raya

He pounded her to the bed, tightening his grasp on her wrists to the point of breaking. As if it was her body that angried him, and not the deaf stubborness behind her hazel eyes, now turned darker with helplesness.

- “Say that you love me too, say that you love me too …”

The hand on her neck, holding onto the sides of it, kept pressing her head into the pillow and back up and then again with each word growled by the voice that just a few good minutes ago was whispering sickenly sweet into her ear. She sat her jaw and grinded her teeth into silence. “No, sir, I am not going to say that to you!“, screamed the stubborn creature inside her head. “You will not get that from me, if you break me into pieces, if you tear me into nothingness. If you fuck me to the edge of insanity. If you and only you say goodbye. Because I don’t say that. Never. It’s not enough for me to say that. Just some automatic response. It HAS to be true. I HAVE to come to the point of saying it on my own. ‘I love you’, not ‘I love you too’. Never ‘I love you too’ …“

The knees that blocked her hips were digging deeper in her flesh with every twitch of her body, the weight on top of her pressing harder and harder. The hand that freed her neck was now roaming all over her, finding her mouth, her breast, her belly, grabbing each in turn, then leaving just as she started to want more of that.

- “No”, she worded, hardly breathing, the thoughts resounding in her head, making less and less sense.

Their eyes stayed locked together for all this time. The vein pulsed on his forehead … “Oh, how I want to put my lips on it, drink in all your pain … If only I could want it, if only I’d want to can do it”.

His hand stopped rampaging her upper body and took hold of half of her face. His face drew close, hot breath flowing in her face.

- “I want to hear it from you. Now! Tell me!” The coarse voice made her stop breathing.
- “You can’t make me”, she whispered. “No one can.”

She grinned cruely. “You may need to know it, and I am not covering that need. You will always look for a proof of it. And I will always break them. Because if you are sure, if you feel safe, then you will leave. And I am the only one that leaves.”

- “What more do you want from me”, he burst out, his eyes rummaging hers to digg out the truth behind her words.
- “I want you to make me yours. I want you to be mine. I want you. I want …”

The brutal, angry kiss pushed the words back into her throat, just as his tongue swimmed deeper in. The crushing weight came down, bringing stars in her vision, making her twitch inside and out, drawing moans from her.

The chill air blanketed her and she started shivering, after the initial gasp froze her lungs. He was gone. Stormed throgh the door and left her tangled in her desires. “They’re just words … ” whispered some stray thought, while she wrapped herself in her own arms. The night slowly crawled by.

“You would leave anyway, maybe all this incertainty already broke you that badly. And you will find some nice girl to patch up the hole I’ll leave in you, but you won’t love her. You’ll be grateful to her. Because she loves you. And that, my sweet, precious, crazy, insane man, will be so sad. The saddest thing on the face of the earth. To not love. So many are sad because they are not loved. What do they know?”, she kept on thinking, addressing her earlier assaulter.

morning sun started to creep from behind the closed curtains. She left the crumpled nest with a sigh. A yawn, a stretch and then the morning ritual dragged her in the new day. Work, friends , some written words to share with the close ones, some coffee and casual chat with some others …

Then evening came and she withdrew in her balcony, to have some wind for dessert. Hot tea, crayons, sketchbook, a book, a pile of magazines kept her company. And dark chocolate. She licked her fingers as she watched her neighbours go about their business.

The radio played Duran Duran ’s “Come Undone”. She smiled and started to fill a new page with lines.

Half an hour later the door bell made her extract herself from the cosy chair she occupied.

- “Who is iiiiiit?” she singed when she got close enough to the door to be heard by her visitor.
A mock answer came:
- “The wolf”.
Heart racing, she opened the door.
- “You need to find your own answer to that”, she mumbled, eyes down, although she felt a tingle that he remembered the childhood story she told him. “You don’t deserve to see my eyes, nor to be looked upon“, the stubborness flared inside her. One second after that she looked up in surprise from the yellow flowers trapped in his hand, to the green and hazel eyes that struck her with their puppy act. She put on a serious and stern face while she took the flowers he presented. Not looking at him, she turned and walked back to her chair. Seconds later he followed.

He took his own chair, looking around her things, stopping briefly to eye the new sketch. She stared at the stubborn eyes looking back. The puppy eyes act got dropped somewhere midway to the kitchen balcony.

- “You want to tell me something?” she inquired.
- “No”. The answer came back determined.

She carefully studied the flowers. “I need a tall vase for these ones, look just how long the stalk is…”, she thought while extracting a single flower. Holding the end of the stem with two fingers, she whipped it over his cheek. He let out a gasp and looked in her daring face, grin not yet installed, like when she was doing her best to angry him. Yellow petals scattered to the floor, followed by the stalk. Another flower got picked from the bouquet, then another. With each swish, her sneer turned more and more into a wide grin. Soon thin red lines covered his cheeks and neck. He didn’t move. His eyes darkened, while he waited for her to be over.

Finally the last of the stalks fell to the literred floor. Petals all over his shoulders, he concluded:

- “Thank goodness I didn’t get you roses.”

Her laughter was caught by the wind, along with some yellow petals.

Observ ca blogul meu se transforma intr-o insiruire de cantece. Cred ca merita o mica explicatie acest fenomen
Povestea noastra incepe de mult, cand lista din Winamp era cam tot atat de lunga ca si astazi. Undeva in jur de 1000 de cantece. Da, o mie, ati citit bine. Scriu si in cifre, ca la banca, sa nu existe confuzii. Stiu, pare o cifra mare. Credeti-ma, pentru mine sunt insuficiente.
Atunci cand nu mai poti sa stai locului, dar totusi nu poti sa scapi, pentru ca esti la servici (“scarbici” pentru mess-addicts) … si nu gasesti NICI o melodie, dar nici una, sa-ti faca viata mai usoara, te afli intr-un impas. Da, ai putea sa apelezi la share-urile colegilor, si sa pierzi cateva ore bune astfel (dupa aproximativ una pierduta tot cautand ACEA melodie care sa-ti fie pe plac si sa puna pansamentul pe buba), dar iti dai seama ca in acest minunat fel productivitatea ta se duce pe apa sambetei.
Ce este de facut? Ei bine, solutia inventata de mine – si despre care am citit ulterior pe un .

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MYLENE FARMER – Laisse Le Vent Emporter Tout

P.S. De acum inainte melodiile vor fi incarcate in player. Incredibil cat de geniala am fost sa gasesc linkul “Incarca MP3″ . In insemnari vor aparea doar titlurile si cantaretii/formatiile, fie la inceput, fie la sfarsit de insemnare, dupa gust.

STARSAILOR – Tie Up My Hands

- Esti frumoasa, sopti el, mangaind o coapsa dezvelita.
“Esti o tarfa “, rasuna in mintea ei. Un zambet sardonic ii rasari pe fata intoarsa.
Intotdeauna se putea ajunge la asta. Si de destule ori si ajunsese. Dar astfel de vorbe pierdusera de mult puterea de a o rani. Nu le credea. Demult, acum cateva vieti, isi pusese intrebari, se privise in oglinda. Daca se imbraca intr-un fel anume? Sau se comporta intr-un fel anume si chiar ERA o tarfa, fara sa-si dea seama? Ce copil, isi zimbi siesi de demult.
Vorbele astea erau unul dintre primele lucruri pe care le invatase despre barbati. Ca e frumoasa cat timp dureaza un futai si 5 minute dupa aceea.
Apoi … cine poate sti ? Dar tocmai asta e frumusetea intregului joc. Nu poti sa stii. Asa ca joci jocul ca sa vezi unde duce. De dragul lui “poate”. Sigur va fi frumos. Poate se va si incheia frumos. Hm, poate.
- Stiu ca ma adori, raspunse Ara, in acelasi timp lipindu-si fundul impertinent de el. Si ma vei venera.
Se intoarse si il privi fix, ca pe o prada.
- Acum? se mira Alex, si in ochi ii straluci vag dorinta.
- Nu, acum trebuie sa plec, replica, chinuindu-se sa compuna o mina serioasa in timp ce mana ii aluneca usor spre buricul lui.
O privire mirata, un pic speriata, un frison, au fost singurul raspuns. Inainte sa apuce sa traga aer in piept, ea pufni in ras.
- Pana la bucatarie, prostutule.
Rase galgait, rasul pe care il pastra pentru clipele de intimitate, tocmai bun sa faca dorintele sa arda. Nici de data asta nu a fost altfel. El facu o mutra voit suparata si ii stranse o “bucalata” in mana.
Asa ii spunea in gluma, ca sa-i aminteasca Adelinei de data aceea cand protestase in fata unui astfel de limbaj vulgar. Of, sensibilitatile astea. Nu poti sa te invarti de ele, zau asa.
Se intreba ce parere va avea de Alex. Deocamdata el era un secret bine ascuns, isi permitea sa fie egoista si sa il pastreze numai pentru deliciul personal. Va fi disecat mai incolo, conchise ea. Cand se va satura un pic.
- Ai cerut voie?, marai printre dinti el si ii sufla in nas prefacuta suparare.
- Nu, si nici nu voi cere. Eu sunt o zeita, iar dorinta mea iti e comanda, muritorule! Asa frematara buzele rosii si se aprinsera ochii “zeitei”, care se incorda brusc si incepu sa il impinga pe “muritor” inspre abisala margine a patului.
Alex pufni si o stranse in brate. Iritata, incerca sa il zgarie pe gat, maraind uracios la el.
Muschii se incordara si o mana ii prinse nemilos incheietura, iar cealalta ii gasi repede mana ramasa libera, inainte sa apuce sa incerce macar sa foloseasca letalele arme vopsite in rosu. Amandoua incheieturile au sfarsit intr-un singur pumn, iar posesoara lor se uita fioros catre figura impasibila pe care se strecurau lumini si umbre. Cealalta mana a razvratitului se instala inapoi pe fundul ei.
O trase mai aproape, si mai aproape, in timp ce pe fetele amandurora se intindea un zambet complice.
“Delicios”, sopti cu ultima farama de gand lucid.

STARSAILOR – Fever

Liquid lyrics that pour down warmly on one side of the brain, stale dementia. Taste of freedom . Laughing at yourself. Walking by the highway. Maybe i’ll write more. A story of turning your back on your own life and start another. Just because.

STAIND – Everything changes

If you just walked away
(Why dont you just fucking go, if you can?)
What could I really say?
(Nothing, who cares to hear you?)
Would it matter anyway?
(A bunch of rubbish anyway)
Would it change how you feel?
(What do YOU know about that, you just want to shut me up!)

I am the mess you chose
(Cuz you wouldnt die)
The closet you cannot close
(I’d burn you and dance around the fire)
The devil in you i suppose
(You’re just too pathetic)
‘Cause the wounds never heal
(Cuz you wouldnt stop questioning)

But everything changes
(Haha, changes, just the same old mascarade, dried up faces)
If I could
(Why the fuck cant you?)
Turn back the years
(You want to get fucked up brand new again)
If you could
(I WILL not)
Learn to forgive me
(FUCK OFF, YOU BITCH)
Then I could learn to feel
(Why dont you go find your master, you pussy)

Sometimes the things I say
(Try like EVERYFUCKINGTIME)
In moments of disarray
(You dont have a clue what that is, you’re trying to escape it faster)
Succumbing to the games we play
(You always get tired first)
To make sure that it’s real
(Gues what? It aint. There’s just the echo. Nobody there.Dead eyes. Turned faces. Just words when no one else can hear.)

But everything changes
(Turn the other cheek, as you always do)
If I could
(If you want, but you cant do that)
Turn back the years
(So you can what? Piss in my face? Pitty me again?)
If you could
(I’d rather die first)
Learn to forgive me
(Show me where the master of that is, i wanna spit on him)
Then I could learn to feel
(Feel what? Love? Oh, you’ve just read too much, prick)

When it’s just me and you
(Stop your howling already, you’re like a stray dog left in the rain)
Who knows what we could do
(How about take out your eyes, wouldnt that be sweet?)
If we can just make it through
(The game must go on, after all)
The toughest part of the day
(It’s the night in here)

But everything changes
(Dream on)
If I could
(Spare me)
Turn back the years
(Why dont you? Make sure there’s a blade there somewhere)
If you could
(You wish)
Learn to forgive me
(I’d rather forget there’s you, it would be so simple)
Then I could
(“Wouldnt, couldnt join the dance”, you sissy)
Learn how to feel
(And then we’ll all be fucking happy)
Then we could
(Talk for yourself)
Stay here together
(Had enough of that, you make me sick)
And we could
(Break apart? See you wraith without a body to hold on to)
Conquer the world
(And kill everything in it)
If we could
(You first, head on towards the gun)
Say that forever
(Put a minus before, for me, make sure I never meet you)
Is more than just a word
(Everything is a word, there’s nothing real, too afraid to make it that way)

If you just walked away
(If only I could, why wont you unshackle me?)
What could I really say?
(Say “I dont give a shit” and stop pretending)
And would it matter anyway?
(To whom? There’s no one here. Never will be.)
It wouldn’t change how you feel
(I’d hate you if i had a soul to do that with)

Lyrics (c) Staind – Everything changes

Imaginary dialog on the insides of the other me. One of them, anyway.

Oare de ce simt nevoia crunta de a calca cu cizme prin sufletul celor care imi spun ca ma “…” si se uita la mine sperand sa auda “… si eu”. “…” poate fi “iubesc”, “doresc” sau orice altceva din seria sentimentelor frumoase, asa-zis frumoase. De ce asa-zis frumoase? Pentru ca eu vad acolo o pernuta moale care sa-ti tina de cald si sa te protejeze de orice alte schimbari ulterioare. Ma refer la cei la care nu-mi vine sa zic “si eu”. Si nu doar verbal, ci versiunea interna, cea intoarsa pe cateva fete inainte sa fie lasata sa alerge spre afara. Dar totusi nu numai la aceia.
“- Dar ai zis ca ma … si tu !!” – argumentul suprem, infailibil, irefutabil (si acum rad cand imi amintesc de sondajul printre romanii trecatori – pe strada si nu numai – legat de semnificatia acestui minunat cuvant – parca special facut sa ne bucure mintea plina de limba noastra cea dulce si frumoasa).
Cizmele astea nu sunt cizme de iarna, din cele imblanite, cu catarame si alte zorzoane … doar sufletul e o delicatesa, nu poate fi tratat cu talpa unei oarecare cizme – nuuuu. nu si nu. Sunt de piele intoarsa , cu toc cui inaaaalt, ca sa-si faca loc usor si direct pana in strafund si sa lase in urma senzatia de stilet infipt cu sete, fix unde doare mai tare. In trebusoarele acelea pe care se construieste ego-ul … pe trecutul pe care l-am invatat pe dinafara, pe coloana vertebrala de curand devenita cam flasca, pe reusite sforaitoare de care m-am plictisit totusi. Dar mai ales pe viitor. Oare de ce el doare cel mai tare cand se naruie? De ce e de fiecare data si mai greu sa-l reinventezi?
Cateodata cizma ar vrea sa treaca in lumea materiala si sa fie chiar o cizma proptita pervers in coaiele unui barbat. Caz extrem, potrivit unei frustrari sau inselari proportionale cu un astfel de act. Dar asta ar insemna ca respectivul sa merite efortul. Si vai de coitele lui daca ajunge sa merite.
Si oare de ce de fiecare data viata asta tembela imi scoate in cale oameni care ar merita sa le zic “… si eu”? Oameni buni, calzi, nitel cam fraieri. Cam ca mine. Sau cel putin asa cred ei.
Pentru ca de fiecare data cand ma apuca cheful asta de futut sansele altora, poate si ale mele, de rasturnat cuibul cel caldut si cocotat in balcon, de facut cuib din tzepi si in varf de munte … e clar ca nu sunt doar asa. Si pe ce parte sa ma intorc si cu ce sa hranesc bestia asta (calus de vise imi trebuie, stiu eu bine, sa aiba ce sa sfasie), in ce nopti cu furtuna sa ii dau drumul sa alerge? Inainte, tot inainte, cu bestia taras. Pana cand ea va fi cea care merge inainte si eu voi fi taras. Oare?

un mic desen , ca tot am ratat o competitie din lipsa de putere sa-mi pastrez niste timp si pentru mine. Titlu : the fruit of knowledge.
Next challenge: http:// otaku .ro/v2/index.php?itemid=331

Un fel de prescurtare de la trilulilu … care pe mine ma duce cu gandul la tralala , adica ceva nitel sui, plecat cu zmeul … cum ar fi cheful pe care il am de o cearta, un scandal, ceva la care sa ma pun piezis, asa doar de dragul de a trece ziua cu ceva evenimente.
De ce am asa un chef? De-aia. Ca deja ciesc prea multe bloguri si nu am gasit nimic de dat mai departe sau care sa ma inspire. Ca nu am chef de munca (nu, inca nu am, chiar daca si saptamana trecuta am frecat menta). Ca mi-a venit seful inapoi si trebuie sa ma fac ca si muncesc. Si mie nu imi place sa ma prefac, dar zau daca mai reusesti ceva altfel.
Ca nu am cu cine sa schimb o vorba, toata lumea e lipita de scaune si birouri, macar de-as avea picatura la mine sa le lipesc si canile.
Am chef de scandal dar nu am chef sa mi-o iau, asa ca stau cuminte si ma fac ca ma ploaie desi mie imi cam ninge. Linistit, cu stelutze pe geam.
Ah, si aseara am bifat sectiunea de gheranit consortul … dar mai tarziu decat aveam eu pe lista de pacate. El a fost totusi fericit si nu cred ca a (ei au fost sursa imprumutului).
Insemnare scrisa din cauza de prelungire a unui “otzara” care a tins intr-un final spre infinit. Do I need to add that it didnt made me happy??

O zi pe care am de gand s-o inchei tarandu-mi concubinu (cred ca asa e termenul corect gramatical si socialist pt pozitia dumnealui ) in pat si zgariindu-l temeinic cateva zeci de minute bune. Nah, macar sa castige cineva ceva azi.

Si acum, prezentul, plin de gusturi noi … de sperante m-am lasat, traiesc si inghit hulpav tot ce pot … promisiuni, lacrimi, saruturi mici sau lacome … le pun gramada fara sa incerc sa le mai inteleg. Singura frica e ca nu o sa pot sa simt atat cat as vrea, atat cat ar merita … dau si primesc, minune, chiar primesc. Si inca nu ma indur sa ma joc. Imi asum riscuri nebunesti, care ar putea sa ma arunce intr-o clipa dincolo de limita , parca din ce in ce mai apropiata … limita care e a mea si numai a mea, limita a ce pot eu sa indur, limita la cat de marunt pot sa ma sparg incat sa ma pot aduna la loc. Habar nu am unde e limita asta.
Arunc si primesc fantezii, dorinte, vreri, “eu cred ca” fara sa-mi fie frica ca voi fi judecata … ne uimim reciproc, tot vad coincidente, tot gasesc mici placeri si surprize.
- Se numeste “addiction”, spune el.
Sa fie, il imbratisez cat de tare pot ca raspuns.
Deocamdata. A inceput fulminant, am sarit peste niste pasi pe care nici nu indraznim sa le zicem prietenilor ca i-am sarit … si pe care ii recuperam ca sa putem spune ca i-am facut, iar ordinea evenimentelor prin care am trecut ca sa ajungem impreuna e un secret la care zambim complice.
Mai mult, tot mai mult. Futai, in mare. Destainuiri, povestiri, planuri de viitor … Candva vom ajunge sa facem si dragoste. Candva ne vom si certa.
Pana atunci ne tinem in brate ca doi copii pierduti. Ceea ce si suntem, pe undeva prin noi.
Pana atunci ne desiram unul pe altul cu degetele, mangaind dulce si de-aia atingand … sau cu ghearele scrijelind de sus pana jos si iar inapoi.
Viata e frumoasa, si e urata atat cat sa imi dau seama ca e frumoasa.
Mai ostoiesc un dor care m-a alergat cativa ani la rand, mai bifez o dorinta, mai scriu in blog cateva randuri …
Pentru ca in fond, DE CE NU?