divanul

Arata ca o canapea, doar ca era mult mai spatios, mai larg, cu cate o valinka la fiecare capat si un spatar lat si inalt, cu trei sectiuni, curbate si moi, peste care se intindea tesatura.

Batu cuisorul desprins cu mare grija, sa nu cumva sa se indoaie sau sa se rupa. Pipai suprafata de lemn si simti suprafata mica, rece si neteda a cuiului. Se aseza apoi pe divan sa se odihneasca putin. Mana in care tinea ciocanul ii tremura usor. Incercase sa faca cat mai putin zgomot, dar probabil tot il deranjase. Mai respira o data adanc si se duse in dormitor.

the web

everything nowadays advertises communication. think of all the media, the Internet, cellphones, all sorts of gadgets and services designed to make us ‘communicate’. but do we really? going back and forth between my twitter account, my blog (the latest, since i’ve begun and deserted a few so far), my many e-mail accounts and instant messaging services,  i often forget what i wanted to say, if i had anything to say and most of all i forget to think whether it is worth saying at all. continence is not a word in our modern dictionary. all these flickering signs demanding our attention, all these empty pages asking to be filled, they all dry us out, wear away our attention, dissolve our concentration. they’re little virtual paper monsters, mouths gaped, constantly asking to be fed. billions and billions of words are ejaculated each day into this barren, immense space, where they die a fast death and live no trace. left behind are minds projected outwards in a vain effort of finding themselves in the only place they’re not.

fractals

inspired by some books that i’ve read,  i’ve been googling information on the spinal cord and the brain. it’s interesting how the butterfly shape of the brain (seen from above) reproduces fractal-like at a smaller scale in the cross-sections of the spinal cord.

muzeul

Coarne groase de berbec se rotesc amenintator sub stresini, burlane cu cap de balaur se casca vesnic insetate pe la colturi, arcade pudice ascund varful vreunui felinar innegrit, tije uscate de trandafiri umplu ovalul de piatra din fata intrarii.
La etaj, printre oglinzi de sticla oglindind oglinzi de parchet ceruit, tintuite de perete, atarnand moi de sfori galbui, stau aliniate tablouri pe care sclipeste unsuroasa culoarea.
Pana si pe ferestre se intinde un strat de vopsea alba care fereste oamenii incremeniti intre rame de lemn de curiozitatea oamenilor ce-si exerseaza mobilitatea intre ramele de asfalt ale orasului.

1984

i just figured it out. the ending in Orwell’s “1984″. it’s not about the system which defeats you. no system can alter the unalterable in each human being. it’s the man himself who yields to his fears. the system is a mere touchstone in the sense of  “test or criterion for determining the quality or genuineness of a thing”. it brings out the worst or the best in people. it’s like my chess teacher used to say: you don’t lose because the other one is better at playing, you lose because of your own shortcomings.