i will leave bucharest on 18th of october 2008. i will be back in september 2009. i will study at goldsmiths, london, for one year. i will write here about da one-year-trip.[later edit]and i will keep this blog even after for as long as possible until the muddy swamps and cements will catch me again
he grabs me by the hair and says- we have to see eachother. i'm not good. then i meet another friend near the elevator in TNB - how are you? i ask. i'm not good. i am really bad.
we drink vodka, me and another friend, in this empty grey bar, after saying goodbye 2 a friend who left her kid at home wth her father to run out nd see some theatre at the theatre night, and watched this crppy performnce wth a guy bangin his dick in a choreogrphy about alienation. we talk bout another friend who was convinced by his parents that he has schizofrenia so he decided to have a cure wth 4 tabs of LSD, and then the holy spirit got into him and turned him from gay to straight, showed him the right way. the holy spirit aprently comes quite often here in the land of the desperate.
also i hear about a young girl who fell from the mountin on precipice and died.
i dream about an actress i worked with who falls in a lake and dies.
also i see a performance by carmen cotofana, "stage psychosis", at cndb
and she screams and screms and screams and when she screams i feel good this is cndb.
i read it in a history book: romania is situated at the very boder of europe (east), so even at the beginning of history, there were always foreign armies fuckin everything up wth their conquests.it was a point where everybody wanted to pass. key access point. that is why people in ro never had the notion of "long term", coz they knew that any dwelling they may start building, it will be smashed in about a year or 2.
In the train this gentleman slightly fat, slightly mobster sittin in front of me
He snores for 20 mins and then starts a conversation coz I was reading some history book
Talks about the importance of books vs internet etc etc and then tells us some news coz he’s a doctor
And he’s friends wth everybody that matters so he says stuff about basescu the president of ro that for example when he had to be operated the real reason was because he fell drunk from the stairs and that is why they decided to demolish golden blitz, the pub where he used to drink (don’t know if it has stairs, but it has been demolished) coz he was angry he got drunk there
Also about his secret plan (ups!) to split wth his wife and bring Elena Udrea as the prime minister
Then starts speakin about all the bloody arabs that have a neighbourhood in bruselles and other boring nazi shit so I stop listening then we get to beciu, teleorman (which I read today in that history book means “the big forest” from the cuman language – and it had loads of forests) and we get home and the most recent event is that a neighbour got drunk and beat up another neighbour which is my godfather and people are afraid that this neighbour who is an alcoholic will kill them. Everybody is over 60 in the village. My grandmother said well when that idiot will come in my courtyard, I will tell him hey do you see this path u are walkin on, then turn around and get out and another neighbour said well you know when u get drunk u should go into ur house and look at ur bed and say; heeey, what we got here? Look! There’s a bed. Let’s see what happens. Not beat people up.
COMPLEXUL EUROPA- a collective online novel written by 5 authors. story: because of the crisis, Romania is thrown out of the EUropean Union and taken over by China.
welcome to the future and enjoy the ride. all our readers can send comments with suggestions for developing the story, characters, and stories. we write it together.
the happy non-fucked kids walk on broad streets, rivers, clubs and gardens the fucked kids walk from one block to another and the beauty is not around them but in their head
yet i heard that there are about 30 swans some black and some white in parcul cismigiu, some white some black, and parcul ioanid is small but beautiful
also had a quick update about our political situation and i was wonderin was is the most efficient tool to create pressure on these people- that seem to generate continuous material for absurd plays- maybe pressure in media abroad? maybe writin about them nonstop? youtube? seems that is no information flow between this circus and abroad
Bum bum. Pow. When the car got out of the city, all London suddenly became small and got into her bags. It was hiding there, in the colours, in the objects, suddenly having such precise and small shapes, comprised. It was there. Suddenly, the car in the dark and Rj’s hand, and the huge sky above. There is a song that used to obsess her when thinking about London 3 years ago. Senorita tristeza. Then she would listen to it during all the summer with Sorin. And then the song came back, that night, under the full moon with a big ray glowing around it. The evening walk was perfect. It was the four of them, and the saxophone singing, and the sky turning purple, and the water on Thames, dark blue and black. Black waters again. Every little detail fell so perfectly even in the sounds around, that made her think of that song again and again. When she got to the airport, she put her headphones and played it. She thought of trying to fit al the memories into words, but there’s so many memories that you wouldn’t even know where to begin. They’re not even memories yet, they are in the process of becoming, like the image with everybody in front of the house when leaving, waving their hands, or crossing the bridge again for the last time. She thought at first to make a list of all the names. Rj. Javi. Raghi. Antoine. Anna. Judy. Mark. Tiina. Nico. Chris. Adam. Cucho. Guaton. Anita. Maca. Ale. Patrice. Sarah. Chrissie. Hogash. Kota. James. Davie. Ioana. Sorin. Kevin. Dan. Misha. Paul. Dani. Aurora. The parents. All the parents. The beautiful auntie Sonia. The jolly balloon night in Dean house kitchen. Diego. The balloons. The hundreds of kids with serious eyes asking for balloons because it’s essential. The bikes in Mark’s home. The yellow flower I bought. The bottles Mark put in the ground to make a semicircle and me and Rj said it’s not that cool even though he was so proud of this invention. The coal last night, at the party. The black hands. The pevre. The piscola. The 18’s. Anita. The first days in the Brockley house. The 2 mice in the kitchen. Antoine’s cups of coffee. Raghi’s exhibition, and me feeling so woman-ish elegant. Like a lady. The fallin asleep in the bus. The wrong wake up. The way Raghi was sleeping on me. The little house for the snail Raghi drew on the window at Dean House. The conversation I had with Cucho last night about communicating. Oscar. Titi. The first barbecues at Anita’s. The girl we met at Covent garden when selling balloons and she had some ducks on her dress but they were not ducks, they were loons. Covent garden. Chester. Chester’s guitar. My umbrella. The day I sat with Sorin and Diego on the lawn and watch the balloons and played with the umbrella. The drawing I made in class about 27. My 28 birthday, when I decided that I probably am not a rock star. The thing Mark said that day when we did that exercise in class, and I was this little cute colored thing drawing a huge ugly skull on the whiteboard. The sound of the piano at that exercise. The memory surfing exercise, that became what I’m doing now. I’m wondering what is with this memory thing, that I have to keep mentioning it. Amnesia, to forget and memory became such usual words in my speech. Well annoying. The glass table in the garden. The candles. The bathroom without light, and the candle showers. The night Mark called me and I was in the shower and I felt so awkwardly emotional before meeting, like a school girl. The first going outs with Rj, and with Rj and James. The moments, in the beginning, when we were telling each other every two weeks that we are so lucky to have met. The night Ioana made me go in the kitchen, back at Dean House, when everybody was havin drinks and I said no I don’t wanna but Ioana said come on girl let’s socialize and we did, and Rj was – hey, do you know I’m a reverend? The night Diego came to Dean house and taught us how to sing with a deflated balloon. The pink saxophone. The plans. The talks. Pedagogy of the oppressed. The comings and goings. Berlin. Dan. Dan cooking. The ciorba we never got to make. The shock Jiao Jiao had when she saw how I make egg fried rice. “This just changed my life, she said.” The short cooking movies. The three weeks of writing the book, and Rj checkin up on me, just to see if I’m ok. The wine James brought for my birthday. My birthday. Walking in Brick Lane. Walking in Brick Lane with Misha. Same spots, different people. Always different people. Don’t get attached. I was telling Rj that this is so weird for me because I will feel that a part of me is missing when I’ll go back home, like somebody kept your arm or one leg in London. Crippled. Put the base in your disabled walk. Lol. I even saw Daedelus in London. I even saw Kazu in London. I saw everybody I was supposed to, like in one of those things when you make a list with all the problems you have to solve in order to make a, how they call it, new start. A less messy one. Funny enough, I’m sober in the airport, not crying, not drunk, not hangover, not desperate. Not even that scared anymore. Thinking about things I learned. It’s funny how you always try to make a sense out of things, not only a sense, but another sense, like you would need to translate or something, to give them another extra meaning besides the simple meaning they contain. That night on the water reservoir. London is the weirdest city. Ever. Orlando Harrison was right- you love it and you hate it. But in a very intense way. And then you look at yourself as the result of the meeting between you and this city. You look at this image and say: who is this woman? I don’t really know her. Thought I did, but I don’t. Like it was in the performance: you loved it so much, it made you want to do it again and again and again. It’s strange that back home things seemed to be 2 dimensional, and now they earned at least another 2 dimensions. It became so much deeper and multi-layered. And time became different too. Right. Coz I’ve been living near the place where time starts, in Greenwhich. The green light of time. The morning I woke up and realized I can’t go back to the old dramatic-russian feelings. That day was so simple and clear, and beautiful, when I walked home with a flower for Javi, and with a huge smile on my face, and then sat outside and looked at the grey sky. Javi was so beautiful that day, smoking outside, with her dark grey sweater, and the long long hair. Some little things I will miss so much. Nico’s smile and laughter and the way he throws his head on the back a little when he laughs. Cucho’s innocent smile when he smiles with all his heart and looks like a lamb. A jolly one. Anita’s freshness and the way she says “and all that”. Raghi’s look when she doesn’t understand something. Morning rituals and waking up together. That moment when you open your eyes exactly the same second as somebody and you sort of step together into the day. Mark’s gesture when he’s enthusiastic about something and he’s rubbin his hands. The way he walked out of Amersham, with his helmet and his drum like a proper knight goin to fight the army. Shet. Hope ur good and they didn’t put you in any Istanbul prison by now. About Centrepoint I can’t even write, I felt that my heart literally hurt when I walked out, it was so fuckin sad and weird. For me it was as if that place is always gonna be there, about 20 mins far in Camberwell around the corner. And one of the best things somebody told me that day- I was talking with N and E about my last month and N was laughin and sayin- “She’s like us!”
1:42. Staring at some commercial with a huge “WWW” written on it, and in the WWW you can see a plane flyin on the sky, a pyramid and a woman in a hammock. Another sign near it says “start enjoying your trip now”. The “food village” is opening. Two guys put the chairs down from the tables and a short fuss of preparing to change seats is going around me. I have a wild guess about who might be Romanian in this row of seats, but I’d rather keep it mysterious. I bought a sandwich, a fruit salad and a smoothie and some nuts. And some jelly pink pigs that apparently taste like fruit. Which reminds me about the penguins last night, floating in the wine. This sounds almost like we had a pool of wine in which there were floating some penguins, but actually they were little blue plastic ice penguins from the freezer. Cucho and me wanted to name them but I don’t think we were as inspired as in the night with Oscar and Marx. I wonder if I should do anything else than write continuously until 6 o’clock, when the check in is. The wireless is a joke, you need to pay if you want to connect. That’s so random. I’m thinking to read the cards I got again, but then I will start crying and that episode is over. Last night when Rj and I were reading the cards from Javi was the best. Actually, me crying for 2 hours at the party was even better. Nico I hope I didn’t stain ur clothes. Thanks for bearing, you were not even drunk, poor Nico. I saw the pictures after the party and I have such a child’s face when I’m huggin Nico it feels like I was craving for affection (AGAIN) for so long.
07:17. airport. Had to get rid of about 15 kilos of clothes from my luggage. I have gate 2, on.
