Poezie fara sentimente

M-ai scuturat din umeri,
Sa te ascult pana la capat,
Imi incoltise-n cap dureri,
Si-n inima un lacat.

M-ai strans de brate vie
Si m-ai privit in soapta,
Pe fata-mi vinetie,
S-a mai prelins o fapta.

Mi-ai sarutat obrazul,
Umflat cat o icoana,
Si mi-a pierit curajul,
Batuta amazoana…

N-am plans, dar m-am gandit,
La mana ta umana,
De cand ne-am logodit
S-a transformat in cazna!

Prolog (Penitenta)

Eram in mijlocul actiunii, cand Sol incepuse sa ma frece la icre la modul cel mai patetic:
– Mai jos, mai sus?
– Mai taci şi mai du-te dracu! Zic eu, impingand hoitul!
-Bai, esti instabila ca vremea!
– Si tu incert ca timpul de futut!
Am luat lopata cu nadejde, cand m-am prins ca mormolocul asta in skinny jeans si cu manichiura facuta n-o sa mişte decat un sentiment urban de manelista. Era inca lumina şi ploua adânc in Pustnicu! Ma dezbracasem sa nu las urme! La urma toata, cand el e ‘mort’, femeia pleaca mereu uscata de la locul faptei.
– Mai repetam o data cum a inceput totul?
Sol era mereu atent la detalii, si ma cunostea bine cand mint! De altfel, minţeam mereu, dar el nu stia, deci isi asumase un adevar fals, si cantarea in functie de el!
In amurgul dens am inchis ochii si am inceput sa plang. Departe se auzea sirena salvarii! Am auzit in scurt timp cheile catuşelor, si vocea sleita a lui Sol:
– Iarta-ma Aida! Iarta-ma!

*

Capitolul 1 – Matroana

Deseori imi imaginez ca viata de penitenciar e exclusiv gandita pentru barbati, pentru ca in ea nu isi are locul maimutareala asta sordida cu ursuleti de plus, mohair si broderii kitschoase care imi provoaca voma cerebrala. Ceea ce vreau sa spun este ca spre deosebire de penitenciarele cu barbati, aici colcaie a roz, a tipete de distruse cu aere de sefe peste alte suflete ostracizate in prag de defeminizare. Mai sunt patruzeci si patru de zile pana la sentinta finala. Patruzeci si patru de zile cu mine, daca ar fi s-o dau in filozofie de doi lei. De fapt sunt patruzeci si patru de zile in care procurorul va lupta sa ma scoata vinovata de crima si eu va trebui sa-l ascult pe Sol smiorcaindu-se sa accept vizitele psihologului si ale avocatului apararii.  Nu sunt resemnata, dar nu vad cum ar putea ajuta. Nu cred in institutii, nu cred in oameni, nu cred in Dumnezeu.

Cand am ajuns in penitenciar, aveam oarecum o atitudine de snoaba, curata, provocatoare, cu haine la moda si cu mult peste media de educatie pentru o condamnata. Asta era in prima zi. Tot atunci o stirba pe la vreo treizeci si cinci de ani m-a luat de gat, prieteneste, sa-mi ceara o tigara.

  • Nu fumez!
  • Fa, aici chiar daca nu fumezi, ai tigari! Intelegi? Aici nu mai vin amantii sa-ti deschida usa la limuzina. Papusa, aici, cum s-ar spune, esti pe pizda ta! Pricepi?

O priveam in ochi si ii simteam tremurul din voce in incercarea de a mi se impuna, inainte sa ma impun. Am fixat-o in priviri, apoi am luat-o incet in brate, sa nu atrag atentia vreunui gardian. I-am soptit la ureche, tinand-o erotic de parul sleit si scurt:

  • Papusa a ajuns in cimitirul asta, pentru ca e experta in scos ochii stirbelor! Asa ca plimba-ti hotul si cand faci rost de tigari, adu-mi si mie una!

Nu mult de la incident, Constanta, caci asa o chema pe stirba, a intrat in altercatie cu o drogangita din Pantelimon care i-a mai rupt doi dinti, i-a spart buza si, ca sa-l citez pe doctorul penitenciarului, a machiat-o profesionist cu echimoze inflorite ca niste panselute pe toata fata, urata de altfel oricum.

  • A mancat-o-n cur! Zice Matroana frecand un ness cremos si de calitate. Constanta asta e ca un pechinez: mic, isteric si agresiv! Io i-am spus din prima zi: Fa, potoloeste-te, ca ai sa mananci terci cu paiul! Io am prevenit-o! Acu’ sa sufere ca proasta! Da’ ce ma enerveaza e ca schiorlaie toata noaptea ca o catea in calduri si-mi aduce aminte de tarfele pe care le-am crescut la tata mea si care m-au tradat ca Iuda! Ma-ntelegi?

Cassandra, dupa numele ei de tiganca dat de al doilea ei sot si Otilia dupa numele de romanca (caci tiganizarea i-a survenit prin casatorie), Matroana era la „discoteca de fete”, cum o numeam eu, de vreo 7 ani si mai avea inca pe atat. Era cea mai renumita femeie proxenet din Europa si pana nu demult, invartea zeci de mii de euro pe zi, barbati, femei, procurori, politie si o droaie de politicieni. Matroana era si inca este o femeie frumoasa si ingrijita, cu parul lung si des, cu ochii negri si veseli, cu ceva studii superioare incepute, dar lasate la mijloc, pentru ca vezi tu, seva euroiului e mai dulce decat seva intelepciunii! Acum, dupa 7 ani de pocainta, spunea ca nu regreta nimic si  ca daca ar lua-o de la capat singurul lucru pe care l-ar schimba ar fi, ca n-ar mai fute un prost, adica pe al doilea ei sot, care era la racoare pentru aceleasi crime.

  • Tu esti cam firava mama! Unde te doare? Ma intreaba Matroana, schimband subiectul ultimei batai de pe palier.
  • Nu ma doare nicaieri, imi adun gandurile!
  • Oho, ia si soarbe o cafea buna! Curand ai sa inveti ce privilegiu scump e cafeaua! De ganduri ai sa ai timp, sa le iei, sa le intorci pe dos si sa le speli intestinele cu detergent de vase! Crima ziceai, nu? Pai mama… ai sa mucegaiesti aci, cu tot cu ganduri!
  • N-a fost cu premeditare! Dau eu sa ma justific (sa fie primul semn de regret si de a incerca sa lupt pentru libertatea mea? Dar chiar asa era, nu premeditasem, doar s-a intamplat sa am o noapte… furtunoasa), dar ma intrerupe Matroana.
  • Crima e crima! Asa mi-am inceput si eu apararea cand m-a intrebat judecatorul:

Recunoasteti ca timp de 16 ani ati exploatat femei dar si barbati care ofereau servicii sexuale iar dumneavoastra ati beneficiat de veniturile survenite in urma acestor servicii?”

„Domnule Judecator, fetele s-au futut pentru bani nu pentru mine!”

  • Stii ce-a zis? A inceput sa rada si a zis: „Si ce bre, matale erai cu licenta de institutie financiara si le luai taxa pe depozitele de bani?” Si atunci m-am enervat si i-am zis ca le-am invatat pe fete sa si-o dea mai scump decat un suc la bar si o plimbare cu masina! Na poftim! Proasta de mine, le-am vrut binele doar!

Matroana ma facea sa rad cu pofta la povestile ei pline de umor si vulgaritate, dar cat se poate de adevarate. N-as exagera sa spun ca toate povestile din puscarie par extraordinare, oarecum desprinse din file de Dosarele X, file de istorie si jurnale de crime greu de imaginat. Bine, mai erau si crimele pasionale cu topor si alcool din Vaslui, dar astea erau dramele cotidiene ale prostilor, la care se jeleau babele de oras la ora 5 si a doua zi la cafeaua turceasca tare si presarata cu ultimul episod din Suleyman.

  • Si zici ca stii politai corupti care te-au ajutat timp de 16 ani sa tii afacerea? O intreb pe Matroana, pentru ca brusc, imi venise o idee geniala!
  • Asa se zice! Vorba fie intre noi, pe multi mai mult i-am ajutat eu. Era sansa lor sa futa ceva uman si moca. Salariul lor mizer si fata lor de duzina de borcane n-ar fi deschis nici supapa de la o gonflabila! Zice matroana, parca mandra de isprava ei si incepe sa rada cu pofta.
  • .. da’ tu ce tot ma descosi? Pui ceva la cale?
  • Nah, doar o fantezie politieneasca! Incerc sa glumesc, mai mult pentru ca nu aveam inca totul conturat in minte si nu vroiam sa ma pronunt gresit.

Cafeaua ne este brusc intrerupta de apelul de pranz. Nu mi-e foame, dar n-am voie sa protestez si nici n-am voie sa stau in celula singura cand se serveste masa. Ma ganeam la ce-mi spusese Sol cand am vrut sa merg in armata: „Aida, armata inseamna obedienta si reguli, iar tu cum auzi de astea doua cuvinte cum o iei in sens opus! Stii cum sunt jucariile alea cu arc? Cu cat le impingi mai aproape de baza arcului cu atat sar mai departe fix in directia opusa! Ei… tu esti o jucarie cu arc, iar armata ar fi exact forta aplicata pe sensul tau de mers!” Sol avea al naibii de dreptate si asta ma enerva al naibii de mult! De cand eram inchisa de cate ori trebuia sa raspund la apel cuvintele lui Sol imi zornaiau in minte ca o banda stricata. As fi banuit chiar ca Sol e posibil sa ma cunoasca, sa stie cine sunt si ce vreau si unde ma indrept. Ce prostie! Asta nici macar eu nu stiu!

Unde esti Sol, sa ma vezi in „armata”? imi zic in gand. Si-ai sa vezi c-am sa ma intorc barbat!

 

 

 

 

Spilled love

‘I married yesterday, but please

Give me again your love tomorrow,

I promise I will hold my tears,

None will see us, the street is narrow!’

 

‘You married yesterday, but please,

Release my soul, don’t let me follow,

You cursed me with this hard disease,

That keeps this cancer growing slow!’

 

‘My baby, summer was so long,

And deeply wished your Chevrolet,

Would drive us faraway and wrong

Would take us where I can forget!’

 

‘My baby, summer was so short,

I deeply wished I was prepared,

To use my money on one shot,

To stop the day when you got married!’

 

 

 

Paradise Tramp

 

When you are going to do it,
Allow her to keep the decency,
In her cheap lace dress, burgundy,
Forgive her for belonging to all,
On the open road, for few pennies,
With her cracked smile to cracked souls,
Half naked white flesh and dumb,
Happy to enjoy an expensive cigar
And knee down to the God of unpaid bills.

When you are going to do it,
Let her keep this mortal figure,
Do not desecrate her jowl,
And don’t spill her limbs
She will have enough money,
If you gently reveal her garter,
To buy a decent trip to her after life job:
Jolie, The Tramp Of Paradise!

Sheila Dunne – Love in time of mania IV

‘Ma’m, step back and remove all your accessories: belts, shoes, scarf, cardigan! All toiletries in this bag, laptops, gadgets separate!’ the security officer said.

My heartbeat was random and I could hear the noise in my chest, but I couldn’t refrain from my poignant humor.

‘Does my S&M chastity device infringe any air security regulations?’

The security man didn’t look at all amused by my rude joke in that rainy cold morning, but I could see a female officer giggling  while approaching.

‘Steve, I’ll check the lady!’ and she whispered towards me: ‘He’s an unhappy divorced misogynist!’

Ah well, so was I, the complementary version. But I just kept quiet, as I wanted to get through this awkward airport process, that since 9/11 and other Middle East conflicts became exactly what I called a pain in the arse caused by constipation rather than a 20 cm.

Hector was behind me, but I tried not to talk to him, I wanted to get through that as anonymously as I could be.

Passport check… my hands were sweating, my ears were deaf, or at least all I could hear was a continuous painful whistle in my eardrum. I handed my passport.

‘Hi Zaza. Why are you travelling to London?’

‘Oh… is not free travel without interrogations within EU borders?’ I asked, forcing a neutral tone, not angry, not worried.

‘Indeed… just your face looks familiar!’

In my mind was:’No shit, don’t tell me Sheila Dunne is famous!’ Then I immediately panicked. ‘Did Ecio report my disappearing?’

‘Yeah, I have your typical Irish nose freckles and red hair. Red hair is a lie… I am getting this color in hairdressing salon!’

The man laughed and handed back my passport.

‘No… you look like my ex, Sheila was her name!’

‘What a stupid coincidence!’ I was thinking.

He handed me the passport and I flirted with him for a split second… then I disappeared in duty free area, with e relief sigh.

‘Zaza… or Sheila, who the hell are you?’ Hector smuggled me, and I could feel his powerful hand holding me like a light good. He looked scared, or worried, or both.

‘Do you realise I am a public person and whatever your game is, will get both of us in trouble? You need to tell me the truth…no, wrong wording! You have to tell me the truth!’

I looked at this enormous man, I felt his power through his voice and his grasp. It was turning me on, it was freaking me out! I started to cry and he covered my face, hugging me.

‘Sheila, you need to trust me, even if it’s just for a small percentage or no particular reason!’

‘How do you know Sheila is the real one?’

‘Because when I talk to Sheila she’s what I want to take care of. She is mysterious in a good way, unlike Zaza in the evil way. Is just who you are!’

‘Then, if you know who I am, why are you asking me?’

‘I am not asking you who you are, I am asking you to accept who you are!’

‘ I am both… no good, no evil. Or evil and good. Take me with you or leave me here. I accept who I am, but will you?’

 

I’ll make her mine

I saw her twice and liked her voice,

This woman broke my knees and chance,

I hope at least, I dream to live,

This sorrow sinful dark romance!

 

She didn’t tell me yes or no,

Nor she avoids my begging lips,

I’ve been her friend since years ago,

I’ve been her guilty pleasure sins.

 

This married woman chained my heart,

She neither takes or let me go!

I have her body, lust of art,

I wish I’d have her velvet soul!

 

Tonight I’ll see her once again,

I swear I’ll kiss her for last time

I’ll put a bullet in her brain,

To make her mine. I’ll make her mine!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love in the time of mania IV

I choose the stairs, to make the hunt longer, but somehow Hector was behind me sooner than I expected. The silence… oh the silence of our steps on those exquisite stairs made the chase  terrifying. I was counting my steps, and that was hard, hard to distinguish between the tick-tack of the time and my heartbeat. ‘Why is he so quiet? Should I say anything? No, no… shut up brain, close your eyes, hold your breath, the faint will be more rewarding!’

He took my hand, from behind: ‘Stop, why are you running?’

‘I am not, I… I’

Of course I replied to his kiss, and between second and third floor, the light of the Waterford crystal chandeliers flooded over us with a warm touch.

‘I have never been so anxious in my life… Oh, I have been, at my prom speech, but that was because my dress was ridiculous and I never wear dresses!’

I woke up very early, reached for my phone 33% battery. ‘Shit, I must charge it!’ But then I changed my mind. ‘I don’t need it. Who will I call?’ I didn’t want to call Katy, cos she’s too soft and Ecio will insist to find everything she knows. ‘Is Ecio already looking for me?’

A hand moved over my breast and cut off on my morning thoughts.

‘Sheila, I don’t want you to leave!’

‘Why are you saying this?’

‘Because I have a queer feeling about you. Where are you planning to run?’

I didn’t reply. We had sex instead.