Alas, it's God almighty upon us

Inspiration is something you can rarely find these days, it seems as some of us need to travel miles away to find it. Others, may spend days and weeks isolated in their ivory tower hoping the divine good will release soon its boosting energy.

Writing is not about scars, nor is it about releasing frustrations or selfishness. When you send a message to your readers, do make sure they will be left with something- no matter how shalow that piece of "somethingness" might be-the message is the arse kicker.

As a theatre icon I personally admire said once : "The mission of an artist nowadays is to impress and to manage to literally make the reader emerge into another reality, showing a new perspective and a new way of conceiving the idea of SELF".
Writing is about dignity and self awareness, about giving joy and thrills and changing.
When the writer ceases to impress its audience, he simply dies and he, the unfortunate, will be erased from the collective memory like forever.

Some writers will admit it, some will not.

Some will inherit the grace and the horendous joy of being read, others may just aim to become writers, but the unforgiving time will engulf them as the legendary kit fish did with Jonas. In a postmodern world, the only thing we can do is just give as much as we can, work as hard and aim accordingly.

Any other rationale but this, will be automatically labeled as a huge nonsense.

Bla

She told me there are drugs that open your heart and some others that make you face your ego.She started to cry.She felt lost.We were laying in the grass just in front of the squareish library building.She felt like getting rid of the awful pain swelling from deep inside. Then, I realized how much she misses her friends, her past life, her cat, her fags etc.It was a new beginning chosen at a very early stage that she embraced with selfless love and enthusiasm.

Had we had the chance to choose our own future, how great we would be?Wouldn't we?

But known thing is no creature on Earth can do that no matter how thoroughly is striving.The gods from up above could not care less about us.

Then she told me about the ups and downs of one's life.We strolled the parks alleys and we roamed the night roads, carelessly.
One night I told her she's like  the Phoenix bird, that she can upbring herself from the very own ashes, that once you go through fire, you will burn within.Once you're resuscitated, you begin a new circle of life, but the ashes will be always there, emerging in different shapes and faded nuances.
They don't forget and nor do they forgive.
Anyone.Anything.

Because she is like that. A night bird with broken wings made up of ashes that once used to burn to the ground and whenever touches the ground with her feet she can still feel the pain, more vibrant and lively than ever.

Yesterday, I gave her a hug. And strongly suggested her to choose a path, wichever that may be.Some paths go straight to complete destruction of self, others go to abominance. Some others may join other paths and create confusion whnever one is found in the middle of the cross roads.

And later on she confessed that unconsciously, she brings out the best of the ones she loves.

Because

Are there enough words to best describe a person?Even if there were plenty, I wouldn't have been able to do it.
After more than one year she is still there, keeps being present sometimes without pretending anything, not saying anything, not aiming to do anything but bringing me to a reality I always have been part of.
Bucharest has been bohemian moments, feelings, music and thoughts (with ups and downs but anyway) all conveyed in her unique perspective, triggering intuition as expected . Last night she sent me a message on Couch Surfing telling me she's in Calgary, Alberta.She had an awful flight, lost her temper a few times (which is soooo unusual when talking about her cause she's that sort of...how shall I say, well...that sort of well ballanced, well paced person and still...she lost her temper).

Could hear her sipping her coffee.

She felt like calling me but she suddenly remembered I have changed my SIM card. Women are soooo unpredictible at times and thus, it makes all the effort of approaching them look redundant.Why doing it if she's always hiding something from you?She always will, no matter what.
And then she mentioned she was wearing the plaid hat I gave her when I left...more than one year ago or so.The hat I was proudly wearing whenever we met in order to take long strolls across the city centre in search for pubs with good music or cheap restaurants with quite yum food.lol

Last night I realized how much I miss our late night conversations about all the existing odds and ends, about people we met, places we went or places we'll go.She managed to put a wide grin of bewilderment on my face, which has become so rare lately.
Well...she used to be an icon of knowledge and self reliance.
She ain't anymore.She ceased to be so when she asked me for help.She needs it.
She'll come all the way to England.
And the conversations will start once again, maybe more lively, maybe less intended, godknowswhy.

 I guess I wrote all this nonsense for all the red wine bottles we drank and for all those which are forth.

:)