I can see it for real, but it doesn't make sense...

A photograph. Old, musky, deteriorating from age, just like the memory of yesterday that rarely flashes within the mind's eye without causing emotional pain and distortion. For some, to look at an old familiar photo is a memory that brings a smile upon their faces. A look that changes the entire personality upon their face drastically into something that anyone would like to look at. Soft features and a look in the eye that says "I remember those times."
Others reflect upon the same memory and feel a stake driving further and further into the wounded scar they call heart. Instead of a grin, eyes crinkle and narrow, flashing from watery tears that refuse to fall. A look that could have been happy changes to that of a bottom lip being bitten to hold back sadness, while droplets finally dribble down their cheeks only to stick to the chin before dripping off to the ground as everlasting memories.
This certain photo that crinkles within the grasp of a clenching, marred hand is an everlasting memory that latches onto the back of the mind for many years before showing itself once more. Like salt on the wounds it severs and burns, breaking the walls that a broken mind worked so hard to build. Within seconds, that small memory so carefully hidden becomes the major weakness of that person's mind. Fingers tighten, almost as if trying to push it out, forget the moments of pain that flash within their soul.
Staring at the same photograph I feel...nothing. Absolutely nothing. I am immune. Then my fingers relax, loosening up to let the picture drop from their grasp and float down slowly in the air. Trees and leaves bristled by as the wind blows and the salt that burned the wounds lands carefully within the small blades of grass, facing upward, shining against the depleting sun.

Why am I doing this? Why does each day pass me by and yet I still sit here, looking out to the world as if I were little more than an observer, unable to join in? It can't be long until I can rejoin humanity. At least, I hope it's not.

Athlete - The Outsiders (Live)

http://www.lyricstime.com/athlete-the-outsiders-lyrics.html

Si uite d-asta il iubesc pe Bacovia

Liceu, - cimitir

Al tineretii mele -

Pedanti profesori

Si examene grele...

Si azi ma-nfiori

Liceu, - cimitir

Al tineretii mele!

Liceu, - cimitir

Cu lungi coridoare -

Azi nu mai sunt eu

Si mintea ma doare...

Nimic nu mai vreau -

Liceu, - cimitir

Cu lungi coridoare...

Liceu, - cimitir

Al tineretii mele -

In lume m-ai dat

In valtorile grele,

Atat de blazat...

Liceu, - cimitir

Al tineretii mele!

Audrey Hepburn

"Pentru buze frumoase, vorbeste folosind cuvinte pline de bunavointa.

Pentru ochi frumosi, descopera binele din oameni.

Pentru o silueta de invidiat, imparte-ti hrana cu cei infometati.

Pentru un par frumos, lasa un copil sa se joace sau sa-si treaca degetele sale prin acesta macar o data pe zi.

Pentru un echilibru sufletesc, cauta cunoasterea ca sa nu fii niciodata singura.

Oamenii, mai mult decat lucrurile, trebuie ingrijiti, readusi la viata, vindecati si rascumparati; nu indeparta pe nimeni niciodata de tine.

Aminteste-ti, daca vreodata ai nevoie de o mana de ajutor, o vei gasi intotdeauna in continuarea bratului tau. Pe masura ce te maturizezi, vei descoperi ca ai doua maini: una pentru a te ajuta pe tine, cealalta pentru a-i ajuta pe ceilalti.

Frumusetea unei femei nu sta in hainele pe care le poarta, infatisarea pe care o are, sau modul in care isi piaptana parul. Frumusetea unei femei sta in ochii ei, deoarece acestia sunt intrarea catre inima sa, locul unde salasluieste dragostea.

Frumusetea unei femei nu rezida in frumusetea fetei, caci adevarata frumusete a unei femei este oglindita in sufletul sau. In ocrotirea pe care cu afectiune o ofera, in pasiunea pe care o arata.

Frumusetea unei femei creste cu trecerea anilor."

Cine sunt, cine esti?

Zob - Cantec de dragoste

Iti amintesti demult cum ne uitam

Cum timpul trece si noi nu observam

Si cautam ceva ce nu stiam

Iti amintesti tot aici eram

Cine esti, cine sunt, ce mai beau, ce mai cant?

Ce mai fac, ce mai simt?

Oare mai pot sa mint?

Cine sunt, cine esti, oare ma mai iubesti?

Cine e, cine nu, care eu, care tu?

Iti amintesti cuvinte si taceri

Era demult sau poate era ieri

Iti amintesti, eram pe-acelasi drum

Era demult sau poate e acum

Cine esti, cine sunt, ce mai beau, ce mai cant?

Ce mai fac, ce mai simt?

Oare mai pot sa mint?

Cine sunt, cine esti, oare ma mai iubesti?

Cine e, cïne nu, care eu, care tu?

Who wants to live forever? That would be me.

You say I am not immortal. Stop thinking so four-dimensionally! One day, in one time, I will no longer be here. One day, one time, I was not here before I am. But right here I am right now, and right now, I am right here.
Everything ends. Everything dies, from the flower to the tree, from the glow-worm to the star, from thought to memory, from the vast, dark mandala of the universe to the tiny bridges that cling to the abyss between atoms. Does that make them less alive, in that single moment of existence?
Smaller and more insignificant than anything, known or unknown, in Heaven or Earth, and yet greater than everything else in this teeming universe is that one moment of life.
And if the moment - the one in which I have never existed, and then the one in which I exist, and then the one in which I am nothing but a memory - is recreated anew with each heartbeat of the universe, then time is not a smooth film, but a series of images, as if a vast picture illuminated by occasional flashes of lightening, before plunging into unknowing darkness once more, only to be a different picture when the darkness fades.
And if so, "here and now" will be "here and now" forever more, even if there is a new "here and now".
"Here and now" will never be lost. And so neither will I be lost in some great darkness between times. And you... You do not comprehend.
Immortality isn't "not dying", immortality is living forever.
You, the one who sees time as a line, will die. You will die with every heartbeat, as your true self is burned away, and a new true self is formed. And you won't know, and this will be worse than the dying. Because that moment will pass.
One day, you will look at a photograph of yourself, younger, you will see your loves, your friendships and all those groups of others like you, in whose company you used to laugh. And maybe you will realize that what we think is constant is really new and different with each moment. Which is why your empires and rules and marriages and all your little constructs that you said will last forever have fallen. Because you meant that they will last forever in time, but nothing lasts for all time without changing every moment, and every moment that it changes, it will become something different, and, by doing so, will die. And that moment will pass.
But I shall take this moment, and here and now, where "here" and "now" will always and everywhere be "here" and "now", I shall, for all eternity, be here and now.
So yes, one day, there will be a "here and now" without me. But I won't be gone.
Immortality isn't "not dying", immortality is living forever.
And right here, right now, I am eternal.
And right here, right now, I am immortal.

Marin Sorescu, "Trei dinti din fata"

L-am gasit pe blogul Cristinei. N-am citit cartea, dar citatul asta m-a motivat s-o fac cu prima ocazie. Nu sunt feminista, dar...

"(...) …ma rog, e interesant ce spui, asta e omul tau, alesul inimii, cu asta defilezi! Asa sunt toti la inceput, superinteresantisimi, niste "enigme ne'splicate", ciudateniile pamantului, munti de calitati, piscuri de caracter. Da, da, umpluti cu calitati, tocate marunt, ca sa incapa cat mai multe. Ardei umpluti cu uraniu; gusti un pic si ti se pare ca iei foc, te faci avion cu reactie, te arunca in stele. Buun! Asa e la inceput. Dar trebuie sa depasim inceputurile, care ne omoara, draga. Pana la urma, cand te-ai dezmeticit, vezi ca toti sunt niste porci. (...) Porci, vite-ncaltate. Barbati ordinari, pe care nu merita decat sa-i iei cu duzina, ca pe ace, e mai ieftin! "Dati-mi o testea de barbati." (...)"

Everything is in the past

Nothing ever happened.
It was always a much more mental, powerful and rather grave cerebral experience. Capturing those real, fleeting moods, moments in life that happen everyday to everyday people. There was no climax or meaning. Life usually appears dull in those instances. Things in life and time usually flash so fast before you know it, like a blink of an eye or a snapshot from a camera. It's similiar to a photograph; images of new, different places you go, things beautifully captured on film, but the actual story behind pictures is usually not as mysterious, exciting or pretty in form, in reality to you. Doing things, trying to live in the moment and really have fun, or look like you're having fun, but you're worrying too much. Killing time, but always aware of time, how can you really enjoy the moment?
Those places you've been and visited away from home or anywhere you feel at home or felt at home, or never really existed for you, usually look a lot better on film, mementos, not because of sweet, beautiful nostalgia of the moment itself, but you can see more from a distance - the whole picture, meaningful with time passing, you getting older etc. You begin to appreciably remember it more like as a remarkable play.
Strange familiarity, the familiar strange.
A new way of seeing the past. A memory, the feeling that you can always recall in your mind, because of a particular mood you felt at a time, or a lot, that somehow stood out in your life for a reason... Being there but not really there at the exact moment it actually happened; a stranger to everything. It's surreal like a dream in a sense, dream walking and dream talking.