{"id":15472,"date":"2024-11-17T18:46:28","date_gmt":"2024-11-17T16:46:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=15472"},"modified":"2024-11-17T18:46:28","modified_gmt":"2024-11-17T16:46:28","slug":"malaise","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=15472","title":{"rendered":"Malaise"},"content":{"rendered":"

[Caiete #3 ~ fragment]<\/strong><\/p>\n

de \u0218tefan Bolea<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong>21 aprilie 1997, noaptea<\/strong><\/p>\n

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O ultim\u0103 integral\u0103 a concertelor pentru pian de Beethoven. Concertul nr. 3 \u00een do minor \u2013 sur\u00e2s nem\u00e2ntuit & \u00eend\u0103r\u0103tnic.<\/p>\n

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Before midnight<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00cen afara Liebestraum<\/em>-ului nu exist\u0103 dec\u00e2t ratare, dar \u0219i \u00eemplini\u021bi \u00een iubire ne-am considera tot rata\u021bi. Conven\u021bionalul din noi, cel care ne oblig\u0103 s\u0103 ne suport\u0103m str\u00e2mb\u0103turile stereotipe, ar fi degradat singur\u0103tatea \u00een doi \u00eentr-un pozitivism co-adaptat, fad \u0219i senil.<\/p>\n

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22 aprilie<\/strong><\/p>\n

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Cafeaua \u00eemi induce mai nou o stare aproape indescriptibil somnambulic\u0103. Mediul nu mai are nicio influen\u021b\u0103 asupra mea. De exemplu, varia\u021biile intensit\u0103\u021bii unui Beethoven sunt cu des\u0103v\u00e2r\u0219ire imperceptibile, un urlet are efectul unei tainice m\u00e2ng\u00e2ieri, con\u0219tiin\u021ba doar simuleaz\u0103 prezen\u021ba. Memoria \u0219i intui\u021bia au devenit procese, care \u021bintesc cu sete neantul, mereu \u00een acela\u0219i loc. Neant este tot ce v\u0103d \u2013 acum sobru \u00een nuan\u021be \u2013 imediat palpabil \u2013 oriunde m\u0103 arunc, neantul \u2013 Curios. O oboseal\u0103 cras\u0103 m\u0103 \u00eempiedic\u0103 s\u0103 observ c\u0103 neantul e \u00een mine. Unde sunt… Mi-e somn, iar clipa aceasta e un efort frivol, efortul con\u0219tiin\u021bei \u00eentru neant. Iat\u0103 c\u0103 acum am aflat ce \u00eenseamn\u0103 cafeaua pentru mine: nimic altceva dec\u00e2t o concentrare total\u0103 a esen\u021bialului con\u0219tient \u00een neant. Neantul este un punct violet-galben-verde-negru sau pu\u021bin alb\u0103striu. Neantul sunt eu.<\/p>\n

S\u0103 dormim \u00een luminile aprinse \u2013 degeaba \u2013 ale ra\u021biunii pure, \u00een v\u00e2ntul t\u0103ios al vigilen\u021bei, s\u0103 dormim \u00een \u021bepi \u00eenvenina\u021bi, \u00eempl\u00e2nta\u021bi ad\u00e2nc. Dar nu putem dormi, nici visa, ci neantiz\u0103m o negritudine care nu se poate deschide iluziilor, ascunz\u00e2ndu-se \u00eentr-o semipercep\u021bie alburie \u0219i nu tocmai \u2013 nu m\u0103 exprim plastic \u0219i, totu\u0219i, mi-e imposibil s\u0103 fiu mai clar. Este ca \u0219i cum am fi \u00eencadra\u021bi \u00eentr-o lacrim\u0103.<\/p>\n

St\u0103m cu ochii \u00eenchi\u0219i \u0219i ne zbatem \u00eentr-un inexprimabil imobil, care \u0219i-a \u00eentins protector, uria\u0219, teribil, aripile sau umbra lor asupra universului. Scriu astfel, \u00eenc\u00e2t, privind \u00eenapoi, nici eu nu mai v\u0103d fr\u00e2ntura originar\u0103. Un efect de bun augur, care \u00eemi interzice, \u00eens\u0103, izvoarele. Originarul e la fel de important ca lucrul \u00een sine. Dac\u0103 eu nu reu\u0219esc s\u0103 m\u0103 \u00een\u021beleg, ce pot s\u0103 mai a\u0219tept de la al\u021bii? C\u00e2nd absolutul e \u00een mine, de ce nu reu\u0219esc s\u0103 m\u0103 arunc \u00een el?<\/p>\n

… Ce sens au aceste codific\u0103ri fa\u021b\u0103 de mine \u00eensumi? M\u0103 \u00eentorc la formul\u0103ri mai vechi \u0219i, peste tot, descop\u0103r aproape simultan o dimensiune a falsului. Cel mai adesea simt asta: \u201eAm vorbit, am evitat locurile comune, am vorbit \u0219i totul a r\u0103mas nespus\u201d. Bizar, originea a p\u0103rut insignifiant\u0103, iar adev\u0103rul \u2013 u\u0219uratic. Scriu contra mea ori degeaba?<\/p>\n

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A \u00eencerca s\u0103 adormi \u00een reflectoarele orbitoare ale somnului, iat\u0103 defini\u021bia insomniei.<\/p>\n

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Through the night<\/strong><\/p>\n

Acel apogeu al luminii, care se nume\u0219te durerea. Chinul albului pur, vidul \u0219ocului electric, cuante de dulce, care reflect\u0103 \u00een oglinda spiritului o raz\u0103 cotropitoare descompus\u0103 \u00een mii de particule spinoase, toate savurate \u00een t\u0103cere \u0219i tihn\u0103<\/em>.<\/p>\n

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23 aprilie<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\u00centorc\u00e2ndu-te \u00een trecut, e\u0219ti r\u0103pit mereu de alte tendin\u021be. Fie prin disperare, plictiseal\u0103, nostalgie, fie prin lacrima absen\u021bei, anotimpurile trecutului \u00ee\u0219i \u00eemping diferendul \u00een gropile noastre. Fiecare ieri<\/em> a fost r\u0103u \u00een felul s\u0103u. Iat\u0103 de ce arta trebuie s\u0103 fie pesimist\u0103, pentru c\u0103 doar negativul se distinge cu noble\u021be de minciun\u0103.<\/p>\n

\u0218coal\u0103… miercuri… prima or\u0103… Fizic\u0103… pred\u0103 directorul… Curent electric sta\u021bionar… dungi \u0219i curbe absurde… Electroni, electroni… (Parc\u0103-s prins \u00eentr-un text de Bacovia)… Oamenii din jur… peste tot t\u0103m\u00e2ie… Procesele descompunerii amplificate de ei, strigoi inutili \u0219i lipsi\u021bi de sens… chiote, sfor\u021b\u0103ri, r\u00e2sete, m\u0103\u0219ti… Toate pentru a acoperi absen\u021ba… Ei nu v\u0103d moartea deghizat\u0103 \u00een omul de la col\u021b… Moartea, ascunz\u00e2ndu-\u0219i adev\u0103rata esen\u021b\u0103, a corupt istoria universal\u0103, ale c\u0103rei epifenomene suntem. \u0218i atunci c\u00e2nd chiotele, sfor\u021b\u0103rile, r\u00e2setele, m\u0103\u0219tile dispar, ajunge\u021bi ca mine, bolnav de neant ori mort-\u00een-via\u021b\u0103. Un vis contorsionat al absen\u021bei, un vis ur\u00e2t \u2013 fiecare diminea\u021b\u0103 sf\u00e2r\u0219e\u0219te la e\u0219afod. Destul.<\/p>\n

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\u00centre<\/strong><\/p>\n

Do minor, iat\u0103 prima nocturn\u0103 \u00een care \u00eentunecimea, luna, vraja, melancolia, aerul verii \u0219i presentimentul e\u0219ecului erau una. Do minor, culoarea nop\u021bii.<\/p>\n

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26 aprilie<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\u00cemboln\u0103vit din nou. Un fel de gastrit\u0103, pretinde Oana. Dureri ascu\u021bite \u0219i mole\u0219eli repetate. Nu renun\u021b la \u021bigar\u0103, alcool sau la excese poetice. (Uvertura Rienzi<\/em> ar trebui subintitulat\u0103 Ca un rege<\/em>.) \u00cen starea asta, nu sunt capabil de efort sus\u021binut. Citesc Shakespeare, Blaga \u0219i M\u00e1rquez.<\/p>\n

Am progresat cu finisarea poeziilor, dar dou\u0103 treimi din ele sunt neremarcabile \u0219i, sincer, le p\u0103strez degeaba. E plictiseal\u0103 ulcerat\u0103 \u00een aer \u0219i n-am dormit de 36 de ore.<\/p>\n

Totu\u0219i ceva nou, o scrisoare de la A. Bizar joc al extremelor, cine ar putea \u00eenchipui o inocen\u021b\u0103 disperat\u0103? Nu \u0219tiu dac\u0103 vreau s\u0103-mi mai scrie, i-am trimis ni\u0219te s\u0103ge\u021bi de \u00eentunecime, care ar trebui s-o sperie fatal. C\u00e2teva pasaje din incitanta ei filosofie:<\/p>\n

\u201eHuman race has soiled my rain… It used to be a feast for me seeing the raindrops merely hanging on the tree-branches… It was like climaxing feeling the cold tears of the sky on my face, sticking to my eyelids and mingling with my own tears [\u2026]. I remember falling in love with my salty hair\u2026<\/p>\n

They threw with their souls dirt on my rain and killed it. [\u2026] Mankind is the creation of some drunk God, a garbage of Paradise, a spit of Fate [\u2026] We killed our souls to be able to live on this half dead planet\u2026 forgot song and rain\u2026<\/p>\n

I hunger for feeling for emotions [\u2026] Soon, so very soon, we\u2019ll all be gone. These bodies that imprison us will melt into ashes and we\u2019ll be free\u2026 For I know \u2018reality\u2019 is a meaningless word \u2013 reality does not exist. Everything is fog and smoke and a stronger blow of wind is enough for this sick world to fall apart like a castle of cards.<\/p>\n

I feel Death close at hand. These last nights I\u2019ve been feeling her burning eyes on my neck, her rotten breath on my hair. I wish I wasn\u2019t so scared. I wish I could see Death just like a perfect opportunity to rest, to sever myself from the rest of this damned species. When she was further, called her, prayed her to take me under her wings. But now, that I feel her near, I get more and more human, entangled in this disgusting body [\u2026]. I was a sort of loser of this so-called life. But I was, I existed more than others. Perhaps this way I\u2019ll find rain again.\u201d<\/p>\n

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28 aprilie<\/strong><\/p>\n

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Prima iubire \u2013 lacrimi de fiere \u0219i coroan\u0103 de spini.<\/p>\n

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Din fericire, nu se poate progresa \u00een esen\u021b\u0103. Miros orice impostor \u00een c\u00e2teva secunde. Nimic nu poate fi surprinz\u0103tor sub auspiciile mohor\u00e2tului. Moartea r\u0103m\u00e2ne aceea\u0219i; a fost \u0219i va fi cur\u00e2nd. Este<\/em>.<\/p>\n

The <\/em>Is of death transforms our life into a conflict of ambivalence. The death-in-life is nothing short of a mystical experience in temples where the being of nothingness is rekindled at hidden altars. <\/em><\/p>\n

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Sf\u00e2r\u0219it de prim\u0103var\u0103<\/strong><\/p>\n

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O isterie \u00eendr\u0103gostit\u0103, un sur\u00e2s \u00eentunecos, \u00een care te-ai pierde, o pic\u0103tur\u0103 de ploaie acid\u0103 pe una din clapele negre ale pianului, o lacrim\u0103 r\u0103coritoare care nu te las\u0103 s\u0103 vezi delirul… O cea\u021b\u0103 edificatoare<\/em>.<\/p>\n

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Duhoare t\u00e2n\u0103r\u0103. Aproprie-te de fra\u021bii t\u0103i \u0219i vei inspira neantul. Atinge-i \u0219i te vor m\u00e2nji cu bale. Absen\u021be ambalate \u00een puroi, \u00een loc s\u0103 putrezi\u021bi \u00een cocioabele voastre, v\u0103 etala\u021bi \u00een pas nup\u021bial pe strada principal\u0103! V\u0103 declar nuli.<\/p>\n

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Doar \u00eengerii au\/ aripi alb\u0103strii\/ Iar moartea poate\/ din c\u00e2nd \u00een c\u00e2nd\/ fi lumin\u0103.<\/p>\n

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V\u00e2nt cu petale de foc, frunze ce cad din nou spre ramuri.<\/p>\n

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O recapitulare a lunii aprilie ar fi prea dureroas\u0103 \u2013 cea\u021b\u0103 abrupt\u0103, abis sinuciga\u0219.<\/p>\n

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Soarele \u2013 o viper\u0103 ce r\u0103sare din gura mea.<\/p>\n

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M\u0103car prezentul meu e \u00een z\u0103ri \u00eendep\u0103rtate.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

(fragmentul face parte dintr-un proiect realizat \u00een cadrul programului Cluj \u00een reziden\u021b\u0103<\/a>, finan\u021bat cu sprijinul Centrului Cultural Clujean) <\/em>\u00a0<\/em><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Caiete #3 ~ fragment] de \u0218tefan Bolea \u00a021 aprilie 1997, noaptea O ultim\u0103 integral\u0103 a concertelor pentru pian de Beethoven. Concertul nr. 3 \u00een do minor \u2013 sur\u00e2s nem\u00e2ntuit & \u00eend\u0103r\u0103tnic. Before midnight \u00cen afara Liebestraum-ului nu exist\u0103 dec\u00e2t ratare, dar \u0219i \u00eemplini\u021bi \u00een iubire ne-am considera tot rata\u021bi. Conven\u021bionalul din noi, cel care ne […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1730,15],"tags":[1728,875,1115,39],"class_list":["post-15472","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-83","category-proza","tag-egophobia-83","tag-fragment-de-roman","tag-proza","tag-stefan-bolea"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/s6DakB-malaise","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15472","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=15472"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15472\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15473,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15472\/revisions\/15473"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15472"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15472"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15472"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}