Joy, Truth, Freedom, Friendship, Ideal

All empty words, capitalized in writing. Just like every word that relates to beauty or wonder - none of them left untainted by us - the enslaved, sarcastic little creatures of fear. That's all you're left with - here, in this God-forsaken home and native land of dissimulation, you're all dead on the inside.

Metropolis

Looks like Bucharest. Almost feels like it. People in poorly-lit "matchboxes" in concrete high-rises. Recently-familiar chain stores. Small non-stop businesses. The hotel room would remind me even more of my college years if it wasn't about thirty times more expensive. And if it wasn't for the shared kitchen, one of the features of luxury student residences back home. Oh, and the TV in the lobby. Nineteenth floor lobby, also presenting me with three faces that immediately made me think of "One Flight Over a Cuckoo's Nest" - very affable people, nonetheless: "What's the number of the room you're looking for?"

Should have been 1492.

Joan

"Where have all the flowers gone
Long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone
Long time ago..."

Went to see her. Gotta admit I was pretty scared. After all, I had seen her back in '97 in Bucharest and I had gone to see Roger Waters two years ago. I had listened to an "adjusted", rather depressing, 2008 version of "Forever Young" on YouTube. I hadn't come to terms with aging yet. She's 68 and she's one of the most beautiful people I've ever had the privilege to meet (that is, if getting an autograph can be called "meeting" someone).

She had been interviewed by the local newspaper a couple of days before the concert and she had said that it took some effort to maintain her voice. I had been skeptical: "what voice? Could there be anything left of her purely hypnotizing voice?" Oh, I had been so wrong...

She stood for two hours, danced, drank lots of water. She sang "Silver Dagger" and "Joe Hill" and "Christmas in Washington" and she couldn't leave the Bob impersonation out of the picture, her barely-changed picture of sounds. Call it what you want, shrug and dismiss it as "motivational, inspirational, commonplace", but here goes my speculation: she's loving it, it's who she is.

The audience consisted mainly of "baby boomers", as opposed to the overwhelming proportion of t(w)eenagers that had come to see and hear Joan in Bucharest. I was one of them myself (in case there was any doubt about that). Speculation: the unsatiable "thirst" of my parents' generation was just being passed on to us during those unreal '90's and it was thriving along with our own. We were "catching up" and we were living their stolen youth, too.

I'm not afraid anymore.

Illusion

This is the only actual freedom out there.

It is within us to build walls.

We're never going to get it right.

"Look how far we've come." Do you really, really believe we have ever started walking down the path?

And what is it that's so cool about us, after all? Mice are an even greater piece of bioengineering, thousands of times smaller, still functioning very much like the unparalleled Homo sapiens. Where does the vanity come from?

Poor little blue dot, I feel your pain.

"There is freedom within, there is freedom without..."

Feels like I have to move on. To the next level. Got no clue what that actually means. There are times when everything seems to fall into place. This is not one of those times of "congratulations, you have reached Level 564!", when you are allowed to gloat for a couple of days, only to gather some strength for the battles to come. Sometimes you realize that you're going to have to face yourself in the battle. The bad news is yet to come, though: you know who's got to win. And you must learn the lesson that's going to keep repeating itself 'til you get it. Must learn to let go.

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." Got way too much to lose these days. When did this happen? How could I allow to become unfree again?

Hello, Utopia, fare thee well. How do I stay truthful to myself? Are there any Pretending 101 textbooks? Should I just start learning how to let myself go?

We can still

Coworker. Me. Bank branch. Fee payments. Administrative, non-immigrative things to take care of. Return to work strictly necessary. Snowy late Feb afternoon.
"Hurry up, [coworker], we can still miss the bus!"

Bucureşti, România

"This is
the strangest
life I've ever
known."*

Promised myself I would not forget. It's been thirty months, still counting. Now it's getting a little bit out of focus, warm colors are starting to spill over memories and simple images of people and places in Bucureşti, România. Bucharest is expanding, invading, conquering square miles at the speed of thought, taking over the neighboring counties, taking over my heart, the one you're all daggering at times when you say Bucureşti, România. I know I will remember everything at once. The Bucharest that's carving its way in me is not the same Bucharest that lives in what we commonly refer to as "reality". My refuge and my pride, My beautiful...

"Pile on many more layers
and I'll be joining you there."**

* "Waiting For The Sun" - The Doors
** "Shine On You Crazy Diamond (VI-IX)" - Pink Floyd