Archive for Iulie 2010

the solitude’s seduction (liliana corobca)

Iulie 9, 2010

the solitude’s seduction

dangerous as poison

smelling well artistically

sterile useless

murderer

Pygmalion planned to build Galateea. He chose an egg as raw material. But the egg has already a famous form. Pygmalion doesn’t care, he tries to sculpt it, to shape it, to press it, to educate it and to give it the wanted form. The egg, fundamental element, primordial and finite, gets upset and cries secretly. Then, it rebels against Pygmalion and shows its disagreement by revolving on its own axis, as a globe. But Pygmalion doesn’t come to the end of his tether. He catches it and fixes it well using a special multi-dimensional system. At its wit’s end, the egg uses all its force, takes off and bang! on Pygmalion’s forehead. Then, it drips down his nose, his mouth and his chin, giving his stupid creator a feeling of sickness and prurient pleasure.

You’re my favourite library, Antonia. Did you know? By your side I can peacefully exist, your books make me feel free. You’re an enormous place, pure and intelligent. Your silence (because you always write and you never speak) is parental, protective. Safety. If you stopped writing, you would jump into my arms as a child and you would start kissing me. You are the same, you haven’t changed. Like a good mother you forgive my mistakes. I can make mistakes, but I come back to you. No one knows me better, no one loves me more. Write, my lover, write.

My loneliness is like a weapon.

We lick our injuries, we stitch our frustration.

Mysteriously, the castle is watching me.

You don’t have all the keys to open its doors.

You don’t know so many serenades to sing to my remote window.

You will never reach me.

The castle is watching me, great-hearted.

I came in and there was nobody. I didn’t come in intentionally, when you were not there but by coincidence. Your room was a little bit spacious than ours and you had more computers. If I hadn’t entered the room, everything would have been completely different, I would have been another Antonia today. An expensive toy that hangs on a wall. A little scorpion that moved his legs attracted me, I don’t know what I did to it, maybe I rolled it up just for play and hidden doors opened, all the walls had doors with mirrors from where Antonia looked curiously. A door didn’t have a mirror, I went in there. Laboratory or what is this? Dozens of screens with sketches. Images, pieces of Antonia, what they do what they say what they sing… You cannot plan my song, my dance, my drawing. You cannot be my God, you cannot.

Everything is possible.

(translated by Ioana Coman)