duminică, 29 martie 2009

Haute couture meet inteligence


Plimbandu-ma prin marea de oameni adunata, in luminile difuze, o lume colorata, plina de autentic dar si de kitsch,m-am lasat purtata de val.
M-am lasat sa ma regasesc, sa admir sa traiesc, sa simt ca exist si ca parfumurile acestea fine imi invaluie fiinta si dau nastere unor sentimente mai vechi, ceva definitoriu.
Mi-am dat seama cine sunt si ce vreau sa admir , ce vrea sa las in urma si cine sper sa fiu intr-o zi.
Dar am descperit ca dincolo de mirajul unei sclipiri se ascunde si inteligenta.Pe langa marea de oameni venita sa cumpere la pret redus putin haoute couture, se aflau si acele fiinte rare, ce inca promoveaza imaginea unei femei adevarate.
Am intalnit o femeie superba, cu ochii mari, cu buzele pictate, invelita in cel mai frumos ambalaj, iar sub el licarirea cunosterii.O femeie high fashion, cu stil , care... supriza, este programator.
Acestea sunt femeile pe care vrem sa le admiram, pe care vrem sa le promovam si cu care ne putem mandri ca ne sunt fiice , prietene, iubite, nu kitch-ul si nu common little pink pricess ce cutreiera rafturile de la Zara.Acestea sunt femeile minunate, cu o poveste, cele care au o meserie , care doresc sa faca ceva si care nu au uitat si nu vor uita sa fie elegenate, fine, sa se schimbe mereu precum un cameleon si sa revina in forta. Aceste femei pe care nu le defineste puterea finaciara a unui barbat in umbra caruia sa se ascunda, sau sa traiasca supuse precum in Evul Mediu.
Ele sunt cele care cauta sa infrumuseteze fiecare clipa a celor din jur, prin simpla lor prezenta, cele care au o poveste demna de ascultat si de trasmis. Ele care viseaza , apoi isi pun visele in aplicare si devin pe zi ce trece mai puternice.
Astfel de femei sunt cele care ma inconjoara, si fara nici o urma de snobism spun asta, nu eu le-am ales pe ele sa-mi fie prietene ci ele s-au apropiat candva de mine.Si poate ca nu sunt inca la inaltimea unor asteptari, dar rabdatoare, ele construiesc si imi modifica zilnic existenta.
Si nu trebuie sa le enumar numele, pentru ca ele cunosc deja lucrul asta, ele stiu ca sunt singurele fiinte care intr-o zi speciala de vara vor imbraca rochii diferite, alese numai de ele si de culori aseamanatoare, modele ce le vor reflecta personaliatatea pentru a fi langa mine.Ele stiu deja asta pentru ca am discutat de atatea ori si nu trebuie sa le amintesc in cuvinte cat insemna si cine sunt in viata mea.Sunt mult prea puternice ca sa aiba nevoie de complimente gratuite.
Ele sunt cele care renunta la un job ideal, poate, ca sa-si urmeze un vis, care creeaza zilnic iluzii, le imbraca in ideile lor,care intr-o lume a barbatilor au invatat sa manuiasca la fel de bine calculatorul si care au spus NU intodeauna comunului si au pornit spre alte cai.
Astfel ca insotita de una dinstre cele 3 gratii despre care vorbesc , ieri am intalnit si alti oameni asemenea, am vazut ca se poate si ca there is more to this than meets the eye.
Pentru ele nu mai e loc de 'pisiceala' doar de actiune si existenta.
Inca putin si cred ca am sanse sa devin feminista...

luni, 23 martie 2009

The Lost Song


In the dim lights, there she was...trying to find her life.There was nobody and nothing, just the meaninglessness, the down right despair.She did have a plan, she had the chance to construct the empire in her mind...but that is where it ended.
She was again still, looking at the glimpses of someone she had been, for a short while, and than, back again in the whole, back in the dark, like there has never that moment at dawn , when she thought she had escaped.
But she did not, she is back to face this once and ever more, always the chance, always taken back...back into silentio stampa...Why does it really even matter after all, there is nothing to this to explain, nor is it something to him..because he is gone now and dead..the image of him has died.
But there is always something tying her to that image,she just realizes, that all she sees all that remain in her is that hand.The most beautiful dark skinned ,full of veins pulping life into it, soft and warm hands she had ever felt or laid eyes on.Just laying there holding hers, caressing touching, searching for her body...always there, just as powerful as the bondage was, back than, when...
It doen't even matter now because this was all long gone in that empire, and she must resurrect and she must lean forward, and forget all about it, all about that late night touch that was lost in the lyrics of the song...the ever repeating song.
Lost will the image ever be and she...she must wonder the world, but never without a soul, and even though she has lost it all she knows that this meaninglessness will not last forever, will not put its dirty, morbid hand upon her.
She has lost the battle now...but not the war...she still feals deeply, she breaths and she remembers.It is the memories that she must burn to ashes, never to return again, never the name...nor that hand...that brings the agony, the ecstasy, the peace...it all must go away and sink with her.But she will be the only survivor of the ordeal of no meaning.
Had all of it been lost, the empire never again to be found, but yet she will, find a way, another, a path maybe a dim drop of hope, but it will come.
If only she could put all this away, if only she could go and hide inside the city of Gold, and it would protect her and hide her, but she can't now, she must face her own souls death, just to be able to come back...ohhh but she will.
Will she not I ask of you?