Dacă nu treci prin fata lui prea grăbit sau cu mintea aiurea, un zid are cîteodată ceva de zis. Iată cum a grăit unul către mine, printr-un anunt, mai zilele trecute: „Vrei să-ti crească? Detenta! Cu 30 de cm! Garantat. Air Alert 2 – program de îmbunătătire a săriturii verticale.” Am sărit în sus de bucurie. (D. S.)

* „Dacă io mor, cine dracu’ rămîne responsabil?”, se întreba un lunatic, în miez de noapte, plimbîndu-se alene pe stradă si sorbind din tigară… Chiar, cine? (M. M.)

Dilema – nr. 497 – Cu ochii-n 3,14…

Thinking, analysing, inventing are not anomalous acts; they are normal respiration of the intelligence. To glorify the occasional performance of that function, to hoard ancient and alien thoughts, to recall with incredulous stupor that the doctor universalis thought, is to confess our laziness or our barbarity. Every man should be capable of all ideas and I understand that in the future this will be the case.

-Pierre Menard

Am vazut lumina pe pamant,

si m-am nascut si eu sa vad ce mai faceti.

Sanatosi, voinici? Cum o mai duceti cu fericirea?

Multumesc, nu-mi raspundeti.

Nu am timp de raspunsuri.De-abia am timp sa pun intrebari.

Dar e bine aici, e cald, e frumos, si e-atata lumina

incat creste iarba.

Iar fata aceea, iata, priveste la mine cu sufletul.

Nu,draga, nu te obosi sa ma iubesti.

O cafea am sa beau, totusi din mainile tale,

imi place ca tu stii sa o faci amara.

Marin Sorescu

Am urcat pana in sus,unde am intrat in camera ca eu credeam ca adica acolo o sa fie adriana care spunea ca astazi o sa vina sa dea examen…dar n-a fost acolo,in schimb,in 2 paturi dormeau 2 fete..era dubios ca adica nu s-or trezit..eu am intrat, m-am uitat, si ele dormeau ca duse..nu stiu de ce dar una mi s-a parut ca ar fi moni… si ma gandeam daca sa o trezesc sau nu,dar cred ca ar fi fost prea dubios…habar n-am…m-o deprimat ma caminul, pt ca imi dadea impresia ca-i la fel..adica nimic nu s-o schimbat…adina,asta nu-i normal..totul se schimba,numai locul ala…iti da fiori..si am vazut tot felul de oameni imbecili…de ce dracu ma cred io mai buna decat ei..daca nu sunt?dar io cred ca sunt..sau poate si ei se cred la fel,mai buni decat mine…vezi,asta ne-ar face asemanatori atunci.dorinta de schimbare este lucrul cel mai conservator din lume parca spunea milan kundera…:) ma,cand am intrat in anticariate am fost uimita sa vad ce preturi piperate..era incredibil sa dai 110000 pe o carte care in librarie-i 150000.. ce dracu ma?ce inseamna anticariat?

O zi din viata unui adevarat student roman…. – Alex „i hope you don’ mind”, dar mi s-a parut ca fragmentul asta are o atmosfera fermecata, de -daily silence-

Mie nu-mi pare rau c-am fost prea sincer.[…] Nu stiu sa ajut decat chinuind, nu pot sa iubesc decat dispretuind.

Si eu am acceptat sa traiesc numai cu speranta ciudata de a face sa moara toti oamenii deodata cu mine.

…destinule, etern si abstract tap ispasitor al slabiciunilor omenesti…

Giovanni Papini – Un om sfarsit

Borges and I -by J.L.Borges

The other one, the one called Borges, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of Buenos Aires and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the arch of an entrace hall and the grillwork on the gate; I know of Borges from the mail and see his name on a list of proffesors or in a biographical dictionary. I like hourglasses, maps, eighteen-century typography, the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Borges may contrieve his literature, and this literature justifies me. It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to noone, not even to him, but rather to the language and to tradition. Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in him. Litlle by litlle, I am giving over everything to him, though I am quite aware of his perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things. Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being; the stone eternally wants to be a stone and the tiger a tiger. I shall remain in Borges, not in myself (if it is true that I am someone), but i recongize myself less in his books than in many others or in the laborious struming of a guitar. Years ago I tried to free myself from him and went from the mythologies of the suburbs to the games with time and infinity, but those games belong to Borges now and I shall have to imagine other tings.Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

I do not know which of us has written this page.