Nu imi plac legumele si nici eu lor

M-am taiat iar cu cutitul, in timp ce faceam salata
Cepele radeau si sfecla.. era si ea amuzata
Din pereti ranjind ieseau, capatanele de varza
Sardonic se hizileau rosiile uitate-n plasa 

Castravetii in felii, se rostogoleau ironic
Iar ridichile spuneau "n-am vazut ceva mai comic" 
"Ha ha ha!" striga fasolea si mucii-i dadeau din nas
Vinetele copt, ferice, ragea si el in extaz

Ma batjocorea chiar prazul, cu ochii inlacrimati 
Un cartof facea misto, cotindu-i pe ceilalti
Usturoiul si ghimbirul bateau palma multumiti
Si ciuperca cu-al ei rictus, boscorodea printre dinti. 

Heart

 A society that has embraced Post-Modernismus as its central ideology, resembles a corpse which, as it's starting to decompose, releases enzymes and bacteria that eat the body from inside. (countless new-atheists who have captured the public imagination with the claim that science is a panacea)

Only the sacred can fulfill the role of the heart which pumps new blood into the organism and keeps these bacteria in check.

Access

After a fit of uncontrolled laughter with hiccups and tears, the group fell silent again and continued their walk towards the pub. It was a cold January evening and occasional gusts of wind were blowing big snowflakes into their faces, where they would tickle their eye-lashes or slowly melt into their beards. As they were trudging along, a flock of about 30 crows, aligned on an electric wire, seemed to be cawing in the cadence of their steps; this made them instinctively pick up their pace.

When they finally arrived, they were greeted by the pub manager himself, who saw them to their table - the only one which could accommodate all 10 of them; this was a mere formality, as they would have known exactly where to go: it had always been the exact same table!
The manager started giving them this special attention when he realised that by the end of each visit, the group would always be very drunk, every one of them having spent at least three times more than his average customer.
The tradition was started 7 months back, when they were all recruited by the same company. On their first lunch break, during the training, someone came up with the idea and none of them had ever missed a meeting since! Moreover, they had all kept their exact same place at their usual big, round table.
"I can't believe this is meeting number 30!" Valeria said and gazed at everyone with a mix of familiarity and pride.
After a few "wow's" and some approving "mmm's" from the group, she continued:
"I would like to start by announcing tonight's subject of discussion. After much consideration, I have decided that we should have a conversation about Honesty.
Markus, who was sitting right next to her, was the first to react:
"Honesty? But Julian's suggestion from last week was Truth. We've already discussed it."
At that moment, she saw the waiter approach and she lifted her index finger at Markus, who looked very annoyed, but kept his silence nonetheless.
The waiter's smile was forced; this was his second day on the job and he was sure that he would not remember even half of the order from a table of 10 customers.
To his relief, he heard Valeria say:
 "Bring us 5 bottles of your house red wine and 10 glasses."
He went back to the bar, where the manager was sitting at his little table behind the counter. He was writing some numbers on a piece of paper and tapping his right heel on the floor.
"What did they order?" he asked without looking at the waiter.
"Five bottles of the house red.. and 10 glasses."
"Not surprised. One of them always chooses what everyone else drinks and they never mix. They will only have red wine tonight. Lots of it."
The waiter looked at the group, who seemed to be in the middle of an argument. They were all young, definitely under 30, but their outfits were quite old fashioned and their serious attitude didn't seem to be age appropriate either.
They were still wearing their coats while the owner was making him wear a ridiculously thin white shirt with only a sleeveless vest on top. He had to keep moving! Another hour and he'd be out of there.. and then he would meet his new girlfriend, who had invited him to go to the movies.
As he was bringing the tray, the group again stopped their chatter and gave him all their attention: he was suddenly aware that 20 eyes were simultaneously following his every move, as he placed the tray on the table and then placed the glasses in front of each one of them.
When he attempted to open the first bottle, he was stopped by Valeria, who quickly grabbed the neck of the bottle and brought it up to her chest.
"We'll take it from here, darling", she said and proceeded to uncork the wine. She then poured it into the glasses, while he stood there waiting, not knowing what to do next.
The owner, who had been observing from behind the bar, quickly came to the table and dragged the waiter away by the sleeve, asking the group to signal if they needed anything else.
He was still holding his employee by the sleeve and he addressed him with a frown:  
"You don't need to wait around. If the customers want to pour their own drinks, just let them be."
"Yeah, sure. I was just waiting to collect any empty bottles"
"It's unprofessional.. I know you're new, but you need to learn quickly!"
The waiter felt rather embarrassed by the manager's intervention and could hardly control the urge of breaking free of his grip. He looked around and thought this had been the shabbiest bar he had ever seen: it desperately needed repainting, the bathroom was stinky, it was very cold and he felt oppressed by the very low ceiling. When they prepared food behind the bar, the standard of hygiene was extremely poor and most of the customers he had served over the past couple of days were rude and uneducated.
Still, he needed this job if he was to afford to rent his own room and maybe invite his new girlfriend over.
"Yessir," he responded. "Should I wait for the customers to ask for me or would you like me to ask them if they need anything else".
"Good idea! Go and see if the other customers want more drinks. I'll handle the group."
When the manager returned to their table, his shoulders were dropped, his voice was soft and he kept his head down, raising only his eyes as he said:
"Is everything ok?"
The ten group members looked at each other and then took turns telling the manager exactly what was not ok for each one of them.
A long pause ensued in which the manager, shocked by the heavy dose of honesty, was moving his eyes from one to the other, not knowing whom to address first.
It was Valeria who spoke first:
"Don't be surprised. We are not allowed to lie tonight, it's the theme of the evening that compels us: Honesty! The best thing about this place is that new waiter of yours, what's his name?"
"Stephan, should I call him?" said the manager, regaining a bit of control over himself.
"Yeah, in fact I'd like him to join us! Drinks on us.."
The waiter, who had overheard the conversation, agreed with all of the negatives that the customers had mentioned and thought that needed to quit that very night, after he would get paid for his shift. It was funny to see the manager humiliated by the group, after he himself had been treated so disrespectfully by his employer.
He approached the table, trying to wipe off the smirk on his face as he addressed the group:
"Thank you for the offer, guys, but my shift ends in 35 minutes and I'm meeting someone afterwards.'
"Ah, come on, Stephan! Just one drink, whatever you choose, he will bring it. He'll also bring you a chair! " Valeria said and pointed at the manager, who seemed willing to comply.
"Is that ok?" the waiter asked the manager with an even bigger smirk on his face. His instinct was telling him that the manager would do anything to keep these customers happy, so he thought that he would test how far he could go.
"Yeah, sure, right away" the manager said with an expressionless face.
When the manager returned with the chair, Valeria gestured at Markus, asking him to move further and then used her finger to draw an imaginary arch from the chair to the newly created space.  The manager quickly placed the chair where she indicated and the waiter sat down before his employer could completely let go of it. He then looked up at him and said:
"I'd like an unopened bottle of beer, no glass. Could you also bring my coat from the hanger? It's freezing in here"
The manager took his customary bow and left while someone from the group added behind him:
"Yeah, it's very cold. I think this is the very last time we come here."
The waiter learned their names and then quickly unlearned them, as his years of smoking weed had damaged his memory and capacity of concentration.
When Valeria asked the group:  "Who here thinks that Stephan is cute?", a few hands went up, including that of a gay guy and one of a girl who Stephan himself thought was very attractive.
Valeria had one hand up and the other on his knee, while he kept looking at the girl whose name he had forgotten. Must have been Isabelle? She looked back at him and smiled a sort of promiscuous smile, which had taken the waiter's imagination on a trip from which he had trouble returning. Valeria's hand on his knee, the cold and the excitement of this game they were playing made him shiver and feel slightly overwhelmed. He quickly stood up and said:
"I wonder if he forgot about my coat. I'll go and get it" 
When the waiter approached the bar, he didn't see the manager behind it. It was almost closing time and there were no other customers left except for his ten new friends. He thought that the manager must have gone to the bathroom and so, the waiter thought it would be pretty cool if he could just open a beer for himself behind the bar and then casually join the table again.
He noticed the manager's notebook on the bar and became very curious about it.. what was he writing there every 5 minutes? He went through the first few pages and quickly realised that it had to do with profits and losses, he saw his own name and the name of the agency that had sent him to work for this bar and then finally, when he got to the last two pages, he read a list of expenses which were more than double what the estimated income would be. The last word, written in capital letters was "INSURANCE!"  He definitely had to quit this job!
He opened a beer and then went to get his coat, which was on a hanger right next to the entrance. The manager was still not in sight, so he thought he would check outside, but to his bewilderment, the heavy wooden door had been locked and there was a tiny trail of smoke which appeared through the cracks.
He immediately shouted to the others:  "Oh my God, I think the fucker wants to burn the place down." 

As he was kicking the door and screaming, the group soon joined him, but with all of their desperate efforts, it was simply impossible to break the door down.

The waiter then rushed towards the only window in the bar, but this was covered by a thick metal grill, which he knew could only be removed along with the wall. The group also tried shaking it and kicking it, but it was all in vain. They went on rushing from the window to the door, calling the name of the manager, pleading that they should be let out, but there was no answer. As the smoke grew thicker, the group started to break down crying, fighting, hugging, kissing and told each other things that were utterly shocking. 
Suddenly, the door opened and behind it, the manager said with a smirk on his face: "Now that's how you truly access honesty!"  

O ascensiune

Era Noiembrie, o seară de Duminică ploiasă, pe la 8 fără un sfert, iar Ignațiu tocmai intra în scara blocului D6 cu două bidoane pe care scria "X". Ușa îi fusese deschisă de către o locatară care nu îl recunoscuse, dar văzându-l cum se clatină cu cele două greutăți, își spuse că probabil una dintre vecinele ei îl angajase pe acest sărman să îi aducă apă arteziană.

Ignațiu arăta într-adevăr precum un om al străzii, dat fiind că hainele îi erau ponosite, bocancii vechi și rupți, era bărbos și încercănat, iar ochelari de vedere demodați, îi erau prinși în jurul capului cu un elastic înnegrit de timp. Purta pe spate un rucsac de 70 L de culoare neagră, iar multitudinea de insigne cu care era decorat, erau toate roșii. 

Blocul nu avea lift, iar scările ce duceau la etajul I erau cufundate în întuneric, făcându-l pe Ignațiu să se împiedice de câteva ori. Un câine, probabil de statură mică, se autosesizase din cauza zgomotelor și începu să latre subțire din spatele unei uși pe care scria

      Apt. 8 
Valeria Simeon

Când Ignațiu observă că lumina ce străbătuse prin vizor dispăruse, se apropie de ușă și începu să se strâmbe. După câteva secunde, lumina din casă reapăru în vizor și în aceiași clipă, se auzi și cheia răsucindu-se rapid în broască. Lătratul câinelui deveni înăbușit, iar Ignațiu își continuă drumul înspre scările ce duceau la etajul II.
Privi în sus, numără 16 trepte și mormăi ceva. 

După primele 7 trepte, hotărî să-și dezmorțească puțin brațele și lăsă bidoanele jos, însă în aceiași clipă, greutatea rucsacului îl luă prin surprindere și simți că își pierde echilibrul.
Încercă să se sprijine în călcâie, dar reuși să îl proptească doar pe stângul, pentru că dreptul nu-i pășise pe toată suprafața treptei. 
Ignațiu începu să cadă și nu reuși să apuce balustrada la timp, dar instinctul de autoconservare îl făcu să se încovoaie și să-si ferească capul de impactul cu scările de beton. După ce alunecă pe spate până pe a treia treaptă, reuși să apuce balustrada și să se ridice. Rucsacul îl ajutase să scape nevătămat, iar Ignațiu începu să râdă silențios, expirând pe nas ca o mitralieră. 

Își reluă urcușul aplecându-se în față și când ajunse la bidoane, le smulse cu forțe proaspete și se grăbi cu pași mici și apăsați să ajungă în vârful scărilor.  La etajul II, își dădu seama că nu existau senzori de lumină pe scară și că trebuia să aprindă becul de la întrerupător. Încercă să-l apese cu vârful piciorului, dar nu reuși să țintească exact și odată cu apariția luminii, auzi și o sonerie zbârnâind ca o scurtă alarmă de incendiu.
Ușa se deschise și în spatele ei, apăru capul unui locatar de cam 60 de ani, care îl privea nedumerit. 
”Lumina am vrut” 
”Ah, sigur nicio problemă, se întâmplă” 
Ignațiu nu citi ce scria pe ușa acestui locatar, ci își continuă drumul înspre scările ce duceau la etajul III.

Ajuns în fața noului grup de 16 trepte, hotărî să își dezmorțească brațele înainte să înceapă din nou urcușul. Stătu câteva clipe pe gânduri, dădu din cap aprobator și apoi își puse rucsacul jos. Îl deschise și scoase la iveală o frânghie de grosime medie, ce părea să aibă mai bine de 10 metri, înnodată din metru în metru. Prinse ambele mânere ale bidoanelor cu un capăt al frânghiei și o zbughi pe scări în mână cu celălalt capăt al frânghiei și cu rucsacul gol în spate. Odată ajuns la etajul III, aprinse lumina de la întrerupător și începu apoi să tragă bidoanele cu frânghia pe scări în sus, făcând ceva zgomot, dar nu suficient încât să alerteze alți locatari. 
Metoda i se păru a fi foarte eficientă, așa că o repetă întocmai pentru a ajunge și la etajul IV, unde gâfâi cam 2 minute în întuneric, după care aprinse lumina. 

Scara de metal ce ducea în podul blocului era vopsită cu verde, o culoare pe care Ignațiu o detesta încă de pe vremea grădiniței. Își dădu seama că cele două bidoane vor fi prea voluminoase ca să încapă prin trapa de acces în pod și că nici el nu va încapea cu rucsacul în spate. Hotărî să urce bidoanele pe rând și la final să urce și rucsacul cu frânghia.

 
Așa cum se așteptase, toate cele trei urcări în pod fuseseră foarte dificile, iar la final realiză cu dezgust că scara de metal fusese vopsită de curând și că ambele lui palme erau înverzite. Privi însă cu satisfacție la cele două bidoane și la rucsacul care ajunseseră în sfârșit la destinație.
Când se ridică. prin trapă apăru un cap ce purta un chipiu de polițist și Ignațiu încercă să ghicească care dintre locatari îi alertaseră. 
”Ce cauți aici? Ia hai repede jos!” se răsti omul legii cu o voce de femeie. 
Ignațiu coborî și fu inșfăcat imediat de polițistă și de colegul ei. Dus la secție și interogat, Ignațiu răspunse tuturor întrebărilor cu același cuvânt: ”Secret!”
Fu eliberat în aceeași seară și după ce așteptă cam 25 de minute în fața blocului D6, aceași locatară care îi deschise și prima oară, îl lăsă să intre din nou, dar de data asta îl întrebă:
”Pe cine vizitați?”
”Pe nimeni, mă duc până în podul blocului că mi-am lăsat ceva acolo.”
Nedumerită, femeia îl prinse de mânecă și îi spuse:
”Păi dacă nu locuiți aici, ce să căutați în podul blocului?”
”Vreau să vă aprind acoperișul.” 
”Doamne ferește, dar de ce?” 
”L-ați vopsit aiurea verde.. eu stau in blocul de vis a vis, la etajul 4.”
”Păi nu puteți să faceți așa ceva”
”Promiteți să-i schimbați culoarea până la Crăciun?”
Femeia îngrozită, îi promise că se va ocupa personal de asta și îl asigură că va strânge bani de la locatari pentru a-i schimba culoarea în roșu cărămiziu, culoarea indicată de Ignațiu.
Când acesta veni cu ”Steaua” pe 24 Decembrie, primi de la aceiași femeie o bancnotă de 10 de RON, un măr și un pahar de vin, ambele roșii. 
Așezat confortabil într-un fotoliu de catifea rosie, îi femeii spuse pe un ton îmbufnat:
”Bine ar fi fost să îl vopsiți așa din prima! M-ați fi scutit de niște drumuri.”

in search of a better Ego (squinting through a Darwinian lens)

 The desire for truth in an individual depends on how much he/she loves the lie which is its opposite.

There are many ways in which this can manifest but, as a rule, the behaviour of such a person can appear ridiculous to those who are not emotionally invested in the matter. They can plead and argue as much as they want, they will not be able to convince someone who has been seduced by a false concept and allowed it to become integrated within their identity. 

Once this affinity is established, the Ego will be a fierce protector of the relationship between the individual and his/her illusion, so that any outside attempts to dissolve it will be met with more and more creative denials, which will only serve to increase the power of the lie / delusion over the individual's perceived frame of reality. Our egos are extremely vulnerable and they seem to exist as a separate entity within ourselves. The smallest increase in consciousness changes them, but this fact is understood by the ego as an annihilation, rather than a continuation in a separate or improved form. When our egos are resurrected into a new light, into a new form, when our inner waters have become calm again, we look back at our previous convictions and remember how "naïve" or "immature" we had been as a result of our egos. However, the promise of a greater harmony between a future ego and the self, does not inspire our egos to sacrifice themselves,  just as the atheist doesn't want to believe in an immortal soul and desperately clings to the “here and now” as the only reality he/she will ever experience. This ego's desire for self-preservation is also the reason why they will always try to sabotage our future growth, unless our faith and mental projection of a better self comes to our aid.

Comunitatile Online Nu Exista!

Comunitatile Online Nu Exista!

Cercul si sfera sunt foarte bune reprezentari a lumii de ideologii si dogme ireconciliabile in care ne zbatem. Covid a accelerat cea mai mare migratie din istoria omenirii: anume migratia catre taramul online, unde Cercul de prieteni "vizibili"e ales de algoritmi prestabiliti in functie de preferintele forma(ta)te anterior. Daca ajungem in punctul in care evitam tot mai des un loc fizic, real pentru dezbateri si polemici, in curand cercurile noastre nu se vor mai intersecta si nici macar nu se vor mai atinge. Vom ajunge atat de radicali in convingeri, incat vom cauta un consens absolut. In acest context, Inteligenta Artificiala isi va merita pe deplin viitoarea suprematie pe planeta, iar transhumanismul va fi absolut logic si necesar.

Pachetul de ideologii

Subiectul e desigur foarte vast si in timp ce scriu, s-ar putea ca vocabularul acceptabil sa fie actualizat, iar eu sa fac greseli grave de exprimare, mai ales legate de gen, pronume si alte sensibilitati. 

Multi din generatia mea ridiculizeaza aceste tendinte "progresiviste" sau considera ca ele se nasc si vor muri in SUA. Trebuie sa recunosc ca eu insumi am fost indiferent pentru o buna bucata de vreme, fiind uneori chiar iritat ca aceste ideologii fac obiectul discutiilor in cercuri de oameni aparent culti. 

Ma intrebam de ce li se aloca timp in podcasturi, articole si alte medii cu o audienta destul de larga.

Unii oameni pe care ii apreciam (de ex. psihologul Jordan Peterson) pareau a se injosi cand, acaparati de politica, opuneau rezistenta unor norme care, credeam eu in mod naiv, urmau sa dispara daca nu li se dadea atentie.  Ii criticam, fiind convins ca ar face bine sa-si cheltuie energia si timpul pentru idealuri mai benefice umanitatii decat sa se ciondraneasca cu persoane ce aveau o retorica demna de oameni evadati din sanatoriu.  

Cred insa ca situatia s-a agravat si ca degenereaza, mai ales dupa acapararea insiduoasa a mediului academic de catre elemente radicalizate ale ideologiei "woke". Universitatile produc acum un numar foarte mare de absolventi pentru care nu mai exista joburi, iar pentru a-i integra trebuie create departamente tot mai ridicole in domenii tot mai non-sens:  joburi de frecat menta in companii care vand servicii celor care incearca sa vanda servicii celor care nu le vor. 

In ziua de azi, majoritatea editurilor din Statele Unite si implicit sediile lor din Europa angajeaza oameni care sa identifice posibile devieri de la corectitudinea politica a scriitorilor de fictiune.
Acesti recenzori sau referenti sunt alesi in baza provenientei lor rasiale sau culturale pentru a identifica insensibilitati, apropieri culturale, stereotipuri si alte pasaje sau idei din carti, ce i-ar putea afecta rani psihic pe cititori. De ex. un recenzor de culoare citeste pasajul tau legat de un personaj imaginar de culoare si iti spune daca ti l-ai imaginat corect - adica fara sa-l faci sa se comporte stereotipic.  
Cartea, odata supusa acestui tratament, ajunge de cele mai multe ori sa fie anodina, ori lipsita de autenticitate, dar scapata de orice elementele care ar putea jigni fulgii de zapada. Daca acestia vor castiga tot mai multi milimetrii in lupta asta a victimologiei contra "opresiunii", vor arde in curand si literatura clasica in aplauzele politicienilor neo-marxisti.  

Speculez ca institutionalizarea acestui cult al negarii, anularii si cenzurii, s-ar putea sa aiba efecte mult mai nocive pe termen mediu si lung. 
Autorii care vor sa fie publicati, scenaristii care isi vor numele pe Disney Plus sau alte platforme neoliberale, trebuie deja sa se auto-cenzureze. In acest tip de mediu, competitia scriitoriceasca va suferi si piata de idei va fi ingradita treptat, treptat pana la sufocare.

Daca vom continua sa luam la misto acest pachet de ideologii, s-ar putea ca atunci cand il deschidem, acesta sa contina cadavrul culturii occidentale.