are supposed to do when they break up like this. keep the good memories? promise promises like you did? is that what makes the breaking up easier? cry? play a song? watch a movie? break a glass? write a play? write something beautiful and tragic that makes you forget the first feeling of pain by replacing it with the joy of gaining a good piece of literature like all writers do?smth like- " useful experiences that enrich your life and talent"? another intense experience? is that it? put the blame on the other? take the blame on you, like you did, though you are not right and it is NOT entirely your fault? take a shower? laugh at yourself for beeing such a drama queen? make a photoshop colage with pictures of you and me and hearts and sunny skies?

london experience blog- dealing with loss. insomnia. dealing with your own need for love. dealing with going to clubs and kissing with guys and girls and playing cool just until the bouncers get us out, walking in cold and sleeping the next day off, the familiar shit you do so well. the party. the hangover. the cleaning up. the library. the conspects. the plans. the mistakes. the little laziness-es. the recovery. the same shit as always. pretending it never happened to me that i was so happy with you. oh i'm such a strong independent party girl. live the moment. erase your feelings. fuck all that. i feel i'm transforming into a cyborg. when i'll be back in ro i'll have the face and sould of the perfect fit for the 2010 robot. right? the training. the change. the perfection. come back a winner and do something for your country. there's something not workin in this paradigm. everybody wants you to be the winner. you also want to win - at least over your emotions for starters. but what if you choose honesty for example instead of all this constant training for winning that the world imposes upon you? what if you make that switch and get to be a weak honest lonely confused looser? is honesty more precious than this constant striving to win?

The Opening of the Offensive of Generosity

Opening

OFFENSIVE OF GENEROSITY

Open source
Act!

Offensive

Organized

Generous


If:
1. You work with a community.
2. You document and archive.
3. You share (creative education workshops).
4. The artistic product is only a consequence of the first three steps (active-creative / community creation).

EVERYBODY CAN COMMUNITY-CREATE(has the right, the freedom, the responsibility).

WE WORK TOGETHER. WE BUILD TOGETHER A NETWORK FOR EXCHANGING IDEAS, METHODS, WORKING TOOLS, RESOURCES.

WE RECOGNIZE EACHOTHER USING THIS ICON:

WE LET EACH OTHER KNOW EVERY TIME WE TAKE ACTION:

ofensivagenerozitatii@yahoo.com
http://www.ofensivagenerozitatii.blogspot.com/

FIRST COMMUNITY ACTION TOGETHER: WE PASS THIS ON.

buy less live more

(excerpts from the book Design Anarchy, by Kalle Lasn)

rabies babies

...meet the rabies babies.

saw them at the waterloo squat last night. finally some familiar fresh air in there. felt like home in a way. big squat room at the old buddhist centre, a few people, mulled wine and the first time ever somebody gave me here tequilla with orange and cinnamon- it is the way i usually drink it at home, but here i had to obey 2 the salt and lemon rules. and these crazy girls, the rabies babies, which i loved, with the smashing hit of the evening- i fought the floor and the floor won. then there was victor menace, "The original sound of Ninja Folk! A fusion of fast paced all-original gypsy and classical melodies, laced with occasional cock-rock moments, swing and reggae grooves, and a sprinkling of tourette's induced expletives." - as they describe themselves on their myspace page. a fire outside, dark alleys and a fence, a dog, and the same old feeling of "who gets the cigarretes"? i never asked for cigarettes to people on the street or in a club here, would never even consider doing that, but last night there was a bit of thet feeling- oh, we have no more ciggarettes? don't worry, I'll get some. hahaha.

Xmas present

my christmas present for rj:


... and my christmas present for james:

:-).

xxx.

may love float upon us all

like a smokey dozen of hazelnut seahorses and

childsize jolly sperms,

happy birthday for all the unbirthday parties

and merry photoshoping from now on too, gentlemen.

alien nation

"But while both humanization and dehumanization are real alternatives, only the first is the people's vocation. This vocation is constantly negated, yet it is still affirmed by that very negation. It is thwarted by injustice, exploitation, oppresion, and the violence of the oppressors.
[]
Dehumanization, which marks not only those whose humanity has been stolen, but also (though in a different way) those who have stolen it, is a distortion of the vocation of becoming fully human. "
(P. Freire, Pedagogy of the oppressed)

the best part of the alienation comes when people come to the situation when they turn one against the other when really they are on the same side and they are fighting for the same things. it's another one of the small petty victories of dehumanization and despair. why not have a multitude of frustrated lonely and angry people who don't want to speak to eachother instead of a big group of people who know what they want and can rely on eachother? because the group could be a threat. many lonely persons are more likely to be dominated and fooled. so come on barbie let's go party. resident evil.

ilie ghiurluc

this is my grandfather, ilie, from satul beciu. romania. he passed away today, 9 AM. he was a strong beautiful wise and quiet man. a house builder. in his last 7 days, all the people from his village came to pay him the last visit, to say goodbye and sorry for all the fights they had during life. i guess that's the way it should be. god bless him.

all that shit

do you have a lighter? I'm afraid i don't. oh, you are afraid. what are you afraid of? and what are you sorry about? and why don't you trust people? and why do you pretend you care when all you want is just to get rid of another night and check it in your little inside-my-head-toy-box you carry on like bombs inside your head? i really hope, for your sake, that that bomb will go off at some point. i really hope it will fucking blow all your politeness away and help you at least try to find something real. something that is good for you. something you really want. i'm so tired of all the rambling and giggling and "oh, that's so embarrasing", and "oh, I'm so glad you're not a lesbian..." and of "ah, that's fantastic!" and of that "you allright?". today i met a guy in the bus, i was coming home late and he was like- i think that it is very sad that english people act that way. it is a sad thing. yes. i think it's very sad. and i fuckin need a B52, right now, with my friends. i am nervous, i am frustrated, i don't get it.oh, that's so lovely of you. oh, that's so great. oh, i really think you are cute. oh, no shit. oh, i'm sorry. oh, i'm so drunk. oh, that's so embarrasing.

i know one thing: i am so lucky that i met some people here who just help me get through this.