We are never spontaneous.. If there is a big lesson from all those Big Brother type reality shows, it’s that even when we are just ourselves in private life, we always play being ourselves. And I think this is in a way a good thing. I mean when people say no, you know — express yourself, be who you really are. Well I think most people are monsters secretly. I think — I like to live in a society where you do whatever you want. Just please don’t express yourself too much, you know. I like people who know how to control themselves. I believe in proper manners.
“We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: it’s got to be the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”
cand oamenii nu se mai iubesc ce n’est pas grave ei tot mai incearca. poate numai pe copiii lor sa-i iubeasca mai tare dar nici pe aia cand tipa si urla.
copiii au unghiile murdare dar sunt al naibii de frumosi orice ar face pana le trece, pe la 11 ani.
Mara, cine-i artistu’-n familia noastra?
Mara e lunga deja cat jumate’ patul.
Sex Without Love
How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other’s bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health–just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.
Pana la urma ma duc la arad(ea.aaa.a.a..a..a..a) in september pana prin november rain.
Ma simt prost ca aflu ca Ian a dat sfoara-n tara la Cluj sa-mi gaseasca turn / baraca si io hop ca stai ca merg la arad(ea)…. iertaciune bre iertaciune.
Das Abgebrochene aber ist es, das so siegt. Wenn Sie jemals auf unserm gewöhnlichen Wege in den Himmel
„Nothing is important in life….for this reason I am a novelist. .. The novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether. But the novel as a tremulation can make the whole man tremble. Which is more than poetry, philosophy, science or any other book tremulation can do.”