sapnī

mani noskūpstīja iedvesma

tas bija kā toreiz tajā vietā, atceries?

(lai arī nav nekāda toreiz un tās vietas)

bet tev jāatceras: spīdēja saule, bija silts, zāle bija zaļa, un gaisma – dzeltena,

un tu mani skūpstīji tā kā nekad, it kā mēs tiktos pirmo un pēdējo reizi

(lai arī mēs nekad neesam tikušies)

tā bija vienreizīga tikšanās, tajā vietā toreiz, tajā zālē un gaismā, kad tu mani skūpstīji kā vēl nekad

it kā mēs tiktos pirmo un pēdējo reizi

(lai arī mēs nekad neesam tikušies)

tavas lūpas bija maigas kā tas, kas pārvēršas klišejā, kad to piemin dzejolī par iedvesmu

it nemaz nepalika slikti, negribējās izvēlēties citu mākslinieciskās izteiksmes līdzekli, negribējās būt modernai un gudrai, meklēt ko jaunu, nebijušu un atmest šo klišeju, šo banālo, līdz jēlumam nodeldēto, visiem zināmo un pieminēto

skūpstu

bija ļoti labi – tā, kā vēl nekad nebija bijis

es taču jau vairākkārt teicu

kā var nesaprast

tik zaļa zāle un dzeltena gaisma, un silts kā vasarā

ko arvien atceramies ar rezignētu nopūtu –

bija un izbija, nepietika, nekad nepietiks, gribas vēl

un tu mani skūpstīji toreiz tajā vietā

(vai tiešām nav nekāda toreiz un tajā vietā?)

kā nekad

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tie teksti vienmēr nāk tik trāpīgi laikā


Zaudēt kaut ko tādu, kā tev nekad nav bijis, bet kas tev ir nepieciešams, var būt vēl sāpīgāk. Cilvēks sēro, nezinādams, par ko.

Daudzu mūsu noslēpums ir tas, ka nav jau nemaz tik daudz noslēpumu.

Netikt ieraudzītam spontāna žesta mirklī nozīmē neeksistēt.

Vitalitāti var atmodināt otra cilvēka vitalitāte.

/finns skorderuds/

par labiem padomiem

“You know, men are very fickle. Give them what they want and they will do anythig for you. Keep your hair long and glossy or invest in good waves; cook for him and send the food to his home and his office. Stroke his ego in front of his friends and treat them well for his sake. Kneel downfor his parents and call them on important days. Do these things and he will put a ring on your finger, fast fast.”

My mother nods sagely. “Very good advice.”

/oyinkan braithwaite. my sister, the serial killer/

what else are you going to do?

A tall, fiftyish gentelman type wanders into the Irish history section, all but bumps into her, than takes off his hat and bows subtly but dramatically. His clothes are clearly expensive.

Pardon me, my lady, he says in this Upper East Side drawl or something.

Of course, Maria says.

He looks at the shelves for a second, then seems to catch himself. He turns to her and he says, Forgive me for saying so, but you are beautiful.

Aww, thank you, she says suddenly playing the sweet het girl.

Have you read all of these books?

He is being playful. Ugh. She mumbles a no and turns away, still smiling because what else are you going to do, explain patriarchy to this fucking rando?

/imogen binnie. nevada/

tak caur un caur…

Bet kas tā par mīlestību, es prasu.

Kas tā par mīlestību, es prasu, kas ļauj paņemt sapņus, pabāzt zem siera spiedes un izspiest no tiem visu derīgo, un saprast, ka nekas daudz jau tur nesanāk no šitās nejēgas meitenes, nekāda labā manta jau nav. (..)

Jā, jo nejēga es esmu gan. Kaut esmu izlasījusi visas grāmatas saimnieka mājā un lielāko daļu no tām, kas atrodamas daktera skapī. Bet māte vienmēr teic, ka tieši tāpēc es esot muļķe – vai tad es domājot visu savu turpmāko dzīvi pavadīt lasot. Es neko neatbildu, es vispār neesmu no runīgajām (..). Vai tev acu nav, ko tu dari, (..), viņa saka. Acis man sliktas, un viens labums būs no šitās prombraukšanas. Ņemšu savu piena naudu un iešu pie ārsta, lai uztaisa man brilles. Kad ieminos par to agrāk, māte tik nogroza galvu – tā jau mans izskats liek vairāk vēlēties, un tad vēl brilles (..).

Es nekur nederu, tas jau ir skaidrs (..).

(..)

Es nekur nederu, esmu bieži savos sapņos (..).

/inga gaile. piena ceļi/

so it is

(..) If only they could get some sense knocked into them and realize – well, they need to realize many things. First of whitch, they aren’t gonna stay skinny for long. Metabolism is just like death and taxes, it’s gonna catch up to you one day. But that’s a minor thing compared to all the foolishness I see in them. (..) The list is plenty.

But I think the biggest misconception they got is with love. It’s always love this, love that. And don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with love. Isn’t it our love that got us into this whole mess in the first place? The misfortune of being born with too much love for people that society says we can’t love.

The issue I see, and when I see it, it makes me sad. It’s that these young queens – well, it’s not just the fem realness queens. It’s the banjee boys too, and the butch queens, and the lesbians. They think that love is going to save them. (..) So they get out on the streets, skinny as shit because they aren’t eating, and then they want to maintain that because they want to be fuckable. Because they think in order to find love, you first have to be fuckable. So they go out into the world thinking that if tehy find someone who will love them – because their mother couldn’t, because their father couldn’t, because ther god couldn’t – if they go out and finally find someone who can, then everything is going to be set right. (..) they don’t realize that all along, it don’t matter who you find to love you, that love isn’t going to make you feel anything more for yourself than you don’t already got.

It is about love, but different kind. A kind that you can only find and not substitute for. And I think it’s hard for them to realize. (..) And they go out looking for their Adam or their Eve, their other half, the other pea in the pod, or whatever you want to imagine it as.

I just want to shake all of those darlings. Love is great, it is. But it’s also so brief. Didn’t these kids ever learn that even in the Garden of Eden, someone betrayed the other?

/joseph cassara. the house of impossible beauties/