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| Belgrade |
21 9 2010
12:51-1:01
Here is the Romanian cop with his train-conductor-style hat. Oh, and, well this guy in the red shirt licks his right index finger and rubs at a white stain on his navy jeans, while smoking a hand-rolled cigarette with his left hand.
There is the girl in the baggy green shirt, could be muslin, and her hand is to her left ear, and her left elbow is on the table, and presumably she is operating a mobile telephone, and her left index finger holds a jade-colored ring, and the stone is a flat circle.
There is the girl with the faux rabbit fur hooded vest over a pea-green sweater, and she has dyed her hair a sort of auburn-blonde, and underneath her eyes it is the color of cooked liver.
And in the restaurant behind me there is an advertisement that covers the entire storefront window- it is a man holding a knife in front of a kebab, and the kebab dwarfs him, and his knife is the size of a machete, and his hat is a little fez and is red, and tufts of hair peek out the front of it, he wears his fez like he wore his little beret when he worked at burger king or some such place, and the red letters above this slouched man in white, read: kebab de criza 4.90 lei.
Now the girl with the green shirt and green ring stirs her cappuccino, lifts the spoon, dabs at the foam, dips it, twirls it again, now she is slipping the foamy spoon into her mouth.
And here is a guy in a suit kind of bouncing along, sort of a side to side gait, as if he is like too happy. Maybe he would be sloppy to deal with, too loose.
And there is the little dark woman, with almost a bald spot and she is practically hunched over the teal colored baby stroller, and holding hands with another little boy and her little girl walks out front of the stroller.
Okay, and I am back at the galeriile café, right, outside, and it is a perfect day out, and so the three benches nearby are filled with the usual old gypsy women who congregate there.
And now the policeman in his little conductor’s hat is over and talking to a little gypsy girl and asking to see the contents of her yellow shopping bag that says in English, “cash and c.” I can’t read the rest of the word after the c. but it makes me think of a USA store that is called cash and carry, and who the hell knows what happened to that place, right.
20 9 2010
146-156
We see the red of the chairs in a clump and they are four squares of oxidized strawberry juice, and we see now the faces in the grains of the wood of the table, and how all of these faces are studded with the eyes of the owl, right. And how for some reason I have been able to play the beatles lucy in the sky with diamonds and yann tiersen’s les jours tristes, from amelie, today simultaneously, and somehow it is a comforting like two blankets I huddle beneath.
There is a woman with a peach colored hood.
There is a woman in black who waddles, rather dangerously listing to the side.
There is a small green car with what seems to be only a shadow at the wheel.
Over there is a yellow pipe the color of synthetic banana, framing the doorway of the building. And there is a little taxi with the green, yellow, red of the Romanian flag for a taxi sign, and the word taxi is in the middle, the yellow part, and now there is the burgundy flash of a van, and now there is another silver car followed by a lime green car, and a silver, and there is another taxi, white on top, blue on the bottom, and today the traffic and the passing of cars is such that it becomes a blur of colors, right, and each car is a drop of paint sliding down the canvas, and it is, perhaps, me, that is too small and sitting at the wrong angle or maybe I am on my back.
There is an old woman in a lavender jacket with reddish hair.
The lower windows of the building out there are covered in bars.
Above on a balcony, three green-grey bags appear as the three corpses of captured tortoises.
19 9 2010
Okay found the best coffee here in cluj. The cup is emblazoned with the word ‘maromas’ in lowercase, bold, black font. Above these letters is a gold sort of modernist eagle with five stars rising and meeting in an arc above the bird’s opened wings. The girl working told me that this place has been open for two months. It used to be an apartment building. It is tastefully decorated in a pretty shade of lilac, and the tables are nice light wood with dark grains showing. I am alone here in a nice corner by the window, and so this is ideal. And outside the window I count twenty-two wires that are strung in this one spot. And across the street is a building in light yellow, the color of a the tiny tentacles on the bottom of a dried starfish. In one corner is a brick fireplace. Today they play early nineties ballads. There is an electric piano and two big speakers on the far left of where I sit, and also a microphone, so I am guessing that there is live music here. I apologized to the girl working here for not knowing very much Romanian. She in turn, apologized for not knowing very good English. I assured her that she spoke great English, and she said, ‘the important thing is that we can understand each other.’ I gave her a thumbs up and returned to my table.
