fantastic Revelation ( uneditade )

     The rain starts raining over the forest... and the dwelling of fantasy starts spreading thoughts allover the world giving the place a concentration of its' own. It looks as if the rain brings a verse to the tearful face of the one who decides to wonder and it also loooks like the opening of a different era, a road to innitiation of primordial stages taking one's mind to another more advanced level.
  As the beings emerge from behind the branches, magical wolves start chanting a song in the old forgotten language and call the  living to a secret gathering. In the middle of the woods there are figures painted on mist, winged ghosts made of antimaterial peaces and the * thinking thinkers*. They have a humanlike look only that they can use their brain upto full capacity. While they're talking they can think about the next thing they will say two days from now. Their friends, the weatherers control the rain judging by their feelings. Sky wars were created because of their different factions. Some were sad and called upon a short heavy torrent to wash their tears away while the others in a more stronger emotion summoned a fast emerging sun that would dry the rain away and clear up every pattern.
  The strongest by far are the Starriers. Warriors of the stars, they  are so marvelous for they are half human and half pegasus with the most amazing wings. Embroidery made of stardust make them establish the order of the night and fly over a darkened sky bringing dreams to ordinary people and controling their wishes not to mention the greatest desires through shooting stories cast into the simplest human mind....
  The starriers are preparing to close down the weatherers' rain and set out to the big cities where souls have to drown in an intense poetry.  The forest is so deep and the harmonious wings cover everything with a soft light of dust spreading a nice jasmine fragrance over the beings that dive into the world of subliminal sleep. If something goes wrong the starriers will bring disorder to the constelations so they are obliged to live in an objective peaceful state. A rebel starrier however falls from the sky and a concentrated human under the influence of lucide dreaming makes a wish at the window. He wants to find eternal love. The  fallen starrier recepting that superficial wish makes a last attempt to live eternaly and transfers his wings over to the human who awakes in a wild rage in the forest where the weatherers set up a thoughtful burst of rain for the fallen one. Human Starrier turns into a set of thoughts and his partially winged pegasus body brings up his desolation. Will he now fly with the others? No. He has no wish of doing so . He tears up his wings and because of his artistic feelings he starts decorating the trees with star fragments until he makes small drawings of magical signs. Then he creates a musical instrument from his tail using wood and his strong hairs as strings thus paying a tribute to the rainmaking weatherers who will now chant a variety of phenomena and then he pais tribute to the ghosty creatures and the thinking thinkers giving his soul to the first ones and his mind to the latter. His body is tribute to the ground along with the former rebel starrier and thus he is thankful for allover the place where his presence is felt there is a strong feeling of eternal and universal love....
  The forest has long since been forgotten by humans.... thus the storyteller  finished his bedtime story while keeping me all the time at high concentration power.
 But can the forest still be found?
Everyone can find it as long as something is given for the sake of joy and love.
  Today as years went by I have learned the meaning of tribute but I have also learned that giving and taking are both the same for nothing is unpayed by laws of nature be it good or ill... The one who gives will always receive and the one who gets will give unknowingly if not by free will. I always got what I gave however I am wondering of the concepts I must give in order to optain a truthful meaning... Another essential thing is that I should also give my patience for an answer and when a soul is in its' right state  the perfect symbol will appear out of nowhere and then with only two or three simple words I might learn the identifying of inner ballance so as to turn myself into a starrier and reset my world for the right recipe of sweet nightly dreams.

Purple Eyes

Holding me captive... holding a gun to my head allowing me to drift away into liberty before dawn, asking more of me than I could master, making me write his book so fast and  obviously.... for him it was too slow.
   The Great Head of the Congregation struck me with his stunning purple eyes into which I could dive and drown a lake of poetry. Touching my cold hand as still as marbel he started painting a new line to the scrypt of links and I accepted... I could not refuse those purple eyes so I cut my hair for them, I painted my face in non-colours for them and I denied my name for that of devotion.....
   Early morning.... Clock Strikes the hour... I awake.... My innocent son is expecting me to cover him with affection.... I do so and then send him to the place where his mind has to be  reforged for the course of morning to afternoon... He leaves  asking why my eyes so disturbed and sad mutter a song of the Ocean and why does the raindrop not make a miracle of bringing sparks of seven colours to form a perfect spectral wave... I smile and give him yet another kiss... what an  unexplicable feeling... I let him believe it's just the weather ... My son is dislexic and I don't think he can get the notion of purple but maybe I'm too superficial... Had my eyes been purple I would have made him the growing image of the same colour's metaphore for me and for others....
   The street is beautiful just as special as those eyes that stunned me stealing everything out of my mind... I charge my telephone by sunlight and I feel it's growing hot... The man and his gun pick my soul up from the next stop and as I myself climb on top of the flying cart I can see my soul reflected in my review mirror... I cannot work as I'm sleepy and my judgement has left me but the gun is coldly touching my head ... or is it a shard of the review mirror.... All makes sense now... I pull out my phone and take a picture of those behind me... No reflection... The ghosts fall into unmaterialism and non-existing theories as I go to school with a bagfull of food and sweets for my son's lunch... I cannot believe I have forgotten those in the morning... Yet he is smart enough and lightyears ahead of me so he playfully pushes me aside :
  * Hello there , dear mama! No need to have worried I went to the Fast Food with my mates and  it was no need for me to read for I matched my imagination with the pictures on display and by only one touch I could figure out the money so no need for reading... You don't have to say ( I've brought you....) I knew you would come but I was too hungry to wait for you so I managed on my own... You may leave the stuff here I'll eat later with the others and... by the way ... I made a change... I asked my mind to paint my eyes in purple! Thought it's nicer! Everyone says I'm the school's most special kid now and... somehow I knew you would like me better like this...!*
  He runs away with his friends and I stare at him in deep admiration and bewilderment... All I can now think of is *purple eyes...* nothing but those misterious and powerful * purple eyes..... *

DreamVision- Flying Within Flight

  This is how the unexpected looks like..... I cannot capture it in my small dreamcatcher and compress them within because they are so small, the little emotions of anxiety and the small intuition that prevents me from throwing myself over the window.... My flying class is over... Let me awake from this troubled dream... And it hits me... the stunning light of reality, my eyes so full of sleep roll over everything they can percept and the running representation of what I previously had in mind vanishes into an abstract quite far away from the current zone...
   I'm on an aircraft which has been flying for five hours and I am preparing for three more in which I also have to quickthink a landing strategy. The marvelous computer invented to guide my flight while I go on another extra journey to explore the back of my mind , has done a propper job yet the indicators stay the same. It is then I realise my machine is flying but going nowhere.. Stuck up in the air in my peacefulness I try to write a song over the key controllers... It is time to land somewhere... anywhere and nowhere at the same time .... My soul who now walks away from me shows an ironic smile and takes my person cracked and discarded over my dreamcatcher just like broken glass, like a superstition, like a premonition, like the colours of betrayed art.... and my art is looking towards my soul and I, both expecting to hold on to the wings of an archangel and instinctively, my thoughtless fingers press any button there can be found to change the course of destiny.... The wings are angry and they beat so hard that I come to think I am on the back of a fantastic bird, flying towards dystopia, so let her fly wherever she wants... there will be somewhere to go as there is no link to the control tower... Then I turn around and feel myself shaking... There is a loud voice :
* Captain!! Please awake!! We have to land!! ˆ ... And I wasn't only dreaming... my catcher is gone, I cannot find it however at the moment I do not feel like touching the artefact ... not now... Landing by force... I am tired... Yet for now I do not wish to dream again unless I find out the exact state of the place I am travelling to... I might some day bring something to life that could link my worlds in perfect harmony... till then I shall only touch my artefact with gloves.......

LoveLetter Ink

Ink? Where  has it all gone? I might have spilled it allover his heart when I wrote the last letter and now I can go without because I'll take it back from him and write again.....
  My dearest of dear souls :
  I was your lonely writter who spilled ink over your heart and now instead of red and beautyful I made it blue and ill. I decided to make you fall in love without letting you know who I am or ever see me. Have you ever tried climbing a montain in your own created story so that the peek may greet the sky with a snowy hand? Have the stars painted a miracle over your sleepy white face at night when soft wings touch your sincerity of exploring dreams?... Did you ever see me in any kind or conceptual shape just before I sickened your heart? How could you turn my world upside down with all those existing thoughts which you sent me in a wave of lonelyness?.... I thought I could run out of inspiration but somehow it is you who force me to make your illness harder and harder to bare, sweet creation of universal knowledge, my nightsky cover of invasion, the bleeding rose that greets you in the morning with my fictive smile painted on imaginary paper on which I know it's only me you draw day and night.  Your white noble face with the blue fever of my ink with the venom of love cought in my words with each static second progressively growing making the notion of beauty turn into a magical different dimmension before the break of dawn which kills the night and turns me into fiction.
  I shall never stop drowning your mind in all my feeling and now that the Moon is tired I shall go to my eternal sleep once more....
 Sincerely yours....

I dissappear...
 Wake up dearest, painter in ink and colour by daylight, once more trying to depict my face in a small illustration so that you may draw a great and marvelous picture some day regarding the way you see me in your nightly dreams. You have not succeeded most unfortunately however even if I am unreal I was always one step ahead. I could now write in words what blinding energy sent me to mind... Until the next night that might bring me a new monologue for you better hide all that you paint for you will be accused and I do not want you executed... Oh... if I could only talk clearly maybe you could understand...
See what you have done? The ink that sickened your heart is gone in some abstract painting not in link to me ... now I am left without a signature... it's harder still to write as you didn't keep any more for me by throwing it away from your heart....
  Sweetly you have taken over and the storry is now only a memory of drifting nights  in which I will try constructing more ink from stardust till I shall once again return......

World War- War Within and Brainhunt

...  I thought that morning had something better to bring however it was not so. I went out to the window and gazed at the sky. It was full of fire and gunshots could be seen from a distance. I had to breathe once again the air and the smoke of war touching my unwashed skin dirty with blood and the filth of too much killing. I felt once more the pain of my bleeding body and turned away from the sight. The clock struck six AM and I went to catch up with the little drop of watter that had to wash my face and dry two more of the tears I shared at night with my prayerbook. The man next to me opened his eyes. He could not stand up and could not speak because of the pain of gunshots. As I  was staring in the broken looking glass I found my head growing up a daze and I felt my eyes heavy. So I grabbed hold of my gun and controling my feet to stand on solid ground I started counting from one to ten in German to keep my mind concentrated with the warlanguage I was studying. Apparently it didn't help at all . I must have fallen to the ground and the broken mirror was now floating over my head. But it became more than just a looking glass, it was like an artefact screen projecting a gathering of stars. The stars somehow in my mind were all representative figures of numbers which formed in some kodes the symbol  of Nazzi Party of World War  II. The figures then started twisting and turning and disolved into darkness. When I woke up all that I could see was a darkened nightsky and in my pocket  the piece of mirror in which I was gazing before breakfast. I stood up in the middle of a deserted battlefield. A man came towards me and struck me hard. I punched and hit and stabbed him with my knife but it looked as if he wasn\t bleeding at all. He grabbed hold of my mirror then directed  it to my face. I felt a soft touch on my forhead and something being pulled out. Then as they say I was left without  memories or identity so I chose to project my soul on the grass filled with warblood and let my body rest next to all the others. I am now a soul in search of the mirror for I am left without logical or rational thought and I will now look for it all over where I may find it. Death withoug logic is a very subjectively chosen wrong deed and so I have to make the right of it some day....

An Artist Being Watched

.... And it is true, the truth I can see from a distant window....
 He was holding his eyes up to the sky , asking the gods for a final answer... his eyes were grey, so grey that wintery snow in iced tears transpired from a wonderful serenity of told and retold memory stories tangled all together like a web of truth covering a soul of mistery. As night struck the hours of cold he started asking up the questions of the essence of life and started wondering if here were any being on the planet answering his deeds, fulfilling his thinking amount and empathising with his certain blissful harmony. In his lonelyest corner he sold his soul and Art in the form of a goddess dressed in black took it for granted. He then began to dive in a mistery from the cup of stollen nectar from which the reincarnated child drinks day by day and deprives the world of yet another and yet another deadly secret. The corner was now painted in hot colours that burned the one without a soul and he chose to  press his back and his iced beloved eyes to the window at night so that the stars that still talked to him would  provide an answer about fundamental destiny. Since he was the creator of a hidden conspiracy that had all of the known and unknown deep deep within a goldmine he also turned the sun up and down in the ellementary of nothing with each circular majestic gaze of his mirrorlike stare. Dust of time covered him and his books each and every star falling upon him with an answer at dawn taking over one more life, one more child and another son who paid tributary work to the man with no soul gave up another rythmic pass of a heart and restrain from feeling love chosing the feeling of supreme knowing a peace of everything in an evolutionary state.
  It was all only a recovered dream for when I woke up at night , me the observer could still see him there as silent and noble as a painted statue neeting and kindly telling tales about life and what there was  beyond , his voice as soft as silk and his wisper as melodic as a tune taking one far far away in a place never to return from again.....

cannot give a title....

    I used to have a dream which turned into shards of mirrorglass before those before me... I have mistaken and crawling alone on a street covered in blood and misery. The pile of words brought hopelessness to the deathbed of low frequency that turned my soul into a thin fluid translucid silent misticity forgotten for the time. All good deeds were burried under the soil of evil behavior and no matter how nothing ever made a change. An attempt for recovery made it all for a trial of struggle and hardship while an attempt of illness would drag it all worse and worse for worrying blisses all around me. The hopelessness of the untrusted and the guilty is the worst feeling of them all, so said my mind beautifully covered in fear and blame waiting for the eternal night to possibly end  at some point. This is a moment of conscious black realism all deeds were for nothing and I am worth nothing right now.
  For this I thank all readers and for a while this blog will ot receive any update till my mind gets at least a little bit later as not to kill every spark of light I set into some place or another. I have to pay with discouragement and low thoughts for all my wrong in thought and fact and thus I will not darken the wings of destiny with my pain for I wish that soon I might mount them again and fly towards the stars.....

CaseStudy

  International Relations- Perspectives and viewpoint
  This is a short study on International Relations, negociation and perspective.  The aim of this study is  regarding the respect for theory and cooperation and conflict during the facts that happened in the period of the Second World War.
   It is for sure known that there were the alliances of Russians and their  KGB troups all over Europe against the German Reich and their forces of SS. However beyond eerything there were secret underground squads formed in the network of the Auschwitz concentration camp. Theze networks were formed of jews and other inmates of the camp who managed to write a web of repports together with the few eskapees who managed to hand them over to the British Armed forces. There were also spy airplanes of the Alliance sent in surveillance over Morowitz the town close to Auschwitz where there was a so called herbal greenhouse set which was actually used as workfield cover for the captives of the camp.
  It is said that there had been a few attempts and tretees of negociation with general Eichman and  the others responsible at Auschwitz however there were two technique procedures which lowered the posibility of trust concerning the news that came from the underground network in the camp.
 1. The Czech Deception :
  Almost two years before the end of  the War, when the capacity of Auschwitz was rather limited and the five crematoria were not over yet, a group of czech jews and gipsies were brought to that place in Poland. However as bad news reached the ears of the Red Cross organization and they chose to set protection for those families so that they had no more but work and shelter they were well cared for during a while as they were being watched by witnesses. They were kept in a family camp close to the actual extermination zone of which of course they knew nothing and they were made to send postcards home and things assuring their wellbeing. As soon as their safety was relatively approved by the Red Cross and they were left without  external protection the deportation process took place in an instant.
2. Hungarian Negociation and the * Freedom Train*
  While the Czech were sending postcards home, news about working places in the west came to Hungary as well and the horror trains of death started their bording. During this time an eskapee made his way through the camp and off to Slovakia managing to give a full detailed story of the horrors happening within. There was little trust acreddited to him however the notices were sent too late to be translated and passed on to Hungary so there the selection was taking place when it reached the Council of Jews.
  There was a question about wether it were true or not based on the previous Czech deception issue and also a process of negociation held between the Council of Jews and general Eichman. Under the pretext of sending out a train towards free lives and lack of damage as the negociation took place zyklon b destroyed thousands day by day since the German charge crew was fooling all members of external affairs.
  It is considered that the lack of evidence guiding to the terrors happening at that time made it a bit harsh to interfere in an armed manner where the strathegy of deception stood as key aliby for the torture makers at Auschwitz. It is hard to understand how it turned that such massacre was made possible for almost five years without external interference and to this day it still stands as a mistery.....

Auschwitz, the Nazis and Worldly Terror

    It is a rather dark day and yet another train arrives in the  concentration camp of Auschwitz. It usually turns up thus as there are apparently well paid people who arange the bags and belongings of the incoming inmates. They then go through what is called as a  process of selections. The ones fit for the stay will be sent to hard work and labour while the others will be directly sent to be disposed of in one of the terribkle gass chambers.
   It all began after World War I when the Nazi Party in Germany lead by Adolf Hitler, a great preacher and author of Mein Kampf decided to impruve the condition of Germany. It was a party belonging to extreme rightists who only wished to free the country from the debts of war and have a new approach on what the world view was concearned. They wished to rebuild the  world especially Europe by getting rid of those who did not stand the conditions of being an Arian. To them, the Arian rase was a streem of perfection framing the picture of a blue-eyed, white skin and  blond-haired individual pure and perfect for society whilst the others were considered unfit for the rebuilding of a new world. Another gole of the Nazis was getting rid of Jews who were accused of all rough conditions Germans were under after the war.
   In Hitler's intentional terminology, the Blitzkrieg or *Lightning War* was the explanation for a vvery fast world wide invasion coinciding with mass jew extermination in the camps. The International Jewish society structures in Europe were part of the *deception strathegic method* which was the meaning of their ilusion . They were facing a promise of work and study as they used to refer to * somewhere in the west* but as they went they were gone for good. The plan of *deception* stood as a keeping evidence of the hidden camp in Poland. The name of a terrorzone like that was Auschwitz and it was situated somewhere near the town of Morowitz quite close to the Slovakian border.
  The Concentration camp had to entrance zones : gate 1, host to Comunists, prisoners of war, national trators and Gipsies. Gate 2 also known as Birkenau was hosting only Jews.
  The inmates always arrived in trains from from various parts of Europe and after being either selected or sent to the terrible gass chambers they had to go to severe testing. All things they would bring from home had to be taken away and secretly sent over to Germany especially if the inmates were dead before they could ask for their belongings.
The chamber of gass was a fake showering place which splashed particles of Zyklon B instead of water and later on the bodies had to be carried away to one of five crematoria which structured and restructured the architectural building system for more than five years.
  The alied warforces counterpart to Nazi Germany clamed they had no knowledge of the extermination camp though it is said that various flying airplanes near Morowitz  had caught glimpses of the existing crematoria.
  The capaccity of the gas and burning chambers were of aproximately three thousand inmates a day and as selections were very strict most of the time it was overcrouded. The countless invalids, elderly, sickly, children and weak women were first to go after the selection. Himler and Eichman were generals responsable with Zyklon B provision and inmate transport negotiation. There was a case when Eichman pretended negociating a tretee of fredom for the inmates in Auschwitz and as he was fooling the staff of diplomacy in Budapest he would take more and more inmates from Slovakia, Poland and Germany.
  Few people managed to escape and report their trouble conditions to the British and United States intelligency but since the camp was a secret very well kept under the strategy of ^deception^ but those who had the posibility were able to report their deeds and seens.
  As the War ended, the Nazi Party retreeted from Auschwitz and and the camp today stands as a museum and place of memory and learning lesson for the upcoming generations.

pictura sentimentala in abstract

Te cautam ieri intr-o frunza verde verde ca abstractul din care am cules stropi de vitalitate... Am cautat din nou pana am gasit numai carti si caiete, numai file indepartate de secrete crunte, de culpa si de teama... Momentul critic a fost atunci cand mi-am ars mana cu un strop de lacrima fierbinte... si sangeram atat de tare incat te chemam aproape sa-mi devorezi lichidul rosiatic cu un sarut morbid si sa ma lasi acolo printre stele plutind fericita fara de suflare uitandu-ma la cat de uitata am fost si cat de prafuita voi ramane in ultima ta scrisoare de amor... Dar n-ai fost tu fiindca moartea pasionala nu--ti era de ajuns si eu ti-am pictat chipul in rana mea microscopica si l-am dat biologilor sa-l analizeze cu aparatele lor de ultima generatie. Pe patul mic si alb unde prafuri si pulberi alcatuiesc o vindecare artificiala eu visam la tine ... un vis letargic o pereche de ochelari virtuali, un film continuu o framantare apoi un somn intunecat si de la capat o indoiala desprinsa parca din inconstientul colectiv, o indoiala a existentei tale in planul fizic si terestru, tu fiind doar figura geometrica ce-mi desena mereu raze concentrice, tu fiind deductia matematica in intervalul spre infinit si totusi gasindu-te intr-un punct atat de nedefinit ce-mi dobora spiritul poetic al florilor de vara cu teorema mea cu tot , cu dragostea mea si cu armele cazute... Am rezumat un fir de suflet care cuprindea raiul si iadul , cum am comprimat oameni intr-o capsula de antibiotic asa comprim acum si notiuni intr-un patratel de pe caietul de matematica. Sunt o infinitate de idei intr-o infinitate de puncte pe care le vom numara impreuna, draga mea iubire a letargiei somnolente... da le vom numara dar nu aici si nu acum ci poate in momentul atingerii unei constiente complexe care sa ne trimita atomic intr-o nanodimensiune favorabila lipselor de explicatii lumesti si concrete....

Lacrima unei trairi ....

Privesc adanc la tot ce-am scris si vizualizez stropi de litera pe pleoapele inlacrimate ce-si duc viata incercanata prin oboseala unui viz profund... Ma uit la ceas, privesc ecranul unui telefon cu ironia cu care si lumina sa imi surade... Scanteile de raze X sau Gamma sau de care or fi imi lumineaza campul spectral si imi inunda ochii intr-un alt stil de albastru colorat numai de firea ta.. Imi sterg pata de pe asternut si din oras si din comoara te chem iar intr-un strigat mut sa te omor ca sa-ti trimit renasterea in alt cotlon de zare acolo unde nu vei mai striga numele meu pierdut in vechile mitologii sanscrite prin copacii scrijeliti de vremuri unde un cod de simtire si finete s-a iscalit neinteles pe inima singuratica umbland cu poezia printr-o alta biblioteca sau prin lanuri de povete adunate in concentratia minunilor abundente.
  Un ochi amarnic nefolositor lacrimilor isi face auzita vizibilitatea prin picaturile sarate o catastrofa naturala, o inundatie nociva, un vaiet deznadajduit si mortii impaciuiti de nelinisti apuse cufundate intr-o intensitate asuprita de jaratecul cenusiu al orelor trecande... Ar fi fost senin si cerul daca soarta nu ar fi plans pe el atata arta si probabil zeii ar fi adus ei insisi ofranda propriei creatii, muritorilor de rand daca nu ar fi fost prea ocupati sa-si construiasca templul, fortareata lor de aparare... se apara si ei de propriile forte asa cum ar fi trebuit sa stim deja caci noi suntem aceia ce-si fabrica lacrimile din substante interne care se gasesc acolo in mod inconstient.
  Dorm somnul agitat de comparatii zdruncinate si ma spal iar si iar intr-o lumina vie, renasc si mor in alta poezie cu ceea ce e dat in speta mie.... Si poate daca voi atinge iar o mana calda ce-mi va da crezare o voi lua cu  raceala interioara intr-o amintire uitata si o voi strange intr-o siguranta precara pana la stingerea vietii mele infinite....

Drumul Vietii: etapa catre viitor ...

  Am fost eu sincer in viata si eu sincer in viata ce va urma fiindca lucrul scris ramane a fi spus in viitor cand lumea probabil va ajunge la acel nivel de inteligenta in care omul de rand nu se va pleca sa ma asculte... Dar iata acum in fata ferestrei privindu-te imi pun un sir de intrebari fara raspuns frumoase ca un colier de stele ca viata vesnica din mine si din univers adunata intr-un colt de melodie visatoare... M-arunc in trairile pe care le cuprind cu mana calda si astept din nou sa simt ca traiesc prin ele...deja am porii iritati de un termometru mult prea agitat care imi asculta temperatura si transmite ceea ce descifreaza in bataia inimilor mele catre un calculator care opereaza sentimental intr-un sistem unic de programe neintelese de oamenii prezentului... Ma aplec spre trecut unde timpul a ramas usor stingherit zambindu-mi dintr-un loc uitat de lume undeva langa frumoasa Praga unde domnitele imbracate ca niste printese din poveste continua sa cante razboinicilor lor un gand de pace... Dar termometrul meu nu imi poate citi temperatura in trecut fiindca nu ma mai gaseste si imi trimite doar starea vibrationala curenta spre a fi analizata de savantii si formatorii de spiritualitate ai zilelor ce vor urma... Ma indrept spre oscilatii cutremuratoare rupte peste fragilitatea capacitatilor mele in cioburi de vitraliu, in scurte framantari de arta imprastiate peste urmele unei fiinte fara de sens dezbinata de un fundament prea stabil ca sa mai ramana in planul concretului purtata spre etericul vis in starile inselator euristice ale transelor nocturne... Ma acopar cu o patura si termometrul nu ma mai simte fiindca eu imi ingrop febra iar informatiile nu se transmit spre viitor complete fiindca eu nu am completat toate datele formatarii zambetului care mi-ar incheia descrierea cu atisoara rosie simbol de pret si aparare. Inverseaza-mi tu virgulele si punctele daca nu intelegi ceva ce in viitor va ajunge un calcul cronometrat dar atinge-ma cu soare ca sa nu mi se umbreasca mostenirile nici focul si nici macar pata de intuneric din mine... lasa-mi doar echilibrul chinuit si dormi in noaptea plecarii mele catre viitor...

Doua Randuri

Ma gandeam sa iti scriu doua randuri... doar doua randuri mici dar pline de esenta si traire, doua randuri sufocante si frumoase in distructivismul abisal al cuvantului uitat. Sa merg pe strada veche presarata cu ciment arid care nu simte, nu cunoaste dar imi gazduieste sangele in sine atunci cand eu ma prabusesc in mijlocul drumului, cu randurile mele si cu teama de a mai gandi.
  Doua randuri, atat port cu mine dar nu stiu ce sa mai fac cu ele fiindca nu le pot citi intrucat nu inteleg hieroglifele inimii sau cel putin nu le mai inteleg acum....
  Doua randuri adadncite in sunet si  agresivitatea unei melodii cantqate cu patima la chitara si doua randuri din cartea mea teoretica duc doi pasi mai in fata spre o practica ascunsa intr-o patura fragila de finete lacrimogena. Doua randuri si inca doua picaturi de ser , ser al vietii, seva pictata in tabloul meu scrijelit de scoarta ancestrala acolo unde norul a uitat sa abandoneze o geana pentru o pata de viata gri regasita in lista de obiective permise ...
  Doua randuri sa soptim cu praf de cerneala albastra scrise si indurerate, rescrise si din nou planse de crampeiul de primavara aproximativ atins de apogeul nestiintei si al naivitatii duse la extrema diabolica a exterminarii amintite de greselile istoriei si inn acele doua mici randuri pline de profunzimea banalului se gaseste totusi eternitatea fiindca punctele din cerneala si din foaie sunt la randul lor infinite ca numar ... Asadar ti-am dat doua randuri, ti-am dat nesfarsitul si am sa ti=l mai dau o data numai daca as sti ca in ele ma voi scalda vie si moarta in acelasi timp cautand probabil epistematicul definitiilor neintelese....

Cunoasterea in chipul unei cititoare....

Haide... Haide sa ne uitam impreuna la un film si sa-ti explic faptul ca eu am vrut si am tot vrut si poate inca vreau si poate nu iese. El isi scoate ironic mintea din cap si o pune pe cutia aurie de pe masa. Incretita si firava bucata de creier imi deseneaza ceva abstract printre vase de sange... Ma intorc spre o noua vizualizare si gasesc doua-trei umbre pe care sa le bat si sa le iau din nou in brate atunci cand mor si renasc noapte de noapte, somn de somn, freamat de freamat. Si de ce mai ploua cu atata apasare cand eu ma uit la melodiile din CD player ca la niste copaci aprinsi de viata si imi cer reinventarea prin bucata de creier aflata pe masa. Apoi imi iau cartea in brate si o legan ca pe un copil apoi o strig pe nume si merg pe strada cu ea bantuind visele ca o naluca a realitatii aparand intr-un plan interdimensional strigandu-mi cunoasterea pe nume, strangand-o la piept si oferindu-i gustul laptos al sacrificiului meu.
   El s-a uitat intr-un sine cu ceas si a facut in asa fel incat sa-i dispara vasele si mintea evaporate in aer distruse de propria crima iar cunoasterea care a ranit o data ceasul a pierdut notiunea timpului o data cu pierderea concretului din el.
  Si eu prin somn, pe strazi si prin cotloane, eu pretutindeni in birourile frumos amenajate, intre dosarele deranjate de vremi, intre legatura istorica a perspectivelor diacronice, eu acolo regasesc artefactul cartii ce ma strange acum spre ea si ma cuprinde intr-o mare de litere vidate si ascutite.
 Maine va fi o noua zi si imi voi relua cursul probabilitatilor variate... Dar oare maine ma voi trezi din somnul nocturn al vesniciei ?....

Living Fiction

The Hyaros were a nomad family living wherever they could in winter they would find a place along with the silent wonders of the Balkans and in Summer they would roam the forests and fields making interminable exploring journeys on foot and horse to the seas of Black and to the Danube river. Wherever they came from they did not know for it was a story of family and generations. They had always been like that nomads and peaceful folk wondering for years in their caravan. Tourists who spotted them always took notes about their very different style of life and there was a note of misticism about their very beautiful colored dresses and happy songs which sounded like incantations in a hot summer night. The Hyaro family was not the only one that lived like that but there was something special about them that made everything different and special. Their little child Viktor was a sweet and tallented young man of five who had a dream of becoming a wonderful smith artisan painting creatures of ancient mythology in carvings of iron.
It was a hot summer day when Timo, a tourist from Finland found himself wondering around in the Balkans for a relaxing exploring week in the woods. He was travelling alone humming a tune when he met the family who were standing by a soft evening fire playing guitar. Little Viktor was fascinated by Timo with blue eyes as beautiful as starlight on the night sky...
Puhuttekote Suomea? he asked in wonder as the songs seamed to capture him in a magical mist. Viktor instantly knew he was from Finland and he showed Timo a small statue of the goddess Lohi. Timo bought it knowing the family needed some support and as Viktor wanted to give him some change in coins Timo who extended his hand over the flames dropped the small iron statue and burned his hand. Feeling there was black magic he swore in English language and called upon hellfires to take away that gipsy family. The statue which should have been of high resistence started instantly melting next to the fire and from it emerged a small telephone cardlike thing to which surprisingly the fire did no damage. Little Viktor and his family stared with dark eyes in wonder as the beautiful blue-eyed Finnish took the card with him and run away screaming. Poor Viktor started crying for his work and burned his hands in the fire with the hot iron all over him. He died two days later for no one could offer him any medical support to heal the burns and the infections that invaded his blood after the untreated woonds.
A few weeks later, Timo Taahonen for this was his full name was back in his office in Helsinki happily working. He was a judge of influence and was himself running a small society promoting peace. His bag dropped down on the floor and the small card fell down from a hidden pocket. Out of curiosity he took it out and implanted in his USB storage area of his laptop. A few minutes later the following message appeared on the headscreen : * This is no virus, Thank you for Opening up this system for you have become our number 1 ally in a complete change of the world. Click here to see more! * After clicking he saw a man elegantly dressed who had a filmed speech : *Dear Sir : This Speech is a live transmision and from our informers we have found out that you are located in Helsinki. This small card has been storing the whole activity of the Hyaro family which we have been tracking down for years. Like them there are others who simply have nothing to live for on this planet which needs serios cleaning. For echology and Christianity us as the Underground Society of Pure Hearts ( USPH for short) Have developed an underground concentration camp in Swisserland in which we will bring all the gitano and gipsy families from the balkans, Spain, Italy, Greece and even more civilised countries. It is not only this family in particular for they are all the same all theeves and unhonest profanners of religion and global image. We are determined to bring up the rase that Europe has always been proud of, that of honest clean and beautyful people who may do no harm to this disastrous place. The message is now being sent in intranet to the whole society for you have activated communication with us by opening the system and like this chip there will be more to come all hidden in the places where we have been tracking people down. We have been looking for areas like Kosovo to start with for there impurity is close at hand and I really feel prowd to have an ally in a country as lovely and developed as Finland. I am sure we will all be understood. Your photograph has been coppied for we are watching you in real time since I see that your webcam is on and by tomorrow you will have your picture on all social media as our hugest supporter. Against his will Timo found himself printed on banners in media such as Facebook where he on behalf of Finland and world purification joined a society that would eradicate everything that was not pure rase.
* Death to Gitanos in the name of God's Heaven on Earth* by Timo Taahonen was displayed even on the main search engines around global networks. Timo found he could take no more since he got pro and cont opinions on the matter and thus for weeks he went on hiding close to the polar circle in a house where his friend, another judge who knew it was work against him was keeping strong protection on his life. During the lonly days the society started kidnapping gitano kids all around the balkans and as the sickly were tortured under swiss grounds the more fit were to be soldier kids. The GitanoJavit Juniour was an European copy of the african JanJavit and kids with weapons with their hands were to damage for the society which would gain proffit out of their hearts. Europe had to be purified through its own sickness so they considered.
But in all this time Timo who received constant verbal information started writting a book about everything happening and in a week it was done. Then he brought arguments from the law and even Finnish constitution against racism and after all evidence was done he declared media war to the society claiming that Europe had to be purified of hulligans who use the love of Jesus more as a terrorist Jihad that instead of being heald internaly in one's soul was heald against innocent children and their families. It was true the gipsies or gitanos were theeves in some cases but what was the better of an honest mind more evolved if it were more righteous to kill and revive the German lager of WorldWar 2? He started publishing his book and such comments everywhere near his photo and then went on searching for families for which he had to be the savior. Smart power of words and diplomacy was much better applied in an evolved world rather than the hard power of underground societies and their weapons.
Timo Taahonen with his lawyer and a few well payed hackers defended the gitano rights as well as human rights by law and reported the media war to the United Nations in Geneva. Shortly the society leader of jewish origin was caught and arested. In court he declared that it was the Rroma people, nomads without a culture who made them suffer in the extermination camp. Adolf Hitler had simply made a confusion and the chosen people of Jerussalim had to clean Europe for it was the most evolved of places and Jesus wanted it to be full of smart and clean people. It was the gitanos who should have died in the lager of Auschwitz not them the jewish and so the chosen people had the right to revvenge in a modern style creating a media society and underground torturing camps using an african style of torture at least to make use of the healthy ones.
His people were easily tracked down as well and even though some children and their families had suffered at least they would suffer no longer.
Timo Taahonen started selling his anti racist book and after that he wrote his own story based on what had happened. With the money gained he opened an artisan school in Helsinki and another one in Belgrade where he recruted young children who would learn craftwork . He himself learned some smith sculpture in spare time which was mostly an art forgotten in magic and misticism and forged a portray of a boy and a heart right next to it which he brought to Viktor's grave after getting into contact with his family. He named the school
The Victory of Long forgotten Arts under the saying that no matter the ethnicity as long as your hands do what your heart says there will be unity and love for all souls to feel .Thus the battle ended and it is up to them and us to end the wor against racism and discrimination by trying to socially involve and smartly reeducate that which is not pure for we would be no better by agressively combatting what is not to our social liking.... If Jesus dis not wish to rebuild the world it is up to us humans to suffer the trial of respecting divine will.....no matter the times of ancient or modern establishings a mind shall always have to deal with a choice between good and evil....