ganduri risipite-n vant...
... fireworks... gingerbread... late train... first train... last century
Oh it seemed forever stopped today
All the lonely hearts in London
Caught a plane and flew away
And all the best women are married
All the handsome men are gay
You feel deprived
Yeah are you questioning your size?
Is there a tumour in your humour,
Are there bags under your eyes?
Do you leave dents where you sit,
Are you getting on a bit?
Will you survive
You must survive
When there's no love in town
This new century keeps bringing you down
All the places you have been
Trying to find a love supreme
A love supreme
Oh what are you really looking for?
Another partner in your life to
abuse and to adore?
Is it lovey dovey stuff,
Do you need a bit of rough?
Get on your knees
Yeah turn down the love songs that you hear
'Cause you can't avoid the sentiment
That echoes in your ear
Saying love will stop the pain
Saying love will kill the fear
Do you believe
You must believe
When there's no love in town
This new century keeps bringing you down
All the places you have been
Trying to find a love supreme
A love supreme
I spy with my little eye
Something beginning with (ah)
Got my back up
And now she's screaming
So I've got to turn the track up
Sit back and watch the royalties stack up
I know this girl she likes to switch teams
And I'm a fiend but I'm living for a love supreme
When there's no love in town
This new century keeps bringing you down
All the places you have been
Trying to find a love supreme
A love supreme
Come and live a love supreme
Don't let it get you down
Everybody lives for love
Come and live a love supreme
Don't let it get you down
Everybody lives for love
"The way you treat reality in your books... has been called magical realism. I have the feeling your European readers are usually aware of the magic of your stories but fail to see the reality behind it..."
"This is surely because their rationalism prevents them seeing that reality isn't limited to the price of tomatoes and eggs."
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up sample in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages (chocolate) at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
Jenny Joseph
Cand eram mica, eram foarte idealista. Poate ca si acum mai sunt, intr-o oarecare masura. Dar atunci credeam ca totul are un happy-end. Credeam ca viata este o comedie romantica sau o drama in care personajele sufera, gresesc, plang, se despart, isi pierd speranta, pentru ca la sfarsit totul sa se termine cu bine, fiecare sa-si gaseasca fericirea intr-un fel sau altul, iar tu, ca spectator, sa oftezi plin de speranta si sa-ti spui “da, si mie o sa mi se intample la fel; de maine intreaga mea viata o sa se schimbe in bine”.
Insa filmele nu sunt altceva decat niste basme pentru adulti…
Asa ca am inceput sa ma intreb daca si in viata reala trebuie sa treci prin sapte probe de foc, sa te lupti cu Spanul, Zmeul sau Baba Cloanta, ca in cele din urma sa gasesti ceea ce cauti: iubire, bogatie, implinire, fericire…. propria ta imparatie.
Si totusi, sunt momente in care crezi ca nu-ti lipseste nimic, ca ai tot ce ti-ai dorit vreodata, dar in acelasi timp tanjesti dupa ceva, fara sa stii dupa ce anume.
Poate ca, de fapt, nu suntem decat niste fiinte incomplete din care lipseste mereu o particica oricat de marunta…
Probabil ca “fericirea e dupa colt” e acelasi lucru ca invartitul in cerc; doar ca in loc sa te invarti in cerc, alergi dupa colturi… Ca omul insetat care, cu cat se apropie mai mult de mirajul oazei din desert, cu atat se departeaza….
Acum cateva saptamani, intr-o dimineata, m-am oprit brusc cand privirea mi-a fost atrasa de o femeie… Purta pantofi eleganti, cu toc, si cara dupa ea vreo zece sacose, de m-am intrebat cum dumnezeu le poate duce pe toate!
Se oprise si ea, brusc, isi lasase sacosele si, razand fericita, incepuse sa-si pudreze obrajii… A continuat sa faca asta timp de cateva minute, pana cand intreaga fata i s-a colorat intr- un roz aprins.
Nu auzea jignirile florareselor care o luau peste picior, din spatele tarabei de la coltul strazii; ea credea ca este cu adevarat frumoasa! Si era…
Da, era unul dintre acei oameni…
Ce pacat ca nebunia se trateaza! Ce pacat ca oamenii inventeaza diagnostice si remedii, pedepse si interdictii, prejudecati, pentru multe dintre lucrurile care ne-ar putea face fericiti!
Poate ca realitatea e cosmarul, iar nebunia – visul frumos in care am putea evada…Nebunia aceea sinonima cu nepasarea, cu refuzul de a accepta lumea care te inconjoara si de a te conforma celor multi…
Femeia cu fata pudrata care radea fara motiv era frumoasa… si fericita… si nu parea sa aiba nicio grija pe lume.
Asta sa fie rasplata dupa cele sapte probe de foc?