Reflectii de 23 august


Tavalugul comunist (Sursa foto:

Tavalugul comunist (Sursa foto:

Cam nu prea am dialoguri in romana. M-am instrainat?

Dreptu-i ca si-n romana am aceeasi orientare zen.

Dar noi romanii suntem crestini domnule, ortodocsi. Suntem dificili.

Calugaria crestin ortodoxa poate oferi un model (de urmat intr-o societate pe cat de cumplita am avut dupa 23 august), dar este un model al biciuirii trupului, al schingiurii, al fortarii trupului dat de Dumnezeu (nu?).

De ce aceasta schingiure? Ce a facut rau acest trup? De ce trebuie pedepsit?

De ce Nicu Steinhardt (sau un Tutea) a ajuns la concluzia asta?

Fiindca au fost oamenii care au trecut prin puscarii. Este mentalitate de puscarias, de supravietuitor al inchisorilor comuniste. Un tip de supravietuitor, bineinteles, dar unul care spune:

Rastignirea trupului … ca mijloc de total devotament

in Jurnalul Fericirii.

Asa a fost tratat trupul (lui Nicu Steinhardt si al multor altora), dar nu voluntar, nu de catre sine.

Raul a trecut tavalug peste ei.

Asa ca noi, romanii, suntem crestini-ortodocsi, domnule, prin loialitate fata de acesti oameni care au supravietuit unui astfel de regim.

Desigur, par absurzi in momentul de fata.

Trebuie sa ne gandim un pic mai departe si sa ne intrebam: Ce s-a mai spus in alte limbi? Ce se suprapune?

Se suprapun dialoguri. Un dialog cu sinele, un dialog intru sine.

Ce fel de poezie poti sa dai cuvintelor si folosind ce mijloace? A gandi “pictorial” cum fac japonezii (ma refer la ideograme) este (sau poate fi) o inzestrare, o imbogatire a gandirii socratice, daca este inteleasa.

Ne intoarcem la Pitagora, ne intoarcem la greci. Unul

Unul si-n romana, domnule.

19. Puterea Gandirii

(19. 念の力)

Un singur Gand, Acolo unde se Concentreaza,Trece si printr-o Stanca


Cand Un Gand ia Nastere si Cearta si Traznetul, si Vantul, si Ploaia


De unde Oare se Naste Aceasta Minte?


Cei care au Realizat Lucruri Mari, Desigur Acestia si-au Insusit Aceasta Putere,


Mai mic decat Particulele, mai mic decat Atomul si mai mic decat Electronul


Pana in acel Punct fara Limita sa Calmam Valurile Inimii (=Vibratiile Mintii) Unificandu-ne (Mintea si Trupul),


In acel Moment in care am Completat Unificarea, in acel Moment este Generata Puterea Gandului care Ajunge la Pamant si la Cer




Dialogue with Ionescu. Eugene Ionesco.


Do you know the “Rhinoceros”? That amazing play written by Ionesco?

The short version would be that in a French little town you have this public servant (Berenger) who is out trying to enjoy a drink (Pernod, if memory serves me right) in the afternoon with his colleague at a café; as they’re sitting at their table they’re disturbed by the sight of a rhinoceros!

The rhinoceroses are coming!

So everybody reacts with surprise and they start talking about whether it escaped from the zoo, coming up with various theories; after all, this is a huge event in their little lives because the rhinoceros is making a lot of noise, it’s breaking things, it’s destroying stuff.

Then there’s another rhinoceros, then there’s another one, and another one, and another one, and at some point the characters realise that people around them are turning into rhinoceroses.

This turns out to be very inconvenient, as you cannot live together with a rhinoceros in the house. Imagine all the destruction of property and stuff; they step on little cats; poor cat, somebody’s cat gets trampled, along with the shopping basket (of all things!).

The rhinoceroses are everywhere and then people realise that they themselves are turning into rhinoceroses; they look at themselves in the mirror and see the transformation as their skin becomes scaly and hard and they think

“This is beautiful, I’m a rhinoceros now”

Having a horn makes people think

“I don’t want to argue, to have dialogues, I just want to rush into the problem and smash it into smithereens”.

We can see the rhinoceros’s view of the world:

Butting everything aside, smashing everything in its path…

Maybe being a rhinoceros isn’t so bad, since we’re so powerful.

So more and more people become rhinoceroses, with the original character from the café assaulted by everybody and wondering what he’s going to do with everybody turning into rhinoceroses around him.



Now, abstract drama like this is remarkable through the fact that Ionesco himself lived this experience. I believe this is an urban legend (but it’s the sort of stuff that should be true even if it ain’t):

They say that Ionesco was coming out from the university where he had been teaching when he saw the Iron Guard (the Romanian fascist movement Garda de Fier) marching, and he started to shout at the top of his voice “the Rhinoceros, the Rhinoceros”…

That’s how strongly he felt about his play, about his art.

He saw the Rhinoceros everywhere marching “Get out of our way or we’ll smash you”.

This is why Ionesco is one of my favourite Romanians:

He could definitely look truth up in the face, even when it looked like a rhinoceros.

Consumer anxiety

Consumer anxiety

We live in another world from the one we imagine; but there is this vague feeling of dissatisfaction, an undefinable anxiety which betrays us and makes us think. We feel that this is another world from the one that should be.

Each day you wake up and you start to consume the most addictive commodity:

the information which you cannot use.

The kind of consumerism which we’re now dealing with (and which we should be more afraid of), it’s not the one that’s vulgarised, the materialism (= buying things), but a much more insidious one, that of the imagined potential. We read, we watch movies, we interact with virtual games to conceive another world, different from the one we fulfill in our social reality.

Our individual reality is our first victim, and probably the most difficult to reanimate, to recover.

The time in which you conceive yourself, in which you think about your self, without stimuli, disappears all of a sudden, in spite of your stubborn search for a moment of free time, of your own. As soon as you get one of these free moments, you throw yourself into one of these nests in which somebody has prepared a really soft, comfortable bedding, and all you have to do is just lie down and relax.

Except it’s not your own, and then you fly to the next nest:

maybe it’s going to be softer, maybe it’s going to be more comfortable…

It’s a conspiracy of man against himself, against the chaos, the chasm called “subconscious”, which we cannot imagine in any other manner than as a sea of monsters which we should avoid, according to Freud, after Freud.

Andres Gide said somewhere: “If a young writer can refrain from writing, he shouldn’t hesitate to do so.” We listened to this advice too earnestly, and now we cannot be anything else but readers of a cheap novel, with a new volume published each moment.

We don’t even care who the author is anymore, as long as it’s not us.

We’re not writing anything, except in that place where we’re qualified to do so, where the social order has thrown us. And when we do write, it’s called “working”; even in the moment when we could create (in the divine sense of the word) we’re reaching out for that sweet moment at the end of the week, the lunch break, the free time…


We are assaulted by the products of other people’s work and this makes us so much less disposed to add to this stream our own contribution:

it’s probably already been said, right?

To give your free time to yourself, to work for yourself, for your own thoughts, this is what I call an ambitious project, and it’s almost inconceivable.

This is why fantasy novels are so successful, because they present us with a model of the unacknowledged desire to escape this limbo of a special kind of suicide:

those who kill their internal voice.

If we accept the metaphor of man thrown into darkness by modernity, then we could say that

the nausea of being overwhelms us each time we end up running into a mirror when we’re actually searching for screens to admire other people’s shadows.

The truth is that the longer we spend in front of these screens, the more mediocre and the more lacking-in-brightness do our own reflections appear in the mirror. In this context,

a meeting with a mirror becomes an opportunity to run into a fit of depression, a moment in which

the supreme fear of not being a screen for anybody else becomes an unbearable certitude.

The fear of not finding your place in the world.

Anxietate de consumator

Traim intr-alta lume decat ne imaginam. Dar un sentiment vag de nemultumire, un angst nedefinit ne da de gol si ne da de gandit: SIMTIM ca e o alta lume decat cea care ar trebui sa fie.

In fiecare zi te trezesti si incepi sa consumi cea mai adictiva comoditate:

informatia ce nu-ti foloseste.

Consumerismul care ne paste acum si de care trebuie sa ne temem nu mai e cel vulgarizat, materialismul, ci unul cu mult mai insidios, al imaginatului potential. Citim, ne uitam la filme, “interactionam” cu jocuri virtuale pentru a concepe un rol, altul decat cel pe care il indeplinim in “realitatea sociala”.

Realitatea individuala e prima victima, si probabil cea mai greu de reanimat/recuperat.

Timpul in care te concepi, in care te gandesti pe tine insuti fara stimuli, dispare dintr-o data, si, desi cauti cu incapatanare o clipa de timp “liber”, “al tau”, de cum o capeti, te arunci intr-unul din cuiburile astea in care cineva ti-a pregatit un asternut moale, comfortabil, si nu mai trebuie decat sa te lafai.

Numai ca nu e al tau… si atunci zbori spre urmatorul, doar doar o fi mai pufait.

E o conspiratie a omului impotriva lui insusi, impotriva haului numit subconstient, pe care nu ni-l mai putem imagina dupa Freud decat ca pe o mare de monstri de evitat.

Andres Gides zice undeva ca daca un tanar se poate abtine de la a scrie, s-o faca fara ezitare; i-am ascultat sfatul prea silitori, si acum nu mai putem fi decat cititori ai unui roman de duzina cu un nou volum editat in fiecare clipa.

Nici nu ne mai pasa cine e autorul, atata timp cat nu suntem noi.

Noi nu scriem decat acolo unde suntem “calificati”, unde ne-a aruncat ordinea sociala, si atunci cand o facem se cheama ca “muncim”; chiar in momentul in care am putea crea in sensul divin al cuvantului, nazuim catre acea dulce somnolenta de sfarsit de saptamana, de pauza de masa, de “timp liber”.


Suntem asediati de produsele “muncii” altora, si asta ne face cu atat mai putin dispusi de a adauga suvoiului propria noastra contributie:

“probabil ca s-a zis deja”

A-ti darui timp liber sa muncesti pentru tine, pentru gandurile tale, iata ce as numi un proiect ambitios, si aproape de neconceput.

Din motivul acesta au atata succes romanele de fantezie, pentru ca ne prezinta cu un model al dorintei nemarturisite de a scapa din acest limbo al sinucigasilor de un tip aparte:

cei ce-si ucid vocea interna.

Daca acceptam metafora omului tipat (in sensul de “aruncat”) in intuneric de catre modernitate, atunci putem spune ca “raul de a fi” ne cuprinde ori de cate ori dam peste o oglinda cand noi de fapt cautam ecrane pentru a admira umbrele altora.

Adevarul e ca, cu cat petrecem mai mult timp in fata ecranelor, cu atat mai banale si lipsite de stralucire ni se par reflectiile in oglinda. In acest context,

o intalnire cu oglinda devine prilej pentru o criza de depresie, un moment in care

teama suprema de a nu fi un ecran pentru nimeni altul devine o certitudine de neindurat.

Teama de a nu-ti gasi locul in lume…


Going down the mountain on a snowboard or on your ass

Do you ever wonder about all the artefacts we’re using blithely unaware of how much more they make possible for us?

Jumping from the ski-lift

Jumping from the ski-lift

Reminiscing about the time I was 16 and stupid. I’m older now, so more conscious about the latter (among other things).

In some ways it’s really hard to categorise my thoughts. I’m supposed to use all these labels and categories and tags and whatever.

While I am trying to be as precise and as clear-cut as possible, this manner of organising information makes you ask yourself (whenever you open your mouth again):

“Which subheading (or heading) am I going to choose? What’s this recording going to be about?”

Obviously, this kind of self-consciousness gives these musings a certain air of artificiality.

Be that is it may, this one is going to be about going downhill in snow.

Now, this can be done at a mountain resort, where you give (or show) a piece of paper to somebody and you get on top of this thing that is hanging from a cable that pulls you up this hill, and when you get to the top of this hill, you put on this board (which you brought with yourself or rented from somebody in this place), you fasten it to your boots (which, again, you brought with yourself or rented from somebody in this place), then you start snowboarding or skiing. Let’s go with snowboarding; so you attach the board to the boots by means of these straps (made of… petrol? Is it? Oil products, right?), and then you slide downhill.

That’s the experience and throughout this time you’re using a lot of props that have been built by other people for you, for your enjoyment, for your benefit, for your safety and comfort.

Naturally, even in this technology-rich situation, there is a lot that hasn’t been planned: As you’re sliding downhill, you could crash really bad, you could crash into some other person, or a tree, or a boulder, since there may be a forest on one side or even on both sides; additionally, there are posts (holding up the cables) which you could bump your body against; hopefully, by the time you get to the top, you’d have mastered the basics on how to stand up, how to fall properly, how to control your speed by breaking, and so on.

Crucially though, throughout this experience you’re surrounded by people, people like you or people working there to assist you.

Past this beginner stage, there comes the enjoyment of flying downhill, gaining more speed, zigzagging, breaking and going faster, trying to jump a little bit, trying different ways of balancing yourself on the board, figuring out how much flexing of the knees is necessary for each operation, and so on.

Alternatively, you could employ another method of sliding downhill, which I personally experienced. This was when I was climbing a mountain in Romania, at a time when you’re not supposed to be on the mountain because there’s nobody else around. In this place there was no cable; actually, there was a cable (not working) for a certain distance, but after you’d cross the first mountain crest, it was just mountains.

Now, the mountain was covered in snow and I was climbing it on foot; not with bought or rented special-purpose boots, but with the boots I had on my feet when I left home, carrying a sleeping bag and a tent, with the firm intention of going up the mountain and sleeping in the snow.

What was I thinking? Good question: I was young and stupid, what can you do?

Anyway, I went uphill and after some time, after a dialogue with myself, I had come to the realisation that this may be quite foolhardy; I was wearing jeans, which by this time had become soaked and half frozen with snow (because I wasn’t wearing snow-covered mountain climbing equipment).

So I decided to turn back, and I started to slide down hill, on my ass. Didn’t have a board, either.

How long did I have to slide back? Quite a lot, since I had climbed the whole day and had a long dialogue with myself on that mountain.

If you go into the movements that are necessary in some action (such as climbing), if you go too much into the moment, AFTER you take a bad decision (such as climbing this mountain without the proper equipment), you might be caught in a situation where there is very little good left, where there are very few good options to continue in the Zen way.

Who knows what would have happened (had I continued)? Maybe I would have learned another lesson.

As it happened, I chickened out and turned around at 3:40 pm, when it was getting dark, and slid on my ass downhill, back to reality.

What was Reality? Well, reality was Romania; in the train station, I had to wait for my train and I was nearly frozen all this time, still had snow in my pockets (no snow in the train station in the town).

Presently, the (train station) policeman took me to his “personal” room, took my ID, asked me to wait in this un-heated room simply because he thought it was strange to have a young guy, alone here, up to no good, probably.

Obviously this guy’s been climbing mountains, has a knife on him (I had a knife hanging on my belt that would normally be used for hunting because I had just come back from climbing a mountain).

Stupid young people, right?

So I was put in this room; interestingly enough, the policeman didn’t notice or didn’t bother to take away my knife, just my ID.

Notice here the mentality of Romanian law-enforcement:

It’s not the weapons that matter, it’s the officially-issued document:

Take away somebody’s papers and they’re helpless.

This guy kept me there in the cold for 6-7 hours until some informant came by and he had to get rid of me so I wouldn’t see whatever transaction he had to conduct with this guy.

So I got back my ID, and I got on the train back in the middle of the night, to go back to Bucharest. Of course, I had to change because I was still soaking-wet, changed in some shorts, but still kept the knife, just in case people mistook me for a sucker (Rom. fraier) and tried to steal my backpack or something. Ridiculous, right?

Small, short guy, looks like he’s been too long in Nature, in the Wild, so now he feels he’s still in the wild and doesn’t realise he’s on a train back to a place where 2 million people live together…

So yeah, sliding downhill in snow: You can do it on a board, or you can do it on your ass.

Racism in empty bottles


We are also a bit racist, and that is an old tradition, we were raised on it and our parents told us stories. (Fernandez: 386)

It’s incredible how deep-seated is (European) racism towards Gypsies; I grew up in the middle of it and everything that you were taught by those around you stressed that Gypsies were not like us.

Gypsies would come and steal the (misbehaving) children.

That used to be a common admonishment issued by Romanian parents.

We had these Gypsies’ carts drawn by horses, with bottles

Sticle, sticle, sticle goale cumparam!

Empty, empty, empty bottles we will buy!

They had a song about “empty bottles” which they would buy from you; Gypsies used to move slowly around Bucharest in horse-drawn carts filled to the Sky with empty bottles.

Gypsies were different:

They had another language, and they would steal from you (that was common “knowledge”).

When I was 14, this Gypsy woman tried to sell a gold ring to me; I told her that I didn’t need it and that I didn’t have the money, but in the back of every Romanian’s mind reading this would be the 100% certainty that the ring was actually fake.

Of course, I couldn’t know this for a fact, since I didn’t have it tested for purity, but any Romanian would tell you that I would have been swindled. Let us accept the premise that it was fake:

Why would anybody try to make a living out of selling fake gold rings?

Why would anybody try to make a living out of buying and selling empty bottles?

Why would anybody try to make a living out of selling sunflower seeds (“seminte”)?

Because these aren’t many other options left for you if you’re a Gypsy.

The racism which pervades my thinking towards Gypsies is as widespread in Romania as racism towards black people would have been in the American South in the 1960s, with traces still visible even now.

The racist dialogue is remarkably similar across the world; you can also see it in the way White Australians felt (and may be still feeling) towards Aboriginals:

Those alcoholic homeless good-for-nothing lazy people.

For Romanians, this racism is deeply embedded, it is part of our national culture; that’s why we make fun of it by putting it into jokes, inadvertently showing how ignorant “white” Romanians (like myself) are about Gypsies.

Like most Romanians, I know close to nothing about Gypsy language: I only know a couple of words like misto (something nice, “cool”) which have been borrowed into Romanian.

What else? Do we know other words from the Gypsy language?

It’s not “Sticle, sticle, sticle goale cumparam!” This is Romanian.

Do you know another word in Gypsy if you’re Romanian? Does it come to you immediately?

Maybe you’re thinking bulibasa (“Gypsy band leader”); that’s from Turkish bölük-baş (Squad-Chief).

We used to think that they live in tents, travel in caravans, use carts drawn by horses…

That’s pretty much our knowledge of them: Travelers, but different from the wandering Jew, a different kind of wanderer who had to survive in racist Romania, racist Czech Republic, racist Germany, racist Hungary, racist Poland, racist Ukraine…

There was another side to the Holocaust (called Porajmos) and it has been given much less light.

The numbers are smaller, but when we talk about millions…

To deny the Holocaust is idiotic; but to deny the application of “genocide” to what happened to Gypsies is also pretty silly at this point: Gypsies were hunted like animals, their caravans were driven in the middle of nowhere, where it was hoped they would just die of lack of food and water.

What happened to them in reality? Who knows? Nobody cared; they just took them somewhere where there was nothing, and told them “You have to stay here a couple of years”; the winter came, disease…

It was a different kind of genocide for many Gypsy families; the Holocaust was much more horrible, of course.

The official history of Romania tells you that the Holocaust happened and that “we” were not actively involved; the connection with what happened to the Gypsies is not made immediately in the Romanian consciousness even if this is also really important to come to terms with, as a Romanian.

This deeply-felt, ingrained racism is based on wilful ignorance.

So, homework for Romanians: Learn Gypsy

Invata ma si tu niste tiganeste!

Something else besides the (false) knowledge that they’re from Egypt. Remember that they’re called “Roma”. Not the [Italian] city, but their name for themselves. Let’s start with that; not just misto.

‘if caught speaking the Romani language, the punishment was twenty-four lashes’ (Posavec & Hrvatic: 95)

Let’s start with that: the Roma people, let’s learn their language. Auziti bai, romanii? 

Note: The linguistic varieties spoken by Roma minorities in Europe and elsewhere are generically known as Romani and appear to have evolved from an Indic language; this was first noticed in the 18th century,

‘when a Hungarian theology student at Leiden heard students from India discussing Sanskrit, and recognised similarities to the Romani he had heard in Gyor [a city located in northwest Hungary]’ (Lemon: 60)


Fernandez, O. 2006, ‘Educating for difference in a Romany community in Spain: An exercise in integration’, Intercultural Education, vol. 17, no. 4, pp. 373–390.

Lemon, A.M. 2002, ‘”Form” and “function” in Soviet stage Romani: Modeling metapragmatics through performance institutions’, Language in Society, vol. 31, no. 1, pp. 29–64.

Posavec, K. & Hrvatic, N. 2000, ‘Intercultural education and Roma in Croatia’, Intercultural Education, vol. 11, no. 1, pp. 93–105.

La 1 an (sau 25) dupa Revolutie

Dup-un mars fortat in tara lui Tequilla-voda cu temperaturi constante de 40 la umbra de ganduri incomode, iata ca fac stanga-imprejur si starnesc iar praful in satucul asta care-si muta colibele pe scoarta asprului batran cum bine graieste Misu (Eminescu). Si fiindca mi-am aruncat si eu ochii prin ce s-a mai zis pe ici-colo si ei [=ochii; nota mea] au zanganit pe table batute de cioacanele intelepciunii altora din care cautam sa ne impartasim noi, mi-am spus in sinea mea:

Sine, haidem si noi ca d-aia se cheama ca omu-i bizon politic.


Pe 6 XII 1990, Daniel Tanase scrie o compunere cu titlul “Decembrie 1989-Decembrie 1990” pe care unii au gasit de cuviinta sa o coboare prin identificarea ei cu un alt titlu, deja trecut in notorietate – Adevarul despre Revolutie. Noi [adica eu si cu sinele meu; nota noastra] nu am turna-o in cuva asta, ci am lasa-o sa curga, sa vedem ce fagase ii descopera fiecare, fiindca am impresia ca majoritatea satenilor din exil au trait cu aceeasi luciditate momentul. Poate ne regasim confuzia sau clarviziunea de atunci. Sa ridicam cortina:

Eram in Decembrie in anul 1990. Deodata am vazut la televizor ca s-a intrerupt emisiunea si a dat de undeva unde lumea era revoltata. Ceausescu vroia sa abandoneze poporul roman si sa-l lase cu toate treburile nefacute. De acea a plecat cu un elicopter si a lasat trupe de militie secreta, cum se zicea atunci. Era o zi noroasa si pe alocuri ningea sau ploua. Pe seara a inceput revolutia. S-a tras si in Braila. A doua zi, adica seara pe la ora 11-12 noaptea Ceausescu a fost prins si dat in judecata. Nu a recunoscut nimic. Pentru asta a fost dus in puscarie. Trupele lui au actionat mai tare cand l-a bagat in puscarie. Armata romana si cu oamenii au reusit sa invinga trupele.


In locul lui a fost pus domnul Ion Iliescu si domnul Petre Roman. Acestia au marit salariile si au scumpit lucrurile si alimentele.


Viata a fost mai usoara dar mai greu de inteles. Au fost multe demonstratii si mitinguri. Greve de foame au fost aproape in toate judetele tarii.


In Decembrie 1990 viata s-a mai usurat. Petre Roman a efectuat excursii in tari straine si a vorbit mult cu conducatorii tarilor desvoltate. Cu asta ne-am desvoltat si noi stiinta si indemanarea.


Inceputul lui Decembrie a anului 1990 a fost friguros si in unele parti a nins. Asa a fost perioada dintre anul 1989 si anul 1990.


Ma simt mult depasit asa ca inchei. Pe-aci a nins azi-noapte si acum e soare.


Uda-te, suflete!

Onorabilul alcool e ieftin

Onorabilul alcool e ieftin


Formula de salut: Duduilor si duzilor, moarte viermilor de matase!

Botanic vorbind: Vad ca fratii mei de celule liberiene si lemnoase stau cu crengile aplecate de austrul asta dinspre mediile universitare. Asa ca eu, ca samanta aruncata tocmai pe insula asta, vreau sa va transmit cateva frunze (galben-ruginii si cam uscate) despre climatul de-aci. Ploua cu soare, dragi arbori, iar umbra aruncata de cladirea universitatii nu m-ajunge decat rar, iar cand ma [ajunge, nota radacinilor mele, intotdeauna atente la formulare, desigur pe cat le permite perspectiva (limitata) de organe subterane], atunci am grija sa-mi trag seve din solul pe care mi l-am cultivat cu grija pentru a incuraja confrati de p-aci sa vina in vizita, la schimb de frunze.

Suflet = nimic: Romanii par foarte ancorati in material atunci cand atribuie desertaciune sufletului. De pilda, cand se-ntreaba (retoric) un roman:

M-a ajutat Gheorghe cand mi-am taiat porcul? Sufletu’, tot cu nevasta m-am descurcat.

Ce-o fi in sufletul lui? Daca spui: Dracu stie ce-i in sufletul lui, atunci dracul e un individ destul de nenorocit, fiindca dracul va simti la fel de acut (respectiva traire trebuie considerata de natura negativa – dealtfel sugerata de ingrijorarea mimata de interlocutor care evident nu vede / nu poate vedea dincolo de fragmente) aceeasi durere, este de asteptat ca diavolul sa-si smulga nu parul, ci coarnele din cap de atata suferinta. Deci concluzia este ca extrem de putini diavoli vor poseda coarne in ziua de apoi.

Mergand la mansarda: Dar daca afirmi “Dumnezeu stie ce-o fi in sufletul lui” (de fapt expresia e o negatie: “Nimeni nu stie ce se petrece in sufletul lui”), atunci dumnezeu este cel prins in impas, in prislopul unde se bat muntii in cap. Si atunci dumnezeu va fi oarecum turtit, iar pan’ce dam in apocalipsa este de asteptat ca va fi precum o coala de hartie. Daca am dreptate, o sa contemplam un sfarsit al lumii cu draci fara coarne si un dumnezeu purtat ici colo de fiecare suflare din trambitele arhanghelilor zilei de apoi.

Palpitatii si premonitii: Sticla-i de vina, ca-i fumurie si nu se vede bine. Ce se vede cu contururi vag precizate de unde stau eu acum cu fruncea lipita de fereastra arata ca un tir indreptandu-se catre sandramaua in care haladuim, si am sentimentul ca fereastra asta nu-i ecran de televizor. Asa ca m-am gandit sa mai scriu cat timp ne auzim, ca poate-o claxona.

Inca nu, inca nu, inca nu… Cuvintele sunt atribuite unui individ si constituie testamentul sau articulat in timpul caderii de la etajul 10.

Istorioara japoneza cu morala etimologica (etimologie falsa, dar cred ca v-ati obisnuit cu ideea ca va torn basme).

Asadar, se zice ca pe meleagurile astea traia odata un taietor de lemne pe numele sau necrestinesc Taro; si intr-o buna zi, pe cand cu securea pe umar si cantecul pe buze, Taro zari intr-un luminis cum un sarpe enorm e pe cale sa inghita un paianjen (animal cu mare trecere la oamenii d-aci) si, facandu-i-se mila de biata insecta neajutorata, izgoni sarpele. Multumit de fapta sa, se intoarse acasa unde gasi o fata frumoasa ca-n povesti.

Mandra ii propuse sa alcatuiasca impreuna un menaj armonios, lucru pe care Taro il accepta bucuros de soarta sa norocoasa. Intr-una din zile, fata observa ca gospodaria lor subzistand din surcele taiate ar avea nevoie de un mic impuls sub forma unor comoditati cu valoare adaugata, asa ca ii spuse lui Taro sa-i faca rost de niste bumbac, cu care ea va tese o panza maiastra. Zis si facut, sau mai bine zis, tesut.

Pentru a-i oferi lui Taro o nota de mister in viata lor monotona, mandra ii ceru sa o lase sa tese intr-o camera incuiata timp de trei zile, la capatul carora ea iesi cu o tesatura uimitor de fina. Taro se prezenta la castelul lordului cu bucata de material, si acesta ii oferi o suma enorma, smulgandu-i si fagaduiala ca ii va aduce o alta panza in cel mai scurt timp posibil.

La-ntoarcere, Taro se opri la iarmaroc unde cumpara o mare legatura de bumbac pentru implinirea promisiunii catre suzeranul sau. Obosit de pataniile zilei, Taro poposi la un izvor unde-si astampara setea, neobservand cum acelasi sarpe (ce incercase sa inghita paianjenul) se strecura in legatura sa de bumbac. Taro transmise noua comanda sotiei, si ea se supuse (abundenta s-urilor vine sa sugereze amenintarea sarpelui plutind in atmosfera povestii), incuindu-se din nou (cu tot cu legatura de bumbac) in camera cu razboiul de tesut.

Naratorul devine acum omniscient (sau omnipotent si omniprezent) si patrunde prin usile de hartie in camera in care sotia lui Taro se da de trei ori peste cap redevenind paianjenul pe care acesta il salvase. Absorbit in actul de a tese, paianjenul nu observa sarpele care se strecoara afara si deschide o gura hulpava pentru a-l inghiti.

In acest moment, soarele, care se plimba pe cer, privind scena si fiind constient de fapta marinimoasa a paianjenului rasplatind bunatatea lui Taro, ii intinde insectei o raza de soare pe care aceasta se agata scapand pentru a doua oara din coltii sarpelui. Ei bine paianjenul nu poate lasa nerasplatit ajutorul oferit de soare, caruia ii tese nori pufosi pe care acesta sa se poata odihni.

Si de-aici oameni buni, intelepciunea populara japoneza a dat acelasi nume (dar, atentie, nu si aceleasi ideograme) paianjenului si norilor: kumo. Pentru cei interesati de partea vizuala, kumo de pe cer “Spun [ca] Ploua” (雲), in timp ce kumo de tes panze sunt “Insecte [care] Stiu [plus] Insecte de Cinabru” (蜘蛛).

Te unge pe suflet soarele asta marinimos.