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I walk, and I don’t touch the earth 

Like a dry leaf carried by the wind. 

I have pockets in my coat 

 I put my hand in and there’s nothing 

I put my hand in the other pocket  

My hand is stuck, and I need to carry on walking  

I need to take more steps and continue my journey. 

Tears with one thousand faces. 

Soil on my shoes with one thousand faces 

And a hand stuck into my pocket with one thousand faces. 

Sing the song, sing the song  

All this noise is coming from inside my coat  

I look… 

I know now  

It is not my coat 

It’s Nemesis’s coat. 




Petals and flowers!’ cries out the inner city

‘Lights and power!’ it whispers in your ear

Solitude and sourness are your steps walking on pink stones…

Velvet revolutions…

We are interrupted by crystal laughter, names of friends books of laughter

Questions you are asking…

I don’t know the answer!

Corridors and lifts appear in your dream

We drink water…

But our thirst needs something else.

Two cups of coffee on a table maybe.

Cin cin! my love

Cin cin!

Please let the music play.



The thought is clutching me,

It always remains with me

Changing its colours

Like a chameleon.

Afraid to miss the heartbeats

Anatomic shapes I draw with my eyes,

They take shape in space

While I talk to the oxygen to sleep with the hydrogen… twice

To quench my thirst.

The heart is lifting me,

My eyes hurt,

My eyes get tired to carry my eyelids

Hanging increasingly heavy.

Liquids are coming out of my thoughts

Ah, they are crying rain!

And my eyes hurt,

And I am afraid

All will call me Penelope

Or Magdalena.

With the desert islands inside me

I float towards unknown shores.



The bird


I was sleeping on a branded sofa,
Next to me was an angel
He was breathing
Air from a lemon tree,
While I was wrestling with my dreams
He was lying peaceful with a sugary face
Sucking all the power for the following days.

I was trying to mend the furies within my blood stream
By seizing the flow from brain to below,
When all of a sudden
A bird very strange
With an incredible song
Flew at my window
To make us feel present,
Not miss the world…
I’ve tried to awake the angel
For him to hear the trill
But I didn’t go on
He was sleeping too deep.



Old but gold


It’s old life on earth
All are bored now
They are making life a hell
To the newborn man
They promise a ride in the car
A bag full of smiles
A diploma in science
Freedom to think
A punnet of plums at payday
A sandwich to grab at midday
Fortified cereals at breakfast
A flu correction
Competitive salaries
Shoes that can fly
Questions with many answers
Haircuts for boldness
Fun at every corner
You just need to be there in time
To pick gold quietly
With a perfect face
No wrinkles
No big noses
No funny nostrils
Just perfect thinking.
Be complex, be versatile, be simply you!





Art makers.

  • We are born geniuses and then we go to school, we learn, we become smart and then all our life we fight to go back to the innocence, to the child we once were.
  • The artist should not try to show reality because that is impossible and so the artist becomes a failed imitator. The artist should try and convey the imagination, which is the other side of nature and try to create other worlds with those worlds’ realities.



One morning I walked down the street and the pavement was crumbling, sinking in to the sand that was holding it. I walked and walked, I passed a bus shelter and in my mind I said – I should cross the street. I stopped for a second to think. And all of a sudden the 30 or 40 people walking in the street all had faces that I knew. People that once meant something to me… I had kind memories of them. After a few seconds, I panicked because I did not know to whom I should first say a big ”Hello”.



I put my head on the pillow to rest. It smells of old paint. I can hear a car with a modern engine passing by, driving maybe to catch someone left behind. I rest… I count some seconds. Then a fly crosses above my head… There are not many flies where I live… it’s a special day today! Zumzum, zumzum! Then suddenly – because suddenly represents very well how things happen in my life – the fly opens a sinkhole full with memories. I have heard this sound before, zumzum, zumzum, oh, and how good it was, what feelings, what people… When the fly passes above my head, it gets tangled in a string… very long string… from which memories are hanging. And the fly flies and it flies but the string is so long… it’s infinite. Carrying the heavy and endless string becomes a burden for the fly and it regrets passing above my head.



It is raining. It is in the morning. I am walking down the street with people that are waiting to wake up. It is raining! The drops look like they are coming from the pavement and not from the sky. My hair is dry but my red shoes are wet. I am full with cells. I am thirsty.



I took some grass in hand. The field with grass was shining. I wanted to hold a bit of it in my hand. It did not smell… it was just green. The sun is kind to my cheeks and I can see my reflection in the air. I get away with a jump like a goat’s and then come back… my reflection is still there. The same grimace, the same eyes.



I’ve seen Bosch paintings going around. They walk, they talk, they think. They are taking over the world. They talk to me, they talk to you. They even shake hands and talk about money. Once I wanted to bite from a pretzel when one of Bosch’s human approached and cried that one pretzel won’t make its life full. He wanted 2… No, 10… No, 87… No, 200 pretzels. He’s got all the pretzels. I can’t swallow mine… it’s stuck to my throat. I put my hand down the throat and take it out. We are saved.



One Museum, two Museums, three Museums, four Museums, five Museums hanging on a tree. One Museum and a statue eating lots of crisps. One Museum and a chandelier growing in a tree. One Museum and a monkey sitting on a cake. One Museum and a Pharaoh riding on the bus. One Museum and a coffin waiting for me to come.



My eyes are in bloom. My nose, heart and tongue too. It is Spring. My hair belongs to a mole. My feet to a snake. My arms to a bird. My brain to a snail. My voice to a whale. The seen and unseen is here to be seen. It is Spring and my eyes are in bloom again.



Where is all the suffering that shakes the earth going?  I can feel it… I can breath it every day. Framework. It is coming from somewhere but I can not find where it’s going. There must be someone who is studying it and dispersing it in other forms for us to see. Someone with spectacles and with a precise microscope, a politically-correct scientist.  Winds. That hand that shows us the way. That hand that is patting us on the crown. How things must be done. How freedom looks like. How intelligence looks like. How success looks like. When it is real love. Why we failed. Blame and double blame.



Some people are holding their food as if they had fought like animals for it. Their prey after so much work to become the new system. They hold it with so much tenderness… not to lose any crumbs of it. They sniff all the smell from it with greed… to not let any for others. They bite and their tampering lips look like a kiss. So much love… I witness so much love. They spin the prey with the tongue over and over… 22 times, by the book. After, they swallow the longed for prey with maximum care, to make it  touch all the encountered parts of the body. They close their eyes to concentrate on the tickle that the pray produces on its way to the stomach. Endless. Orgasm.



Eyelids closed. The parallel lines are meeting. They are waiting one for the other.Time and parallel lines. The light comes and then bounces  back to where it came from. No one is lost. I have eyes in the top of my horns like a snail. The snail is singing with my voice. Crowds comes out of my mouth. The clouds are standing in parallel lines and parade for the sun. Time and parallel lines.


Cherry tree

Break me in two. Bury one half to grow in to a tree. The other half will grow again like me. I have a cherry tree. It is inside me. The fruits are ripe now. I sit on a branch full of ants. I collect with my mouth blood red cherries. I share them with the ants. I’am full now. Bury me half and I will grow.



If all the people’s testimonies are possible fiction. If all our memories are fiction. If all the told stories is a potential fiction. If the Universe is just fiction. Everything we say, everything we see. If us being born is just an illusion. Being alive is just someone else’s fiction. In the reality we are just nothing. An absolute emptiness. What should we do… Were should I start… Were can I be… Were can I go. If we are just fiction. Crumbs.



So thirsty sometimes. Not even death can be salvation. We are in eternal thirst. Always going in the same circles. No escape. We go in and then go out. In eternity. Infinite thirst. We are caught by ourselves and there is no escape. Not here, not there. Never. Never. Never.



Words that I forget they exist. I can’t remember them. I don’t know what they want and what they mean. I forget that my head is round. The air squeezes my round head. Harder and harder. My head is a diamond now. The words that I have never said. I still don’t understand them. Who they represent and what they want from me. The shapes know me.



This year, nature was parsimonious in showing me her beauty. She kept her bloom away from my eyes. Maybe she was ashamed to show me her intimate beauty. Ay…. Maybe this year I didn’t have the eyes to see the process. I was blinded by last year’s beauty. I stand in front of a chestnut tree in bloom. It’s full of flowers, angels. It’s pouring with beauty. I stand and I look at it. But is not the tree that I see is the memories.



Big love in your soul, heart and mind. Sometimes you do not see people but angels. You see people in angels. Or you see the angels that are hidden behind these people without wings. People without feathers. People with belly buttons… people linked.  I found a feather on the the chair. It was big.



Emilia. She was jumping around on one leg. She did not choose what to do and where to go. She was chosen. She did not choose which bus number to ride her home but the faith decided for her. Emilia did not choose which dress to wear – the faith decided for her.  The books were choosing her eyes to read.  The shoes, the tears… her breast… the pain… the roads decided her way. They were all her faith.



To fly on a heavy sky. The rain is full of cry. Walking on a mud spitting lie. Lies and mud spitting stones covering my head with storms. Terra is nova, nova the terra nova. One is one and two is three. Shivering my knee that is growing a tree. Tree with ripen lies… ready to be picked tonight. The rain will grow them fain.



Love is prayer. The essence of nothing when it gloriously expanded. Ready to burst from you chest. Walking along trees with big leaves, and branches on the ground. I look through the window and I see you. Your eyes. You look at me. I inherited the memory of that look. I knew the eyes before I was born. They looked at me. But I have never seen your face. Maybe you leaked in when the glorious expansion. You leaked in by mistake and you modified the essence of universal love. Our love is impossible but visit me and watch me from afar. From the realm of dreams. I will be there.



The time is pretending to be an eternity but instead gives us just a minute. You sour time. You are pretending so much with us. Us the kings of this world. The kings of our thoughts. How you dare to play with us like this and leave us like water. Running water. Like the water from the shower, desperate to take a form. Ending in a dirty pipe. You leave us in so much need to take a shape. Us the kings of this world.



When the night comes I point my finger to the clouds. Up there, deep in the sky. The birds are sleeping. I hear a violin. It is a lullaby. Dream little man. Happy dreams little mortals. The days turn into numbers. It’s all counted now. Little man forget you exist. Take my wings and fly. Deep in to the sky. Where the haven hides. Hides from your chaotic eye.



I cried reading Artaud. I cried looking out the window. The world. Loaded with veils. Decomposed veils. I get close to the window to see. The window bites my by face. I am terrified. Now everybody can see trough my conscience. Five drops of liquid fall on my face. Were did they come from? From the inside space. I look out the window again. I can see babies and they are 9. They are living in a wet house, on the first floor and second floor. With 4 windows and a door. Hades was in the back of the house. Their mothers are not home. Stranger women are looking after them. Little babies you will grow foreigners to your mothers. I cried reading Antonine today.



Someone has left 2 gates on this sphere. One gate protects the Havens and the other one the Hell. Walking by the river I hope that we will open the gate to Haven. To cross or not the river. A border line in the sky. Inside some metal plates revolve up and down, round and round. Tic-tic, tac-tac, tic-tac, tac-tic. It might rain today in hell. Everything goes round now. Some mirror spilt with dirt shows me a way. Who’s that you see? It’s all that you see.  I tried to separate inside me but it is in vain. Tic-tac. Tic-tic.




Returning to the fishing line. Fishing for monsters. Cold skin and fish eyes. Someone is cycling and overtakes me. Another one looks at me head to toe. The other one is smiling. His Rolex is telling the time. A very precise time. They succeeded to capture the time. Precise time. The time of nightmares? The time of diamonds? The time of blinded? The time of understanding? The time of hunger? The time of happiness! The time of the 9 months in your mother belly. Fishing for life.




The time is surging from my body. The river bed is thirsty. I feel how I drain through the needle’s eye. I am in the search for a line. The sixth line from the roof. The sky’s roof. I drain away and I don’t understand. The sixth face. The sixth line from the sixth face. I drain away and I don’t understand what shape I have. It is me – the missing line. The missing line from the sky high. Elevate. Sadness and dust. Stars.




Everything is breaking. Everything tumbles. If everything were made always to come and never to go. The soul rises and the body mud becomes. The soul in his flight never misses the body. How comes that? After they have been together in the supreme togetherness. An infinite time, love. They loved together, they’ve been one with the eternal moment. At the end they split in two separate conditions.You have kissed as one.


I don’t know

We bare. We care. The sunny sky. My chest with butterflies . I fly, fly near your eye. We bare. We care. The ear stuffed with foreign sounds. We bare. One is the other with veils over the tongue. Pumpkin pies in my eyes. Tell me you are a sign. Sounds are over now. I am sorry the boat can’t float. In your concrete eyes.



The concept of friendship today conditions the freedom of society.


Survivor of my dreams
I want to forget that I am a virgin. To rest like pest on your chest. Open your eyes and see the dead dove. On my right the river on my left you. Let me rest on your chest. Like a myth told from mouth to mouth. Told by our children when we go forever to hang from a cloud. It’s me the survivor of my dreams. Give me your nights and let’s go.


From A to Z

We are born to whisper. The pain of our citizens. Rewriting our cells’ story won’t change anything.

What should we do when we are confined by our nature? Nothing. There’s nothing to be done.

Just to wait to take other shapes and then maybe we can see ourselves through the sea.

We hide behind the sea and maybe some people on the other side will see us as we are.

And then maybe we can be happy! Happy to hear each other. Happy that we are.

I just want to be funny but I never can. The pain in the air is making me sad. It’s making me sad that I am happy.


A very short love story

It was dark. Very dark. A street. It was a very steep street and on the side there were houses and apartments. This street was going down the hill and bending to the right. There was a man walking fast down the street. Further down the street was a woman, more like a girl, but she was looking like a woman. Both of them were in love. In love with each other. In that pitch dark you could see their love. The girl – she was coming up de hill. The man was coming faster and faster, down the hill. The girl was hurrying up. They came closer and closer. Finally they could see each other. A huge power was veiling them. They took each other hands and kissed.


Three pairs of wings

I the Autumn. I take her skin and I become Autumn. In the Winter. She gives me her skin and I become Winter. In Spring we come to life together under the same skin. In the Summer she is not me. I need to go away and search for her.

Next to my window is a tree. In the tree lives a bird with three pairs of wings. ‘Birdy, come to me!’ Give me your skin and your wings to fly away. My heart will beat faster than yours. Your wings will speed greater under my heart. I miss the Summer universe. Do me good and I promise to give you back the wings. Lighter than your heart. Lighter than the flight. To fly in the curves of the sky.


Blow me

I am sitting at the edge of a photo with my hand over my mouth. I am waiting for the life to begin. Our so fragile life. Cracking like an autumn leaf. I am waiting to breathe the air that I’ve started to see with my eyes. I am floating. I am coming dawn and down. Easy blow me. I want to sit one more time at the edge of that photo. Life to hold me in her arms.


At the window

Where I can find you? From behind my windows I see nothing. Just square people divided by white lines. The sky is the same. Nothing to hold it together. The music is in high notes and beautiful. It snatches tears from my eyes. It is not the music of my life. Too high the notes and it makes me cry. I am dancing with myself. The music is too high. It makes me cry.




When even thorns have stopped growing, then
Home I will return
To find empty walls
Sucked of any substance.

I will turn my head
I will turn toward you
To see

Falls short whatever I think or say
Trying to hold on the words
But I can’t say any more
And even thorns have stopped growing now.

Thorns grow in us,
Thorns grow in us,
And a valley flows in me…
I wonder why I always long
I know nobody, anyway.
Thorns grow in us
The world still believes in the world
And I still thirsty for light.


Blow me

I am sitting at the edge of a photo with my hand over my mouth. I am waiting for the life to begin. Our so fragile life. Cracking like an autumn leaf. I am waiting to breathe the air that I’ve started to see with my eyes. I am floating. I am coming dawn and down. Easy blow me. I want to sit one more time at the edge of that photo. Life to hold me in her arms.



To be or not to be the root of a magnolia tree.
To get white and purple flower from this sallow ground.
I can’t.

But instead I swing in its waters.

Tree shadows have changed into waters.

They keep me on the surface.
I paddle, paddle on the shadows.
I am reflected on the other side.
I have purified myself,
Beautiful magnolia tree keeps me in the shadows of its waters.
I will drown of joy.



I slept so deep that my eyelid sank into my soul. Sharp, it cut me. Now I am bleeding impossible things. How can I go back to when the grass had shut her eyes above the waters? I bathe in rivers with my hair loose. I am not the same. It is someone else with toes too long. Who is going to carry me now on foggy days? I can’t do it myself anymore. I have lost myself. I can’t hold my hand to show me my way. And this cut is still bleeding impossible things. The roofs of the houses are still there, smoldering.


The One and Only left some of us to master the illusion and some others to wake us up from it. Cruel!



Rural soul
Urban body
Parallel mind
Farming performance
On a rejected land.


Children know

Children know everything

They have eyes everywhere

On Jupiter,

On Mars,

On the Milky Way,

Back Home,

In the top of the tree,

In the back of my life,

In the hen house,

In the cell,

In my heart,

In my memories,

In the plum stone,

In your flesh,

In my smile,

In my hand,

In your sight.

But the language

We adults teach them

Can’t express

The vastness they know.

And we adults





When the night lowers her face towards me  

I bend my thoughts and let them jump onto the other side,  

to make me crazy with so much pain.  

The night breathes in my neck with her unleashed demons.  

Let me despise myself because I didn’t have time to talk to you 

Egocentric night… 

Let me struggle with pain, 

Pain born and not made 

Born in the same time as me. 

When fire burned in the stove 

Time was on the watch, so I could not escape. 

Night, kiss me on the forehead!. 

Good night… 

Night of my life! 



The meaning of mankind
To whisper round words
And square feelings
Into my neighbor’s cat ear.
Because of the lack of mankind –
Walking down the street.
They are all gone away
Shopping for companions,
With dirty kisses
Full of debt.

I make a call from the corner of the garden
From the red British box
At the other end my neighbor’s cat answers
I let her know she can came and visit
I bought rugs for the entire house.


Ceasuri (Romanian)

Orele alea clemente si suculente
Le-am pierdut treazā
În loc sā dorm nevāzutā de nimeni.
Plouā ca al rāu
Parcā sunt Ana lui Manole
Mā dau pe deal în jos
Alunec pe nailon
Mā joc pânā mā zidesc scorpiile lumii
În realitatea lor fu….
Doar cafeaua mā ascultā
Si mā musc-amar de limbā.
Lângā mine apare împāturitā o fatā
Sobrā, înnebunitā si naivā
Mā întreabā limpezitā
‘Pot sā merg pân’ la toaletā?’
Da! Nu te lāsa ziditā!