joi, 27 mai 2010


different city
different people
different world
but i am the same

i walk down
the road smelling of the world
yet the smell of home has long been lost

surrounded by you all
i am alone
as you walk against me down the road
all in sync
and i’m the filth-stain
on a fresh painted wall
and i stay alone
with myself
the idiot
the fool

sitting outside my window
ten stories high
as night copulates with dawn
absorbing the world as it changes
i would cry
but i won’t
i’m dry

so i just smoke my fag
and drink my coffee
no sugar
like life

i slip and i fall
ten stories down
i break my legs
longing to feel anything
...yet not even pain

i start crawling back
to what was once familiar
crawling with my arms
but they erode
leaving a trail of blood
then they are no more
so i crawl on my belly
and still not even pain

and my stomach erodes
and i erode
‘till i am no more
just the trail of blood
i left behind
but it quickly fades
and my passing is unmarked
forgotten and useless
i am no more

there is no new start
the chains of what was
tie me down
so i am where i was
i am no more once again

duminică, 23 mai 2010


It had been snowing for twenty-one hours and thirteen minutes as Chris limps slowly back through the desolate village, thinking about the devastation in his life.

Chris is a clockmaker.

Evening does not ‘creep in’ during winter.

The phrase ‘darkness falls’ is not just a metaphor, at least not in a small village in the Carpathians, where not even electricity has been introduced.

Despite the clear sky, the darkness closes in, like a wall, for the moon is not yet up.

A full Moon will shine tonight.

There is nobody on the street.

As Chris drags his foot through the fresh, crunchy snow, he counts every one of his steps. He always had the need to measure time, and now he curses himself for forgetting his pocket-watch at home; an old relic inherited from his father, who got it from his father, all of them clockmakers. There is a safety in counting time, a sense of control. And of all nights it is on this one that he lacks that feeling. He quickens his pace.

Dim, yellow lights start flickering in the windows around him. Candles are being lit revealing ghoulish faces with a cadaveric pallor, seemingly floating in the pale light like the ghosts of disembodied heads.

Chris is near his house when a long howl is released somewhere in the woods.

He stops.

Drops of sweat start dripping down his back as he feels his temperature rising.

A candle is dying on his desk, and the low light reveals hundreds of glazy eyes staring at him. All the clocks he has collected over the years, regardless of shape and size, hang from his wall, and if until now he felt their constant ticking reassuring, now he feels harassed, as if an omen keeps reminding him of the little time he has left. “The black wolf with the white glowing eyes” he mutters without realizing.

His heart is still beating at an agonizing pace.

He checks his daughter’s room.

It is empty.

She is at her grandparent’s, as he had arranged.

He hasn’t got much time.

Suddenly a loud noise crushes the silence.


And again.

And again.

The grandfather-clock announcing the sixth hour.

He has little time left.

Old folk used to scare little children in the village with the tale of the black wolf with glowing eyes. The man eater who had plagued the villagers for centuries, a pawn of the Devil. People sometimes came to the pub, all pale, mentioning just two eyes glowing in the distance. But wolves rarely came as far as the village, and attacks on humans were even rarer. His wife had been the only case in thirty years. She had been dragged off five years ago, and they had found only blood and scraps of clothing.

Then, a month ago, five years to the day, Chris was chopping some wood one night when a dark, huge figure lunged at him out of the darkness, biting his foot. He swung his axe at it, and the wolf made for a run, looking back only once. Chris still wasn’t sure if in that second the creature’s eyes did glow or if it was the light of the moon.

He didn’t think it was anything else but a lone hungry wolf, but since then he started having cravings. He felt like eating raw meat, still soaking in blood. His temper was quicker, and he had nightmares of tearing people apart…even ripping his daughter to pieces. And last night, after going to sleep, he awoke in the garden howling at the moon.

He has no time.

He cannot risk harming anyone.

It is probably all just in his mind.

But he cannot take that risk.

The ticking of the clock grows ever faster, and so does the rhythm of his heart beat.

A terrible pain hits his chest, and moves to his whole body. His bones and muscles feel as if they are stretching and tearing. He runs for the door, and goes towards the edge of the village, towards the forest. His leg stops limping, his body seems to grow stronger. He moves faster. He can still hear the clocks ticking in his mind.

He feels the urge to kill.

He fights it.

He must press on.

He hears footsteps.

He moves faster.

The steps follow him.

He turns.

“Papa, where are you go…?” the girl manages to say before she starts screaming.

miercuri, 19 mai 2010

I don't know anymore

i’m somewhere
always someplace else
some place distant
i watch myself from that place
like a bad sitcom
i don’t have the remote to change the channel
i must pull the plug

yesterday i drove my bike into a car
it was speeding on the opposite way
i crashed
flew off my bike and right through the windshield
i could see my parents and friends
sitting on the front seats
they were scared
so i tried not to hurt them
when my head broke the glass

i landed on the backseat
next to a child
and he was me
and he held my hand
and wouldn’t let go

please let go
let me pull the plug
just let go

joi, 13 mai 2010


“Do you think she killed herself? She probably came all the way out here so nobody would find her, right? Chris!”

Chris was staring absently at the partly dressed skeleton, when his friend’s voice woke him. “Probably suicide.” he repeated, “Since last month when we were here.”

“No. Her head’s bashed in. Besides, her skirt is to far from the body. Raped and killed!” He was strangely unaffected by the whole thing. “And she has been here for more than a month. Bones’re all clean. She was probably buried under the roots of the old oak tree, and now that the wind blew it over…” he left the sentence hanging.

“But the windstorm was two weeks ago! Somebody must’ve found her”

“Nobody comes by here! That’s the reason why we’re here!”

They used to smoke weed once every few weeks, by the old oak just outside of town, so nobody could see them together; Chris’ friend was from a well of family, and his parents would have not approved of the friendship, and in a small town like that secrets have short lives. Chris didn’t mind the hiding. The guy was an idiot, but he paid for the dope.

The teenage boy picked up a small object which was laying next tot the corpse. “Look!” Chris recognised the object immediately. He had seen it in old photos. He hoped his companion didn’t detect his shock at seeing the object, but the boy was enjoying their discovery too much for such subtleties. As the other one explored the brownish bones with childish glee, Chris had time to make some connections.

“It’s a good place to hide a body! She hasn’t been found in thirty years!” he finally said.

“How can you be so sure?”

“A girl goes missing in this town, everybody knows! The last time it happened it was that Karen Bell girl, thirty years ago!”

“Great! If we tell the police, we’ll be like heroes! In all the papers, and TV”

“Yeah, too bad nobody is going to find out.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Come on over here a bit.” he said in a strangely serious tone.


“Just get over here! Will ya?” But his friend was backing up, he didn’t get far as he tripped on a tree stomp. Chris lunged towards him and he grabbed the sharp rock he saw next to the corpse.

As he was walking home, Chris was studying the ring. It was just as his granma’ had described it. It had belonged to his granddad, whom he never met. When he died Chris’ father was very young. He inherited the ring, and was supposed to pass it on, but when he was fifteen he lost it. All he ever said about that was that it had been a bad day. It was the same day the Bell girl disappeared.

duminică, 2 mai 2010


I fly down walls,
on the edge of time!
I climb the falls,
up side down!
I run down hills,
day by day!
I hit the ground,
to no avail!

I want to stay in,
I keep heading out!
I reach the door,
I lock it down!
I keep getting stuck,
I don't want to leave!
Just give me the key,
I'll let ourselves be!

miercuri, 31 martie 2010

About: Essays, Ron Athey's Lecture (a review) and The Live Art Development Agency (a guide)

Essay period is approaching my friends (well, I don't know if want to call any of you people my friends), and while some of us have a natural talent to write original First-Level essays two months before the deadline (yes, I'm talking to you Chris Moore), the rest try our best something to give our essays that extra little spice. And that isn't really easy, especially considering that while on other courses modules are made mandatory if they are essential to all students, in Drama they just choose the ones which sound like no student will willingly take it, if given the choice. And thus I found myself waking up at 6:30 am on Monday so I can make it to the London based Live Art Development Agency's Study Room by 10:30. You ca book sessions from 10:30 to 13:30 or from 14:30 to 18:30, or all day (it's all a bit confusing), and considering that Monday they only had a free spot at from 10:30 to 13:30, I had to take that one and another full on Tuesday. Oh, a tip, their website says you can book by e-mailing them, completely useless, I sent three e-mails, they were all ignored; call them.

After nearly having missed the coach I got into London at 9:45 and I boarded the Northern Line, going towards Old Street Station. I had noted down the name of the streets I had to take, finding those streets on the other hand was a tad more difficult, mainly because all the people I asked had different opinions on where those streets might be. But here you have the easiest way:

-Get off at Old Street, and take Exit 3
-Go straight ahead and then right on to Great Eastern Street
-At the Rivington House go left on to Rivington Street
-Keep going ahead until you reach Shoreditch High Street, go left and immediatly right on to Calvert Avenue
-When you reach Arnold Circus turn left and go around the circus until you pass Rochelle Street
-There is a wooden door on top of it says "BOYS", there is an intercom, you have reached your destination.

The Study Room itself was alright. The staff was friendly and helpful, everything was explained. The room isn't very big, quite small actually, but it has loads of resources on everything in the live art domain (check the online catalog), books, articles, vhs, dvds etc. They have a Mac and two TVs with VHS/DVD players. It is a great resource.
On the first day I was by myself, on the second one there were to more people, but it didn't feel crowded.

I got off at Stepney Green Station at 18:15, the lecture was supposed to start at 18:30. I rushed towards Queen Mary College, and I got there pretty soon, just that it was the Engineering department, and none of the students there knew anything about any Arts Building. Ignorant fools (not that I have any idea in which building graphic design is thought at ARU). When I got to the building I still wasn't sure if this was the right place, but soon enough the mass of tattooed and heavily pierced faces contrasting the smart clothing gave me a hunch I am not to far from my target. I looked around for any familiar faces, none! (shame on you Drama students). Well there was one face I knew, for who could forget that ugly face, with the metal teeth sticking out, that fat stubby body, the bold tattoed head? Yes Franko himself...I'm sorry, I'm should use the proper name, B. himself...wait that's not right either. You know whom I mean, Franko B.

Soon enough Gianna and Kerstin came in with a rush, I waved but they walked right passed me, either not noticing or even worse completely ignoring me. I went up to them anyway, and was swiftly informed of their misadventures on the way down here. No room for more talk though, the lecture was starting.

I was shocked (which, I presume, is expected from a Ron Athey lecture, just that I was shocked for all the wrong reasons). The man who came on stage after the name Ron Athey was announced and applauded was nothing like I imagined. A slim man with a goatee, an elegant manner, a soft friendly voice; a very likeable character....hell, if it wasn't for the tattoos, the many many tattoos, he would make some conservative elderly couple's Perfect Neighbor List. My mind could not connect the man in front of the screen with the man on the screen who was shoving dildos up his ass.

The lecture consisted mainly of screening of some of his material and reading of some writings. There were jokes, gore, sex and everything you would expect from such an event. Yet I fear I have not learned anything new.

After the lecture, without a word of departure Kerstin and Gianna vanished into thin air, so I drank some of the free wine which was offered, but lingered not much longer. There was a friend waiting for me on the other end of the District Line and more drinking was to commence.

Conclusion: Ron Athey lecture, funny and interesting yet not particularly useful. Live Art Agency, a useful even if well hidden essay resource.

miercuri, 24 martie 2010

Gorillaz gig pics +Set List


More pics here and here


Tired. So fucking tired. 6 PM, laying in my bed after a long day of school trying not to fall asleep. But I have to get to the secret Gorillaz concert…well so called ‘secret’ concert, just for the fan-base. I’m weighing the fact that not only will there not be any reasonable priced tickets, but that there probably will be NO tickets. But I said I’ll try, I’ll stop being lazy and do shit. Sigh.

I get 40£ from a cash-machine, telling myself I will haggle like hell with the ticket touts and not go higher than 30…35…ok 40, but that’s it! ‘cause that’s all I have. Long sigh.

I’m on my way to the Junction and I am already starting to regret going, considering that once I’ll get there I’ll probably immediately make my way back.

I get there. A small queue for regulars. Another one for G-Club members. Apparently there might be tickets. My pessimism fades. A guy asks around if somebody wants a ticket, ‘cause his friend bailed on him. “How much?” “Regular price, 25.” “All right!” Ticket looks fine, but still I am suspicious. But sure enough five minutes later I’m in. I pay another 2£ for wardrobe, a decision which will later prove very wise indeed. An hour to go. I am glad I got away under 30 quid, and I vow to keep the rest safe. So immediately I buy a poster for 9£ (which I really not regret) and an over-priced Stella Artois, which is stale and bitter and not cold enough (which I regretted on the spot).

The crowd is strangely disproportionate. Bunch of teens on one side and a bunch of people who weren’t really young when Blur first started, and haven’t grown younger since. Not as many people in their 20s-30s as I expected. The crowd is still thin and I walk around for a while, but I soon chose my place, which is only a few of rows from the stage, and I can actually see stuff happening up there. Two guys behind me wonder why is it that the first three rows at concerts are always filled by people over 6’ tall (1,80 m for the normal people). A valid question. I had a similar theory at the Thom Yorke concert, people should be allowed in according to their height, tallest people last, so everyone can fucking see.

Well an hour later, the lights go down and the crowd goes wild. About ten people come on stage dressed in navy costumes and grab their instruments. As Damon Albarn comes on stage, people in the crowd shout “Happy Birthday!”, true fans apparently. He salutes them and the whole crowd starts singing “Happy Birthday”!

We are soon informed that this is a rehearsal gig for the upcoming tour so there are no visuals and stuff, “At least you’re here!” somebody shouts. At least I’m there, I think. Later he tells us that Bruce Willis isn’t there either! (if you don’t get it, click here).

I despised the Yorke crowd, they were slow, and didn’t seem to let the music get to their minds, and this crowd starts off slowly as well. Few people are immediately drawn into the music and start dancing, but slowly the movement spreads, and although there are still plenty of the “I’m here to enjoy the concert, thank you, not to monkey around!” people, a good vibe rises. Part of it is the music, but mostly it’s due to Albarn. That man has a lot of energy and knows how to get a crowd moving. He makes jokes, dances around, gets close to people, cools us off by baptizing us with his water-bottle. I didn’t really have an opinion on the guy before, but now I really love’im! The band plays for an hour and half, mostly songs from their new album, “Plastic Beach”, maybe exclusively, I’ve listened to all their albums, but I don’t know them good enough to recognize most of the songs. I’m not actually a big fan, alright?

Anyway, at one point when I was really getting hyped and the music had gotten to my had and I was moving frenetically, they suddenly stop, and exit stage left. What? That’s it? There are so many songs which have not been sung, sure we all know you are keeping the two golden ones for the encore, but what about “Tomorrow Comes Today”, “19-2001” and “Rock the House”? What about them Damon? Damn you!

The crowd makes noise for quite a while until the bands enters stage right (clever, mister Albarn, clever). People scream out titles randomly! Jesus, when will these people learnt the set-list has been done a long time ago, their screaming is nothing more than useless and annoying! He lets us now that the nest song will be a ballad; “Park Life” somebody sings shouting from the crowd (click here if you don’t get it), “Not exactly!” he answers amused as the crowd laughs; “The one where you go 'Woo-hoo'!” (you know what to do) somebody else shouts next to me, but not many people hear him. They start playing “Pirate Jet” or “To Binge”, not really sure (hope to get set list soon). Then he looks confused as if he doesn’t know what follows, but a mad laughter invades the stage, and we all know what that means. Crowd goes crazy and really feels good. And we get no break as we move on into the next song, the one we all waited for. The one that determined me about 8 years ago to chose their album to be the first album I bought for myself out of my pocket-money.

I am still energetic as I wait with some other people outside for the band to come out. I don’t usually care much for autographs, but I had the poster, and if I bought it I might as well get it signed. A porter lets us know that his whole family is in there, and they got a cake, and the band might be out in 20 minutes, but it will more likely be 2 hours. Fuck’it! The poster and my memory is enough! After nearly 3 hours of standing I go home with ten times more energy than when I left!

sâmbătă, 20 martie 2010

C(onnet) ++ 3.31


void thoughts(){


int memory, lucidity=max, intoxication, pain, feeling;

cin>>memory; cout "<<" pain;

if( pain>0) { for(intoxication=0, intoxication "<" coma, intoxication ++){


pain=pain-lucidity; } }

else { forget(memory);

if(feeling!=happiness) { feeling++;


return; }