and then

... and then winter comes. you get ready to live mostly indoors. gotta arrange the space for that. you have a little home on the 10th floor above bucharest. near the mall. every night you go home, you see this huge pillar with huge blue lit letters: "MEGAfun". today crossing the mall you had small pleasures. watched the mannequins from the mango shop, who all look the same, and thought- these girls are really sexy. it was actually the same face, but different clothes. you found a present for this boy you like. talked at the workshop about stuff in ur life- ur mum and the pigeon she found, lost friends, job. then you came home, made this salad. bought bacon and mushrooms from the shop named "real". while waiting at the cue, noticed the beautiful huge faces hangin on the walls. made judgmental remarks in your head about the next person in line's boots. thought about the moment when you will make pics with everything that's in your room. made this salad. ate it. while crossing the parkway, made judgmental thoughts about a girls' feet. and watched your own feet in the new 300 lei boots. ur mum bought your new boots. in the bus, a young man talking about the gypsy tradition with the girl- that he and his girlfriend must not tell the parents she is not a virgin anymore, cus they'd throw her away and no other gypsy would take her. "a romanian would take them. even if they're not virgins", said his romanian friend. the discussion continued. then home, the salad and probably sex and the city. next morning, clean up the space, the living space. looked at the plates you wash thinkin this can be a good meditation opportunity. you wash the plates and think about the plates you wash. ate eggs bacon and mushrooms. had a small fight with the cat. cleaned the floor. last night you dreamed rj died. then woke up realized it was just a dream. probably talkin yesterday about his accident at the workshop made it come back in your mind. then fell back asleep and dreamt he ressurected. you met, but he said that now that he's back to life he'll not be gay anymore. then we wondered if we can still be such good friends if he's - quote- 'heterosexual". watched "the doom generation" again these days- a heterosexual movie by gregg araki. 15 december. plans for the near future. while washing the plates i was asking myself what would the definition of "theatrical" be. then plans for funding. then plans. think about the peter pan monologue. will you ever finish it. probably until june. wash your clothes. think about your hair which has a natural rasta tangled portion. eat little toblerone chocolates. outside's snowing. you won't be able to wear the new boots so much now. check rj's profile to make sure it's not like in the dream, where there was this huge black band on the fb profile, written- we are sorry to inform you that your friend died. you buy plasticine from "real"- wonder if this is a sign of inner peace, or just a sign of winter coming- this will generate little coloured animals who will then fill the living space. think about the text ur writing- the one with the education. gotta give it more time. think about time, while washing the plates. listen to melancholic music, like marianne faithfull but especially diamanda galas

vaslui theatre festival, october 2010

Ich Clown @ Festivalul Umorului "C-tin Tanase", Vaslui from veioza arte on Vimeo.

9 sept city

9th of september and i say leave a trace of your thoughts write i was in the bus 2 days ago thinking about a memory and then said to myself i should write this until i forget it until it starts decomposing in my mind but i didnt even believe myself when thinkin that. the memory became just a frame that got stuck into my mind making me think, as so many times recently, that love and affection are a form of illness. a form of being stuck like an animal in a trap. your helpless look. your random moves, trying to escape it. your dreamy eyes when you think of something that is not here with pain and desire.

one of the first days in bucharest today. walked a lot. sometimes feels like a battle field. it s grey and violent and intense. poisoned. gas and noise. loads of noise. the main street, magheru, feels so heavy. very hard to handle. when you walk through it, you have to shout, the sound of the cars is too strong. and there s fogg, things look misty cus of the pollution. a walk through magheru and you need a retreat. streets are underconstruction everywhere. you hear the sound of machines breaking cement, and this is mixed with the sound of cars and claxons, and alarms. people s faces are dark brown and frowned. some of them seem lost. there was an old lady from the countryside near nottara theatre, the kind of very skinny old ladies with black clothes and a black scarf (basma?) on her head. she looked at me grabbed my hand and shouted ”where are we?”. ”we are near piața romana”, i shouted back. ”i want to go down the hill to universitate” she shouted. i pointed the direction. ”just keep on walking!! keep on walking in that direction and you will see it!!” she seemed frightened. i had to give her a little push in that direction. ”i will go down there and i will see it, right?” said she, already moving. ”right.” and i waved my hand. she looked as confused as in the beginning and then she dissapeared in the crowd.
i sort of like this intense heavy feeling. i breath in and feel the dust gas ans smell of sweat. feel dizzy. gives you quite a high. can t compare it with other drugs. feels stronger and better than the dreamy hippie amsterdam. maybe also because i m not a hippie anymore. i don t wanna feel The Love anymore.

discovered a beautiful artist 2day, her name is yașam șașmazer. she is from turkey and she makes these weird wooden painted sculptures, child-size children like these




(this is called ”beautiful as my mother”)


(this is called ”strong as my father”)

(”bloody fruit”)

source

also discovered a beautiful artist at the ADM festival in Amsterdam some days ago. his name is yann keller and his music fits bucharest so well. he built this instrument called the steelbass. and makes sound installations like this
- and this sound is bucharest

the cold song

i don't know if there's any connection btween this



and jmbarrie's melancholic figure and peter pan standing still and me as peter pan and the women in the red light district but i keep on listening to this song on and on and on for a week now, and it sort of gives me the frame for the things i experience and they have a very sharp cold-lit shape through this frame.

wanna be

emotional trouble. this fucked up romantic utopia that makes us see only the nice stuff. if i could find a way to get rid of that sweet flavoured perception of reality, my oh my, that would be JUUUST precious. seein somebody and not seeing just the best in him, but him/her as a whole. no judgement. i guess not attaching judgemental opinions would be the best start for that. there's no good or bad, it is as it is. not what i want to see in it. not what can please my purring ego that transforms everything into a disgusting jelly disney movie .

haha - i want to be evil- listened to her recently wth 2 occasionally friends. peckham wine till 9 in the morning and watchin



oh of course the sweetest tenderest of them all miss

ich clown

Ich CLown - premiera from veioza arte on Vimeo.

- what we have been workin on until now. a play about ourselves, and the beginnging of the programme "write about yourself", which hopefully will encourage people to write about/share their own stories, and break the common belief that "my life's not worth it" when it comes to writing about you. twas the most kamikadze project i've worked on, but it's out there now. and that's good.

http://ichclown.wordpress.com/

back

almost thought i'll never write here again. my brain is still more than half empy after the last 2 months' experience, and now slowly coming to life, bit by bit, pixel by pixel. try to remember parts of the things that happened in order to free some space in my brain cells. in london again. now. after the opening of our performance, which was good but also the most nerve-consuming experience i've been through until now. yes, doing an independent theatre production in bucharest has all the chances to basically leave you in a vegetable condition. right now, selling baloons on the streets of london. yesterday i saw a guy next to me who was literally plucking his hair out while singing a song into a street plastic sign (the orange-and white ones, that look like the VLC icon). he was singing "wonderwall" into that. had black dirty hands and dirty nails, seemed homeless, and had just some remains of hair on the top of his head, which he was plucking every 30 seconds, and then throwing them. he had a bag in front of him and people were throwing money. twas the most disturbing image i've seen in a while. i'll try to take more pictures starting today, in my baloon walks.
decided to come back here for a phd in a couple of years- probably 3. trying to figure out the research theme until then.