...cioara ma-tii de Romanie!

Punctele de la inceputul titlului ascund, nu cred din pacate foarte subtil, o vorba sensibiloasa la adresa unei situatii/tari de care sunt din ce in ce mai siderata.

Pe scurt, din cauza unor erori umano-birocratico-cinice, m-am trezit intr-o situatie penibila care, paradoxal, s-a remediat...dar nu intr-o maniera foarte clara...si nici confortabila. Acuma doar sper ca lucrurile sa se remedieze cumva incat sa pot dormi linistita noaptea.

In alta ordine de idei, nu m-am putut abtine sa nu ma uit la televizor, unde am intrezarit (ora tarzie, deh) fascinante peisaje socio-culturale, filme aiurea, stiri care mai de care mai insangerate, perverse, lascive, periculos de sincere, jenant de realiste...care imi aratau cat de bine stau cu nervii (sau stau bine si sunt eu usor blonda) anumiti indivizi care sunt interesati in tampirea, manipularea, santajarea sentimental-psihologica a maselor care inghit si nu prea - exista alternative, domnilor, exista alternative!

In a doua ordine de idei, am fost fascinata de filmul Boogie, pe care il disec (sau poate il laud de mama) in articolul precedent. Fascinata in sensul ironic, sper ca s-a simtit fina ironie...am fost, dupa cum spuneam, fascinata de facilitatea lui, de mirobolantele si absurdele, dar atat de familiarele situatii din el si am stat si m-am gandit foarte bine. Si cand spun foarte bine, spun chiar bine. Asta imi ia cam o zi jumate, maxim doua.

Concluzia a fost urmatoarea: traim intr-o tara in care paradoxurile culturale, sociale, evolutive, psiho-afective, cinismul, lipsa de interes, implicare, foamea, ura, angoasele, neseriozitatea, ignoranta, absurdul, lipsa de etica si alte intruchipari izvorate din imaginatia speriata de bombe a lui Goya si chiar a lui Bosch fac legea. Si nimeni nu face un gest! Sau poate il face, dar e atat de mic, de nesemnificativ, incat nici nu se vede. Iar gesturile ample, mari, catastrofale, castiga meciul la puncte!

In conditiile acestea jalnice, depresia mea se adanceste, se amplifica si da nastere unei noi dorinte: aceea de a ma pastra cat mai etica, cat mai normala si cat mai rationala in fata acestei furtuni care fierbe in cazanul carpato-danubiano-pontic!

Dar, din pacate, nu ma pot abtine sa nu inchei apoteotic si ranjind usor cinic cu o vorba nou-gasita: ....cioara ma-tii de Romanie!

La buna vedere, baieti si ne mai gasim pe interval!

Boogie...night??

Ca sa incep in "dulcele stil clasic", as zice doar atat "Ioi!"

De ce reactia respectiva? Simplu: manata de ploaie, de un articol dintr-o revista cu inalt profil social si de o invitatie neasteptata, am ajuns la Institutul Francez...unde rula un film denumit, artistic si impresionant (ironia sper ca se simte), Boogie.

Sincer, daca e sa las la o parte faptul ca am ras si eu, ca restul salii, la replicile simplute, usor triviale si chiar grosiere, ca am comentat printre dinti prezenta pustiului atat de tipic si enervant, care s-a intrecut pe sine, shaorma care a fost abandonata regeste de catre doua din personaje, scenele la bowling care mi-au adus aminte ca nu am jucat niciodata in tineretile mele mai fresh dar nici in cele mai coapte, as putea spune ca e un filmulet care a lasat un gust usor amar...si care, in ciuda titlului si a cronicii...nu a depasit nici o asteptare.

As lauda doar jocul actoricesc..cu un scurt si pe jumatate de gura "Bravo, ba!". In rest, sincer, nu e un film care sa prinda la un public matur si elevat...unii aseara au si plecat in prima ora, deci...si daca tot e loc de critici, etc, as spune ca poate m-as fi descurcat mai bine. Am zis poate. Scenariul oricum nu a stralucit iar exterioarele, ei bine, previzibile.

Poate actorii s-au distrat jucand in aceasta piesa de teatru realistica, poate ca regizorul a incercat sa il emuleze pe von Trier un pic...si nu stiu eu, deh, blonda de mine....poate ca e un film superb, tipic romanesc, tipic cinic, cu un limbaj care ar speria orice puritan (bine macar ca traducerea in franceza nu a fost atat de agresiva!).

Oricum, ca un ultim comentariu, fie si sugestie, as spune ca "Boogie night" e un titlu mult mai bun decat incercarea ciuntita si trista de explorare a unui mariaj si a unor frustrari bine-meritate...

Seara/Zi buna si, daca vreti sa radeti de niste oameni care ne seamana, cautati filmul. Daca nu, macar inscrieti-va la Institutul Francez sau asteptati oferta lor de filme straine. Cine stie, poate aveti noroc:)

Manifest

Maini de catifea umbla pe scoarta creierului meu care isi doreste enorm sa treaca dincolo, fie acel lucru absurd sau nu, fie acel lucru galben sau nu…galben de soare, nu galben de frica, teama, oroare…

Maini de argint imi maseaza tamplele incet, cu miscari circulare dar usor chirurgicale si isi doresc sa fie maini de om, maini calde, care pot transmite, emite, evite…tot ceea ce e voie sa fie mentionat, soptit, spus…scris…

Maini de alabastru, maini de statuie care isi inchipuie ca sunt maini de pianist orb, uitat intr-o sala de concerte arhiplina, fata in fata cu cea mai mare teama a sa: ca poate vedea perfect partitura si va trebui sa se prefaca..din nou..ca e orb…

Esenta unui nou inceput nu se masoara in cuvinte sau in cantitati industriale de hartie si tus, ci in bucuria noii binominale si tripartite stari care a trecut de la vegetativa la teribil de activa, chiar hiperactiva as zice...

Esenta unui moment estetic nu se cantareste ca la aprozar si nu isi cauta o noua directie doar pentru a face pe plac altora ci, pur si simplu, isi vede de drumul ei, fara a se uita in stanga sau in dreapta...

Va rog, nu imi masurati esenta fericirii supreme sau a iubirii absolute in procentaje sau in emisii de statistica absurde si abjecte! Lasati-ma sa ma bucur total de ea, fara sa mai ezit si fara sa mai ma indoiesc de propria natura!

Indoieste-te de ceea ce nu esti, intreaba-te ceea ce nu poti fi, roaga-te sa devii ceea ce trebuie si uita si iarta si…iubeste…omul din tine isi cauta locul, zeul din tine l-a gasit deja. Cauta sa ii aduci impreuna cumva…

“Inca din timpuri stravechi obsesia obtinerii unei stari profunde de pace macinase fragilul si totusi perfectul psihic uman comun. Cel individual deja era internat la Balaceanca de vreo cateva secole, tot urland obsedant toata ziua ca viata se termina maine, ca omenirea era condamnata la pieire si alte idiotenii in aceeasi teribilo-groaznica serie.

Asa eram si eu. Pacienta cunoscuta deja la Balaceanca, figura mea angelica si inocenta pacalea foarte usor medicii si specialistii care, din pacate, aveau intotdeauna acelasi diagnostic si aceeasi reactie la starile mele care alternau intre furie si deznadejde, condimentate un pic cu bucurie si liniste.

Intr-un tarziu, un medic, Dumnezeu sa il tina o mie de ani in viata, a gasit solutia la problema mea. Am intrerupt tratamentul si, treptat, am iesit in lume. Surpriza si oroarea au fost inlocuite cu bucurie si dorinta de a cunoaste cat mai multe despre acel straniu oras numit, inocent, Bucuresti.

Istoria lui era fascinanta, cladirile, un amestec intre un Paris care ne face de ras (sunt jerpelite unele...) si un ceva modern care, din pacate, ne condamna la imbecilitate (cladiri imense care ameninta biserici, blocuri construite pe jumatate, complexe comerciale fraudulos de opulente...lista poate continua pana maine, sparanghelul se fierbe greu, deci, mai putem sta de vorba, nu?)

Incet dar sigur mi-am facut prieteni, am inceput sa ma imbrac mai bine, sa ma pieptan, sa nu mai aud cretinitatile celor care, chipurile, se interesau de soarta mea doar din cauza ca nu eram ca ei si era neaparat nevoie sa intru „in randul lumii”. In randul turmei poate, ca in al lumii eram din clipa in care m-am nascut!”

Notez si innot, din ce in ce mai greu, in pacla asta abjecta care isi face loc in creierii mei deja ametiti de atatea valori impartiale si imberbe, innot si notez, din ce in ce mai usor, in aburul asta care se prelinge din bucatariile celeste...aiureaaa, e doar un miros fantastic de mancare chinezeasca proaspata!

Doamne, ce foame imi e! Am lucrat pe un text extrem de greoi, plin de metafore pe jumatate bete si de patine prea noi pentru autor. Am incercat sa fac cumva sa sune mai romaneste...dar cumva, tot o pasareasca destul de
intelectuala a ramas. M-am lasat pagubasa! Prea multi neuroni pierduti...pe bune!

Neozensuri

O carte superba de Henri Brunel, Anul Zen. O altfel de viziune asupra unei lumi care ne haituieste, ne iubeste, ne tortureaza (cu accente SM), ne face sa avem tendinte mesianice - eu, salvatorul saracei omeniri...etc etc etc.

Senzul Zen al existentei noastre nu cred ca este evolutia sociala, ci cea spirituala. Unii incearca sa o afle in biserica exterioara, cea interioara fiind trecuta in planul cu numarul de ordine 152455582145, 654525. Nu zic ca e rau sa mergi la biserica, dar..haide, mai las-o domne, toaaata ziua biserica?? Familia si prietenii? Un spectacol, si un tablou si o cina in compania prietenilor ce au ? A, pardon, nu sunt cum scrie in biblie..am momente cand cred ca biblia si orice alta scriere cu aspect exclusiv religios sunt de fapt manuale de manipulare ale mintii umane si ca preotii, cei care au acces la putere si informatii (noi fiind tinuti in intunericul binecuvantatei ignorante), prefera sa taca si sa ne minta in fata, sa ne ceara bani si alte bunuri si servicii pe care noi le facem in speranta ca sufletul nostru va intra mai usor in rai...

O alta maniera de a cauta ce nu trebuie...sa ma gandesc..da...drogurile, bautura si orgiile...subiecte clasice care au facut deliciul cititorilor cotidienelor romane si straine. Pentru experienta, pentru socializare, pentru X, pentru Y, pentru Z...dar pentru tine ca om, ca fiinta umana?? Nimic, absolut nici o satisfactie. Doar boli crunte. Unii nu se opresc, altii reusesc dar raman intr-o lume numai a lor, o lume secreta si destul de intunecata. Da, lor li se pare un mic paradis..si cand colo..e ceva mai rau..

Evolutia spirituala incepe din momentul, cred eu, in care gasim raspunsul la doua intrebari care ard precum acidul: "Cine sunt eu?" si "Care este misiunea mea?" . La intrebarea referitoare la propria fiinta, raspunsul e simplu: sunt un om, sunt o fiinta aparuta prin vointa divina, care are atribute feminine sau masculine. Exista multi oameni care nu se accepta asa cum sunt...poate ca au trebuit sa se ascunda ca sa nu fie criticati sau marginalizati. Sau chiar acceptati. Pe chestia asta o sa scriu eu mai tarziu un articol cat pot eu de amplu. Revin la acceptarea asa cum esti. Nu conteaza foarte mult daca esti femeie sau barbat. Conteaza sa fii tu. Sunt unele femei care nu se suporta. Poate nu suporta ca sunt marginalizate si umilite sau chiar folosite ca obiect sexual. Well, intr-adevar, e o situatie dureroasa. Dar se poate remedia. Nu prin a deveni fiara numai ca sa fii respectata, ci prin a impune respect prin revelarea adevaratei naturi.

Eu una sunt convinsa ca toti suntem buni la baza. Poate ma insel, poate nu. Poate unii s-au nascut fiare, dar aceia au ceva de platit din alte vieti sau au de invatat ceva aici si acum. Poate altii s-au nascut amabili, draguti, tandri si adorabili. Ingeri, dar ingeri care trebuie sa stie cum e sa fii om ca sa nu mai planga...Ingeri mai rai exista, dar acolo intervin valori agresive, cum ar fi mandria, self sufficiency, increderea in oameni rai care i-au invatat ca e bine sa fii mai putin om pentru a supravietui...

O alta maniera de a evolua si pe care o redescopar si eu acum este aceea care incepe cu reconectarea la Univers. Nu la Dumnezeu neaparat. Ci la intreg Universul. Toata energia, toate cunostintele, toate posibilitatile de a trai sunt acolo. Vedeti voi, am redescoperit ca e mai bine sa fii in conexiune permanenta cu ceva net superior, cu fiintele de dincolo de ceea ce oamenii de stiinta au decis ca exista, cu energiile speciale... E mult mai bine asa, e mult mai natural. De ce va veti intreba? E simplu. Universul contine tot, pana si pe Dumnezeu. Se contopesc si exista, in functie de ei, nu in functie de noi. Poate sunt un pic rea, dar nu sunt de acord cu blocarea gandirii doar pe o linie care se poate controla si schimba dupa bunul plac al altora. De ce sa gandim doar cat vor ceilalti? De ce sa ne supunem unui pattern de gandire impus de catre ceilalti? Asa e bine? Asa e normal? Ca sa supravietuim trebuie sa ne sacrificam sufletul? Ma indoiesc ca voia divina e asta. Ma indoiesc enorm.

Nu cred ca Dumnezeu a zis vreodata ca trebuie sa alergam la el sa ii cedam problemele noastre, ca trebuie sa ne rugam in functie de cum scriu altii..de codurile lor. Sunt coduri care nu cred ca conduc inspre linistirea sufletului, ci spre cea a mintii. Am incercat si eu experienta. Si am realizat ceva - cand ma apropiam de icoana, simteam ca sunt obligata sa fac ce faceau cei dinaintea mea...si e absurd! Nu in turma! Mentionam mai sus biserica interioara. Ei bine da, exista. Deoarece Dumnezeu si Universul au pus acolo o particica, un fragment din ei. Si asta conteaza mult mai mult decat orice pe lumea asta! Particula respectiva creste in permanenta, in functie de ceea ce alegem, de ceea gandim si de ceea decidem sa facem cu noi insine si cu planul divin, cu misiunea noastra. Daca o oprim, ne oprim si murim. Nu fizic...fizic devenim momai, marionetele altora, care se alimenteaza din intuneric.

Writing on the walls of Barcelona...again

I wrote earlier that text called "Never been loved..enough" and a good friend of mine appreciated it. It was good. Yet, she said she wanted a happy ending. Well, happy endings are like butterflies, sweety! Keep that in mind, ok?
It is not difficult for me to write a happy ending to that text; in fact, it is the most natural thing to do. But, to be honest, I am not in the mood. You see, writing and painting for me are like therapy, like taking out, eliminating, terminating that nido de viboras inside each person's soul. I do not think that my nest is soooo big but it is quite present and, like I said before, let's burn it, literally!!
There is no need for the firemen to come or for a professional arsonist to assist us. It is quite easy. You need some wood, gasoline and a box of matches. The question:"Do you have balls to do it?" does not even exist. The question:"Is this good for me?" is stupid. Of course it is good for you, peaso imbecil!!
Enough hesitating, crying, wining, licking your wounds. Just do what you were supposed to do ages ago and live a life like you always wanted!!

Ufffffff now I am cool. I managed to start the fire hehe!! So, what is the title about no? Easy, I love Barcelona!! And I want to go back and live there. Of course, I have some accounts payable and receivable here, in Romania and I need to wait for them. And then sweet freedom!!
I am perfectly aware that the Barcelona I felt is not the same as the one dominating the Spanish coast. I am perfectly aware that I will be analyzed and dissected by the Catalan society etc. So what?? I am not there for them, I am there for myself, for my own pleasure and need.

I know I sound selfish but, up to a point, it is true. Of course I can understand and speak Catalan and I feel closer to Romania every time I hear it. Of course I will miss Romanian...quien sabe, a lo mejor mi lugar esta al otro lado del mundo...

Bona nit...Bucarest!!

Never been loved...enough

As I watched my shadow disappear into the sunset I realized how much I was going to miss it and hate it at the same time.

It was cold; the winter had been ruling our country for many centuries and yet I felt warm, perhaps because now I was free at last...or perhaps not.

I went home,I poured a glass of wine, lighted a cigar and thought about my future, my past and my present. I was not satisfied, I was unhappy, I was angry and so, oh, so sad!

I went in my bedroom and there stood a mirror. Simple and yet so powerful, that mirror had been in my family for generations and it was always accurate when it was asked anything, from the location of one shoe to the disappearance of a continent.

I looked into it and asked: "What is wrong with me?". The mirror stood in silence for eons, then smiled at me, in a sad yet tender manner and said: "You sweet and innocent soul, your shadow was your true self. Now you are not the same and all that is left of you is your capacity to hate and despise."

I was angry...and I smashed the mirror!! Then,after hours of destroying the city and burning all the houses, including the palace, I went to search for my shadow.

I won't bother you with my adventures. I only wish to say that in the end I found it, we fought like mad and in the end...I lost and my shadow ran away from me forever. With my last strenght I asked her" Why are u running away from me?" And she answered : "I've never been loved enough!".

The truth is this: I never had an experience like this and I hope never ever to have it. I wrote this text to gather my ideas and thoughts and conversations. I will not give more details but I will tell you this: in some families children are not loved enough and if the parents do not pay attention, those kids will become either assassins or monsters. Some of those children can be saved. Maybe I am here on this earth to save some of them, maybe not. The real thing here is this: I know them and I want to help them. If they want to come, let them come, I have enough time in this life to do this.I am saying this because it is not too late!


Let us be saved by love, by our love because we have enough love to give that will last for eons! If u dare not to love then it means you will probably lose every new heartbeat, every breath...and I guess u do not want that.

Have a great life and remember, even though u were not loved enough, hope is still present, even for you. Give your soul a chance!

Junio

This is a text very dear to my heart. I dedicate it to all my friends!

Junio. Empezado hoy, 9 de octubre de 2000

Until now the miracles I have witnessed have been only lies, born and raised by people whose evil feelings I do not wish to remember. Inside this mind there are strange beliefs, one of them being that I am, somehow, perfect and that my only fault is that I do the things that other do normally my way and I get punished for my rebelled gestures.

Stories already told by old fools who had the immense luck of having seen the world as I think it is have kept a special place in my memory and now, when I am old and my eyes see only inner images or my sister’s dreams, they want to expose, quite indecently, in front of my nieces and that strange and isolated being whom I call my nephew.

I really don’t know how to react to these new nightmares; maybe if I let them come out and maybe, just maybe, allow them to use my mouth just to feel free after so many nights, they will let me enjoy the rest of my life, or maybe I became too selfish and interested in reading the Bible or any other strange smelling book than to take care of all these...”problems”.

My glasses have forgotten how is to be clean and the clothes I use to wear when I met that nice and not so serious woman, who used to sing divinely and made our lives so rich, then leaving to look for another answer than I had given her are still white as the first snow and nobody knows why...

My voice is week because of so many nights filled with poems, strange stories and guitars resounding in my mind whose strange language I have tried to translate into simple words, my eyes are almost blind because of the summer nights lost in search of love and my soul is tired because I have been charging him with too many obsessions...

My fault, or should I say my faults...are many and most of them wrongly classifieds by the huge amount of voices that I’ve been hearing for the past sixty years, my hopes have remained besides me, confronting everybody and drying my lonely tears, my dreams have been nourishing me with words from other languages and gave me the possibility of seeing my so near death. Inside my dreams I am perfectly young and my health is similar to a god’s, yet the same torments habit our souls, mine because I was not strong enough to chase them and his because, in his inherent destiny, he has forgotten how to protect himself.

I might be sometimes deaf and don’t pay enough attention to all the movements that shout high in the middle of our street, I might see other things than the usual people and I might want to talk too much, but in those moments is the only thing I am good at; you strangers have understood only my soft lies and my childish poetry, but you didn’t deserved anything less...I am really sorry to say all that, but you haven’t gave me other choice!

All I wanted was to live the last moment, quiet, surrounded by innocent and no suffering memories and finally, long nights and irresponsible actions helped me to have it

©

Later that night, people came to me, with gifts for their dead and with the more than humble wish to talk to their pilgrims and I rejected all, because I wanted to show selfishness, because I wasn’t ready to leave to meet my parents and friends and, most important than everything, I was not myself entirely so I had no choice but close all windows and doors.

I almost shouted at them and, speaking in a grim and mean voice, I reminded them they didn’t deserve to come to me for the harshest reason they didn’t belong to any family I knew and I even dared to curse them for reminding me that in less than ten months I was leaving my consumed body and maybe find the last part of my own puzzle whom the earth people call” life realization.”

The strangers looked at me, nodded their strange heads (or lives) and left to their homes, somewhere in the northern part of the horizon.

I was somehow happy, yet sad, because I would have liked to torture their hearts with some horrifying predictions or with stories about my late nightmares or with some of my perfect lies...

Their shadows have haunted me a while, then mixed with the ones of my obsessions and kept me warm for the gloomy and freezing November nights, and when spring came, they have left for new projections of the same love.

Now it is June again, life is almost at its end, I am happy because I have done my things as much as I wanted and could, that my most secret wishes have remained as hidden I wanted them to be, yet I wanted more, but strangely, I wasn’t allowed, maybe next time I will be left in my peace and do those things I wasn’t able or didn’t had the time and the courage...

My name...my name is not important, neither how do I look. Just think that I am one of the many people who have decided to write not just because, but from an inner reason, the reason to evolve towards the perfect person, towards life, towards God, towards intimacy, even towards you.

Inside my dreams I am perfectly young and my health is similar to a god’s, yet the same torments habit our souls, mine because I was not strong enough to chase them and his because, in his inherent destiny, he has forgotten how to protect himself. This is how nightmares come to life in this part of the worl

Explanations? To whom do I have to explain all my actions, wishes, obsessions, intimate choices and forbidden thoughts? To you, innocent pilgrim recently arrived to the gates of Mecca?

To my still living or long time dead relatives? To my long lost love (or a mere illusion?). To my good friends? To the language teachers who had patience with my appetite for speaking those words, phrases and sweet lies and made clear to me that I had to study hard to satisfy them? Or just to myself, old and little bit stupid person who has been writing for the past 25 years all type of poetry and everything that looked like inspiration and who has been denying all help because he felt so superior?

Maybe this is my last opportunity to live tonight as never before, search for all those answers, persons, memories and lies... It’s June again, here and there, with its scents, sweating bodies and wishes.

June, who always knew what miracle to choose for me, what image would fit me in front of so many excuses called people, who almost chased so many wrong dreams.

Finally, she looked at me and I could see the people I loved and lied, blackmailed and tried to force them to obey and support me as much as I wanted, more or less willing to give something back but this happened when I was not the one you see now.

Is this the last time I would be able to live again the life so wrongly spent? Is this my last opportunity to tell you how sorry I am because I wasn’t there for you, in spite that you didn’t asked for it a lot, just preferred to play as much as you wanted and defended your new born destiny with the only purpose to impose it to the others whom have chosen you or you have chosen them, inspired by the growing fears?

I have doubts, yes, and maybe too many and too strange to be told in front of your sometimes so lonely eyes, I have questions which I do not want to ask, although they have been tormenting me since the first time I felt your soul, I have answers that none has asked me about and I have solutions for all kind of problem, yet nobody decided to come to my strange looking house and ask them with nothing in return.

Now I am alone, waiting for the last call and hoping that, somehow, I will be forgiven by everybody and my memory will remain almost stainless for the remaining years!

I really want it and, as a last action of selfishness, I want it perfect although I know it to be more than impossible. Maybe I was wrong in thinking that you were the perfect choice and now I see you as the second best choice...I wonder why these reasons haunt me so much than before the last orange rain; maybe I am getting old and somehow silly, or in the worst of the cases, useless? I hope to be very wrong and I still wait for that third chance, the one with blue eyes and childish-mature smile, with the so calm voice...my God, I think I am going crazy because of so much loneliness!

I would love to be able to cry again; maybe by doing this, the dark and industry-designed room will not become so ugly and ill-mannered, maybe the dusk will not terrify as much as before, when I was young and eager to conquer new worlds and images in the name of a strange feeling called love, this time my night is heavy and rough, because someone or something has decided that one last torture will be fine and brought in front of my old and silly eyes so many nightmares and I realized he knew that I was powerless to confront them and their horrifying relatives, I remembered that I was alone because I wanted to, yet somehow knowing that I would need all the help in the world to face them and I denied friendship, family-belonging feelings and ideas, optimistic projects, private images of the people whom I loved in my manner, and even worse, my parent’s help!

This is my story. To those who knew me and cared a little about my conflicts, doubts, wishes, feelings and dreams, thank you and please, remember me from time to time, when June comes again in your life; I am not asking you to support my cause in front of the Supreme Judge; I am only asking for a little bit of immortality and those small pieces will form my bed and I will sleep smiling, like a baby until the next time June comes here, in this forgotten by death and time place and brings me back to life...

O opinie intre opinii

Homo hominis lupus...A trebuit sa scriu un articol pentru o revista de specialitate, nu dau nume. Cica proba. Am scris ceva frumos, le-a placut si cica mai scrie ceva...si aia nu a mers. M-a mirat ca nu au zis ca nu e bine, ca nu nimic. Dar eu am gasit articolul si il postez aici. Se numeste HOMO PUBLICISTICUS.

"Dupa multe cercetari, analize, lecturi si vizionari de clipuri publicitare, filme si videoclipuri, am ajuns la concluzia ca in Romania a aparut de ceva vreme o noua specie: homo publicisticus. Sincer, nu mi-a fost prea greu sa o identific. Principalul indiciu: romanii sunt o natie sensibila la aparente, dar cu o inclinatie naturala catre lucrurile de calitate. Asta, daca luam in calcul drumul scurt al clipului catre produs. Pe de alta parte iubitorii de publicitate sunt oameni culti, cu simtul umorului care nu neaparat alearga la magazin dupa incheierea calupului publicitar, care nu se comporta neaparat precum consumatorii infocati de branduri sau de sloganuri.

Mai mult, comportamentul cu tendinte imitative a existat din cele mai vechi timpuri dar, pentru Romania, proaspat integrata in structurile europene si eliberata de sub jugul comunismului, provocarea cea mai mare a fost aceea de a trai in conformitate cu noi norme si reguli. Acestea includ, printre altele, consumul de publicitate, cu toate formele sale si publicitatea pentru designerii locali si internationali.

Inainte de a-i face portretul, as dori sa fac cateva precizari: pentru mine consumatorul de publicitate este, pana la un punct, identic cu cel de produse; clipurile intr-adevar sofisticate apar rar sau deloc, media preferand sa prezinte balastul; mediul consumatorilor adevarati devine unul privilegiat, deci, izolat, de aceea, daca vrem sa vedem clipuri artistice trebuie sa participam doar la evenimente special organizate... Plus, fara nici o suparare, publicitatea in zona romaneasca, in ciuda dorintelor de a fi speciala, de a fi „supra-publicitate”, are tendinte din ce in ce mai inferioare...dar asta tine de factorii economici, sociali si chiar politici... Portretul, asa cum l-am vazut in functie de categoria din care fac parte si eu, aceea de homo scrivensis, este acesta: influentat de moda, de dorinte, de necesitati, de trendurile prezentate cu atata fast de catre revistele consacrate, noul om se prezinta astfel. Varsta, intre 6 luni si maximum 75 de ani. De ce 6 luni? Sunt bebelusi ai caror parinti vor ca „al meu sa fie mai frumos” si ii cumpara tot felul de hainute, jucarii si accesorii; de asemenea, cei de 75 de ani mentionati au si ei logica lor: sunt figuri publice sau actori care vor sa arate bine.

Genul, sincer, nu prea conteaza – multimea il vede pe acela imbracat trendy, elegant si rafinat si spune „ Uite-l pe ala!”, In genul Marthei Bibescu, o persoana fara varsta, de sex incert...Categoria sociala este foarte clar definita – intelectualii rafinati, cu bun gust, directori de firme sau manageri financiari, deci segmentul superior; segmentul de mijloc si cel inferior. Ca exemplu pentru segmentul de mijloc, varii personagii din „clica moderna romaneasca”. Dupa categorie urmeaza pozitia sociala. Aceasta, bineinteles, se va imparti in doua: varul lui X, nepotul lui Y, fiul nu stiu carui mare afacerist, care tin sa ascunda lipsa unei oarecare educatii prin comportamentul usor siderant, filfizonic chiar si cei care nu au atata stralucire, dar care o cauta cu orice pret si vedetele feminine construite peste noapte. Ce isi doreste? Un procentaj din aceasta specie isi doreste, in mod natural, bani, pozitie superioara si multe-multe branduri care sa ii satisfaca dorinta de imagine perfecta sau aproape perfecta; celalalt procentaj, ei bine, nu isi doreste doar bani si pozitie si multe branduri, ci isi doreste o „zeificare” sociala de exceptie, deoarece are, well, impresia, ca este noul arbiter elegantiae.

Cum se imbraca? In general, exista doua tendinte: aceea de a combina accesoriile si hainele intr-o ordine haotica, dar care denota originalitatea si, cea de-a doua, in conformitate cu „moda” – cea in care se copiaza din revistele specializate si dupa sfaturile designerilor. Si totul pentru ratiuni psihologico-sociale care sunt create de catre publicitate. Ea fiind un produs cultural, este mai mult decat clar ca publicitorii formeaza opiniile, trendurile, etc. In concluzie, pot spune, cu mana pe inima ca ma simt ca acasa in acest ocean de marci, anunturi, trenduri, imitatii, concepte...Viva el homo publicisticus!