Early Catharsis

Let’s have a talk about… “I am asking for too much” No honey, you are not asking for too much. You ask what you need. And if it’s too much for others to handle. Then it means they are not what you need. Simple as that. No need for guilt. Why would you be sorry for needing “too much”? “Too much” compared to what? We are all different individuals, with different wounds to caress and heal. We have different tastes, and different interests…and different ways to feel, give and receive. Why would you be sorry for asking too much? There is nothing wrong with you feeling unsatisfied. It means you love yourself and you strive for better. It doesn`t make you ungrateful. But allowing yourself to aim higher while still being grateful does turn you into a wiser-choice-making person. A happier one too. They say we accept the love that we think we deserve. Feel, give, receive. Yes, in order for you to have a healthy, functional relationship, you have to be the balanc

Ii pocneste inima in piept, in ritm de bocanci militari…in mars de “mergi ori crapa”. O cuprind fiori si are transpiratie rece pe frunte…capul sus… Se izbeste de ganduri paranoide in extremitati cerebrale…aude mult prea multe voci, prea multe variante de “ce ma fac daca...” “Fluturii din stomac” sunt omizi in toata regula, ii devoreaza carcasa din interior spre exterior… Ele poarta teama si dezamagire in dureri ulceroase si pastille. Ii zace patetic in bucatarie, flacon de multi-vitamine. De mancat nu mai mananca, sa nu hraneasca bestiile zvarcolite in stomac. Nici apa nu mai bea, caci daca si-ar aminti de sete…si-ar aminti de multe altele…de cum se schimba de masti…cum se schimba de sosete. "Complex" de vitamine: Vitamina A: Pentru angoase, anxietati, agonii statute, arogante, altruism egoist si asteptari carunte. Vitamina B: Pentru bolnava la cap…si-n suflet…si-n cuvinte… Vitamina C: Pentru “ce”, “cum”, “cat”, “care”, “cui”…cui batut in

II ard ochii. O coplesesc palpitatiile, o sufoca mobila si dezordinea din camera.O dezgusta reflexia din oglinda… faptul ca tot acel calvar se rasuceste in placa ei de baza. E un ultim act de rezistenta, in fata unei lumi atat de mici, in care se pierde…si nu se gaseste, cum nu isi gaseste nici sosetele prin mormanul de haine ale trecutului. La dreapta geanta aruncata pe pat, la stanga dischete de demachiat vechi de o saptamana…iar ea e pierduta printre bonuri fiscale si cartele rupte de metrou. Numai el ii face ordine in suflet si se prinde-atunci cand minte, cand are nevoie sa se ocupe EL de panoul de control.  Cand oboseste, il trage de camasa, jucand acelasi rol de victima incapatanata…care cere rasfat urmat de recompensa deghizata. Intinde mana in gol...el e fantoma...e trecut, e ecou. [Anunt: Ea cere recompense in tonuri de violet, cere rimel intins si ruj pe barbie. C ere palme ferme pe fese, cere calau.] Ii vine sa se faca ghem la pieptul lu

N-a mai mers cu metroul de-o vreme, miroase-a mucegai pe pereti, miroase a subteran, a amintiri de pe la 4-5 ani. E putin agitata, o-nconjoara amenintator ceva pereti si un tavan. Ea e sceptica la tavane…si-i e groaza de cutremure care se zdruncina in adancurile ei. Lasa in urma pasi in ecou pe piatra. Un peron ca un labirint drept in care esti acolo si totusi esti pierdut. Trepideaza energiile in ea, iar senzorii ii joaca feste. Un paradox paranoic si confuz…3 cuvinte. Vine metroul. Totul se misca rapid, trec oameni cu fete…si oameni cu masti, suflete lipsa in carcase pline de necazuri. Urca in metrou…in directia gresita. Dar nu-i nimic…coboara la prima. Ca-n viata de altfel. Ii bate inima, are plapitatii de la aglomeratie si se tot freaca de oameni. O zgaltaie metroul…si-i arde stomacul…nu a mancat nimic .. Mananca acasa… Coboara la prima cu nervii intinsi ca doua corzi dezacordate de chitara si anxietati pe grifuri. “e o adevarata aventura sa mergi cu metrou

He’s staring into her eyes the way a leopard looks upon its prey…She’s humble and her skin is reacting at the touch of his fingers…at the sound of his overwhelming voice. Her demons are crawling…feeling his invite to the game…what a wicked game…what a beautiful shame… He licks her nipple with the tip of his tongue in a way that makes her mouth wide open…her throat is shirking the screams into helpless high-pitch moans. Every inch of her body is shaking under his command…and she’s drowning in a river of lust and despair…she wants to die for his angels and live for his demons…she wants to sink in the deepness of his look, of his stare…what a funny thrill. What a funny thing, that she was full of hate, under all those funny masks for masquerade…She seemed cool, like she found her “happy place”…she was good at faking…or she was good at fucking with herself. He was the perfect pair of eyes. Their coldness fooled her, she let her guard down…he unwrapped her tricks, stripped her