Unlikely Messiah
Join Date: Dec 2004
Location: Bucharest
Posts: 16,822
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In sfârsit, cu multä caznä, s-a pus în miscare si topicul ästa!
Herbert, Obvious, Europe, Ambra, Floyd, NightWane, vä multumesc pentru participare!
Iar acum, cä am scäpat de riscul unei autobufnilizäri în versuri, sä mai contribui si eu cu una:
Another Spiral
There was a hole smack in the middle of the road, who left it there, one will never know, and came a sucker who didn't watch his step, so that he fell right to the bottom.
He was all alone down there.
He started calling for help.
There were many people passing by, but no one stopped to help him out. Just a few of them, taking pity, threw down a few crumbs.
At lenght, growing tired, the sucker made some efforts and in the end he got out by himself.
All by himself.
All alone.
He looked around, across the field full of shrubs, searching for those who had offered him their charity to give them his gratitude.
But, to his surprise, he fond he was all alone.
Intrigued, he looked on more, and finally he heard them.
They were down in the hole.
All of them.
Calling for help.
And the sucker was out, looking for a way to help them.
All by himself.
All alone.
He hurried to get someone, but he couldn't find anybody around. The closest town seemed deserted. Most shops were closed for the night, only a few nonstop ones had still their doors open - but, no one inside. There were organge lights on in many windows, radios and television sets were still singing their blare - but nobody answered at the door.
He kept searching, moving on to the next town. And to the next one. And so on.
After he went all-around for a few times, he understood there wasn't anyone left.
Only the dogs and cats, and other beasts, were gradually taking over the new heritage.
He was all by himself in the world.
All by himself.
He returned to the hole, and he threw down a lenght of rope that he had taken from one of the last cities he had scoured - in the neighboring country, or perhaps another one.
All the people tried to climb out, scrambling over each other, fighting with their teeth and claws, in the mudbath made by their dejections on the pit's bottom.
Those of them who were struggling less fiercely, started to perish the first.
They were those who had thrown him the crumbs.
Seeing this, the sucker felt duty bound to try and save their lives, although he was endangering his own. But, since he owed them his gratitude, he had no other solution but to go down and help them himself.
So, he jumped to the pit once more.
And suddenly...
He was inside all by himself.
All by himself.
The wails and moans chorus from around let him know they were there now. Had he somehow saved them?
Looking around for some answer, he suddenly noticed the hole's walls.
How comes that he hadn't seen earlier?
They were at reverse.
The walls. Those walls smeared with blood and faeces, streaked with sweat and fingers ruts, strewn with decaying and rotting corpses, were upside down.
Or inside out.
Like a human hung by his feet, or like a kid glove.
The hole was not a hole.
It was a rise. A small but real hill. All around, the world was flat - and very, very deep. Not too high was his peak, really, but surrounded by a chasm. Really.
And he hadn't noticed it before, simply because there was none other rise around, for any comparison.
At its top, the sucker was standing all by himself.
All by himself.
He didn't wonder if his perch was as small as a hillock, or high as the world's roof. It didn't matter to him.
What did matter, was the fate of the others. What was the best for them? To leave them down in their abyss, or to try again and bring them up to him?
So pathetically and pitifully they were crying, that our sucker had no other choice but to get down to them again.
Although his crumbs throwers were all dead since long.
And he knew what was bound to happen.
But nonetheless he did it, fully aware he was all by himself.
All by himself.
And so it went, on and on and on.
To this day, he keeps getting down to them, and every time the precipice and the cliff reverse their positions.
With every attempt, the bottom gets lower.
Or, maybe not.
Maybe it's only the rise that ever gets higher and higher.
The man knows, although he can't see them anymore, that the game goes always the same for them too. It's been a long while since his rope can't reach them anymore, but they still struggle to catch it - and everything happens again: the fights, the deaths, the birhts and rebirths.
Only nobody throws crumbs anymore, because they learned the lesson and now they know it's not worth.
And he knows, by now, that it will never end, that the goal is farther and farther away, that any dream to ever reach it dwindles on and on, in an upside-down geometry.
Still, he accepted his fate and he's living it forever.
There are moments when he wonders if he should feel like a slave.
And moments when he supposes that, since the fateful decision was only and only his own, it would be rather fit to say he's the master.
But, the most often, he remembers he can't be either master or slave, since there's none other close by.
He's no slave.
He's no master.
He is (a sucker?)
He is himself.
All by himself.
All by himself.
And moments when he supposes that, since the fateful decision was only and only his own...
The fateful decision...
...the sucker made some efforts and in the end he got out by himself.
All by himself.
All alone.
...he made some efforts and, (in the end?
Or rather...?)
...in the beginning, he got out by himself.
All by himself.
All by himself.
And they are all there, still there, always around, always far, always low and lower.
All alone.
* * *
Pitbull (Mihnea Columbeanu)
May 24-25, 2005,
Bucharest, Romania
O altä spiralä
Era o groapä drept în mijlocul drumului, cine-a läsat-o acolo, nu se va sti niciodatä, si s-a gäsit un fraier care nu se uita pe unde cälca si pânä-n fundul ei a cäzut.
Era singur, acolo jos.
A început sä strige dupä ajutor.
Treceau multi oameni prin apropiere, dar nimeni nu s-a oprit sä-l ajute sä iasä. Doar câtiva, fäcându-li-se milä, i-au aruncat ceva firimituri.
Cu timpul, säturându-se, fraierul a fäcut un efort si în cele din urmä a iesit de unul singur.
Singur.
A privit în jur, peste câmpul plin de bälärii, cäutându-i pe cei ce-i oferiserä märinimia lor, ca sä-si arate recunostinta.
Dar, spre mirarea lui, a väzut cä era singur.
Nedumerit, s-a uitat mai bine, si în cele din urmä, i-a auzit.
Erau jos, în groapä.
Toti.
Strigând dupä ajutor.
Iar fraierul era afarä, si cäuta o cale sä-i ajute.
De unul singur.
Singur.
S-a gräbit sä aducä pe cineva, dar n-a gäsit pe nimeni prin preajmä. Orasul cel mai apropiat pärea pustiu. Majoritatea magazinelor închiseserä pentru noapte, dar câteva cu orar permanent mai aveau usile deschise - înäuntru, însä, nimeni. Lumini portocalii ardeau în multe ferestrele, aparatele de radio si televizoarele îsi cântau urletul - dar nimeni nu räspundea la usä.
A continuat sä caute, ajungând pânä în orasul urmätor. Si în urmätorul. Si asa mai departe. Si mai departe.
Dupä ce a dat înconjur de câteva ori, a înteles cä nu mai rämäsese nimeni.
Numai câinii si pisicile, si alte dobitoace, se fäceau treptat stäpâne peste noua mostenire.
Era de unul singur în lume.
De unul singur.
S-a întors lângä groapä si le-a aruncat o frânghie pe care o luase dintr-unul din ultimele orase pe care le scotocise - în tara vecinä, sau poate într-o alta.
Toti oamenii au încercat sä se catäre afarä, îmbulzindu-se unii peste altii, luptând cu ghearele si cu dintii, în mocirla formatä din dejectiile lor pe fundul gropii.
Unii, care se zbäteau mai färä tragere de inimä, au început sä moarä primii.
Erau cei care-i aruncaserä firimiturile.
Väzând aceasta, fraierul s-a simtit obligat de onoare sä încerce sä le salveze vietile, desi si-o primejdiuia chiar pe a lui. Dar, cum le datora recunostintä, n-a mai avut ce face decât sä coboare si sä-i ajute de unul singur.
Asa cä a särit din nou pe fundul gropii.
Si deodatä...
Era înäuntru de unul singur.
De unul singur.
Corul vaietelor si gemetelor din jur l-a înstiintat cä acum erau acolo. Îi salvase cumva?
Uitându-se dupä vreun räspuns, dintr-o datä a zärit peretii gropii.
Cum de nu väzuse mai înainte?
Erau invers.
Peretii. Peretii aceia, mânjiti de sânge si fecale, bräzdati de sudoare si urme de degete, presärati cu lesuri în descompunere si putreziciune, erau cu susul în jos.
Sau cu înäuntrul în afarä.
Ca un om spânzurat de picioare, sau ca o mänusä din piele de ied.
Groapa nu era o groapä.
Era o movilä. O colinä micä, dar adeväratä. De jur împrejur, lumea era netedä - si foarte, foarte adâncä. Piscul nu era prea înalt, dar îl înconjura un abis. De fapt.
Si nu observase mai devreme, numai fiindcä nu exista în rest nici o altä înältime, ca sä le compare.
În vârf, fraierul stätea de unul singur.
De unul singur.
Nu s-a întrebat dacä acea culme a lui era micä doar cât un dâmb, sau înaltä ca acoperisul lumii. Nu avea importantä pentru el.
Ceea ce conta, era soarta celorlalti. Ce-ar fi fost mai bine pentru ei? Sä-i lase jos în häul lor, sau sä încerce iar sä-i aducä la el?
Atât de jalnic si nevolnic tipau, încât fraierul nostru n-a avut încotro si a coborât iar la ei.
Desi aruncätorii lui de firimituri erau cu totii morti de mult.
Si stia ce era häräzit sä se întâmple.
Dar a fäcut-o totusi, pe deplin constient cä era singur.
De unul singur.
Si tot asa a mers, la nesfârsit.
Pânä în ziua de azi, el continuä sä coboare la ei, si de fiecare datä präpastia si culmea îsi schimbä pozitia.
Cu fiecare încercare, fundul genunii coboarä tot mai mult.
Sau, poate cä nu.
Poate cä doar muntele devine tot mai înalt si mai înalt.
Omul stie, desi nu-i mai vede, cä si pentru ei jocul a rämas acelasi. E mult timp de când frânghia lui nu mai poate ajunge jos, dar oamenii încä se mai zbat s-o prindä - si totul se întâmplä neschimbat: luptele, mortile, nasterile si renasterile.
Numai firimituri nu mai aruncä nimeni, cäci au învätat lectia si stiu cä nu meritä.
Si mai stie, de-acum, cä nu se va sfârsi niciodatä, cä telul e tot mai departe si mai departe, cä orice vis de a-l atinge cândva se împutineazä pe zi ce trece, într-o geometrie rästurnatä.
Totusi, s-a împäcat cu soarta lui si o träieste la nesfârsit.
Sunt clipe când se întreabä dacä n-ar trebui sä se simtä ca un sclav.
Si clipe când presupune cä, de vreme ce fatidica hotärâre a fost a lui si numai a lui, s-ar cuveni mai degrabä sä spunä cä el este stäpânul.
Dar, cel mai adesea, îsi aminteste cä nu poate fi nici stäpân, nici sclav, de vreme ce în preajmä nu mai e nimeni.
Nu e sclav.
Nu e stäpân.
Este (un fraier?)
Este el însusi.
De unul singur.
De unul singur.
Si clipe când presupune cä, de vreme ce fatidica hotärâre a fost a lui si numai a lui...
Fatidica hotärâre...
...fraierul a fäcut un efort si în cele din urmä a iesit de unul singur.
Singur.
...a fäcut un efort si, (în cele din urmä?
Sau, mai bine zis...?)
...în cele dintâi, a iesit de unul singur.
De unul singur.
De unul singur.
Iar ei sunt acolo, tot acolo, mereu în jur, mereu departe, mereu tot mai departe si mai jos.
Singuri.
* * *
Pitbull (Mihnea Columbeanu)
24-25 mai, 2005,
Bucuresti, România
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