we're gonna die at some point
and all that we're gonna leave behind us is a bunch of
bad reviews and 2 star ratings
for restaurants that didn't treat us right,
for uber drivers that were too quiet or too loud,
and airline companies that were responsible for 16 long hours
in an airport with too much light and no air.

the day will come and none of us will be ready,
even though some might lie about it, with a cold smile on their face.
there will be no bargaining then,
all the money in the world will be as useless as a pair of flip-flops to a legless person.
for sure, we'll regret using the expression "no regrets!" too often,
instead of accepting our vulnerabilities and our imperfections.

we're gonna die seeing our mother's smile
and hearing our father laughter,
from the day we were born.
just like then, we won't know for sure whether
this is the beginning or the end
whether we are leaving a world or coming into another.

we're gonna hope to use our last breath for something memorable,
something that won't make us not get a good death's sleep,
keeping us awake in a homemade YouTube video.
we're gonna wish that someone finds all of our passwords
and breaks into our emails and social media accounts to realize that
we were geniuses, or something like that and we're gonna look forward
to not being successful and
not seeing anyone cry over something that we said while we were drunk or, worse..

there's nothing more annoying than a come-back to an argument
that comes too late,
the one great idea that could shut down anyone if it would appear in the middle of a fight,
and not afterwards. always afterwards.
when the quarrel initiators are already tucked up in bed, covered in wet dreams and solitude.
nothing for you to do. no hour is decent enough for you to call them in the middle of the night,
shouting your retort, then hanging up the phone and laughing like a crazy person.
that's how after-death must feel like.
a smart answer that comes too late and that no one gets to hear.

our bodies start dying from the day we are born,
little by little,
small chunks of tissue getting rid of our existence,
making us less appealing, less ripe.
our bodies become dumber and dumber every day and start
throwing emotional **** everywhere, hoping to make others mad,
and not care as much about us, near the end.
in a way, it's a form of protection.

we're gonna live through other people's deaths,
we're gonna be "survivors" and "carriers of their memory"
we're gonna try and appear strong for their closest ones,
even though we will forever be broken on the inside after they
become cool, underground.

as we grow older, we believe that death is more about us than the one leaving.
It's possible that we didn't even get to meet him personally,
but he "left a great impression on us", from his real friends' stories.
it's possible that we randomly cross paths with a funeral cortege of some unlucky stranger
and we would still believe that it's about us.
every time we stumble upon it from an observer's point of view, we cannot stop
thinking that it could have been us in that box,
forceless, incapable of protesting against the tie
or the flowers that we are/were so allergic to.
we get lost in our mind, near the coffin and our eyes start to glow
and lose liquid.
every time someone dies, it's always about us. at least, for a couple of seconds or days.

when we die, or are about to die, we find out that death is not at all about us.
it's about those that are left behind, the above mentioned "survivors".
we begin to worry about them,
to fear that there's no fresh milk in the fridge, no gas in the car tank,
that no one took out the garbage, nor fed the cat,
we are about to leave life under the impression that we forgot the fire on.
every time we die, it's never about us. at least, up until the last seconds.

there's no chance in hell that heaven's gonna accept this kind of language!
maybe the subtitle won't work for this part and I'll get off the hook.
I was thinking that one of the greatest penalties
God could give to a feeble-minded person like me
would be the possibility to choose between the infernal region and paradise.
I would end up in a very familiar situation, experiencing the purgatory of my afterlife,
in the same way I did in my entire earthly existence, not being able to pick a side,
make a decision, take a left or a right.. without overthinking it too much.

we're gonna die crying.
we're gonna die hoping that we closed the door.
we're gonna die tasting coffee.

we're gonna die when we least expect it.
we're gonna die in 3, 2..

we're gonna die trying to live.


[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVemwwIDC7c]

I see great ***** every day
in the subway
and, suddenly, my favorite Hitchcock movie changes from
Rear Window to Vertigo.
The movement of the train calms me down and I fall asleep quickly,
dreaming that I'm in Kerouac's car, quietly hitting the road
like ******* hit his canvas.

I see great ******* every day
on the bus that takes me home,
but not one single *****
for me to lay my ear on.
The dream comes to a crossroad where me and Jack have to part ways.
He'll go down in history like a great writer
and I'll quietly go down on memory lane in oblivion.

Memory disappointed me
and left a bad taste
in my mouth - literary ******* ain't what it used to be.

I am the young girl running around the house,
looking for the pony,
on Christmas morning,
while the ship is slowly sinking,
in a manure flavored sea.

I am the armless tennis player that
is convinced he will defeat Roger
in less than an hour,
using just one ball, over and over again.

I am Roy Wright at the beginning of the trial,
with a big stupid smile in my pocket,
and a tinny black book in my soul.
I am the faithful survivor of unfaithfulness
and I will be the one that lands on his feet,
in Scottsboro heaven.

I am Bartolomeo V, the one with no vendetta,
having a croissant,
waiting for Nicola to shave, before we take off in one of
Rothko's paintings. May the 5th be
with the ones who actually did it.. and, you know what?
I honestly think Cronaca Sovversiva is a great title,
even though I haven't read the ******
thing and I have no sympathy,
whatsoever, for any anarchist.
Hell! It's hard for me getting my **** together in complete order. I don't want to think what would become of me
in complete anarchy.

I am the one that wakes up every day
with a stupid smile under his nose,
not remembering the scent of yesterday's failure.
The one that starts dreaming as soon as he gets up,
ignoring the fact that he might be an ignorant
*****,
with no desire to go to outer space,
but with huge hopes up his sleeve for
M. Damon and his agricultural knowledge.
I am in favor of all fancy schmancy Earth saving knowledge,
and I am aware that all that space debris in my head
will do some serious damage one day.
If they ever figure out how to get it all in.

I am the tic, that will come after the tac-toe, this time, and not the other way around!
the encore of every good concert,
the yin for the panda ****,
the slim leg for the flamingo,
the gambler,
the rambler,
the day rider.

I am the Syrian boy that just learned to swim and
all of this infinite blue soup
is nothing more than a Saturday stroll.
I will get in the back of that truck and I will breathe
the purest air that someone could ever breathe,
I will sleep the sleep of reason and monsters will not be produced.

You have my word!

I am the skin before the needle shoots up
all its ink.

I will be perky. I will be green.

Making all the small mistakes,
we move on, from one gig to another,
with our head up-high,
and our ear glued to the railroad track.
We walk backwards, surrounded by defective traffic signals
and multi-toned car horns – an impersonal Trojan toy horse,
with too much space inside our frameless carcass
to be filled by an empty soul.

They’re all in a hurry.

All of these brave men and women are in a hurry.
They’re anxious to get home and ******* before their significant others arrive,
ready for a home sweet home experience,
with fine wine and cheesy shows on the tube.

Life simply goes on in cycles,
like a loop video on the metro CCTV.
No heart attack spikes, no heavy breathing, no chance for a near death experience.

We are all obedient mother/father *******,
waiting for the wind to put down the big old tree in front
of our house, so we can have a hot topic on our Facebook walls.

Trying to be different,
mostly in a verbal manner,
is like performing **** with a ***** dolphin,
in front of a tank full of happy sharks.

We’re all in a hurry,
tryin’ to get back home
and ******* good
before the significant part of our life begins.

There’s nothing
I want more
than to win a
lip sync battle
with God.

I think that I might've been wrong this whole time
and that all my life's been an endless road of false imagery
about myself and the ones surrounding me.

Everyone's sayin' these days:
"just do your thing!"
"be more egotistic!"
"risk it!"
"live a little!"
"give less ***** about what others think!"
"you're on your own!"
"don't get involved in other's lives, as they don't get involved in yours"
and I seem more and more confused,
not getting any of the words they're sayin';
feeling silly all of a sudden...
like I imagine some people in those pictures
or videos where they put a black box over someone's eyes.

I feel like I've been livin' as a small,
odorless flower in a big garden,
all a long waiting for the right gardener
to thin out the seedlings around me and now
I've ended up alone in the most beautiful vase,
in the house of the most gifted perfume creator,
that normally feels every bird ****,
but now feels nothing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zGRQsYZE7U

Imagine the worst soccer team in the world.
Now go deeper
and try to picture every single player.

I bet you think they're all ******, talentless ******, right?

WROOONG!

They are the most talented and witty players
on the crippled face of this earth,
each of them with 2 or 3 MVP titles in their pocket.

They are so good as individuals
that make a terrible team.

and, on top of that,
you get to be the goalkeeper.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWGE9Gi0bB0

You wake up in the middle of the night and
You realize that the person next to
You is not
Your co-pilot anymore and that even though
You are flying in the same direction,
Your destination might not be the same.

You realize that
You are in parallel planes,
Your former “co-“ is now a grown-up pilot who wants to push all the buttons that
You wouldn’t wanna push, who decides to leave
You hanging in the sky, without
Your safety net or parachute.

The world is full of pilots,
but few good co-pilots.

We used to be XY and **.
We had it going.
The alphabet had purpose and biology was preparing to do the right thing.
It was all good and warm and morning always came with a smile.

Now we're just Xs.

‘t was nice till now.
I’d be a sad fool to complain.
There are others that deal with
much more **** then I can ever imagine.
There are happy homeless chums
that don’t give a **** about sadness but, unfortunately,
their madness is voiceless
and, sadly, our ears get numb after 3-4 minutes of elevator music.

It was cool and everything but now it seems that you’re only
showing the back of your head, as you’re kneeling down in front
of everybody.

No spine. No dime. No nothing.

Death lies hidden in your breast pocket,
just waiting to bite your hand or that of your loved ones,
in a blink of a blind eye.

My inner black dog chased away the black and white cats
and all that jazz is just not enough for
a healthy restart of the brain membrane.

Get closer and hear me out.
I’m speaking through my heart – this yellow bellow fella’s almost done.
I’ll whisper and you’ll understand my stubbornness,
like an unlit candle in the wind,
like a simple quiet rocket/piano man,
like the unlikely event of crashing in a brick wall.

‘t was nice.
All the dreaming
and drinking
and smiling
and crying
and cringing inside my head.
Oooooooh, what a match!
The crowd goes wild and that’s so unlike them to do – clawless, fangless, white tigers.

You might not recognize this day as being amazing and wonderful and all,
but trust me when I say that you’re in a blind spot right now and
as soon as it will be over, you’ll see it.
You’ll understand.
Those were not drops of desperation but exquisite fine wine left unattended.

Hear the echo inside this caveman’s body.
Look in this broken mirror and admit that you cannot see the eyes.

This generation of morons will stay put and eat macarons all day long.
It’s just a burning house, as Robin nicely put it in his song.
There is still hope for this silly antelope.
There is time for the timeless universe that we live in.

You’ll eventually get tired of seeing everything backwards,
of going against the stream, like a red herring in a Quentin T. dark alley.
You’ll get tired and admit that
you’re the ******* queen of everything wrong in this world.

Stop complaining.
Get over it.
For now.

I am the member of a one-man extremist army
That fights for the right to be (mis)understood.
I keep my gun tidy and all covered in a
crazy-*** knitted scarf.
I only shoot it when I’m alone in my head.
I always miss.

I fly below the human emotion radar and
Pray that someone will DVR my life
And binge watch it from the comfort of his/her dusty old couch,
Up in the attic, when nothing else is on TV and
Jimmy Fallon’s all tucked in his zebra pajamas.

I will climb the highest fountain
And whisper waterly in your transplanted ear:
“I am Vincent.. I am your yellow.. I am your ubiquitous sunflower..”

Just change the channel and the weather will do the same thing.
Bye bye bye, birdie! Bye bye bye, climate change!
I’m nothing but an echo’s echo.

Tried counting normal sheep.
It didn’t work.
None of them seem to have that je ne sais quoi
that Eastern - European sleep sheep have.

Tried counting good and bad memories. On an invisible flip chart.
Just like in my youth corporation.
I presented the situation to my inner Earth, waiting for feedback and good vibes.
All I got was a mosquito in my left ear.

Tried counting all the nights when I couldn’t sleep but
I was never good with imaginary numbers.

Then.. I started counting all the “I’m sorry”s,
“I love thee”s
and “It wasn’t me to pull the trigger, your honor!”s,
slowly falling in a pit full of
alligator dreams, just waiting
to bite on my neck.

Sleep made me weak.
Sleep made me spill all the meds on the wooden floor and
suddenly, I started seeing the truth through a pair
of 3D cardboard glasses.

Then I started to feel blue and it all happened so fast, officer!

it was a normal day:
in the metro, a tall guy was giving
oral stress to his girlfriend
for spending too much time on her phone,

angry mothers were killing it at Fruit Ninja,
aiming only for the green items;
all because of some article on vegans
they read on Bored Panda,

students were kicking it on Tinder,
deciding their political views
in the same time,
with simple left & right swipes,

Romanian women were being abused
in Italian FarmVille games,
while the cucumber production
was growing and growing,

it was a bad day for poetry;
all the good words were on strike!
the streets were empty
and all the traffic lights were red.

I was still hoping there was hope in this world.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cdvk7O3Tz6A]

Even though
every individual
acts as if
they know better
than anyone else,
the world,
as a large group of know it alls,
gets to the point
where it has to admit
that it knows nothing.

We’re making movies that no one will see,
about things that mean the world to us,
at a certain moment in time and space,
but that mean less than a rat’s *** to anyone outside our bodies.

We never regret the echo in the large hall,
nor the words that OUR scarlett and OUR rhett say to each other
during the 126 minutes long director’s cut –
their tears are ours,
their love,
despair and
hunger for life
will be included in next month’s newsletter.

We’re making movies about those parts of our lives
that weren’t played out so well.
It’s our way of saying “sorry” or “thank you”.

We’re making movies that some don’t even call “movies” –
intimate quantum leaps, inner fights between our bodies and minds.
It hurts us, yeah. We’re not (all) made of stone.
We, sometimes, get frustrated and don’t even know exactly why.

We wake up in the middle of the night,
running the entire dialogue list in our head,
sleepwalking through the entire movie,
screaming at our non-suspecting sleeping significant other to be quiet and to get out of the frame,
“cause we’re ******* making a ******* movie here and every ******* second matters”.

We’re making (silent) movies because
we’re tired of all this noise,
because
that’s the only way we can have some “Aaaaaction” in our lives
and some frames to be proud of.

We’re not making movies to prove that the world is wrong
nor that we possess the ultimate truth.
No.
We’re not making movies to prove that the world is beautiful
and that we know nothing and that that nothingness should tickle your funny filmic bone.
No.

We’re making movies that make the entire world think that there’s something wrong with us,
that we can’t relate to our surroundings in a healthy and normal way.

We’re making movies so WE can experience, in the most familiar way,
the new wave long shot convention that YOU all hate
and diss in the digital environment,
as if your lives were made out of fast cut blockbuster shots
and not lonely, long walks through a dull park. Good for you, Max!

We’re making movies because
we don’t wanna have to explain ourselves,
like I’m doing right now.

Reality sometimes needs its own subtitle and.. ****! You know what?
The truth is that we’re not making movies.  
We’re making moves.

Tonight, I don't feel classy,
so put away the fine glasses,
and bring me a plastic cup and a bottle of your worst wine.

Then, leave me alone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ls8-pk4IS4

Just your regular Friday.
Trapped in a poorly lit elevator
with three other strangers.

The only things they have in common are that
they’re all wearing red shoes,
and that they’re all going up.
Everyone is listening to their own music -
a weird mix of
rap, rock, indie and folk
that sounds great played in the same time.

No one knows where they’ll get off the elevator,
at what storey, nor if they’ll take a left or right afterwards.
It’s all a mystery.

The first couple of floors pass easily,
maybe someone even cracks a joke
or makes a funny comment
and they all smile at their mirror reflection.

Suddenly, the elevator clutches between floors
and they get to see their faces for the first time.
They are mesmerized.
Although they have nothing in common besides the red shoes,
They feel as if they are doppelgangers on the inside;

They wake up in each-other’s heads
and it all feels comfortable for a while,
The chairs are cosy and the food is great!

The mirrors disappear and they start to see the world from above.
they realise that there’s no insurance,
and that they’re suspended in mid-air,
half way between the earth and the sky,
a band of unknown,
4 complete strangers,
everyone trying to act cool,
posing for an imaginary sub-genre cover album photo,
that no one will get to listen to.

Minutes pass and they become hours,
sky becomes sea
and clouds vanish.
They get tired of looking out the window
and all the windows look tired of looking out of them.

Someone finds a door and opens it.
He looks at the others, waves, then jumps.
They’ll never know if he drowned,
got burned in the atmosphere or
ended up on the good side
of the freshly buttered toast.


One of the remaining three starts taking selfies,
Smiling at his virtual image,
not being bothered at all
that the image doesn’t smile back,
being convinced that, in this way,
he’s slowly becoming part of a special form of theatre,
with a smiling/sad face construction,
a bipolar bear with
the heart of an eagle.

The second one starts writing nervously on the walls;
endless lines of pathetic reality;
a combination of feelings, lies,
email passwords,
social media security questions
and lots and lots of sophistry…
everything intended to serve as a rock-solid personal legacy
after the elevator’s presumed crash.

The third one gets locked in his own head,
carefully observing all of them,
gazing in the blank,
with his headphones still in his ears,
but with no music on,
no plan in his mind,
no clean underwear,
no purpose at the end of the journey,
no solution,
no answer for any of the police’s questions,
trapped in an elevator
like a great idea in somebody’s head,
in a brain crack situation.

He is all alone,
humming sad chick tunes,
slowly losing his wit and grit.

The elevator walls reappear,
and he is now going up again,
by himself,
slowly,
surrounded by three pairs of red shoes
that were made for walking,
but are now
floating around the universe,
half-way between God and Darwin.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ypofGDdHpo

the dream ain't over 'till the dreamer's awake.
and your sleep will keep the dream going, on and on,
in a silence made of rear view windows.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUDc1frz22E]

I don’t wanna listen!
it was nice and all that
but my heart broke along the way and
three of its chambers are flooded.
no handy man can fix it now.
me and you.. IT don’ work!
it’s not an oxymoron, nor an enigma ! no!
the fact that I’m an ox, a *****, a pretentious ***** and you, an enigma..
that don’t change anything!
we are unable to begin again.
we made it once. we should be happy and look back in hunger.
we were on the first page of newspapers but,
somehow,
we ended up in
the matrimonial section – the place where
poetry ends.

Facebook is the place to be
when no one else wants you around.

you don’t need to clean up your ****, nor
feel shame
nor hunger,
nor love,
nor hate,
nor hahaha!

it’s what you’ve always wanted –
a nice little crib for your
"home sweet home" clothes.

get *****.
get close.
you may now speak the language of virtual friendship.

you might find it hard to be sincere,
when you don’t know if what you speak
is remotely related to the truth.

[[[poem based on some of my virtual friends' wall posts and statuses from pages that I follow. Randomised. Mixed.]]]



The year was Poptastic!
And Rolling Stone crowned Bob Dylan the greatest songwriter of all time.
It’s alright, Ma (I’m only scrolling)
I get so awkward when I eat in front of people
But I have no problem understanding why an intern would live in a tent.
Sarajevo here I come!

A series of explosions killed at least 50 people and left 700 injured.
Do you ever miss yourself?
The person you were before you had your first heartbreak or before you got betrayed by a person you trusted?
It’s amazing to finally feel right. The real blue's inside
This thought is from last year... but still relevant.

Your Life Will Be ****** into an Awful Black Hole
But you still have a beautiful night to spend with friends;
Great night! Emily we will miss you!
“The moment was all; the moment was enough.” V.W

You know? It's a terrible waste of your life, making movies –
Maybe you should reconsider time.
Want to book Pharrell? You'll need a picture of Carl Sagan. Really!
Photos on memory cards can survive more than you may think.
If you could choose what your life would be like, what would you pick?
Did you ever consider failure as an option?
Take a look inside this thought: Inge Morath, "Gypsies dancing in a camp near Catesiphon", Iraq, 1956, black and white blue eyes.
These kids were playing in the dust and mud because the schools were too far away.
So with nothing but his own time, this store manager decided to be their school.

How quantum computing works — and why it could change everything:
Things just don't grow if you don't bless them with your patience.


5 minutes of inspiration: This is how a living legend thinks about photographing the world.
As we expect more from technology, do we expect less from each other?
I just can’t be away from her, she’s the finest woman in the world

Keep on playing those mind games forever, raising the spirit of peace and love, not war,  (I want you to make love, not war, I know you've heard it before)...
Solid proof that having kids is frankly terrifying.
You should remember this:
No matter how complex, no matter how unique, your passwords can no longer protect you!


I would say all the allegations aren't true — some of them are.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEEQWPfjv1U

Not being able to decide between
Audrey
and
Katharine
is not a real problem, my friend!

The hardness of life begins
when you meet
Bette
and
Grace.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAO8vlvPS88]

PS:
have you seen
Lauren
and
Greta?
They might have changed their phone number.

We'll never be able to change the world
We don't even have the means to change our ******* wallpaper!

We are protesting against
all the unfair things that our government is doing,
in the same way we go to church:
preachers and inciters, daily,
some of us do it on Sunday,
others only when a big religious event comes around the corner;
some of us never go,
and only end up thinking about it
before going to bed,
alone,
in our room,
in the dark.

We seldom forget that we came to this world
with the only mission of making ourselves unforgettable.

We have mixed feelings
about all the calls to action
that we stumble upon in the
***** wide web,
we feel guilt and
despair when it is too late
and regret not doing the right things
or doing them wrong,
we are not model citizens,
we are just fake people
that work from time to time as holy fashion models.

Forgive us for lying to ourselves
when we're lying in bed,
naked,
isolated.
Forgive us for not having a voice
when the choir needed us.
Forgive us for making excuses
for all the bad excuses we had.
Forgive us for all the love that
you haven't had the chance to give us.
Forgive us for
not wanting to be forgiven.

we are not gods.
you are not gods.
gods are not good.

We'll never be able to change the world,
but we're hoping to be the ones that are changed by it.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELKbtFljucQ]

Our parents will become orphans one day -
this is not something you normally choose.

In that moment,
some of them will suddenly find
their inner child,
hopelessly
wondering around life;
others
will permanently lose it
and bury it
alongside their parents.

All of these grown-up children
are wishing more and more,
with every day that passes,
to become grandparents
for OUR unborn children.

We will become orphans one day -
that's something you don't normally choose.

In that moment,
we'll become the first generation
of children that
don't have a past,
nor a future -
we will only live our present,
till the day we die..

Or, at least, that's what our mothers and fathers believe at this point about us.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWFeUNyfpmM]

The game was fine.
We smiled and even cracked some jokes.
The music was dull, but we didn’t mind.
We couldn’t care less,
as long as we had each other’s wallet.
The artist was being tortured in the book and
there was nothing in our head and heart that could save us
from falling off.
What a bunch of nonsense you poured in our glasses,
as the wine left them to enter our mouths, throats and bellies.
By the end of the show I was drunk and sad,
without any direction,
without a meaning,
a purpose,
a goal
or whatever fancy word you’d to use to describe my numb life.

The mind game was fine, until you lost your game and I lost my mind.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2LFVWBmoiw

If I ever forget to be afraid,
please break all my windows
and leave me behind,
in joyful sadness.

There’s no time
to plan our future!
the past really keeps us busy.
Please go!

Roll my head in duct tape and
take me to the natural park of your rib.
YOU gotta invent me now.
I think it’s only fair!
Just return the bible favor and let’s get it over with.

There’s no time to change our minds –
everything’s happenin’ so fast
and we fall in love with ourselves so **** slow.
I wanna run.

It seems that no one knows what they want,
Night becomes day and day becomes a monkey.
There’s nothing here for us anymore.
We used science to invent God and
God to invent hope
and even more science to fight God and
more gods to **** people's brains
and then more science and prayers and
miracles don’t exist anymore!

They’re only wars and
people running from people.

One might think that we just
don’t know what we want.

He was afraid of heights.

He wasn't afraid of the sky,
but of the earth in which he dreamt every night of falling.

He knew no angels, no devils,
He was in a perfect balance between heaven and hell,
stranded upside down, in a reversed world,
waiting for all things to happen or to end.

He was incinerated.

He then was stuffed inside some crackers and got to fill the sky one more time
with his explosive personality
on July 4th,
before falling on everybody
and then into the ground
he so much feared and hated.

I always wondered what it would be like if,
suddenly,
one of those "famous internet people"
would start liking me,
hitting each and every one of my posts
with one of their virtual emoji reactions,
sharing my words
and my soul
all over their sordid walls,
making me trendy and clickable,
part of the same pretentious content
that they're always displaying.

Will I feel sick
(like I do every time I read what they're sayin' in their trendsetter social media universe)
or will I feel proud?

Will I think that is a terrible waste of good procrastination or will I smile?

Will I roll my eyes,
after looking at their "common garbage"
or will I take a deep smell of the "beautiful bit flower that they seeded in their garden"?

Will I ever find out?
Will I have the will?

Phase 1.
He will be missed.

that's what they'll write on your Facebook
tombstone,
after they'll scatter your ashes
all over the big blue virtual ocean.

small pieces of your memory
will end up on people's profile pictures
(the full black ones
are small parts of your
Nick Cave t-shirt).

they'll suddenly remember
that you once existed and
that they had the honor
of not picking up YOUR phone calls.
they'll share all your favorite songs
on their side of the wall,
saying this and that
and how you inspired them
through your nonsense.
they'll hashtag your big fat ***
with that special #RIP *******,
knowing that you haven't
slept well in a while.


Phase 2.
Something's missing.

that's what they'll say
after a couple of months,
when they'll look at the empty places
in their bookcases
and realize that,
indeed,
it wasn't a good idea to lend their books
to a depressed as **** *******.

they'll go online
and order new books
and try to forget your absence;
your song will be played again.
you'll be an echo one more time,
water under their bridge,
a white paint mark that they leave behind on the road,
on their way to the seaside,
a decent line
in a Romanian new wave movie
that makes them smile for a second
and then, after the screening's over, try to remember..

you had the choice of carving smiles into stone or
that of throwing stones into smiles.
what do you think people saw?

Phase 0.**

you don't have to live a great life.
you just have to die a simple death.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBlNUkEVA4A]

Last night I dreamt that Google
was celebrating me
through one of its doodles.

It was the simplest of them all,
the most ordinary and vanilla -
common as a rock, low-pitched with a cherry on top.

You clicked on it and it didn't have any answers.
It showed nothing.

No sound was added,
no funky animations,
no gamification.

Corny and simple.

I think they did a pretty good job in celebrating me.

My friends have all unfollowed me
on social media,
since I started following them on the streets,
on their way back from work,
when they're all alone,
unprotected from their deep sea thoughts.

They know that now I only dream their dreams
and live their lives,
like a professional xerox machine.

The world stopped walking and now it's planning its suicide,
hitting Capital points of its body,
every day.

We all have words but few own meaning,
we all wish for clean keyboards but
no one has something that isn't ***** to put out there.

We're part of a group of solitary mad people,
digital born followers,
with no one left to lead,
with no paths to choose from
and no clean clothes for the our own memorial.

the day we live in
is the day we fly.

the soldier in charge with raising the flag
felt ashamed because he couldn’t get it up.

he stayed up the whole night crying,
packing all his Ezras and his Allens,
ironing his shirts and
wrapping in old newspapers the photos
of him and his grandfather.

the stench of fire crackers and
hot dogs was still strong on his clothes
and he couldn’t touch the top of his mouth
with his tongue.

the pain was edgy and the
bull’s eye couldn’t take it anymore;

he knew he flagged  life once again.

makes it hard for me to breathe,
difficult to see and
impossible to understand this complex mechanism of inside-out
feelings.

I should’ve known by now
that one foot cannot do well without
the other,
that I am merely a one way ticket to
one of Jupiter’s moons,
that one without two
is a stranger to three
and that this will all end one day
in a big blast!

Stranded between Tom Hanks' Wilson
and Aylan’s sandprint,
I won’t be of much use to you;
just like a viral video that you share with your friends,
on a Monday morning and,
then, again, after a couple of months. Funny gas inside
some old abandoned car’s  tank.

makes it hard to be serious
about life,
difficult to die and
impossible to commit suicide.

When real love kicks in..
And I mean the R E A L deal,
not the one that
TV shows present to you as being "part of life" in 23 minutes episodes!

The ****** up, messy entanglement that takes your heart,
blindfolds it and then starts kicking it from the side,
the parks, theaters and picnic one,
the “please make me a sandwich while I take out the trash” one,
the big-spoon-little-spoon-during-the-night one,
the “we just visited your parents last month and I don’t feel like doing it again very soon” one,
the fuzzy wazzy baby voicey one,
the planes, trains and automobiles one,
the “you snore so bad that I wanna **** you sometimes” one,
the bad morning breath after a hard day’s drinking night one,
the cinnamon flavoured one,
the “not 8 years and a half, but 8 years and 7 months” one
the one for which you cannot find words to describe it right.

When THAT kicks in..
you better be ready to sleep on the couch!

You're listening to random radio stations,
on your way home,
Thinking this could be
the soundtrack of your day to day life..

A little bit of Cohen
and
some Cigarettes after ***
would easily do the trick.

You're just another unknown genius,
waiting to be discovered - an original copy of the "real deal".

Your parents must be very proud!
You have that look.. you know what I mean?
THAT look.

The ones surrounding you are nothing more than
Extras in your daily 7 o'clock show,
filmed in front of a live audience.

Your big break is just around the corner,
hiding in some bushes
and you must really feel smart right now,
with your old and wise attitude,
thinking 'bout the planet and
all that ****,
having the impression that you changed
something in this world,
on your way back from work..
something else than this rusty game
of useless words,
that the rest of your family doesn't really care about.
Your one man show is about to be moved in the better slot
and you'll finally get to stick your face on a Snickers' bar campaign.

"You're not you when you're happy!"

You'll get off soon.
Remember to smile and wave.
Remember to forget.

The mosquito doesn't know you -
you weren't introduced.

It doesn't have anything against you.

It doesn't care.
You could be the queen,
or the pope,
or **** Jagger,
or a freshly squeezed into this world baby..
In fact, it couldn't care less who you are.

The mosquito is just doing its job.

Just like you are "doing yours",
every day.

Right?

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugRTATKO0WI]

Sometimes I Shazam random songs.
I don't even have to like'em or anything..
I just do it.
Press the big blue button and wait for it to do its job.
I'm always sad when it says it's sorry and returns no result.
"They didn't quite catch that. Try again". Who does?

Sometimes I Shazam random noises on the metro,
Hoping it will pick up the coolest soundtrack of a movie I'm in,
Just before the credits,
When everything goes dark - but not because of a random suicide bomber that hates life and wants revenge or something.
It returns no results and the TV suddenly goes louder in my head and there are 23 victims and we're all posting kittens on Facebook to show that we're not afraid.

Sometimes I Shazam my parents voices
while they're telling me how their day went
and I discover really cool indie artists
that make me listen to their work in a loop.

Once, I Shazamed your heartbeat while you were sleeping.
It returned my name.
Can't remember the album, but it had a nice cover photo.

I never Shazamed my own voice, nor my heartbeat.
I'm too afraid it'll show nothing worth listening to.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A107BwLLGbE]

you drank it all.
alone.

even though there's nothing left
in the bottle,
it is you that feels empty,
transparent,
frail,
like an eggshell that your mother found
in the chicken that your father killed,
that didn't have the chance of the frying pan at least.

you drank it all.
alone.
no Juliet around,
no Shakespeare
no talent,
no tale.

you drank it all.
alone.
no strippers,
no angels,
no thieves!

you drank it all.

some may call it
messianic delusion syndrome,
but I call it..
cheap Chardonnay.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbz9rIxZJBw

I just felt like writing
and the world suddenly had
no boundaries for me
and no one was looking
and the beach was the only one
that could support my feet;
and all those beautiful women
were starring in the big fat blue,
not saying a thing,
not knowing what to do,
not wanting to cry, nor to laugh..

but I guess this is what good music
does to you -
it sends signals down your spine
and, in a second,
you forget where you are
and what you're trying to accomplish -
you get to the point where you think
you are a mother ******* rock star!
You have no worries
and you know that you can play the hell out of a guitar,
on the day before the big show!
But.. when the crowd goes wild
and all of those eyes are having an ear on you,
your cave -
you become one with the guitar case -
full of sounds and, yet, so silent,
dark like an empty egg shell,
cursed to know what life is
but unable to show it to others.

There is
no wine,
no wining,
no glass eye,
no groupies,
no ice in your bucket list!

You are all alone and suddenly the world feels part of you.

There was a time when
I felt bad for people that didn't need that from me -
simple, single, solitary people, that couldn't feel a thing
and that couldn't care less if some arrogant *****,
some.. some cocky presumptuous stranger
was thinking unhappy thoughts about them.

I just wanted to write
but all I did was get farther
away from what I needed.

Now it's time to save the word world!
Yes!
It's time to synchronize our watches
and go naked out there,
with our ***** and ******* free,
uncovered by our own self consciousness
and big little lies!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNapQD7tcXo

Even though the sun
"goes up and down",
every day,
in the same way,
we always seem to be surprised
by its trajectory and
every picture we take of it
looks different
because it mirrors a slightly changed self.  

every 5 minutes,
hundreds of photographs of this
back and forth movement
are being uploaded on the Internet,
generating a Polaroid exhibition of repetitive lies.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNpM4i0QU8Y]

I'm waiting for a car that will never come
to take me to a place that doesn't exist.

I'm constantly looking at a world that has nothing to show
but enjoys being watched,
like a ****** - exhibitionist relationship.
Match made in heaven.
Heaven made in Adobe Photoshop CS 6.

I'm eager to create some art that won't change anyone
but will cost a lot of money.
~ I'm willing to settle for no money and will change at least one~

I'm constantly trying to reach out to people
that get higher up the mountain,
each on his own personal journey.
Untouchable. Distant.
Not having the slightest clue that there's someone
on their trail, on the narrow forest path.

I'm looking for ways to make others happy
but, in the process, I'm becoming sadder
every day.
Even though my state of mind is low,
it's not making me deep. I never said I was deep.

I'm not an ocean of wisdom or anything like this.
Come to think about it, I'm not a huge fan of water,
not being a good swimmer and everything..

I don't think I have anything in common with the sea,
even though I was told
I can easily suffocate others
with my worries, sorrows and disbelief.

I'm working on finding a job that doesn't feel like work
and let's you smile,
beyond an annual cocktail event, in a fancy club,
with drunk
employees of the month
that are trying all night to find ways
to bang each other without their significant others ever finding out,
without knowing what guilt means..
Some of them will end up home,
with a clean shirt and a ***** conscience.
For others, it won't ever feel like home.

I'm playing the game of hating the player
and I think they're gonna award me the MVP title
if I continue to not love myself.

I'm trying to end this poem in style,
but I'm afraid I won't be able to,
'cause I think my car has arrived.


[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gr96A9XG1rs

You come home from work.
Late, without a reason,
holding a bottle of overpriced wine in your hand
and no smile on your face.

You get rid of all your clothes, you
open the bottle and you
start closing your mind
and your soul.

You start up the fire and make your
own little ****** barbecue
with whatever leftovers you can find in your
landlord's fridge.

Tomorrow you'll work from home,
but you will still get back late.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3gI5SSAyl0

the world is full
of wannabes
and has-beens..
no one lives
in the present
anymore.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ZDsCJ4rGD4]

He suddenly became quiet.

He didn't feel like getting any of his thoughts
out into the world anymore.
He felt that nothing mattered
and that his presence was defined
only by the clothes he wore and
not by the words that wore him out.

He started wearing shirts. Up 'til the last button.
He became numb
and all of his dumb
fears
became brave
in one instance.

No one recognized his face anymore.. for a while now. They were concentrating on other things,
and when he finally recognized the truth
that was staring at him from the mirror,
he decided to hit the "snooze" button.

He couldn't find any reason to get out of bed in the morning,
nor to go to sleep at night.
He was in limbo,
in a purgatorial state of mind,
with one foot set in irrelevance
and the other one stepping in the **** of inadequacy.

He felt weak
and small,
although he was never thin,
nor fit.

He still loved everyone and wanted more from them,
even though nobody wanted more of him.

He often felt like the screaming guy in Munch's painting
- surrounded by color, light and everyone's rear end -
Oh, what a wonderful state of mind!

He stopped setting up his alarm.
It felt useless - everything had already happened, anyhow.
His life started showing the MUTE button in the corner of his internal screen.

He suddenly became very quiet
but despite all the silence that was surrounding him NOW,
there was a lot of noise in his head.

this thing that I do.. or, anyway, try to do,
this continuous babble gabble, with sprinkles on top,
this day-to-day quest,
this poorly timed choreography,
this #bro, #nohomo, #gay thing I do with my brain and heart,
this endless wine powered whining habit of mine,
this desire to know,
this curiosity and unceasing need to find out,
this joy of seeing your face every day in the mirror I use for shaving once in a while,
this midnight torment,
this heat and cold feet feeling,
this skanderbeg with the ****** inside my right arm,
this everlasting need of being pushed to the ground and all of the climbing that comes afterwards,
this fight club that I invented in my own apartment,
this bad scenery where all the bad quirks are lost,
this family reunion around a blue Facebook table,
this Christmas compulsion regularly displayed,
this recital of random thoughts,
this list of contacts,
this Friday evening pathetic chorus,
this fear of rejection and hope for what will come,
this weird structure of one's feelings,
this flat choice of words and bad timing,
this spurious urgency for acknowledgement,
this "me feeling" for me,
this firm handshake with a smile and maybe a hug at the end,
this thing that I do is called, in a strange way, #love.



and I can say that there are only few moments when I have my regrets for trying to show it,
like a little girl does with her skirt, lifted above her head

You know where the ground is,
‘cause you’ve been there one too many times;
lying on your stomach, face down,
to avoid “pulling a Bonzo”,
or just standing on your side,
all curled up, in a fetal, counter-plunge position,
like in that movie.. the one that you loved
and watched over and over again,
only for the mirror scene.

I think I know what the frustrating part is for you:
you can always see the sky,
but getting there doesn’t seem to be
right up your alley.. even though you live near the airport.

And this destroys you.
That cracked up pain that climbs up
your leg every night, before bed down.
You know what this is!
However, you have no power over it.
You had a very long dilly-dally day
and now all you can do
is hope that you won’t
wake up on the floor again
and maybe, just maybe, if you plan it
well enough in your mind, you’ll
wake up on cloud 7,
with that big idea and with the means
to ******* accomplish something.

All alone.
Nothing left to feel.
No more pain.
No more brain.
Emptiness running through your veins.

Go home, God!
One of us is drunk..

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5soixb2U6xM