Incercam sa ne gasim prim intunericul a ceva ce se cauta la randu-i pe sine in intuneric, intr-o incertitudine  de trapezist fara plasa de siguranta. Si suntem ceva mai putin decat eram, intr-o stranie si paradoxala echivalenta totusi. Suntem tot noi stiind ca ar trebui sa fim mai mult "tu" si "eu".
Nu ne prea reuseste. Trapezistul s-ar fi facut bucati de cateva ori pana acum. Totusi fraierul isi executa numarul fara ezitari in pofida faptului ca nici naiba nu stie ce s-ar putea intampla cu el. Cu alte cuvinte, are nevoie de nenorocitul ala de trapez pentru ca in jurul lui si-a construit intreaga fiinta, pentru ca se definteste cu el. Pe scrut, trapezistul si trapezul sunt acel "noi" de care fugim acum. Revenind la noi, sau la "tu" si "eu" - diferenta e oricum strict semantica- eu sunt inconstientul care exista doar sub pecetea trapezului. Destul de evident, tu esti trapezul, acel ceva care face pentru mine diferenta dintre existenta si subzistenta. N-avem plasa si nu ne putem opri din a fi "noi" pretinzand ca suntem mai putin de atat, si eu ma runc cu capul inainte, si tu ma prinzi si ce se-ntampla cu noi e armonie. O armonie infantila, nesigura, dar care e tot ce ne-a ramas. Problema e, dragul meu, ca la final, trapezistul isi imprastie viscerele pe pamant sub ochii unui trapez pasiv ce se balanseaza. Asta va fi si deznodamantul nostru?

Emotional lupus

You. 

You eat me from inside.

Here I am, a rotten meaningless body craving for you, having to deal with the emptiness inside, fearful, insecure. And as I seek here, alone with everybody, I can feel how I fall apart, I can here even better now the bluebird that sings in there, in its disgusting cage. But being alone never felt right and was never possible for a long time, so I put on a smile when having someone around, and watch how foolishly they believe I'm fine. I don't hear their words, nor do I feel their touches and I ignore their concerns with such a blindness because I cannot see any similarity between theirs and mines. I wonder whether I'm ever gonna heal, whether this lupus will ever gonna stop haunting me. But since the answer is further than I can see, your absence stays with me, destroying my inner existence, leaving me nothing more but a body with blood still running trough my vines, maddening my brain with your poison, making everything inside hurt. Sometimes I wish you ate my lungs, so wouldn't have to breath anymore, because I'm surely not living anyway. Not anymore.

Happy Birthday, Lupus.
13.02.2014