BLOOMENHERZ's LOUNGE

Sometimes I want to disown my history. I want to escape the oppressive weight of regrets on top of near misses, on top of almosts and too muches.

Sometimes I get a glimpse of my path. Not often, at least anymore, but still, once in a while.

At moments like these I am puzzled by the people I have collected and held close over the years - when I see how the weight of their desires affected my course. How I allowed them to eclipse too much, push too hard, and... care too little. I wonder, incredulous, at whatever possessed me too choose these people.

Too many bad choices, too much learned in the wrong direction.
I've lost the way too often to be entirely sure of where it is I wanted to go...



Ma dor ochii de la atata gri. E un gri mort, impur care imi danseaza pe piept, ca un bulgare de carbune incins, ca un ghem opac de matase aspra care uneori ma patrunde de stransoarea fierberii, iar alte dati ma acopera in liniste, ca un apus de fier, din care imi mai pot trezi membrele, dar niciodata albul ochilor.

E cicatricea non-culorilor. Destramarea liricului care le broda in sange pur, abia umezit din pensula trairilor si tremurul fin, adunat in solidul aromat al degetelor. E ultima pata de rosu, tipatoare, ascutita, respirand difuz, alergand biciuit, estompand pulsatiile erosului. Se pierd. Pe rand. Vizual. Tactil. Chinestezic... Culorile plesnesc ca pepenii, improscand cu galben moale si zahar rosu.

E stingerea vazului, asa cum se stinge o lumina inutila Lui.

Azi ma imbrac in gri. In doliul culorilor... Le voi vedea mereu serpuite de o unda gri, care le va strivi explozia parfumului. Le va perfora epiderma desavarsirii. Culorile, prinse intr-o panza de gri, varsate intr-o rama de invizibil des-tainuit. Niciodata nu vor mai alerga prin mine libere, inocente, arzand ca o petala de scrum, atinsa perpendicular de baia demiurgica a soarelui.

Am respirat negru... iar albul meu L-a primit... deplin... nesatul de gri.