Here: Cluj-Napoca, Romania

10 9 2010 Cluj- Café Corso:

Next to me is a planter in a window. Three spaces hold three long, rectangular plastic containers. The plastic containers are full with dirt, and the plants rise up from the dirt. And the table I sit at is nestled up against the window with these plants, and another table. Between the two tables is an angular space where the white of the floor, and part of the seat of a chair are visible.

Three old men sit beneath an umbrella. One of them strokes beneath his chin, then his lower jaw bone with an index finger that looks like a weathered walnut. The door to the massive cathedral is ajar. I can see this from here. The taxis line up in front of the cathedral. Here, they are white cars, with the yellow taxi sign fixed to the rear-roof section. The side of the cars display a thin, black and white checker decal, just below the passenger windows.

I see through a space in the trees, the waving of a blue flag.





7 9 2010 Cluj: Le General- on the balcony



Prime seat here looking out over the street, and the wavering of the skinny trees in their holes- really, their holes- they are put in the sidewalk and can see fully, how big they are allowed to grow. They will never exceed this metal grate. They will see that one day they will be growing up against a metal plate. They see that one day their roots will be pushing into the stone squares of the walkway, that one day they will face the sad blanket of the asphalt.

Hey and I have here a beer. It says: regele berii in romania. It is called Ursus, which means bear.



Over there is hotel meteor. Overhead, we see the orthodox church dome and steeple, black and tinged with slight oxidation, and even a patch of burnt red from god knows what, and on the other side of the horizon, we see the catholic church. And there is the blue sign that says euro-gsm, and of course in my simplicity, I conjoin these words to create a term for some ecstatic novice traveler recounting his daytrip to the Eiffel Tower. And the table I sit at is front and center of this balcony, and is a blue tile mosaic, with aqua and royal blues and some white interspersing this. It is only a patterned table, there is not an attempt at pictorial representations today. Not at this fucking table at least. And a red van has it’s parking lights flashing and has the passenger wheels jacked up onto the curb and there is nobody to be seen, but the driver’s window is open. This street is right next to the pedestrian walkway. And I count twenty-two of those beige colored umbrellas, the squarish ones that they hoist up over the tables, here. And I see an old man in a beige shirt and camel-colored pants, and old people fade into the sand in their own way don’t they, beginning with their attire. And over there is a woman in a bright green like mint shirt doing little gestures with her hand to a woman in a cream-colored jacket and a bright strawberry shirt, and now the police go by and in this country it is spelled polita. And there is a woman who like bounces from foot to foot as she walks, shifting her considerable weight, and wearing a garish bright green shirt with some olive stripes on it. And looking down, I see a man carrying a purse, and a blue plastic sac, and the woman carries a child in a pink sweatshirt, a white and white trainers, and the woman herself wears a black, veil-like head covering. I wonder about deja-vu. Perhaps it is a sort of sign post, an indicator that you are on the correct path, that you have tapped into a greater conciousness.



6 9 2010 Cluj

4:47

Here at Corso café. Here we see the gothic-style catholic church with it’s mottled, orange and purple tint. There is a man in a tan-leather jacket on the street sitting next to a tree. The base of the tree has been painted white. The streets are full of long, dark-haired girls, and bent, bulbous old women. The city exists beneath a web of wires. Maybe there was a man who was in charge of stringing up the electric /telephone /video /other wires. I picture him carrying the coiled wires on his back, and instead of using a ladder, he would toss up the wires, hoping to hook them on the pole, then moving to the next one, and stringing the city together like with dark garlands. Maybe he had only one arm, and wore a long-sleeved shirt with one sleeve pinned up.







4 9 2010 Cluj-Napoca, Romania

9:16 am



Hotel. The carpet is a nauseating red this morning. I am here, alone in the room. A television shows romanian news. A weather man is in a tomato colored shirt. An anchorwoman delivers sultry. Behind me the kitchen staff has taken up seats and they begin speaking and smoking.