La dolce vita…

Oana a fost insuportabil de dulce azi la o terasa din Cismigiu cind i-a spus unei babutze care vindea icoane si cruciulite: “mamaie, noi sintem mulsulmane”, iar mai tirziu cind doi barcagii i-au cerut numarul de telefon m-am intrebat in ce casa are ea Lilith-u. WTF, m-au innebunit Mayra, Ioghinu de Duminica si mi se pare ca si Nadia.

apoi ne-am amintit de un proiect Tv pe care am incercat sa-l facem anul trecut, pina cind l-am lasat balta ca s-a blocat in deciziile altora. asta face parte dintre acele proiecte care, chiar daca nu vad lumina zilei, ii aduc pe oameni aproape, nu ii despart.

toata discutia noastra s-ar rezuma in citeva versuri ale lui Walt Whitman, poetul meu preferat si, de fapt, singurul:

“Writing and talk do not prove me,

I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face

With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.

Now I will do nothing but listen

To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.

I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals.

I hear the sound of love, the sound of the human voice,

I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,

Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night…”

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