Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Forgetting the Magic

Why sometimes something that could make me so happy scares me to death... And why it's better to be heartbroken than loved out of pity. This story that Coehlo wrote a while ago still stuck in my head..

A seagull was flying over a beach when it spotted a cat andimmediately fell in love. She descended from the sky and asked:

- Where are your wings?

Each animal speaks only one language, and the cat did not understand what was said. But he did notice that the animal standing there had two strange things coming out of its body. "It must be some sort of disease," thought the cat. The seagull saw that her new love was staring at her:

- Poor thing! He has been attacked by monsters, they've left him deaf and taken his wings.

Filled with pity, she took the cat in her beak and carried him off high in the air. "At least we can spend some time together," shethought as they flew along. And the cat fell in love with that magical creature who allowed him to fly beyond his dreams. But since all her efforts to show her love were in vain, the seagull took him back to the ground and left in search of someone who would understand her better.

For a few months the cat was deeply sad: he had flown high in thesky, seen a vast and beautiful world from above, and found acompanion. But as time went by, he grew used to what he had been before, concluded that he had not been born to go so far in hisd reams, and never more wished for something good to happen in hislife, because that caused him so much suffering.

Paulo Coehlo :: Warrior of the Light

Wednesday, November 23, 2005


Sad.... so so sad.. happy too..but mostly sad...

Monday, November 21, 2005

To a Cat

I wish I could turn you into a cat. A big white fluffy cat with blue eyes that would purr when I stroked his arched back.
Could you be a cat already, haunting me with your glossy looks, and then running away? I could chase but I don't dare, you see, cats frighten me a little. Sometimes you silently come close and brush you dreamy fur by my thigh, and it seems to me you're no more than lines of a long forgotten poem that to came to life. I remember and I wish I could just reach out and poke your closed world, wake you up from your blue dreams and make you mine.
But even then, can anyone really own a cat?

Jorge Luis Borges::To A Cat

Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering caress of my hand.
You have accepted, since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.

Friday, November 18, 2005


There is a saying in Romanian that says the eyes you don't see you forget. How about the eyes you keep on seeing, how do you forget those?

Herve and sexy car

Thursday, November 17, 2005


I wonder why...


I feel as if an angel just flew by me. He was so close that I could almost feel his warm breath ruffling my hair. I hoped he would stop and spread his protective wings around me, I almost sensed that quiet feeling of home and peace, like a little girl embracing by my mother and thinking nothing could ever go wrong. But he didn't stop. He looked me in the eye for a second and in his eyes I could see my dreams of what could have been. And just like that, for a split moment I was happy, living in a world that never was and never will be.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005


Je ne veux pas travailler
Je ne veux pas déjeuner
Je veux seulement oublier

Sunday, November 13, 2005


Why is it that some books touch our souls? Could it be that maybe because we read them when our souls need to be touched...

I read Marquez's last book and I almost felt like in some way it bridged my past with my present. The way he writes is so unique that every time I read something by him I feel everything I felt when I read him for the first time. He reminds me of being in love for the first time when I was reading A Hundred Years of Solitude, of my heart being broken as I was reading Of Love and Other Demons, of my great
obsessions when I read The Fall of the Patriarch.. And now, when I read Memories of My Melancholic Whores, can't you guess what is left in my memory?

Salsa Night

@ Cuba Libre

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

RSS Feed

I have added an RSS feed to my website. So if you want to subscribe to it, here it is :)

Madame Bovary and I

“As for Emma, she never made any effort to determine whether or not she was in love with himm. Love, she felt, ought to come all at once, with great thunderclaps and flashes of lightning; it was like a storm bursting upon life from the sky, uprooting it, overwhelming the will and sweeping the heart into the abyss. It did not occur to her that rain forms puddles on a flat roof when the drainpipes are clogged, and she would have continued to feel secure is she had not suddenly discovered a crack in the wall.”

Gustave Flaubert :: Madam Bovary

Monday, November 07, 2005


There's no place like the city. Going there is like becoming alive, like going home and then going somewhere totally new at the same time. Stylish cocktail party at the Guggenheim, cutting the lines to the hottest clubs, people going towards you from every side, hangover breakfast at 5, dancing on elevated stages. Fast strolling in Union Square, dreams swirling up in the air, cute blonde accents that remind me of your smile. Yes, there is nothing that can compare with a weekend in New York, nothing at all.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

Party at museum