vineri, 11 octombrie 2013


Bubico was a plastic puppy. It was white, had a collar, ears alert and a playful smile. I had lots of toys, but Bubico was not mine. It belonged to one of the kids on the familuy we were visiting that time.

Once it chose to be named Bubico and i enthusiastically wrote the name Bubico all over it in neat handwriting, Bubico was mine. I knew it, Bubico knew it and the kids living there as well.

I don't remember when Bubico left, just that he was a special part of my childhood. But then there were no glass office buildings, my family lived in this green place with a yard, which seemed to fill up with richly horned stags. And there was this one kid in whose yard there were snowdrops and no one could have any, except my sister Eliza.

duminică, 22 septembrie 2013

El gato no ladra

Listening Spanish radio, i feel like playing with words. Liebevoll, casualidad, ask her out, chewing gum, gato no ladra. Words rolling out in all languages.

It's all a lie of course, and i love getting diatracted by the colourful nuances of words rather than turning a sobre eye to the practicalities of life.

vineri, 8 martie 2013


M-am trezit azi cu ghearele inclestate. Mi-am tarait aripile pana la birou. Nu stiu daca sunt un inger sau o pasare.