I am an earthen threadand feel strange as I see this searching for myself

that I am nothing more than the image I've built of myselfas I willed

unwilling to have anything grated by mother natureor parents or the place whence I come fromto wander a bit through this world

it's just encouraging because I'm my own artand for this I've spent all the seedspainfully collected from readingsand music and feelings and holidays and longings and mountains and dreamsshared yet with no one

the ground has been fertile and seeds have all become little sproutsthat grew slowly and beautifullyhaving all the sun and food and rainbut its all discouraging that the sprouts have not maturedbore no flower and giving no seed in their turnas they were too crowded

moment I knew they need some clearingbecause I've put a part of myself in each

waste, I said to myself clearing myselfand then I knew i needed tutors for the worldly things

from whom to receive more seedsI'm coming from my useless and fragile worldinto your useless and strong worldthe mistake has sneaked in, I know that now

because I didn't know how to create a viable diphthongfrom their and my worldfrom a handful of my sprouts and a couple of their seedsall carefully selectedso that I have no other choice than choose other seedsfrom the ones I'm offeredor, as I've recently learntthe ones I ask for or I stealthe story of this earthen thread carries with itself a load of storiesand one moment

the moment, for it is it we should speak of, is the one in whichi've been caressed by a few wordsI found them and I've let myself caressed by themthey were chasing me all the time and when they caught me they caressed me

it was dizzingly good making me feel the need to put my noseon the frozen windowlike then when I was a kid and it was snowing outside

and as the words kept chasing me and catching meand caressing meI felt this is not enough

I felt that they themselves want themselves caressed just like whores doand start myself to caress thembut still it wasn't enough

with my renowned stubbornness I looked behind themand there I found you or so it seemed

this seems to be the sunday of some recognitionsand the sunday of some revolts

well, let me now tell you what I recognize and what revolts menow I can see the stridency of the gestures of my unclothing myselfof all veils before youfrom splinters of thought that have not yet been thoughtwithout noticing that it's as I'd made you feel responsible for knowing themor at least deferent

maybe I got complicated because I just went through a clearing which I forced you to witness

maybe it was that I though I was too simple allowing myself to be chosenand unable to mean somethingfor someone chosen by me

maybe I could no longer manage on my own in the chaos within meand needed someone to tear down all my artifices as they were jewelryone by one

maybe I needed someone to nail me to a wallto grab me by the collar and tell meit's time to get a life, bitch

maybe I just needed the other one

you say romanticism is over from centuries long passed

and its declamation is finishedfrom the times of the flame groupingsyou come and tell me that you need me and, with only a blink,I think I caught youit's clear you want something and surely not wordsfor only short-minded ones crave them

or you come and tell me you feel good when I exist towards youas if this certitude would keep you from hungry or coldlife is how you make it, crazy one, you said it, I think

I say solike this, after recognitions and revolts the inference is coming

you are a beautiful creaturethe definition of which beingthe one besides whom you feel beautiful

not an objectan object, no

simple questions bored me alwaysso I ran ever since I knew myself looking for the complicatedeven revoltingly complicated

but as from intricate to impossible the path is so short at time and againI like to think that my fantasies will bring youat least a smile and a smoke break

because in the beginning and the end there have always been the words

diana ureche, constanta, sunday, october 5