Taxi Stories #4 - Simfonia Pastorală

Ieri pe la 17, în lipsă de maşină de teleportare, chem un taxi să mă livreze la următorul copil cât mai repede cu putinţă. Vine taxiul, îmi verifică identitatea şi ne punem în mişcare. Mă rog, omul e convins acum că mă cheamă Ioana că rugasem pe o Ioană să-mi comande taxiul cu aplicaţia ei şmecheră. Domnul şofer este un bărbat zdravăn de vreo 40-50 de ani. Stau prost la judecat vârsta. Pare serios, dar poate, dacă m-aş lua numai şi numai după aparenţe, mi l-aş închipui suporter de fotbal SAU mâncător de mici SAU de seminţe SAU de manele SAU... Din fericire, tata m-a crescut mai bine de atât. Şi bine mi-a prins.

În primii 50 de metri are loc următorul schimb de replici ameţitor:

Aurel Băeşu, Autoportret

- Strada Aurel Băeşu, vă rog.
- Da, zice el. Un pictor mediocru, supra-apreciat.
- Da, răspund eu, stăm cam prost la capitolul pictori.
- Cum se poate, se întoarce la mine cu reproş, să staţi pe Aurel Băeşu şi să nu ştiţi cine a fost?
- Nu am zis că nu ştiu, ziceam că arta plastică românească nu mi se pare foarte interesantă.
- A, asta e altceva. Aşa e, avem câteva nume mari, dar nu au reuşit să fie recunoscuţi pe plan internaţional.
- Şi eu nu stau pe Băeşu, stau în Titan, şi acolo e cu pictori.
- Da, zice el, Theodor Pallady, Camil Ressu ...
- Şi Nicolae Grigorescu, închei eu.

În următorii 50 de metri am vorbit despre Corneliu Baba, Tonitza şi Luchian. Pe urmă am făcut linişte o vreme. A dat radioul mai tare. Asculta Radio România Muzical, ştiţi voi, "classic, jazz and more", conform sloganului.


Pe la Aviatorilor, îmi aduc aminte că am fost răcită şi mă pun pe tuşit. Prezentatorul de radio anunţă un concurs:
- Sunaţi cu răspunsul la întrebarea: "Ce simfonie a lui Beethoven a fost cunoscută ca Simfonia Pastorală?"
- A şasea, zice domnul şofer fără să piardă o secundă.

Termin de tuşit.

- Îmi cer scuze că v-am bruiat muzica.
- Nu face nimic. Vă deranjează? Vreţi să pun altceva?
- Nu, doamne fereşte. E aer proaspăt. E foarte bine.
- Întrebam, pentru că majoritatea clienţilor preferă Kiss sau Zu.
- O manea nu aveţi? îl întreb.

Rafael, Madona of the Pinks

Râde. Între Aviatorilor şi Arcul de Triumf vorbeşte despre importanţa secolului 17 în muzica clasică, cu date, ani şi număr de simfonii, concerte, sonate compuse de diverşi. Ar putea ţine un curs de istoria muzicii clasice.

Între Arcul de Triumf şi Casa Scânteii vorbim despre manelele originale, muzica lăutărească autentică, manelele cu "regheton" , despre declinul muzicii "uşoare" şi al muzicii în general.

Trecem de Casa Scânteii şi nu ştiu cum facem de ajungem la Renascentişti. Da, ştiu, am
luat-o înapoi, înainte, înapoi, dezbatem de ce crede el că Rafael Sanzio e un artist mai bun decât Michelangelo, despre educaţia umanistă şi despre geniul lui Leonardo da Vinci. Enunţăm teorii contradictorii despre influenţa economiei şi a religiei în evoluţia şi declinul artelor dar nu ne certăm.

Ajungem la destinaţie şi mai pierd vreo cinci minute ca să încheiem discuţia. Şi până s-o zic eu, o zice el:
- Uau! Să ştiţi că mi-a făcut foarte mare plăcere să vorbesc cu dumneavoastră!

Desigur că îi răspund politicos că sentimentul e reciproc.
Cobor şi nu-mi revin din starea de "uau!". Am impresia că tocmai am băut apă curată de izvor.

Story of my life

În dimineaţa asta, am ajuns iar la Magnetic Fields.

Eligible, not too stupid
Intelligible and cute as Cupid
Knowledgeable, but not always right
Salvageable and free for the night

Well, my heart's running round
Like a chicken with its head cut off
All around the barnyard
falling in and out of love
Poor thing's blind as a bat
Getting up, falling down, getting up
Who'd fall in love with a chicken with its head cut off?
(Whoa, Nelly)

My wife doesn't understand me
Many dozens hope to land me
I'm for free love, and I'm in free fall
This could be love or nothing at all

Well, my heart's running round
Like a chicken with its head cut off
All around the barnyard 
falling in and out of love
Poor thing's blind as a bat
Getting up, falling down, getting up
Who'd fall in love with a chicken with its head cut off?

We don't have to be stars exploding in the night
Or electric eels under the covers
We don't have to be anything quite so unreal
Let's just be lovers...

Well, my heart's running round
Like a chicken with its head cut off
All around the barnyard 
falling in and out of love
Poor thing's blind as a bat
Getting up, falling down, getting up
Who'd fall in love with a chicken with its head cut off?
(It ain't pretty)

Again

It's late. It's dark. I am OK. I promissed I'd be OK. But I do love you. And it's just unfair that I still do.

I promiss I'll be ok

This is for the two special people I've been spending a lot of time with in the past few days, my sweet degenerate fairy and my dear brontosaurus.

Ok, so I am not ok.
Just for a while. I promissed I'd keep it together. I promissed myself first of all. I swore I would always find something to cling on, as small as it is, anything, my family, my friends, my passions and if all fails, my cats. I have to keep it together for the cats, cause they depend on me. As far as people depend on me, I'm fine, I can work it out. Would like a break though, from time to time, like when I was at home, you know, the only real home there is, and it was summer holiday and just for a few days at the very beginning I would just lay back and relax and sleep late and not do anything at all, and there would be coffee in the morning and breakfast. Just one or two days of being spoiled. That was nice.
But then again, this is just part of growing up, my dad would say, less breaks more work, just try to enjoy what happens in between. Since I've left, I've been sick countless times and I always took care of myself the same way he taught me and sometimes it doesn't even matter that you're sick, you just need to keep going, keep going. And sometimes, I wish there would be someone to take care of me.
But this is not about being alone. All in all, I KNOW that, were I to feel really bad and in need of help, there are at least 7 people, off the top of my head, that I could call anytime of day or night who would rush to the rescue.
I swore I would never do a job I don't like, trying to keep up with that. And also, I swore I would never compromise. And I have. And it hurts. And I promissed myself  I would stop.
So what is it about, after all? Why do I feel like I'm in the wrong movie? Like I am playing the wrong parts every time? There are stories that just pass me by, like they don't happen to me. Like this house and these cats and these notebooks and clothes are not mine, like they don't all stink of me and my touch. As if I am just watching this absurd projection and chewing on popcorn while my whole life is rushing by.
But I will catch the train. There is a train and I will catch it no matter what. And I will survive.
How do I know I will survive? Because I laughed, goddamit, because I laughed.
Because I am still impressed and I am still looking for the good in people, whatever happens, because I am still inlove and wish to remain so cause at least I can write poems about it, if nothing else will ever come out of it. Because I can still read and draw and paint and because I made my own damn dress and I felt like a princess. Because I am still looking for nice things and I am still able to find them, because I can still be happy and hopelessly inlove at the same time.

And I will never:

• Give up and fall appart
• Lose another friend
• Go back home crying
• Stop writing, drawing, reading (and singing and dancing to myself)
• Lose hope

So, I promissed I'd be ok and I have to. 

Thank you for making me laugh these past few days. You saved my soul again.

I'm sorry that I love you dar e din cauza redingotei

Un cantecel mic si dragut, de la Magnetic Fields citire, pentru ca azi am starea aia idioata in care ascult cantecele mici si dragute cu si despre dragoste si am impresia ca toate sunt despre mine.
Maine o sa fiu normala din nou, promit.

A single rose in your garden dwells
Like any rose it's not itself

It is my love in your garden grows
but let's pretend it's just a rose
Well I'm sorry that I love you
It's a phase that I'm going through
There is nothing that I can do
and I'm sorry that I love you
Do not listen to my song
Don't remember it, don't sing along
Let's pretend it's a work of art
Let's pretend it's not my heart...
The rose will fade when summer's gone
The song will fade and I'll be gone
because my heart is dying too
and it's all the same to you

---

Deci, ca sa fie clar: I'm sorry = imi cer scuze/ iarta-ma, nu inseamna ca regret.
Numai ca imi pare rau ca te-am tarat dupa mine in chestia asta. Dupa cum am mai spus, I really didn't mean to trap you, dar s-a intamplat si acum sunt blocata o vreme. OK, I am still trying to get a life asa cum mi s-a sugerat, caut alternative, plec la agatat sau ma bucur de singuratate si cateodata chiar am impresia ca mi-e bine.
In alte zile insa, patesc ce am patit azi cand rasfoiam o carte de fashion illustration, unde am vazut o redingota si am intrat putin in panica. Am simtit brusc nevoia ca tu sa apari atunci acolo imbracat in redingota. De unde dracu' am scos-o cu redingota nu stiu, ca nu te-am vazut niciodata in redingota, de fapt nu stiu daca am vazut vreodata pe cineva imbracat asa in real life.
And there are nights I sleep on the couch because a half-empty double bed seems ridiculous.