Oct 1, 2009

ode to meds

look, a psychiatrist! oh yeah, seeing a psychiatrist pays off.

meds will give you solace

meds will give you strength
meds will fill the gap when you are kept at arm's length
meds will keep you sheltered
meds will keep you fed
meds will tuck you in when it's time to go to bed
there's no need to cry when it's time to go to bed
for meds will keep you steady
focused yet aloof
meds will never let your demons break out through the roof
lullabyes and battle songs
warm and pretty sweaters
books and tea and friends
dead wise old men of letters
whatsoever they can do, meds can do it better

Sep 23, 2009

carry on, carrion

i'm in the midst of my first brand new, life-altering experience since sex. it entails overuse of my lacrimal glands and underuse of my digestive system. oh my dear sense of humour. what shall i do without you?

if you wish for me to carry on
i will celebrate this carrion
if you wish for me to hide
i will abide
i will take this monumental mind
like an ancient cluster of boulders
gathered for an unknown purpose
and teetering on my desert shoulders

and i will... haven't figured that one out yet. something about stuffing it with stuff of some sort.

Sep 15, 2009


i've cleaned my room thoroughly. i broke the cycle of imagined impediments and just went for it. yet i feel strangely unrewarded. but i digress. point: i shunned the chinese water torture of the music i've been wallowing in for months in favour of some sailor moon s episodes. i let them delight my peripheral vision as the japanese language softly penetrated my subconscious. after a few hours of pretty soldier ranting and shrieking, i had to face it: winamp won. but i wasn't about to play jethro tull again.

how about... vanessa carlton. i'd dubbed her unenticingly corny years ago, still i kept her be not nobody in my library, should the occasion [of me craving corny?] arise. and tonight i put it to good use. yes, drenched in gallons of undeniable corniness and plagued by annoying vocals, but streaked with a quaint sense of individuality and oozing melody. classical piano meets poppy swagger meets a natural inclination toward hooks that perpetuated the sailor moon vibe i didn't really want to lose, that something in the air i could probably locate within a musical spectrum if i knew my stuff. but that would kill it. refreshing. dreamy.

pop is indispensable to life on earth. corny is comfort. corny, corny, corny, corny, corny, corny, corny...

i'll tell it as i best know how, and that's the way it was told to me: two little boys, brothers, allegedly but doubtfully chinese. the cherished firstborn was called tiki-tiki-tembo-nosarembo-chari-bari-ruchi-pip-peri-pembo. the insignificant younger one was called chang. one day, chang fell into a well. tiki-tiki-[...] ran home and yelled: "chang fell into the well!". a swift and successful rescue ensued. the next day, tiki-tiki-[...] fell into the well. chang ran home and yelled: "tiki-tiki-tembo-nosarembo-chari-bari-ruchi-pip-peri-pembo... *gasp for air* fell into the well!". a not-so-swift and not-so-successful rescue ensued. hence, chinese names today are all short.

i spend half my time running from cliché, calling my affections a rabbit made of rags, my sexuality a dog ripping the meat from a bone, my thoughts fetuses in formalin jars, my fear a pharisaic crucifix, my sorrow the untreadable wake of a wretched blitzkrieg. i spend the other half hanging around the well just in case.
in this day and age and place, we all mistake poetry for efficient self-expression. poetize this: cliché makes the world go round. for in this day and age and place, it is to cliché that we have reduced our very human nature, our instincts and pursuits.

heck. pretty baby, don't you leave me, i have been saving smiles for you; pretty baby, why can't you see, you're the one that i belong to... ^.^ pop-song no naka nara ieru... [see second line]

Sep 5, 2009


today is a tragic day for one of my absolute favourite posts. see for yourself, i don't wanna talk about it. i try to write each post as if to make this blog worth writing; i try to write each one as if to trigger some realization within myself, of this and that sweet nothing i've always wanted to share with whomever but couldn't pinpoint. yet that post was one of the better ones. the way those three songs came together to paint my picture of modern japanese music. the colours. the damn colours in the freeze-frames of the videos. everything. perfect. no more.

i'm a gotta-fear-a-man-in-a-uniform kind of girl: police, airport security, bus line check men, bodyguards at big-time gigs, officers guarding embassy buildings i pass by minding my own business and they theirs. they freak me out. even if and even though i've done nothing wrong. it's a phobia. of the symbols of authority, of the testosterone they parade, of their swift readiness to pounce. whether they be good-guy mechas imprinted with a paranoid if bona fide vigilance, or the all too human half-witted bully getting his glorified kicks. and i'm more authoritophobic by the minute. i've heard internet sharing has [finally?] been outlawed in romania. copyright infringement already sounds like an absurd yet spine-chillingly realistic catch-phrase from a dystopic novel. if by 2012, the growth in my musical taste slows to a trickle or i rot in jail, it's the only apocalyptic scenario i need. to quote gigolo joe: in this day and age, nothing costs more than information. getting there. curiously, the only type of man-in-a-uniform that doesn't scare me is the soldier.

but today is also a happy day. as they say, for every youtube video removed, another is miraculously reposted. this is the beta and sigma of my ani difranco. it was taken down shortly after the other one. yet here it is now, one of ani's best shots at melody, most colourfully delivered. enjoy it... while it lasts.

Aug 17, 2009

jewish gentlemen's club

jesus christ
for being the raddest hippie, voicing the soundest judgments ever to get misinterpreted, making me see that good doesn't rule out smart as much as the devil would like it to, teaching me kindness, and engaging my soul in the longest, most exciting game of hide and seek.
albert einstein
for showing the world that the physical how of science and the philosophical how of god can coexist peacefully in the mind of a genius; and for emanating the sweet kind of wisdom i constantly, desperately need to be reminded exists.
franz kafka

for being the one writer whom i have read in tears [not years], and more importantly, for showing me i'm not alone in the nightmare of my inability to grasp the agenda of the powers that be [he wrote nothing about the university of bucharest, but still].
charlie chaplin
for providing me with an answer to those pesky favourite actor/director questions, and for having the divine spark of common sense, in a world where common sense is of little or no use other than to be channelled into exquisite and heartbreaking tragicomedy.
kurt vonnegut jr.

for being such an entertaining read, so legible yet [therefore?] so damn misunderstood i want to exhume and cuddle his remains. for helping me find salvation in his escapist philosophies, only to discover i was a moron to think he meant them as such, and be forever cured of my nihilism.

all the above: for being consumed by fierce grief in the face of human stupidity at its most absurd, yet staying charmingly witty. and so very quotable.

in the words of another very quotable, not-so-jewish but what-a-gentleman, sting:
takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile
be yourself, no matter what they say

Aug 11, 2009

dear mr. anderson

[open letter to ian anderson of jethro tull]

if you should ever read this letter i will be a bit embarrassed, but it will mean i got somewhere.
i love summer. quite a random and commonplace thought to share, but bear with me. the realm of summer is one of terrifying unhingement from routine that forces me into all manner of epiphanies. so it is that i have been overflowing with hopeful and ardent creativity lately. i've felt my brain expand into accepting the idea that i can come to read musical notes and wield the classical guitar to places uncharted.
i called my boyfriend the other day, to speak of my numberless new ideas, of how i want to write a song structured like a catholic psalm, of how i'd like to play with classical pieces even though jethro tull's done it before. he let out a chuckle that conveyed matter-of-fact amusemet at a recollection he seemed to take for granted. at your 2007 sibiu gig, he told me, you referred to those works as porno jazz. yay, funny. since i've made a vow to keep the levels of drama-queening and self-deprecation down for this blog, i'll just say at the time, by my own bloody hand, i was pining away penniless, pressed, and without serotonin, in the desolate arms of my life's very worst summer ever. and thus missed said gig. the memory, or lack thereof, since i wasn't there, hit me so hard i cried. especially as i realized that back then i wasn't even fully aware of your music's boundless gracefulness, complexity, effervescence... nah, bleedin' coolness best describes it, i believe.
so here i am, searching my musical soul and finding that if i had to choose one and only one musician in this world i'd want to be like, it would be you, mr. anderson.
please swear to me you will stay in shape, stick with the band and come back to romania so i can attend your gig, meet you and perform with you. [yeah, swear to me!]

thank you for your time.
your schizophrenic disciple,

Aug 5, 2009

hello goodbye

i'm back from the seaside. i got more than the mind cleansing lolling i'd bargained for, yet i don't have much to say. even typing feels strange. i'm like a little alien dropped here accidentally. bucharest, my neighbourhood, my room - all that makes up this manhole that has kept me boxed for a bitter long year now looks different, new, beautiful. it's a matter of time till my compulsions resume chewing me up. i've already abused my mp3 player and the swinger and i'm blogging. but tonight i'm off to my bf's for some sandless fun and tomorrow i'm leaving town again. you know, i shun fancy things like electricity.

upon the jagged shore
beneath the burning sun
we spend ourselves intending many puns