marți, 13 octombrie 2009

soare mare, hai-napoi!

Draga furnicuta,
sa vezi ce mi s-a intamplat...Noaptea trecuta mi-am uitat balconul deschis, cineva a lasat geamul si usa de la baie deschise, iar eu am dormit in pantaloni scurti si tricou. Consecinta e ca am visat ca citeam Tolstoi. Si citeam pagina dupa pagina cu nesat... tot visul, pana m-am trezit sa inchid balconul; dar era prea tarziu. Imi intrase toamna-n casa si-mi trimisese mintea cu gazda ei cu tot intr-o sanie ruseasca ce strabatea campurile inzapezite si cu nimic altceva sa ma fereasca de vifornita, decat o patura infasurata strasnic in jurul trupului meu dardaind. Si am inaintat asa prin noapte, rasfoind paginile, parundu-mi-se foarte natural sa simt ceea ce mintea mea debita.
Am ajuns la concluzia ca mintea mea are nevoie de educatie...ca prea e ea nastrusnica... sper sa inteleaga cu vorba buna ca altfel, am sa-i dau exercitii de matematica si de economie bancara + atatea informatii incat n-o sa poata sa le duca. Poate sa se impotriveasca cat vrea, am s-o pun in lanturi!
Tertipul pe care-l folosea era destul de simpatic: cum ca daca e incalzire globala, ea credea ca n-o sa ne fie frig... Sau ma intreba daca morsele s-ar supara ca am reintra intr-o epoca glaciara cum ne suparam noi pt incalzirea lor globala. Mi-a zis apoi un despre ursuletul polar si mama lui si aproape ca m-a convins (pentru povestioara click aici http://irunik.blogspot.com/2009/10/poveste-din-taramul-alb.html ), dar mi-am dat mai apoi seama ca incearca sa-mi adoarma ratiunea furisandu-i tot felul de somnifere din astea in pahar.
Azi e vremea greierilor sa joace la Loto, e vremea ramelor sa se tarasca inspre tarile calde, e vremea furnicutelor sa-si numere agoniseala din banci, e vremea vantului sa ne ia umbrelele, e vremea rotilor de masini sa improaste ochiuri de apa, e vremea sa recunoastem chipul posomorat al toamnei, e vremea sa ne manjim fetzele de ciocolata amaruie, iar pentru mine e vremea sa acept ca a plecat vara-mea si sunt nevoit sa leg un grad de rudenie cu aceasta toamna... pe care n-as fi vrut sa ti-o prezint... dar te rog, ma ajuti si pe mine cu ceva mancare sau bani?

duminică, 11 octombrie 2009

One executioner is watching you

When I ride my bike on a desert street, me for one, I feel like I'm the only person in the world doing so...

I propose a small imagination exercise...first, see yourself as a whole and then prepare yourself for the slaughter of the most professional executioner! Imagine yourself out of your body and watch this scene with the eyes of your mind because...
Your eyes are just being cut out one by one, slowly, your ears and nose cut off, you are getting skinned, your legs are being pulled out of your body, your beating heart is being ripped out through your chest, and then all your internal organs, in a mechanical rhythm. Guys, off with your dicks!, Girls, off with your boobs!
The same precise, sharp knife is cutting all of your fingers and you see them roll from the table into a bloody bucket.
You've just been scalped and now the sharp knife slowly cuts through the capillary tissues to uncover your brain. Wow, it looks the same as you remember from your anatomy books, doesn't it? So do all the other cuts of your body still bleeding.

But in a blink of an eye (maybe yours), all these pieces are gathered and sorted: hearts with other hearts, eyes with other eyes, dicks with other dicks, boobs with other boobs, brains with other brains, hands with other hands. This is just the primary sort out. Because after this one, comes the hard work: the measuring...
After a long and laborious struggle, Mr. Excel has finally found a small house for all of your organs, so luckily none of them will be eaten by the hounds.
But Mr. Excel is not entirely happy with the results... oh no! Although he has a clear image of the number of other organs that are exactly like yours, he still feels like something is missing; his measuring is not complete... he wonders, he analyzes, he compares patterns, he invokes the God of Mathematics and then BooM!!!
He stares you right in the eyes of the mind and is eager to search within! You'd shake like a leaf, but then again, you'd need a body for that... You're left just with your soul and everything it has lived so far; everything it is made of is stored in your mind... Mr. Excel is just dying to find out! Oh no! He's coming over with a different kind of knife... much sharper and he begins:
First, he cuts your parents and family out of your soul and isolates them in different chambers. Then, one by one, cuts them apart in front of you and you relive the whole carnage over and over again. Then, as before, Mr. Excel gathers the bleeding parts of their bodies to create a separate table for all your family's body parts.
Well, what do you know?! You do have your mother's eyes and your heart is as strong as your father's! The neighbors were right!
Now, your family is gone from your memory, from your soul, so let's forget about them! There is much work ahead and Mr. Excel has lots of table shaped babies that are very very hungry!

Your first kiss cut out of your memory and soul. Cutting the imaginary lips, isolate them and find out everything there is to know, in order to determine similarities with other subjects on:
- the age of the first kiss
- ages of the partners involved
- if it was with the tongue
- the way the chemicals in your former body reacted to that kiss,
- if it gave you sexual desire or not
- if it determined you to want more
- how it changed you
- did you tell your former parents
- did you tell your friends
- if you had a second kiss with that partner
- when you had your second one
After a lot of many other analyzes, Mr. Excel concludes that your first kiss was not unique. Millions of other subjects have had it exactly the same.

After that, Mr. Excel is getting more curious about your whole childhood, so he cuts deep into your soul and counts everything, starting from how you were born, the weight you had, your first words, your first steps, your first tooth, your first hair cut, your first friend, your first course word, your first math exercise and analyzes everything onto your first thought.
After feeding the dismembered memories of your soul to his hungry table shaped babies, he concludes once more that your childhood was not unique.

What about your teenager years? Table baby says: No, not unique!
Your current relationship issues? Table baby says:No, not unique!
You're lovely in a very special way?Table baby says: No, you're not!
You're the happiest? The loneliest? Table baby says:No, you're not!
Your first fuck?Table baby says: No, not unique...
Nobody felt it just like you two?Table baby says: Yes, they did!
Nobody feels just like you? Table baby says: yes they do!

Mr. Excel is ceaselessly cutting through your body, mind and soul... and piece by piece the human is estranged between many many other perfect defined immaterial and material statistics.
So when you die, you're yet another corpse to be fed to the ever more hungry table babies of his.
Along with your coffin...Well, you can say fuck all my ID, my birth is not to be counted, neither is my death, nor are my feelings to be interpreted. This is a modern holocaust and will not reduce me to a figure, I'd rather have anarchy!
I propose a day of mourning on the day that Microsoft created this vicious Frankenstein, this killer of mystery and poetry called Excel!