Saturday, May 31, 2014
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Saturday, October 30, 2010
grim voids of adherence
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| from the library in cluj |
Here @ Sibiu and in the good ole’ American business hotel, whatever this place is called, right, and we have here the big ole’ brunch like bacon, eggs, smoked salmon, potatoes, tea, coffee, bell peppers and cucumber. Sometimes these grim voids of adherence to int’l and USA business standards yield like, a taste of home, and I spend a long breakfast drinking tea. And now they are pulling a white curtain across the buffet and it is an eerie shroud on the place that a moment ago provided me with food and sustenance. And I hand the waiter forty-two lei in cash, and he darts his eyes quickly and sees that no one has seen this handoff, and I wonder if the money has been pocketed. Well, in a way, for me it is the same. Seen how the Julius Meinl logo is everywhere, man. And each table has a simple white ceramic vase holding a solitary piece of twirly bamboo and it feels like an exploitation via commercialization of what once may have held some spiritual/ zen-like powers. And an old bald man chews his cud, and leans his arms across the back of his chair and stares at me- I am writing, after all, on paper- my cover is blown.
20 10 2010
zebra pizza targu mures- waiting for my take-away order
Here to my left is a young girl in a sweater with horizontal lines to teal, brown, heather, pale yellow: earth tones, right. And her face is washed out and she seems to pull on her hair and with ecery strand she tugs, she becomes all the more a small mountain goat, and here in romania google news tells me about Boardman, 63, gored by goat. Boardman gored at the Olympic national park. In the Olympic National Park. Pierced in the thigh and the goat stands and guards the bleeding Boardman. Boardman 63, gored by goat. And here now, we see the arching and multi-tiered wedding cake of the Orthodox church. And we see how the metal coat hook has two curved hooks and how the maker saw fit to make the brass piece that is screwed into the wall the face of a lion.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
He is a Fat Man and His Range of Movement is Limited
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| Cluj Cemetary |
17 10 2010
Targu- mures, Romania
Look there at the shadows in front of us. We have simultaneously put on the beatles’ lucy in the sky with diamonds with a Balinese gamelon band, and we hear this in our ears. The shadows are generated from only the computer here, and have formed two wings that emerge from the two corners of the computer. Behind me is my bed and the springs jut through the mattress. The music has stopped, and we are here wearing our blue and white, wool djellaba, and we see the glowing fingers from the shadowy hands tapping and making spider movements in front of the blue and white sleeves of the djellaba. This is something we see. And we see the black line of the computer’s power cord set against the white background of the notebook. When we look over to the right, we see the door of the room and beneath it is an orange glow- a Halloween orange glow like from an led-lit, synthetic pumpkin, placed ominously outside of our hotel room door.
Cluj-Napoca:
30 9
307-317
Staring vacantly at the plywood covering the wide doorway in front of me. The beams are thick and dark brown and the pressed lines of wood in the thing are such that it is morbid as in the collecting and pressing of like a collection of human bones and teeth, pressed in with the marrow, which is used as a sort of unifying agent. And today at the convenience store- called a magazin, there is a vapid girl in a cheap cocktail dress staring at the floor and standing next to the register holding some cigarette promos.
And is it good that more people write via text, online comments, social networking sites? Shouldn’t it be good? But somehow it makes me nervous. And is it somehow undermining actual writing, this lowered quality of writing. When all errors are acceptable as long as the reader can discern what the writer wanted to say. Like, does this purvey a greater sense of acceptance w/r/t a lack of education. More people writing means like a degeneration of the craft. And when it becomes acceptable to be worse, then isn’t that its own kind of newspeak. First the dumbing down and reduction of language into ’t-mrw s gd day c u’ and cetera.
29 9
210-220
We are here today. We are thinking of what it means when a parent has a birthday. There in the sun is a black coin flipping itself always into the winter moon. Into the heart of the tube. Into the tube of the heat. The last chance you had was in the jungle. The first time we met was by chance in the vines of the thing. The vines dripping and underwater, really. Really it’s been nice. We were all only children then, right. And if it’s really nice, well, it’s been this, and by chance the vines have dropped into the tubes where they fill the thing in tight like tubed meat. Tight and thick, like, we see, and we see how if the sun has this object within it, then there must be low heat in one place or two, and if there is this, then no one really ever meant what they said about the woon of the minter. Break into the heart of the coldest place. Fill the fines with the tubes of the breakwater. Water time. Water break. Water boyfriend. Water with care. Water with care piso mojado. Well what. Well, go to latin america and become latin, bro. You know.
27 9 2010
1226-1236
The wine bottles appear amber and glowing. A photographer takes pictures of some sort of food in a dish. There is a man in a denim jacket and denim pants, and he rather theatrically takes his cellphone from his left breast pocket. On the wall outside, the plaster has broken away, and it looks to me as if there is the image of a wild boar with a big, weepy eye, and a hydrocephalic monitor lizard staring up at the boar. And to the right of the lizard is a fish in orange, pink and gray. The eye of the fish is painted in white dripping paint, like war paint. There is a man in a suit jacket, not a blazer, and plum colored pants, listing to the left as he walks. And there is a little lady coughing into her hand with her baby blue nylon jacket open to the wind. And now we see the salt and pepper dispensers here in the restaurant. They are the wooden kind with the brass ball affixed to the top, and you must grind your own salt as well as your pepper in this place. Outside is a bald man with just a smudge of hair in the center of his head in the place where the hairline begins. A little man in a crew cut. An old man in a sweater with his hands clasped behind his back. A little boy with a red backpack and a viola case, and little-kid hair just like my brother. And there is some graffiti I cannot completely decipher, but the greek letter phi is discernable. A man in a cream jacket with brown and green stripes on the cuffs has his left arm scratching at his back. He is a fat man and his range of movement is limited.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
striped shirts today
28 9 2010
336-346
There is a guy with a black striped shirt. The stripes are bright orange and yellow. They are thin horizontal stripes, two of a color at a time. He walks with a girl who wears a baggy faded-pink polo, and her hair is sort of dirty looking, and her face and posture is sort of slumped and sluggish, and she seems to slosh, rather then walk. Like a loose bag of water being drug down a hill. The guy lifts his elbow to look at and adjust his watch or bracelet. It is a rather aggressive movement, with the sharp of his elbow raised to the throat line of the girl.
There is an old man with his head low, and it seems like he is readying to take a punch. An ole’ square-jawed white hair, that one. The sun peeks out over the yellow building and shines through the layer of wires to where I sit.
There is a kid in a horizontally striped shirt- this is a different one from the previous one, and his shirt is red and green and white stripes, and he seems to twitch his head to the right, as in, it is a little tic that he has as he walks, and he is one of those thick kids. Not necessarily fat, but you would never call him skinny, and he would never be called outright fat, but he is dense, and his hair is a crew cut/ short style, and his face is round, and his hair is square, and his arms have no definition w/r/t muscle, and what do you do with these people. He is not necessarily weak. Maybe he is, but are these people the equivalent of cows- like some bovine species, or like a lazy farm dog anthropomorphized to the point that eventually it evolved into this creature on the sidewalk twitching in the neck. You see?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
the important thing is that we understand each other
Cluj-Napoca
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.
 |
| 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.
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