land of the desperate you watch them disintegrate like you watch a cat die after being hit by a car

you watch them bleed with eyes wide open

2 friends commited suicide and others lost it

so people say

nowadays the word spreads like- did you hear about x? he went crazy too.

you watch them bleeding with eyes wide open

you watch this and ask yourself

wtf

the fucked kids walk between blocks and try to find the beauty

the beauty in their head

home

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

sunday

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.

tuesday

had a flash the other night while semisleeping i saw the bd maria elisabeta near the pizza hut corner, i was semisleeping and then i felt a strong dust taste and sun, and i was there. luckily enough m was there to hold me in the real physical reality. but i think i have accumulated at least 4 or 5 realities by now. and then close my eyes and back again. i took a virtual bucharest tour, gettin ready. walked in cismigiu, on magheru, near my former highschool, zoomin in. i feel like a wet kitty. and then just this huge need to be hugged. something here just triggered this huge need for affection.

this is smth i wrote on the bus 2 weeks ago, when goin to t's goodbye party. part my part of the "CCTV celebrities" is based on it.

In London I experienced hunger.

There was a poster with this guy on an off licence shop, Ahmed Zarif. His picture. His name. Below it- RIP Ahmed Zarif. Behind him a whole sce

nery of forests and waterfalls. He was looking from

the other world in this white elegant suit with a perfect tie, like he knew something.

He pissed me off. Made me think of death again. Made me think of the limited number of years in front of me.

Walking with your thoughts. It’s like riding a horse. If you loose it, your head may get smashed. But you don’t. Cause you’ve been trained. That’s what they’re doing all your life. Teaching you to ride that horse. Don’t go with the wild horse, sweety! Slow it down, honey! Oh, honeypie, look at the horsey! Doesn’t it look so much nicer today than yesterday? Much nicer and domesticated? The horse will become even more nicer and even more domesticated with each passing day. You won’t even recognize it. It will be just as nice as all the other people’s horses. And then we can go to a nice horse parade together and drink som

e nice tea. Wouldn’t that just be lovely?

I don’t want to hurt anybody. But I do. The moment I am myself, I do hurt people around me.

The rule is killing. And we are living in this game. And they like it. People like to let other people kill them. They’re in love. To love is to let yourself be hurt. To allow yourself to be smashed.

I cultivate amnesia coz I try to forget all the moments that are so nonsensical that they make you question the pure fact of existing in t

his world. But those are wild horses. And as they say, you have to slow them down, slow down. Slow down. Here we go. Delete. Fresh. Refresh. Half of your life you try to forget what happened in the other half of life. Innit?!? Forget where you come from. How can you not? Those big grey blocks full of fear and desperation I’m going back to soon. They tell you- don’t speak, it’s better. If you stand out from the crowd, somebody will see you. Don’t be noticed. Just sit in your chair like a good girl and they will they care of you. Who takes care of you . the state. Who is the state. Nobody took care of me except from my pare

nts. Do you take care of me? Can you take care of me>? What is the limit? What is your line? Where’s the line? Forget about it. Fuck. Forget. That park one day. Our toys were such ugly ones. And the big metal cartoon characters. If you got lose to snow white u could see that rust and if you want to give her a hug you cut your face in the metal. Health and safety. Fuck that. Fuck that. I want home. I want home. No home. What home?
In the first day we have a deal. We will give you a

roof over your head, protect you and feed you, but we have some conditions. Rich people have conditions. First of all, you have to let us control you all the time. You will still be able to have a key to your room. Your room is called your personal space. You will be allowed to bring a few guests, but not more than 4 times a week. When they enter the building they have to show an ID with a photo. It can be any Id. Drivers’ licence is good as well. Yes. And keep the music low. We know you smoke marijuana but we will pretend we don’t/ you have to pretend that you don't know we know you smoke marijuana too. It is not allowed to touch children. It is not allowed to touch. Without touch. No touch. No touch. Hungry.

You come in such a civilized country to make a “forgetting” treatment. Forget the frustration. Forget the fear. You are a grown woman now. You will have a life of your own. Furnished with a partner. Furnished with love. But not too much lov

e. Coz you will stain the walls. How many times do you think we can afford to repaint this life? We are poor, Oana, remember. We are poor. What does that mean? I don’t even understand. Poor means when you cannot have those metal coins and paper notes to use, and because you don’t have them, the people who have them have to be understanding, tolerating and most of all not shake their hands thinking- oh, you know, people are so frustrated. They are almost like being sick in the head because of frustration. Can you imagine, not being able to have what you want? They are a bit sick, aren’t they? What do you think? They are right.

So the rich protect the poor because they understand them, and the poor try to live under this protection because otherwise they’re fucked

. Because the rich have some conditions. Don’t they?

That’s why we should be afraid of the poor. What I learned in London is to cross the street when you see somebody on the same sidewalk late at night and not to talk to strangers. Because that’s our understanding. Innit. Isn’t it strange that when you are close to somebody on the street, the impulse makes you go as further away the space allows you and yet you share the living space with so many different people everyday, trying to repress that feeling of running away because you can have some benefits from living close to some people? Is love a benefit? Is friendship a benefit? What is going on? Have the horses gone crazy? Have they, mommy? No honey, you’re good. You’re gonna ride your horses in a nice

way until you get far. And where will I get when I get far, mommy? You will get to your last moment, love. To the moment when you will breathe in, but not let the breath go out anymore. Keep it in you forever. And become just like that kitty your friend pet on the head when she came back from that party and didn’t notice the kitty was dead. A dead body. And then slowly become earth. Strange, mommy, does that mean that we’re walking on dead bodies all the time/ Coz we’re walking on the earth. Yes, sweetie, the earth is all the dead people from the beginning of the world. Being there so that you can live. And you will go there so that other people can live after you too. Coz without all the dead bodies, the earth would be gone, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it, sweetie? Yes it would, mommy. Yes it would.
The moments I was close to understanding some very important things in my life were the moments when I was also scared as shit that I would die soon. I’ve always had this image of a car crushing me, or falling of stairs, or something. A click. A short click. But then after every moment like this, a part of me dies. And old part of me. And a new one’s born.

I’ve always hunted those moments of revelation. Maybe because I feel that I have to kill a part off me all the time. And to feed myself with it

. Hunger and death. Not enough pennies to take one more bus.

This will be a night you will never forget.

We are living following the rules of an agreement. And this agreement is called money. If you have them, the rule is that you are happy. If you don’t, the rule is that you are not happy. And you try to get some, to transfer some from othe

r people, in order to be happy. Sometimes you are not. You’re not, if you forget the rules of the game. You will be, if you play it properly. Innit?!?

This trip seems endless. I have to count my coins. Maybe they will give me some happiness.

I always liked the reflections of people’s faces in the bus’ windows. The bus is such a good space to understand the rules of the game. Here we are, close to one another, looking and being aware of each other’s presence, but ignoring each other at the same time. That is like a silent pact. We can either kill each other, or protect each other.

There's still so many things I don't get.

Tuesday. We have wednesday and thursday- the performance. then friday- the goodbye party. then vruuuuum.

.

the big cold

i ask myself the same questions as when i was 14, does that mean i am emotionally immature or just stubborn? sometimes i feel i'm some monster i have to drag with me wherever i go and at some point i know that people would be embarrased and i would have to drag the monster home, lock it in a cage and put a sheet on it. the last month has been only about that. about how to adapt myself and this stupid thirst i have, in order to live between other people. i became very self reflective and a bit more articulate in my thoughts. weird enough, i still don't get the convention. the convention between people. what are you allowed and what are you not. and where is this line people keep talking about. i was freezing this morning in the station. london cold, waitin 40 minutes to take the bus. sometimes i wish i lived amongst animals, animals when they are cold just gather one next to eachother and keep warm; the humans stand like stupid asses in their little coats and their little caps and just freeze. i guess they deserve it.

sunday morning, quiet in the house. there's a garden with a tree, and a big kitchen. the washing machine that washes for 2 and a half hours. the toasts with salt. the fridge buzzing. i try to get myself together. where does this expression come from? and how do you loose urself in order to then try to get it back together? i still try to understand this mechanism of the brain. what does the trick. projecting something and then being happy that it happened? i still try to understand what my tools for understanding are. i ty to articulate things in order to look at them as if they are another organism. like i am somebody else and i look at this person.

london. the big cold. same old police in the corner. the girls smashed with shoes in their hands goin out of venue. somebody peeing on the dean house fence, as always. i never understood why do they pee exactly where the door is. yestareday on the streets everybody seemed crazy, in the bus and all over the place. and then, passing clouds.

what happens to humans when they get drunk is that they scream for affection. their screams are embarrasing for some reason, that is why they don't like to remember. they scream so loud and so fearful that they have to control themselves from before.that's why we have bouncers. i strongly believe we are crippled. we have to deal with this need for affection and for togetherness that makes us hate eachother if we don't provide, and love eachother if we provide, and love because we don't want to loose the feeling that somebody loves you that much. what the hell happened on the way that we got so schizo? why are you a control freak during the day and a hysteric baby during the night? or maybe it's just my stupid way of dreaming about people. about that moment of togetherness that is not possible. maybe it's just a virus a nostalgic remain from a world in which we were all animals, a stupid nostalgia that you have to bare with.

what would u be if u were a tree

what would u be if you were a word

what would u be if u were a dream