In momentul de fata ascult niste muzica jazz. Mai exact ascult cvartetul Dave Brubeck. Unul din lucrurile care face muzica jazz superb de ascultat este faptul ca nu exista un singur instrument sa straluceasca asupra celorlalte, ci toate functioneaza intr-un tandem perfect in care lipsa sau adaugarea unui instrument ar distruge fuziunea sonora ce creeaza muzica. Nu ceva care suna bine. Muzica.
Un lucru interesant este ca in spatele fiecarui instrument se afla un om. Si nici unul din acesti oameni nu par sa fie interesati in a straluci personal. Prin muzica lor se simte ca sunt fericiti sa lucreze in tandem ca sa creeze ceva superb. Nu ceva specaculos, individual. Ceva superb prin cooperatie.
Oamenii sunt o specie interesanta, am spus-o de multe ori pana acum si voi continua sa o spun pana nu ma mai surprinde ceva la oameni (nu prea vad sa se intample) sau pana mor (mai probabil). Ne mandrim cu faptul ca suntem singura specie care gandeste individual, liber, inafara instinctelor de supravietuire, materne, paterne, de reproducere etc. Si aceasta libertate de gandire a dat nastere la multe lucruri incredibile. Carti, piese de teatru, inventii, descoperiri si da, muzica. Ne mandrim cu individualitatea si unicitatea noastra, si vrem sa fim recunoscuti pentru diferentele noastre, vrem sa fim apreciati pentru lucrurile care le-am facut individual.
Dar, ne mai numim si creaturi sociale. Si asta e adevarat. Mai adevarat, poate. In schimb nu prea dovada ca chiar suntem creaturi sociale. Dar pentru fiecare pilon al societatii, pentru fiecare geniu artistic sau stiintific sau logic recunoscut sunt o suta de nerecunoscuti. Si si mai interesant, pentru fiecare descoperire, pentru fiecare opera de arta exista nevoie de inspiratie. Si foarte des, inspiratia vine de la alti oameni, chiar daca doar unul este recunoscut pentru aceasta creatie.
Sunt multi maestri in ziua de azi. In muzica, in stiinta in toate domeniile. Si in general acesti maestri sunt urmati. Dar cand acesti maestri sunt impreunati, sa creeze ca o singura entitate, in general, ceva care chiar iese in evidenta este produsul. Nu ma credeti? Atunci ascultati, si vedeti.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmDDOFXSgAs
sâmbătă, 20 februarie 2010
marți, 9 februarie 2010
December 20 2012
Everything around is white. The rioting crowds, the warning signs, the scarred buildings, all the horrible things that followed the confirmation that "Yes, the world will end" are finally hidden.
There is barely any life left around the planet.
There is barely and sound that can be heard.
The aurora borealis shines so beautifully over the white desert that used to be New York City. It's sublime. It's peaceful. As if mother earth is ridding herself of us in one final act of supreme grace, beauty, calm, calculated, soft. Motherly.
She covers her beautiful self in a white gown of water. She is being born again.
Everyone predicted fires, tidal waves, meteor showers. Nature is too strong to be bothered with shows of force. Three months ago, it started snowing. It hasn't stopped. I am, or I think I am, the last living person. On top of the Empire State Building, I'm about as high as if I was sitting on a beached tree trunk.
As I close my eyes, I know, tonight is my last night. I love the snow, I love the quiet, I love the end. For the first time in my life, I have experienced a happy ending. I only regret that I cannot share this moment, this pure pure moment with someone. I wish I could watch this moment in silence, with company. Nothing is perfect, except for nature.
I curl up as much as I can under all the clothes and blankets I have, I take a last look at the beautiful sky and I am at peace. Tomorrow is my end.
Tomorrow is a new beggining, tomorrow is healing, and what better way to heal than under a thick cover of pure white snow. Just like a bandage...
There is barely any life left around the planet.
There is barely and sound that can be heard.
The aurora borealis shines so beautifully over the white desert that used to be New York City. It's sublime. It's peaceful. As if mother earth is ridding herself of us in one final act of supreme grace, beauty, calm, calculated, soft. Motherly.
She covers her beautiful self in a white gown of water. She is being born again.
Everyone predicted fires, tidal waves, meteor showers. Nature is too strong to be bothered with shows of force. Three months ago, it started snowing. It hasn't stopped. I am, or I think I am, the last living person. On top of the Empire State Building, I'm about as high as if I was sitting on a beached tree trunk.
As I close my eyes, I know, tonight is my last night. I love the snow, I love the quiet, I love the end. For the first time in my life, I have experienced a happy ending. I only regret that I cannot share this moment, this pure pure moment with someone. I wish I could watch this moment in silence, with company. Nothing is perfect, except for nature.
I curl up as much as I can under all the clothes and blankets I have, I take a last look at the beautiful sky and I am at peace. Tomorrow is my end.
Tomorrow is a new beggining, tomorrow is healing, and what better way to heal than under a thick cover of pure white snow. Just like a bandage...
Dreams
I can barely move. It's five in the morning. I gotta get up. Gotta get up.
I almost literaly crawl to the mirror. Split lip. Black eye. Bruised ribs. A couple of drops of blood are still crusted onto the skin underneath my nose. Still, underneath all the time on my face I can almost see that chubby little kid in the back of the classroom hiding a pad under his notebooks, writing another verse.
It's freezing. I look around for a sweater, a hoody, a shirt. I settle for the blanket on the couch and wrap myself inside it. I take a last look at the mirror.... Jesus Christ... I fucked up somewhere along the road.
It started out all right, I was a kid, I had my dreams, I did dumb things, I grew up and suddenly I had to clean up my own messes but still it worked out. Somehow, it was all good, I had somewhere to come back every night, I had someone to hold in my arms and kiss and love every night. I sold my first bag of weed at age fourteen. Extra cash I said. Good extra cash if truth be told. I was gonna be a ball player, a DJ, a rapper. Fuck...almost seven years later and now I'm a pharmacy on feet to make rent and grub. And I'm not the only one. Q.E.D. I can barely move this morning. Good and bad at the same time. I didn't lose nothing. Bad...I didn't have shit to start with.
Sitting on the couch, wrapped in the blanket, I just want to stop time now. It ain't a great situation but the morning is quiet, the best part of each day. How I'm sitting, I'm almost comfortable, almost not hurting. So exhausted I'm almost at peace just doing nothing. My mind floats into a place that I'm comfortable, into a place that makes sense, somewhere nice, a place that doesn't care about where you're from, what you look like, who you hang out with, a place where all of it is erased. A place where the light shines bright, a place you can pay respects, a place you can speak your mind. A place where after all the bullshit getting there, you're finaly free. A stage.
And now I'm in the limelight
'Cause I rhyme tight
I've got no fright
Not anymore
I'm no longer a whore
For another druglord
I can do my thing
No I never won a champion's ring
No I never stepped with Tyson in the ring
No I never liked the bling-bling
Man I just love to sing
Speak my mind
In my words wisdom you find
Street smarts from something way behind
Now I'm someone else
My history melts
The pain and joy I've felt
Easy money
Easy honeys
Now I'm another man
Now I got a plan
Change the game
Fuck the fame
I came up here
Without no fear
'Cause I felt a lack
In the stylistic attack of rap
One day, man... One day I'll get out the game and do something I can be proud of.
TWO YEARS LATER
Another cold morning, another day for the pharmacist, another opportunity for someone to end it all. But no longer do the features of a hidden child wink at me from the mirror. It's all gone. It doesn't even matter anymore. What's the point? After all, dealer, user, rich, poor, famous, unknown. When it's all said and done.... Well... It's done. Dead.
I no longer dream of getting out. Now I save up...
I want a new couch damnit, this one's driving me crazy. I can barely sleep on it anymore. Shit, that may just be guilt keeping me awake. Anyway, my soul's with my dreams. Fucked.
I almost literaly crawl to the mirror. Split lip. Black eye. Bruised ribs. A couple of drops of blood are still crusted onto the skin underneath my nose. Still, underneath all the time on my face I can almost see that chubby little kid in the back of the classroom hiding a pad under his notebooks, writing another verse.
It's freezing. I look around for a sweater, a hoody, a shirt. I settle for the blanket on the couch and wrap myself inside it. I take a last look at the mirror.... Jesus Christ... I fucked up somewhere along the road.
It started out all right, I was a kid, I had my dreams, I did dumb things, I grew up and suddenly I had to clean up my own messes but still it worked out. Somehow, it was all good, I had somewhere to come back every night, I had someone to hold in my arms and kiss and love every night. I sold my first bag of weed at age fourteen. Extra cash I said. Good extra cash if truth be told. I was gonna be a ball player, a DJ, a rapper. Fuck...almost seven years later and now I'm a pharmacy on feet to make rent and grub. And I'm not the only one. Q.E.D. I can barely move this morning. Good and bad at the same time. I didn't lose nothing. Bad...I didn't have shit to start with.
Sitting on the couch, wrapped in the blanket, I just want to stop time now. It ain't a great situation but the morning is quiet, the best part of each day. How I'm sitting, I'm almost comfortable, almost not hurting. So exhausted I'm almost at peace just doing nothing. My mind floats into a place that I'm comfortable, into a place that makes sense, somewhere nice, a place that doesn't care about where you're from, what you look like, who you hang out with, a place where all of it is erased. A place where the light shines bright, a place you can pay respects, a place you can speak your mind. A place where after all the bullshit getting there, you're finaly free. A stage.
And now I'm in the limelight
'Cause I rhyme tight
I've got no fright
Not anymore
I'm no longer a whore
For another druglord
I can do my thing
No I never won a champion's ring
No I never stepped with Tyson in the ring
No I never liked the bling-bling
Man I just love to sing
Speak my mind
In my words wisdom you find
Street smarts from something way behind
Now I'm someone else
My history melts
The pain and joy I've felt
Easy money
Easy honeys
Now I'm another man
Now I got a plan
Change the game
Fuck the fame
I came up here
Without no fear
'Cause I felt a lack
In the stylistic attack of rap
One day, man... One day I'll get out the game and do something I can be proud of.
TWO YEARS LATER
Another cold morning, another day for the pharmacist, another opportunity for someone to end it all. But no longer do the features of a hidden child wink at me from the mirror. It's all gone. It doesn't even matter anymore. What's the point? After all, dealer, user, rich, poor, famous, unknown. When it's all said and done.... Well... It's done. Dead.
I no longer dream of getting out. Now I save up...
I want a new couch damnit, this one's driving me crazy. I can barely sleep on it anymore. Shit, that may just be guilt keeping me awake. Anyway, my soul's with my dreams. Fucked.
joi, 4 februarie 2010
True Love
True love occurs from time to time
And every time, it's something sublime
Every now and then
Be it once or twice or ten
There's something you do
Or someone you see
And if you keep on doing it
When no one else could give a shit
Then you've found your love is true
Because you keep it just for you.
And every time, it's something sublime
Every now and then
Be it once or twice or ten
There's something you do
Or someone you see
And if you keep on doing it
When no one else could give a shit
Then you've found your love is true
Because you keep it just for you.
marți, 2 februarie 2010
"Intr-o zi...
...prietenia se intalneste cu dragostea. Se prezinta fiecare, apoi dragostea intreaba prietenia: -Daca exist eu, tu ce rost mai ai? Prietenia, razand, raspunde: -Eu las un zambet unde tu lasi o lacrima."
In urma cu vreo doi ani am fost intrebat cine conteaza mai mult, iubita sau prietenii. Am raspuns, instinctiv, prietenii. Nu am elaborat.
Acum, inspirat de un status de mes, m-am decis sa elaborez, de ce consider prietenii mai importanti decat iubirea. Oricum, la urma urmei, este o iubire mai... sincera.
Oricate zambete, oricate momente de fericire, oricate saruturi si nopti albe impreuna cu iubirea, la sfarsit, oricare sfarsit ar fi el, nu este niciodata fericit. Intotdeauna lasa o lacrima, intotdeauna lasa in urma o rana, o cicatrice, o urma. Si aceste urme ne definesc, ne fac mai atenti, din ce in ce mai neincrezatori, mai agresivi, mai selectivi. Ne inraiesc, si ne hranesc sentimentele de durere, de dezlipire cu lumea. Dar la urma urmei, ne fac mai rai. Mai abrazivi. Nu spun ca ar trebui ignorata iubirea, ci spun ca trebuie tratata ca atare. Se termina.
Si prietenii. Prieteni.
Prietenii sunt cei pe umarul carora plangem in urma iubirii. Prietenii sunt cei pe care ii stim din copilarie sau cei pe care nu ii stim de o vreme prea lunga dar exista o sinteza. Un loc de inceput pentru povestile care vor fi zise cu un an, doi, cinci in viitor. Prietenii sunt singurul motiv pentru care chiar merita sa sacrificam ceva in mod repetat in lumea de azi, unde totul in jurul nostru se misca atat de repede, cu atatea topuri sociale, pentru ca una din frumusetile prieteniei nu este ca prietenul iti pazeste spatele, ci ca tu ii pazesti spatele lui. Prietenia este cea mai pura forma de iubire inafara cadrului familiei, pentru ca nu exista altceva sa stea in calea acestei iubiri... pure. Nu exista dorinte fizice. Si oricat de multa fericire se afla in satisfacerea unei nevoi fizice, o fericire mult mai puternica se afla in a fi printre prieteni, conversand aiurea decat fortarea unei conversatii intr-o incercare disperata (aici vorbesc mai mult la masculin, ca la feminin e muuuuuult mai usor) sa satisfacem niste nevoi sexuale.
Iubirea ne duce naibi. Prietenii ne aduc inapoi pe pamant.
Nu fugiti de iubire, nu va fie frica sa traiti. Dar nu va uitati prietenii. Nu va ignorati instinctul.
In urma cu vreo doi ani am fost intrebat cine conteaza mai mult, iubita sau prietenii. Am raspuns, instinctiv, prietenii. Nu am elaborat.
Acum, inspirat de un status de mes, m-am decis sa elaborez, de ce consider prietenii mai importanti decat iubirea. Oricum, la urma urmei, este o iubire mai... sincera.
Oricate zambete, oricate momente de fericire, oricate saruturi si nopti albe impreuna cu iubirea, la sfarsit, oricare sfarsit ar fi el, nu este niciodata fericit. Intotdeauna lasa o lacrima, intotdeauna lasa in urma o rana, o cicatrice, o urma. Si aceste urme ne definesc, ne fac mai atenti, din ce in ce mai neincrezatori, mai agresivi, mai selectivi. Ne inraiesc, si ne hranesc sentimentele de durere, de dezlipire cu lumea. Dar la urma urmei, ne fac mai rai. Mai abrazivi. Nu spun ca ar trebui ignorata iubirea, ci spun ca trebuie tratata ca atare. Se termina.
Si prietenii. Prieteni.
Prietenii sunt cei pe umarul carora plangem in urma iubirii. Prietenii sunt cei pe care ii stim din copilarie sau cei pe care nu ii stim de o vreme prea lunga dar exista o sinteza. Un loc de inceput pentru povestile care vor fi zise cu un an, doi, cinci in viitor. Prietenii sunt singurul motiv pentru care chiar merita sa sacrificam ceva in mod repetat in lumea de azi, unde totul in jurul nostru se misca atat de repede, cu atatea topuri sociale, pentru ca una din frumusetile prieteniei nu este ca prietenul iti pazeste spatele, ci ca tu ii pazesti spatele lui. Prietenia este cea mai pura forma de iubire inafara cadrului familiei, pentru ca nu exista altceva sa stea in calea acestei iubiri... pure. Nu exista dorinte fizice. Si oricat de multa fericire se afla in satisfacerea unei nevoi fizice, o fericire mult mai puternica se afla in a fi printre prieteni, conversand aiurea decat fortarea unei conversatii intr-o incercare disperata (aici vorbesc mai mult la masculin, ca la feminin e muuuuuult mai usor) sa satisfacem niste nevoi sexuale.
Iubirea ne duce naibi. Prietenii ne aduc inapoi pe pamant.
Nu fugiti de iubire, nu va fie frica sa traiti. Dar nu va uitati prietenii. Nu va ignorati instinctul.
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