<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540</id><updated>2012-01-31T03:40:07.230+02:00</updated><category term='AFS'/><category term='Balance is gone'/><category term='Critics'/><category term='Numb'/><category term='italiens'/><category term='inceput'/><category term='Solitudine'/><category term='funny'/><category term='Soul'/><category term='angry'/><category term='Love'/><title type='text'>иo нαя∂ fєєℓιиgѕ</title><subtitle type='html'>The reason I started this blog is that I never have the time to write something on paper... although I would like to do that.. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this! The blog will have 3 main languages in which I will write: romanian, english and italian.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>84</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-7981879093969383409</id><published>2012-01-28T03:12:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2012-01-28T03:12:02.411+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't we just sleep tonight?</title><content type='html'>I lie... no, I'm not telling lies, I just lie... on some ground, on some chair, in some bus, wherever, thinking of today, wondering about tomorrow, scuffing thoughts about yesterday. I look so bold in front of you, the kind of person who takes chances, laughing in the face of danger and risks, hopeful of people and not discouraged by the surrounding actions taken against all that is pure. Or whatever. Laughing, anyway, I look joyful.&lt;br /&gt;When I'm alone it's the same old story you've all heard before, antique music whispering sounds scraped from the duties that haven't been fulfilled, that wouldn't bring happiness anyway, nor content, at least content...&lt;br /&gt;My sorrow isn't clear, but it weakens me every time that I am alone, so what am I really.. but a pile of dust being carried away by the wind of.. well I don't know what wind it is but it certainly isn't one of growth. Maybe it's change, maybe this is how change occurs when you don't decide to just run away to make it happen, this must be change done by standing still.&lt;br /&gt;I'm uncertain, I have anxiety attacks, rarely but they exist, the heaviness feeling has now moved from my heart to my brain and its malfunction has not delayed its show. Synapses don't function normally anymore, or maybe the problem is more simple than I feel it or see it.&lt;br /&gt;From the people that I've asked none could give me an answer to all of this, and as usual I may have to do it on my own. My ambition and will are as unstable as the sea. I don't know what to do so I do little for myself and that has gone well for me so far. I would considerably appreciate that my ability to cry would return but alas it has forsaken me as well so I am left with no means of relief thus bringing me to a stand-still by all means.&lt;br /&gt;As I walk down the street to see to the next task of my life I don't feel any content or excitement, everything became dull at some point and I'm starting to want to stay on the safe-side, being drawn to it more and more as this situation goes on. I am unfair because of this to some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not feeling the good, not having strengt, my only reason of getting out of bed in the morning is the thought that optimism is the way out and that I have to put it into action.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gata, haide ca am de invatat la un examen. Asta nu inseamna ca uit de problema, inseamna doar ca-mi va bate-n geam mai tarziu. Keep it real, don't take it too serious, relax = the impossible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GDVoOjE-9Vk/TyNLT6CnugI/AAAAAAAAACg/fDHAR3DK-xc/s1600/DSC00996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="230" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GDVoOjE-9Vk/TyNLT6CnugI/AAAAAAAAACg/fDHAR3DK-xc/s320/DSC00996.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-7981879093969383409?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/7981879093969383409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=7981879093969383409' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7981879093969383409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7981879093969383409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2012/01/cant-we-just-sleep-tonight.html' title='Can&apos;t we just sleep tonight?'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GDVoOjE-9Vk/TyNLT6CnugI/AAAAAAAAACg/fDHAR3DK-xc/s72-c/DSC00996.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-5751001118561838099</id><published>2011-10-30T02:03:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2011-10-30T02:04:04.789+03:00</updated><title type='text'>A thousand miles away from... home</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;A volte mi arrabbio, ma proprio tanto di non poter più pensare ad altro che colpire... fortemente. E' strano.. sto a pensare quando sono diventata così, quando si è prodotto la separazione tra di me e la mia anima. Mai mi sono sentita così sola e mai sono stata capace di ignorare questo fatto, poi chiedermi come mai non ho voglia di niente e trovare delle spiegazioni più stupide che ci siano. Mah...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;Mo sono andata via da casa per una piccola vacanza insieme a delle persone che mi stanno al cuore proprio assai. Poi ho litigato con La Donna della mia vita. E' stato quello il momento in cui ho realizzato che quando sono via da casa risento la mia anima, tocco gli angoli più profondi del cuore e riesco a mettere dei pezzi insieme... di nuovo. Tanto si spezzeranno di nuovo quando riparto, però almeno mi ricordo che esisto ancora, laggiù, tra la spazzatura che ho adunato tutto questo periodo ed i coltelli che mi sono infilata nel cuore per non sentire più il dolore, un dolore muto, cieco, e che non mi può dire da dove viene e dove se ne vuole andare.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;C'ho vent'anni, però mi sento da 40. Sono giovane, ero una volta piena di vita, adesso invece sono come un gabbiano nei confronti della vita, sempre sopra l'acqua, mai con il cuore in mezzo alle cose. E' brutto non sentire, non capire, non avere niente da dire. Cadere e rialzarsi, sempre senza senso, ma solamente perché pensi che essere ottimista è migliore. Non importa, non può durare infinitamente, qualsiasi cosa c'ha una fine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;Sometimes I can't believe it, I'm moving past the feeling... again. I long for loneliness.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-5751001118561838099?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/5751001118561838099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=5751001118561838099' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5751001118561838099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5751001118561838099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/10/volte-mi-arrabbio-ma-proprio-tanto-di.html' title='A thousand miles away from... home'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-4631816544624914492</id><published>2011-10-15T03:36:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2011-10-15T03:36:47.470+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>The natural order of things in Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;At first, love was supposed to look like this....&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRcAgiqO8hE/TpjT1V0e8GI/AAAAAAAAAB0/Y5Y05tAnSiE/s1600/first+phase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="229" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRcAgiqO8hE/TpjT1V0e8GI/AAAAAAAAAB0/Y5Y05tAnSiE/s320/first+phase.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"&gt;&lt;u&gt;But then, it slowly started to become like this....&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0anG6GG2dVg/TpjUBHVGzRI/AAAAAAAAAB8/nGP7wtzIUDk/s1600/slow+death.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0anG6GG2dVg/TpjUBHVGzRI/AAAAAAAAAB8/nGP7wtzIUDk/s320/slow+death.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;...and when you've had enough of that, you just went like this!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WmCdY7lyCyM/TpjUacxLVuI/AAAAAAAAACE/R5CWOKxoVd4/s1600/fuck+and+smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WmCdY7lyCyM/TpjUacxLVuI/AAAAAAAAACE/R5CWOKxoVd4/s1600/fuck+and+smile.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Thank you for your participation! :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-4631816544624914492?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/4631816544624914492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=4631816544624914492' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4631816544624914492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4631816544624914492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/10/natural-order-of-things-in-love.html' title='The natural order of things in Love'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRcAgiqO8hE/TpjT1V0e8GI/AAAAAAAAAB0/Y5Y05tAnSiE/s72-c/first+phase.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8906019220665009306</id><published>2011-10-07T00:16:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2011-10-07T00:16:12.986+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Something special</title><content type='html'>I'd like to rise up from my condition, I'd like to evolve, the time will come. But how to get others to listen to the same music that I hear? Hmm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the journey to discover myself and the beauty that is on this world and above it I have found a little bit of everything. Cultivate the soul, emancipate the being, elevate the mind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8906019220665009306?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8906019220665009306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8906019220665009306' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8906019220665009306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8906019220665009306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/10/something-special.html' title='Something special'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1818664764572006202</id><published>2011-09-07T02:05:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2011-09-07T02:11:30.655+03:00</updated><title type='text'>I shut my eyes in order to see</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I think this is the time one would call 'confession time'. I think, or better said, I am almost certain that for the last year I have been lying to myself. I tried to reach goals that were out of my reach, I tried to achieve a great deal in a short period of time, and most importantly, I have tried to bury feelings of discontent, dissatisfaction, fury, frustration and illness of the soul.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;It's about time that I admit my defeat. Overworked, tired of all the running around without aim, nothing to do but the things I want merely don't need, I managed to cause a permanent source of unneeded stress, and now I expect to find quickly, as if it only takes a good idea and/or a moment of revelation, a solution. Not a very realistic idea, I would have expected more from myself.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I admit that I am lost, although not completely; I admit not knowing what I am doing here, what I'm trying to achieve or if it was indeed my decision to set on this course, prematurely I would say. I have no f-ing idea where I'm heading at, what have I to gain from this journey? Questions arise and as much as I would have liked to say that I have a goal by doing all this, the truth is I really do feel overwhelmed by my own actions, and swimming against the tide was not my best idea, but I've already resigned myself &amp;nbsp;and decided it is best to undo all the wrongs and try at least to bring or leave (whichever might be the case) something good into the lives of the people that I've dragged with me into this.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Lost my sparkle, have I? Don't feel special anymore, don't feel any different from the people that content themselves with doing small things for themselves, and that is one of the worse case scenarios that could ever happen to me. The drama? I brought it upon myself deliberately.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Don't hold my hand because I don't feel like holding yours, don't try to support me like a fan supports his local team because it doesn't make me feel warmer, don't stay in my way trying to convince me that it's better to stay with you than move along wither, just stay out of my way, I'll tell you when it's safe to come out for me because I am literally shutting myself out from the cold storm outside. Whatever happens, I just want you to know that it'll be fine and we'll be happy once more.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Two set of lyric selections describe my inner state at this time...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;"and now I'm leaving, I'm pulling the door behind me, I await the moment of blissful re-encounter"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;"in a bullet proof vest with the windows all closed I'll be doing my best and I'll see you soon".&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DTxOoHDboR4/TmaoKG5cd9I/AAAAAAAAABw/Of3nhEbceQU/s1600/rework+coffee-and-cigarettes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DTxOoHDboR4/TmaoKG5cd9I/AAAAAAAAABw/Of3nhEbceQU/s320/rework+coffee-and-cigarettes.jpg" width="192" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Also, being dependent on someone is one of my greatest weaknesses. There you have it. Good night, while there's still some of it left.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;(see link from title)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1818664764572006202?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://bogdanphotos.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/nud-artistic-i-close-my-eyes-2.jpg' title='I shut my eyes in order to see'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1818664764572006202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1818664764572006202' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1818664764572006202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1818664764572006202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-shut-my-eyes-in-order-to-see.html' title='I shut my eyes in order to see'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DTxOoHDboR4/TmaoKG5cd9I/AAAAAAAAABw/Of3nhEbceQU/s72-c/rework+coffee-and-cigarettes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1878157676656191483</id><published>2011-09-04T04:43:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2011-09-04T04:43:56.977+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;Presupun ca se vede ora la care am creat postul, nu mai trebuie sa specific. Sunt inca treaza, ca in multe alte sambete, probabil as fi avut altceva de facut, dar astrologia ma relaxeaza, imi elibereaza mintea si o antreneaza in acelasi timp. Am asteptat luni de zile sa am ceva de spus, ceva concret, ajunsesem in acel labirint periculos in care in fata oricarei intamplari ramaneam fara cuvinte, fara idei si fara o parere. Mi-era indiferent. Imi pare sincer rau de mine, dar ca sa vezi ce e bun mai intai trebuie sa vezi cum e rau.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;Sunt multumita ca am in sfarsit ceva de spus. Vreau sa spun ca nu m-am intors si nu ma voi intoarce niciodata ca persoana, doar ca a fost greu sa renunt la o imagine veche si totusi inca frumoasa si vie aspure mie insami. Poate parea egocentric si egoist, dar petrec mult timp alergand dupa mintea mea in speranta ca in acele putine secunde cand reusesc sa o prind descopar ceva nou ce-mi da un fundament in construirea unei persoane valoroase, cu principii sanatoase si cai interioare frumoase. E intr-adevar greu sa pasesti inainte cand ai atat de multe bagaje in spate, dar un pas trebuie facut, intr-o directie trebuie si eu sa ma misc, nu mai pot sta locului nici macar o clipa. Am decis sa tai corzile, funiile si chiar acele fire subtiri pentru a ma elibera. A trebuit sa ajung in punctul acesta sa o pot face, si simt ca abia dupa un an de la asa-zisul "nou inceput" impus, pot incepe realmente sa cladesc din nou, sa o iau de la zero cum mi-am dorit, sa fiu din nou dependenta de nimic altceva decat de viata insasi, si sa arat lumii intregi, deci si mie, ca am destula forta pentru a ma ridica. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;Stiam ca e nevoie sa se ajunga la fundul prapastiei pentru a se putea incepe urcusul, doar nu realizam faptul ca pana la prapastie e un drum mai lung ca data trecuta, ca de fapt e alta prapastie - teren necunoscut, ca de data aceasta nu mai am posibilitatea de a ma catapulta afara; acum chiar trebuie sa muncesc, trebuie sa ma hotarasc dupa ce alerg, la ce si unde vreau sa ajung. Nu e un plan pentru toata viata, e doar o schita a ceea ce ar putea deveni un tablou mai mult decat frumos. Sper ca am ales panza si creionul potrivit, iar cu putina (mai multa) vointa, nici ca pot cere mai mult caci pot fauri.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;Ador din nou ochii obositi din cauza monitorului, durerea de spate dinante de a ma baga in pat dupa N ore de stat la calculator, imi ador tigarile ce-mi tin de urat, convorbirile la telefon cu mama au devenit placute, iar lumea pe langa care trec zilnic nu ma mai oboseste. Aveam nevoie de asta, de o gura de aer, dar nu ma multumesc doar sa deschid geamul sa aerisesc, planuiesc sa petrec mai mult timp pe afara.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;Ne vedem sub soare, la umbra mi-a fost cam rece.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1878157676656191483?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1878157676656191483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1878157676656191483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1878157676656191483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1878157676656191483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/09/presupun-ca-se-vede-ora-la-care-am.html' title=''/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6521357250671038364</id><published>2011-05-17T03:31:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T03:33:49.079+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Late night workers</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"&gt;I was thinking about... about an idea. They say that the world's most powerful explosive is the human idea, you know. Wandering through some pictures, I caught myself staring at my own figure, face and everything; didn't see much, just... the hollowness and its consequences: earth-colored skin tone, small eyes, big eyes, same shade, they used to glow once, now they have LEDs to make them sparkle a bit, what a help... anyway, a body I'm not happy with, I really do look old except my face.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"&gt;In some parallel universe I must be what I want to be. In this one I'm just what I've built: no more vivid dreams, achievable through labor as I see it, no more miracles or whooping situations to get out from, it all seems to go one way, a kind of sinking sands, a dead end, but in the end if I'm willing to exit this shit hole I might as well take my chances. It's 3:18 in the morning, I still have to do 3 papers for that exam coming up today at 10:00 AM, I'm so not in the mood... and I so cannot see the point in doing them. Endlessly unsatisfied, endlessly searching with my mind, and when will I find the time to search when I'm thorn up between having money and doing some research in the fields I hunger for? I guess the balance inclines in the "profit making" direction. How... pitiful.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"&gt;We are is what we build and what we build will last us in time. What we are willing to sacrifice in this honor is not something to be considered lost, but something transformed into better ideas, better methods, better thinking. It will not last us forever and when the time comes to build again we must change perspectives, and that, my friends, is the hard part because it requires us a lot of thinking and a subtle yet brutal and unpreceded change. Yes, the keyword to all of this is change, and whether we like it or not, even if the efforts are considerable and the results may be more than satisfactory, the time to take it all over again gains upon us once more and once more...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"&gt;And do you know what happens when we refuse to follow this natural yet planned course? We lose ourselves to the world of working for a better or stable future with high chances of never getting there. at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"&gt;That.. would be all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6521357250671038364?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6521357250671038364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6521357250671038364' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6521357250671038364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6521357250671038364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/05/late-night-workers.html' title='Late night workers'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1287042605436645319</id><published>2011-04-19T09:39:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2011-04-19T09:39:03.803+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Dificil de resistir</title><content type='html'>"Per trovarsi bisogna perdersi" si dice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beh, guardate come mi perdo, un pezzetino ogni volta che finisce un giorno. Per questo sto lottando, per perdermi, cosí magari so che raggiungo il fondo dell'abisso. Da lí c'e' un'unica direzione, su. Scegliere le direzioni a cui dedicarsi non e' sempre la cosa piú facile e non e' mai sicuro che sia la cosa giusta ogni volta. &lt;br /&gt;Sono stata in tanti posti che manco mi ricordo tutto, ho visto tante cose che non so se e' rimasto spazio per le cose nuove da venire. Ho vissuto abbastanze cose per dire che a volte mi sento ferma nel tempo, che i giorno passano siccome&amp;nbsp;avessero la stessa forma e contenuto, la diversitá mi e' ormai sconosciuta da un periodo perche' e' diventata monotonia. &lt;br /&gt;Ho preso la vita cosí com'e', ho affrontato le mie paure che ormai mi confondevano lo sguardo verso l'alto, verso il futuro prossimo. Insomma... l'importante e' che alla fine sono partita dalla sicurezza per vedere le sabbie mobili e immergere in esse, essere inghiottita...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tre concezioni voglio: vivere, trasformare, andare avanti libero. E' dificile resistere alla tentazione di aggiungere al catalogo delle esperienze queste concezioni, vedere cosa c'e' dopo l'infanzia guardata come un mondo dell'aldilá, un'altro universo, quindi ho fatto la mia scelta in concordanza con le altre scelte del 2010 - mi sono lasciata trascinare dalla tentazione, bella e morbida tentazione, con i suoi tentacoli che ti prendono lo sguardo e ti fanno respirare a tratti, senti il battito del cuore accelerando, ma mica puoi fare qualcosa a fermarlo. E sogni. E poi ti svegli. Ma per lo meno il lavoro e' fatto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WHDRjXukSAA/Ta0t-cGFnWI/AAAAAAAAABs/lrVmxiTyo9I/s1600/prisoner.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="172" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WHDRjXukSAA/Ta0t-cGFnWI/AAAAAAAAABs/lrVmxiTyo9I/s320/prisoner.PNG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1287042605436645319?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1287042605436645319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1287042605436645319' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1287042605436645319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1287042605436645319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/04/dificil-de-resistir.html' title='Dificil de resistir'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WHDRjXukSAA/Ta0t-cGFnWI/AAAAAAAAABs/lrVmxiTyo9I/s72-c/prisoner.PNG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-4698931562695797754</id><published>2011-03-03T01:03:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-03-09T21:18:34.646+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Randomly ordered chaos - part III</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Have you ever dreamed of dying for just a night or two? To see what it's like to be free of all the burdens of the past and present, to watch people closer, study them without any awkward reaction from them...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Sometimes I'd give a few days of my life, a week, a month, to walk the face of the Earth as a ghost. I'd watch you while you sleep or while you have a conversation with somebody, or while you sigh in disbelief that life has something more to offer, or maybe when you're crying your heart out in your fists because you just can't understand what you have done. How about I listen to you while you talk to yourself, analyzing your connections with other people, speaking your mind about your dearest ones. Hm? How would that be? Interesting to me... to gain certainties where there lie only doubt and suspicion. I'd know rather than to continue assuming and I'd probably know better what to do with you all. 'Cause there are many of you who lie to me, and I lie to you too, I admit it, but only as a response to your own attitude.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I sometimes wonder... I often behave as the mirror of others' attitude towards me, by the principle "if you lie to me, I'll lie to you" or "if you'll make me happy, I'll make you happy back" and vice versa of course. I really am your own behavior's mirror so many times, if only you could see that. And the moment I decide being otherwise is the moment in which I understand you and can show you something you can learn. And that's where conflicts begin... but oh well, sooner or later you will learn, with or without me*.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I've watched you sleep at least one time in my life and I spent those moments with good use, because when a person sleeps you can see into their soul and slip a little magic into the person's heart, unseen sparkles that bloom over time. When you watch someone sleeping, you can swear hearing his/her thoughts. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;There aren't many things I regret, and not even those can be considered real regrets, but I do ponder from time to time what would it have been like to... something. The only thing I truly feel sorry about is the lack of the capacity to travel with your soul. By night.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://caseoriginalart.com/blog/images/paintings/NightStroll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://caseoriginalart.com/blog/images/paintings/NightStroll.jpg" width="255" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;What would it be like being close to you somewhat physically in the darkness that reveals secrets, and far away by light that allows destines to be built?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-4698931562695797754?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/4698931562695797754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=4698931562695797754' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4698931562695797754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4698931562695797754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/03/randomly-ordere-chaos-part-iii.html' title='Randomly ordered chaos - part III'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1159645692716138806</id><published>2011-02-26T05:33:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2011-02-26T05:33:00.123+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Turnat din inimi frinte</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;It's like when someone smokes in the room while you're sleeping, you aren't aware of the smoke choking your lungs, your heart, intoxicating you. Until the choking sensation becomes too strong and you wake up. I wonder when am I going to wake up...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;When a dandelion is being blown away by the wind it has no idea where a part of it may arrive. That's how I feel when people do me wrong; scattered, blown away into the clear blue sky, not being able to pull myself together. That's how it is now.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;I am still alive, thus I take my place in society, and escape from it the moment I get home and throw away the day behind me. It's funny tho how the wheel of fortune spins. Last year I could feel only the happy things, live them intensely. Now I can feel only the sad and bad things, I live them... uncontrolled.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;I'm alone, I can't lie. I guess I need this to remake the scattered parts of me and accept that some things are part of my life and time waited for no one when those things arose and finally occurred. Lying dormant isn't a solution, but as a saying states "let it pass with the night", when I wake up it'll all be gone with the night.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;I'd ask you to hold my hand, but you're not there. I'd ask you to comfort me, but you can't. I'd ask you to love me, but I know you're pretty close to that feeling so I run out of things to ask you to do for me. Funny how things have a way of their own to work out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"&gt;Frozen and intoxicated, not the best sensation. Remember the variety of feelings I used to have for everything and everyone? They all turned into a big massive feeling, a unique, singular piece of emotional state, the state of heaviness. Wherever I go, as long as I'll be still walking a certain path, it'll be hard to carry my big heavy concrete boulder, that pile of feelings merged together into a state of heaviness...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1159645692716138806?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1159645692716138806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1159645692716138806' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1159645692716138806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1159645692716138806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/02/turnat-din-inimi-frinte.html' title='Turnat din inimi frinte'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-7180182963075498112</id><published>2011-02-13T02:20:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-03-05T18:04:48.353+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Cio' che ho perso.</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Una volta potevo fare di tutto, potevo camminare la distanza da casa a Napoli ed indietro se era questo che desideravo, potevo non lasciarmi trascinata nella bugia che significa ascoltare la societa', potevo amare o non amare secondo il mio desiderio perche' ero libera di fare cio'. Era un equilibrio perfetto, oppure magari... vicino alla perfezione. Ma l'ho perso, ho perso tutto in quei otto mesi di silenzio; c'ho provato di rimanere agganciata a me stessa, per lo meno questo sono riuscita farlo, pero' le cose non sono state mai le stesse. La pressione mi invade il cuore che accelera a 100 battiti per minuto, mi fa sentire debole ed anche giudicata. Io non dovrei sentire adesso questo tipo di cose semplicemente perche' ho avuto l'opportunita' di essere libera. Ma mi hai squillibrata. Mi sono squillibrata...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Dove sono i giorni in cui apprezzavo ogni gramo di gioia, ogni stato d'anima ed ogni centimetro di spazio che avevo? Oggi ne ho di piu' a volte, ma sono bloccata entro i quattro muri che mi tenevano prisoniera prima, solo che adesso sono piu' forti ed abbastanza flessibili da non potergli rompere ed evadere.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Dov'e' quella liberta'... dove sono? Com'e' possibile vivere ancora senza sentire il fiume di vita scorrendomi per le vene, per l'anima? Sto qui, davanti a te, e ti sto dicendo che non sono libera... e non sono piu' nemmeno ranchiusa in questo momento. Essere a meta' delle due sensazioni non e' tanto male, ti permette un po' di allegria qualche volta, ma e' una mezza misura. E l'equillibrio e' fragile... troppo fragile.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-7180182963075498112?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/7180182963075498112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=7180182963075498112' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7180182963075498112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7180182963075498112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/02/cio-che-ho-perso.html' title='Cio&apos; che ho perso.'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6816824039250912884</id><published>2011-02-01T19:44:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2011-02-01T19:44:20.867+02:00</updated><title type='text'>precum sunt 3u</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Era o fetita odata, ce spera sa creasca sa devina precum "oamenii mari" ce ii vedea prin ochii de copil, frumosi, sociabili, placuti, smecheri, ascutiti la minte, inteligenti, destepti... perversi, parsivi, egoisti, tradatori, ignoranti, egocentrici sau umilitor de milostivi. Desigur... acelea din urma avea sa le afle mai apoi. Si sa aleaga intre cine ar putea deveni si cine vrea sa devina.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Si uite ca s-a format, a crescut, si-a ales caracteristicile si le-a bagat in buzunarul principal al bagajului vietii. Dar mai are de completat putin echipamentul pina sa poata pleca intr-adevar la drum, insa acum se pregateste.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Ea si-a dorit sa creasca si sa cunoasca... iar acum se intreaba daca a meritat sa se lase influentata de toti acei adulti pe care i-a luat drept model, daca nu cumva s-a intinat facind aceasta? Si-a intinat ea oare personalitatea ce putea deveni pura, curata ca o lacrima? Nu tocmai... cred ca a invatat sa si-o apere cu armele procurate pe drum, platite cu pretul intoarcerii si celuilalt obraz, sau a ripostei violente, lucru ce nu ii este caracteristic, dar pe care a invatat sa-l iubeasca pe parcurs. A platit totusi de cam multe ori cu psihicul, iar acum incearca de multe ori sa-si dea seama cit i-a mai ramas din el, si de cit mai poate face rost pina la urmatoarea confruntare.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Am picioare lungi, parul lung castaniu-inchis cu reflexii rosiatice uneori, ochii caprui sau gri sau negrii... sau inchisi, gura medie, buze de grosime medie, nas in vint, miini micute, degete lungi si subtiri, piept satisfacator, posterior la fel, abdomen acceptabil. Am note bune, deci ma duce capul destula distanta, de muncit muncesc, nu sunt impresara, nici manager, dar ma rog, intelegeti voi, gelozia nu e tocmai stilul meu, nu ma cert - comunic, nu am stoluri sau pitici care sa iti frece creierii, iar daca am asa ceva tin pentru mine, in schimb sunt incapatinata, delasatoare, instabila uneori, imprevizibila etc. Ati observat si voi ce am enumerat mai sus, nu? Asa... exactly my point...si mai departe?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;O zi buna tuturor, mi avete deluso malamente di nuovo; vergogna vostra la prima volta, vergogna mia la seconda volta... e anche la terza...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6816824039250912884?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6816824039250912884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6816824039250912884' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6816824039250912884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6816824039250912884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/02/precum-sunt-3u.html' title='precum sunt 3u'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1166504576002933807</id><published>2011-01-30T21:45:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2011-01-30T21:45:13.462+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Despre scris</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Cineva mi-a spus de curind ca, citez, "ceea ce scriu nu reflecta trairile mele" si ca "scriu in stil Matrix, codat" si "creez o lume a mea, e plin internetul de asa ceva". Desigur, prima parte nu ar avea de unde sti daca e adevarata sau nu, dar oricum... it got me thinking. Ce regula anume respect cind scriu? Ce inseamna scrisul pentru mine? Ce fac... atunci cind scriu...in afara de a insirui cuvinte?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Si-am gasit citeva variante de raspuns: eu nu creez o lume a mea atunci cind scriu, doar colorez in culori diferite lumea existenta; nu scriu codat, scriu pentru persoanele fata de care am un sentiment, caci altfel n-as mai scrie. Daca nu simt mare lucru pentru o persoana, cum as putea descrie ce reprezinta aceasta pentru mine? Cum as putea transmite sentimentul ce il am cind sunt cu persoana respectiva, si sentimentul ce il am fara aceasta in cuvinte daca nu as folosi creioanele specifice mie pentru a-i desena o schita direct pe creier? Asa, pentru a-i permite sa vada prin ochii mei totul la sine... si bune si rele.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Eu scriu ca o nebuna? Probabil. Dar nebunia mea e frumoasa si eu ma bucur de ea, si vreau ca si ceilalti sa se bucure de ea. Sunt revoltata si vreau sa ma apar, asa ca am sa iau ca pe o alta parere cuvintele de mai sus ce mi-au fost adresate in legatura cu modul meu de a scrie. Daca am ajuns sa scriu un post despre asta, inseamna ca acele cuvinte au avut greutate in fata mea si am ascultat ce a spus respectiva persoana... Ceea ce e kind of a big deal. Nu uita asta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1166504576002933807?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1166504576002933807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1166504576002933807' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1166504576002933807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1166504576002933807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/01/despre-scris.html' title='Despre scris'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3363454053407131831</id><published>2011-01-26T00:55:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-01-26T03:44:49.049+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Knock Knock...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Who's there? Merry! Merry who? Merry Christmas! Hahaha, such a cute little line... got it from a movie.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Haideti sa va povestesc despre ea. Se numeste Merry. Si am intilnit-o la facultate, mi-a placut in mod deosebit dintr-a... 3-a privire/intilnire mi se pare, dar nu-i lucru rau, caci e mai bine sa nu-ti faci prime impresii, te scuteste de una-alta, stiti voi. Avea mai mereu parul prins in coc/coada si-mi amintesc in mod deosebit sacoul ei alb cu dungulite albastre verticale, cum se observa mereu de departe cind o asteptam sa intram la curs. Imi placea mult acel albastru in soarele tomnatic bucurestean. Acum e mult prea frig sa il mai poarte. In plus... acum poarta breton.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Pe-atunci mi se parea putin ciudatica, poate chiar putin timida, o persoana foarte buna si blanda. Desigur, unele pareri s-au mai schimbat de atunci, de exemplu partea cu ciudatica si cu timiditatea, impresii total invalide.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Doar pantofii de la Bata indica in mod evident o tendinta catre a iesi in evidenta, nicidecum timiditate, iar esarfele de la Who-Knows-What-Known-Brand-In-Europe iti inspira un aer boem, oarecum tomnatic, dar cald.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Ei ii plac hainele de calitate, ii plac hainele in genere, iar o zi de shopping este terapie curata. Imi place lucrul acesta la ea, inseamna ca e o artista si ca in general stie ce vrea, instinctiv. Imi place uneori sa o privesc cum se aranjeaza de parca ar fi ea insasi propria-i opera de arta, iar alteori ma... exaspereaza, cind suntem in intirziere de obicei, sau cind depaseste o ora jumatate. Dar gata cu partea aceasta... Merry are si un sufletel, unul bun, dar gol uneori. Si-si aminteste asta cind se uita in urma, incerc sa n-o las sa priveasca in urma, dar are oglinzi retrovizoare, smechera. Eh, e puternica ea, nu se lasa dusa de val... atit de rau.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Mai are si ochii mari si albastri, adinci ca marea, uneori reci ca gheata de la frigider vara. Nu ride, e o comparatie foarte buna, inseamna ca sunt racoritori de te trec fiorii. Mai ales cind are Merry chef de a nu avea chef de tine... e ce nu-ti doresti pe ziua respectiva, iar daca o apuca dupa-masa, s-ar putea sa te deprime pina seara. De aceea imi plac mie paradoxurile... ai ce e mai bun din doua parti: odata focul, apoi gheata, dar nu poti spune ca te plictisesti, si nici ca te-ai saturat prea tare. (tehnic poti, dar ma opresc aici ca va citi postul dimineata si parc-o vad...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Lasind gluma la o parte in jur de 30 de secunde, deoarece nu cred ca as rezista mai mult, ea e cea mai apropiata chestie de o papusa din cite cunosc, mai ales cind e imbracata in rochita, iar cind ma ia in brate sunt cea mai mica si mai protejata! Iar cind o iau eu in brate, e cea mai dulce chestie care sta acolo linstita. Ea e buna si nebuna, dar e bine, asa sunt si eu, doar ca in alte proportii :) . Ea e ca Luna... odata e, odata nu e, si niciodata nu e la fel, dar e la fel de fermecatoare ca aceasta, iar norii ii sunt parteneri in micile comploturi... impotriva altora, sau impotriva ei insisi. Ar mai fii de scris citeva chestii, dar am facut pana... de inspiratie... asa ca ma duc doar la somn si restul ti le zic tet-a-tet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Te-am pupat, fata! Ne vedem la examen!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;L.E.: si uite si prima melodie pe care mi-ai pus sa o ascult de la Beyonce'&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/HCjALaD-K2Q/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HCjALaD-K2Q&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HCjALaD-K2Q&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3363454053407131831?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3363454053407131831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3363454053407131831' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3363454053407131831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3363454053407131831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/01/knock-knock.html' title='Knock Knock...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8091667748498606000</id><published>2011-01-19T20:59:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-01-19T21:00:22.121+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Play me a song...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span lang="RO"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d5a6bd;"&gt;Era o melodie ce o știam odată, se numea ’Maybe tomorrow is a better day’.. poate avea dreptate, acum știu doar că în acea vreme îmi plăcea să o ascult pentru valoarea ce o dădeam fiecărei zi în care seara mă așezam în pat și îi faceam evaluarea: a fost o zi bună, nu a fost.. acum am învățat să nu mai judec zilele, căci fiecare zi este la fel și diferită în același timp. Uneori simt că am prea multe siguranțe, alteori mă confortez cu gîndul că e bine așa cum e. M-am resemnat oarecum și refuz să mă adaptez pe de altă parte, căci consider că fac ceva deosebit zilnic: trăiesc. Am înțeles că nu e important cum a trecut fiecare zi în parte atîta vreme cît am un pat în care să îmi odihnesc creierii epuizați, prea obosiți de altfel să mai judece zile, ci doar destul de capabili la acea oră să mulțumească purtătorului și unei entități ce ne depășește că a mai reușit odată, a mai ajuns încă o zi la momentul mult așteptat: liniștea.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span lang="RO"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d5a6bd;"&gt;Mai era și o vorbă: nu e important ce fac în viață, important e să fac acel lucru oricare ar fi el. Este unde mă aflu eu acum, fac ce trebuie să fac, ce e necesar, dar niciodată nu trăiesc cu gîndul că ar fi deosebit de important acea acțiune a mea la nivel cotidian. Cred că fraza se referea la faptul că tot ce facem zi de zi va fi important într-o zi din viitor.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span lang="RO"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d5a6bd;"&gt;Acum mă pregătesc, dar nu sunt sigură pentru ce anume. Lupt și voi lupta acum pentru bătălia finală dintr-o zi însorită cu furtuna zîmbind de după cortine, așteptînd răbdătoare să-și spună replica finala, ca apoi victoria să poată aplauda mulțumită, sau înfrîngerea să proiecteze pe fețele tuturor propriul rîs ironic plastificat, încremenit pe vecie. Va conta. Mult. Sper să conteze și diferența pentru care bănuiesc că mă pregătesc. Măcar să știu că am încercat, iar dacă totul a fost în van, atunci așa să fie, dar eu să nu apuc să văd vidul de final.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TTc0GzBh4rI/AAAAAAAAABg/4BUcARCdwFk/s1600/sabina.dimitriu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d5a6bd;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TTc0GzBh4rI/AAAAAAAAABg/4BUcARCdwFk/s320/sabina.dimitriu.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span lang="RO"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span lang="RO"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d5a6bd; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Încă o melodie... do you think I’m special, do you think I’m nice, am I bright enough to shine in your spaces?...deci, sunt? E ironică fraza, evident, dar e o întrebare pe care aș pune-o unor persoane ce le-am întîlnit pe parcusul întregii vieți. Mai tîrziu în melodie spune ’I know I could never face someone that could sound like you’, ar fi un semn de alarmă pentru o persoană inteligentă. E o atenționare subtilă, poate cu iz jignitor, poate și cu iz ironic, dar cu continuarea lăsată să se înțeleagă de la sine. Pot să vă trezesc? Pot? Vă pot spune unde ați greșit fără a mă înțelege greșit? Nu prea pot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8091667748498606000?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8091667748498606000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8091667748498606000' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8091667748498606000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8091667748498606000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2011/01/play-me-song.html' title='Play me a song...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TTc0GzBh4rI/AAAAAAAAABg/4BUcARCdwFk/s72-c/sabina.dimitriu.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8356451027276394232</id><published>2010-12-29T02:20:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-12-29T02:45:01.186+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I was there, and then I was no more...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Sometimes I wish, other times I hope, and at times I just whisper. I whisper wishful things, sad things, then all the things that cross my mind 'cause I have the certainty that who will have the power to listen, will. What if they don't? Then they won't see.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I used to have many friends and all of them where made of silver and roses and bullets and rain, but then they vanished and harsh enemies took their place. Sorrow and hurt, greed and anger made their way through the slippery place I used to call a soul, and then I crashed again like I do at times when I can't deal with certain things anymore. I came here in complete ruins, thought I could make it alive tho. And I did. I'm still breathing, I still walk these streets and can still smell the wretched frost from the morning air and filthy smog on my way home at night. It should be a pretty hard evidence that I'm still alive.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I used to have burning coals in my eyes and flames rising from my hands, I used to make my&amp;nbsp; way through society always laughing at others and keeping things to myself. I still do, y'know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Chocolate brown eyes with infinite heat are keepers of a compact journal filled with life experiences. 2010, one number, could define them all. T'was my year, it was my quick death and my slow and painful rebirth, almost. The same eyes contain now snowflakes, each day a different shape, each day a different size, but always made out of the same rain that used to pour months ago, stormy weather, blistering cold in immeasurable quantities, endured until it stopped being a burden and started being an advantage again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;You tried to touch the snow, try to enter the deep darkness with no fear as a core, and are still trying, fact that makes me happy in a way and keeps me in guard in another. Stay by my side, don't give up, I'm much more than I can show and if you're happy with only this, you might want to consider gaining a new level of happiness. It's all brand new in the shallow part, same old going deeper, but better anyway.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I can taste the raw drops of pure delight falling from the sky, I can feel them freezing before they touch the skin of my cheek, my nose can sense the aroma of fresh coffee in the middle of the night and my hands can catch the sensation of wisdom you had when you decided to take that step and come home. Held me tight and promised me you would never make me cry, isn't it an easy promise to keep? Yes it is. Yes it is...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Keep me healthy and sane, don't let me fall off my feet, make the land I step on never shiver away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Slivers of metal guns choke me when I dream every night a different dream with the same idea: of catching a breath of fresh air from its flight across the distant memories of my unwanted gathered songs, all coiled somewhere deep into echoes that reach out. All my songs are good songs, no song is better than the other.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;And maybe one day I'll stand up to my songs, one day I'll tell them otherwise and play them as they should be played; they don't bother existing without the winds that brought them to me, don't bother playing for someone else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;How can I ever repay you? How can I ever tell you 'thank you' for opening my eyes and being one step ahead? I'll wish you all the best and the same songs you played to me, I'm quite sure you'll enjoy them, and when you listen to them remember me as a dear friend, a lost memory and a true heart to have relied on when you needed, a medicine to ease the pain. You'll know when you'll hear me calling out such as a mermaid calls its seamen in the foggy darkness, you'll tell that it's me, don't worry. Just follow the song, you'll be free then.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;"So thank you" she said putting her head in the ground and rising afterwords her shadowy look from that gloomy place she decided to look at no more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Have a great 2011, I wish you all the best and to act with sapience in matters that concern you directly, or not. And remember "what you don't know, can't hurt you" and "everything passes, either good or bad".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cstrong%3EThis%20Mortal%20Coil%20-%20Elizabeth%20Fraser%20and%20Robin%20Guthrie%20-%20Song%20to%20the%20Siren%3C/strong%3E%3Cbr%20/%3E%20%20%3Cobject%20width=%22448%22%20height=%2233%22%3E%3Cparam%20name=%22movie%22%20value=%22http://embed.trilulilu.ro/audio/tolstoi_rook/1d14989a4de92a.swf%22%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cparam%20name=%22allowscriptaccess%22%20value=%22always%22%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cparam%20name=%22flashvars%22%20value=%22username=tolstoi_rook&amp;amp;hash=1d14989a4de92a&amp;amp;miniMode=true%22%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cembed%20src=%22http://embed.trilulilu.ro/audio/tolstoi_rook/1d14989a4de92a.swf%22%20type=%22application/x-shockwave-flash%22%20allowscriptaccess=%22always%22%20width=%22448%22%20height=%2233%22%20flashvars=%22username=tolstoi_rook&amp;amp;hash=1d14989a4de92a&amp;amp;miniMode=true%22%20%3E%3C/embed%3E%3C/object%3E%20%20%3Cbr%20/%3E%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.trilulilu.ro/audio/diverse%22%20title=%22diverse%22%3E%20%20Asculta%20%20mai%20multe%20%20audio%20%20%20diverse%20%3C/a%3E%3Cbr%20/%3E%3Ciframe%20src=%22http://www.facebook.com/plugins/like.php?href=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.trilulilu.ro%2Ftolstoi_rook%2F1d14989a4de92a&amp;amp;layout=standard&amp;amp;show_faces=true&amp;amp;width=448&amp;amp;action=like&amp;amp;colorscheme=light&amp;amp;height=80&amp;amp;ref=trlfbmbdlk%22%20scrolling=%22no%22%20frameborder=%220%22%20style=%22border:none;%20overflow:hidden;%20width:448px;%20height:80px;%22%20allowTransparency=%22true%22%3E%3C/iframe%3E%3Cbr%20/%3E"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;This Mortal Coil - Elizabeth Fraser and Robin Guthrie -  Song to the Siren&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;object height="33" width="448"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://embed.trilulilu.ro/audio/tolstoi_rook/1d14989a4de92a.swf"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="username=tolstoi_rook&amp;amp;hash=1d14989a4de92a&amp;amp;miniMode=true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://embed.trilulilu.ro/audio/tolstoi_rook/1d14989a4de92a.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" width="448" height="33" flashvars="username=tolstoi_rook&amp;amp;hash=1d14989a4de92a&amp;amp;miniMode=true" &gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.trilulilu.ro/audio/diverse" title="diverse"&gt;&amp;nbsp;  Asculta&amp;nbsp; mai multe&amp;nbsp; audio&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; diverse &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" src="http://www.facebook.com/plugins/like.php?href=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.trilulilu.ro%2Ftolstoi_rook%2F1d14989a4de92a&amp;amp;layout=standard&amp;amp;show_faces=true&amp;amp;width=448&amp;amp;action=like&amp;amp;colorscheme=light&amp;amp;height=80&amp;amp;ref=trlfbmbdlk" style="border: medium none; height: 80px; overflow: hidden; width: 448px;"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://shapeshed.com/images/articles/after_the_rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://shapeshed.com/images/articles/after_the_rain.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8356451027276394232?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8356451027276394232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8356451027276394232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8356451027276394232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8356451027276394232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-was-there-and-then-i-was-no-more.html' title='I was there, and then I was no more...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592239268526806781</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NOYMSLqaBs4/TPbjgGOkTJI/AAAAAAAAABA/ewPmmP_1CR4/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3055593361701926064</id><published>2010-11-03T12:21:00.009+02:00</published><updated>2010-11-22T02:12:04.147+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Balance is gone'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='angry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='inceput'/><title type='text'>Tectonica unei idei</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TNE8u23jthI/AAAAAAAAAFU/3gKS0xRs6Zk/s1600/664039679.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TNE8u23jthI/AAAAAAAAAFU/3gKS0xRs6Zk/s200/664039679.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535272192715240978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;M-am trezit azi de dimineata cu cea mai ciudata senzatie. Senzatia de apartenenta, si n-as fi stiut sa mi-o explic daca nu erai tu, paznic al noptii mele. Imi veghezi visele, imi umpli noaptea, din cauza ta nu dorm eu, din cauza ta nu mai am liniste... e totul din vina mea.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Am inceput mai demult sa sper ca se poate mai bine, si uite ca se poate si inca cum! Dar mai ramine inca un loc gol in cosul pieptului ce intr-o vreme adapostea atit de multa iubire incit sa inghita lumea, iar acum e... ca un ou spart. M-am pieptanat ieri de doua ori in fata oglinzii din baie si am vazut iarasi prin oglinda, imaginea mea nu mai era, deci n-ar fi avut rost sa mai privesc oglinda. Nu stiu ce sper sa gasesc acolo de cite ori ma uit sa vad ce lipseste, ce e in plus sau ce a ramas la fel.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;M-am ambitionat sa pastrez tacerea, privand astfel multa lume de prezenta mea, lasind astfel un loc gol unde odata erau zapada si coacaze, soare si biciclete. N-am stiut insa sa le smulg amintirea mea din memoriile pline de praf, invechite de cei ce au venit si au plecat inaintea mea, de cei ce le-au umplut cazierele, sau si le-au umplut singuri, sau de cei ce le-au furat inocenta. Stiu cum e sa nu mai ai nici macar paharul de suc de portocale zilnic sau sa renunti la vise de dragul tiriitului cotidian pe strazile orasului doar pentru a avea un motiv sa te trezesti dimineata. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Ceasul desteptator nu stie nimic, el doar ma cicaleste dimineata de dimineata, imi aduce aminte de ceea ce am de facut, el nu e ca tot ceea ce am stiut vreodata, el e pur si simplu inconstient de tradarea ce o executa asupra lumii mele onirice.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;In vasta geografie a sufletului prefer sa pastrez urme de vid pentru a-mi reaminti de ce prapastiile sunt utile in momente de maxima monotonie, prefer sa pastrez dealuri, munti si lacuri, prefer sa nu darui harta acestuia nimanui caci nu mi-ar ierta-o niciodata. Iar cind momentul cel de prisos vine pentru a-l trai cu constiinta curata te trezesti dintr-o data speriat si debusolat, de parca ai fi cintat toata noaptea impreuna cu sticla de bautura iar soarele diminetii tocmai iti sfisie retina obosita. E abia atunci cind tectonica sufletului se schimba, se reaseaza, placile de diferite culori, texturi si idealuri tind sa se suprapuna, iar tu preferi sa nu mai intelegi nimic.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Dar aici intervine cea mai grea parte, cea care zboara cu tine deasupra cutremurelor - asteptarea. Fiindca deseori ajungi in momentul in care cea mai buna miscare pe care poti sa o faci e aceea de a nu te misca deloc din loc, ci doar sa astepti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3055593361701926064?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3055593361701926064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3055593361701926064' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3055593361701926064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3055593361701926064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/11/tectonica-unei-idei.html' title='Tectonica unei idei'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TNE8u23jthI/AAAAAAAAAFU/3gKS0xRs6Zk/s72-c/664039679.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6403286777320399504</id><published>2010-10-08T15:45:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2010-10-08T16:38:58.753+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet Music</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;I'll write this text in English because I won't have much time to translate it. If anyone wants it translated, he/she can ask.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Over the past years of my life, as any human being, I've undergone some well established processes of maturing, well defined from the temporal point of view and with results along the years that helped me evolve to this very day. However I always felt that I can't find the perfect words to describe the colors of my years so that anyone could understand them and see them as I did. So I've put together a list of songs that may help me in that matter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Chapter 1: The Early Years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;I grew up on old music, since I always saw my mother as an icon during preadolescence, so names such as Modern Talking, A-Ha, Abba, DJ Bobo, Bennasi Bros, Cher, Celine Dion, John Lennon, Phil Collins, Chris Rea, bear no secret in front of me. I also used to listen to Enya allot, Sarah Brightman, and at some point the genre called manele that remind me of some parties we threw back in the old days at home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Then there was the stay with my cousin... Blero - Sexy Moves, manele again, house music, DJ Project, Thalia - No me ensenaste, Veritasaga, B.U.G. Mafia, particularly remind me of that time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;And then... after my cousin left there was him, I'll call him V. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Tony Carey - Room With a View &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Chris Isaac - Life Will Go On. And so it was.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;The there was O, and I remember four particular songs from him, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;1st Ladi - Missing You&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Bliss - Wish You Where Here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Armstrong &amp;amp; Fitzgerald - Stars Fell On Alabama&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Goran Bregovic - Lullaby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;That's when I discovered Buddha Bar and jazz.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Chapter 2: The Big Struggle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Shortly after I graduated 10th grade, I left the country. I'll always remember the song that I listened to for 3 long weeks before the departure itself &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Elcho - Lazy Summer Days. And then I left the country.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Once arrived, I was seeking salvation from myself. I finally found it in some songs from ATB. I loved ATB ever since and will never give it up. Songs such as Pride Collides With Beauty and Some Things Just Are The Way They Are are worth mentioning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;I even met an interesting guy online, the songs that always reminds me of him is&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;The Proclaimers - 500 Miles (love that song)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Smiley feat. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="visibility: visible; font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;" id="main"&gt;&lt;span style="visibility: visible;" id="search"&gt;Alex &amp;amp; Don Baxter &amp;amp; Marius Moga&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt; - Am Bani De Dat&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Other songs of the period:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Gary Jules - Mad World&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Goran Bregovic - Lullaby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;OceanLab - Ashes, Miracle, Secret etc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;GooGoo Dolls - Iris&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Chapter 3: After The Storm Is Gone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;I came home after one year, so to speak. Summer was filled with&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Zero Assoluto - Per Dimenticare&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;The Gossip - Heavy Cross&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Gianna Nannini - Maledetto Ciao.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Then autumn came and I had left for Paris for a short trip. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Zaho - Je Te Promets&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;B.E.P. - I've Got A Feeling&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;these are the songs that remind me of that beautiful time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Chapter 4: The Unexpected.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;I started listening to indie a lot, and a bit of rock sprinkled on top, and I sort of met L. That was the coolest Christmas I can remember, and the songs that fill that period still sing by themselves in my head sometimes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Greg Laswell - Comes and Goes (In Waves)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Colbie Caillat &amp;amp; Jason Mraz - Lucky&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Kate Nash - the album Made Of Bricks&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Lilly Allen - The Fear&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Justin Nozuka - After Tonight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Erica Jennings - Pleasure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Songs that remind me of L:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Michael Bubble - Still Haven't Met You Yet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Ian Brown - Stellify&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Oasis - All Around the World, Slide Away, Champagne Supernova (particularly).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Chapter 5: Back to The Chaos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;And things started falling apart at some point because I had reached a point from which I couldn't move anymore. And there was no one to tell me at least what was going on. So I had to figure it out myself, and L was helping me so much with getting me deeper in quick sand more quickly, so to say, so by summer a lot of things that I once thought I had were there no more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Anyway, here are the songs that remind me of particular events.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;My BF broke up with her boy-friend -&gt; Claudia Cream - Don't Miss Missing You&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;My BF got together with my brother -&gt; Cheryl Cole - Parachute&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me getting dizzier by the day -&gt; Morcheeba, Linking Park, Hooverphonic, Buddha Bar, ATB.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me feeling sorry as I felt that everything was starting to crumble -&gt; Morcheeba - Otherwise&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me going to Ploiesti -&gt; Parazitii - Arde&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me going to my aunt and uncle -&gt; Travie McCoy - Billionaire&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me going to the Black Sea -&gt; Coldplay - The Scientist&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me back home from all of this -&gt; Coldplay - See You Soon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me away from my hometown again -&gt; Dub FX - Love Me Or Not.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Well... that's about it... to be continued I guess :).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6403286777320399504?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6403286777320399504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6403286777320399504' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6403286777320399504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6403286777320399504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/10/sweet-music.html' title='Sweet Music'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-310461654343235049</id><published>2010-09-21T22:14:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-09-24T11:50:23.601+03:00</updated><title type='text'>E mai frumos cind iese soarele-n Bucuresti</title><content type='html'>&lt;a style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" h="332&amp;quot;"&gt;"Heroes are the ones that do the right thing, at the right time, no  matter the consequences." a status on the messenger once wrote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am  I a hero then? Have I done the right thing at the right time being  prepared to bare the consequences? I left you... and I sometimes feel  sorry... I sometimes hurt and sometimes feel grief... and maybe I feel  guilty as well. You needed me there, didn't you? You thought that you  could get back all the time that we didn't spend together in the past.  You thought wrong.&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm here, in a different city, having signed  my first work contract, risking my tomorrow's safety and sureness. I... I  miss you sometimes... and I sometimes I just think about how it would  have been if I were still there, still listening and fulfilling your  commands, desires, requests... if I may call them so.  How would it have  been if I were to sacrifice myself for the sake of your heart, even if I  were to lose my own at some point, even if I were to become dull at  some point, even if I were to hear at the end of a day that what I did  wasn't good enough... You see, I chose to not let myself get there, to  not put my heart in a freezer for you. Maybe you would have deserved  such a sacrifice from me, you worked hard for it as a mother... have you  considered giving up? Giving me up? You should have. Time waits for no  one, and you're no exception.&lt;br /&gt;So am I a hero? Can I be considered one  to have done the right thing? Have you learned something about me from  this? Will you ever be proud of what you've raised? I'm proud of myself,  you know...&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 332px;" src="http://gyllendogs.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/leaf-1.jpg?w=500&amp;amp;h=332" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;I feel sorry for you, I'd feel sorry for me too in that situation, but as an interesting song said once "if you don't like your life, it's your fault" and I must say... I kind of agree with it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-310461654343235049?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/310461654343235049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=310461654343235049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/310461654343235049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/310461654343235049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/09/e-mai-frumos-cind-iese-soarele-n.html' title='E mai frumos cind iese soarele-n Bucuresti'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6518309890525439650</id><published>2010-09-07T02:34:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-09-07T02:55:17.276+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Departures</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Unele momente in viata parca iti umbresc linistea, iar altele desi sunt facute pentru a te ingropa in disperare, criza de timp, lucruri marunte, dar esentiale, de facut, griji, stress, nu fac decit sa-ti lumineze calea si sa iti arate incotro trebuie s-o apuci. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Cind vine momentul sa pleci pentru prima data de acasa pentru a-ti construi o viata unde crezi ca vei fi mai multumit, te uiti totusi ce lasi in urma ta. Plinsete, dureri, controverse, certuri, situatii neplacute... dar si prieteni, momente frumoase, in care te-ai simtit in siguranta, familia care de bine de rau ti-a facut un ceai cind ai fost racit si ti-a suportat crizele cind ai trecut prin momente de indoiala fata de tine insuti sau fata de toti cei pe care ai crezut ca ii cunosti si te-au invatat pina la urma cum sa nu mai ai incredere in vorbe, lasi in urma liceul, scoala generala, parcurile in care te-ai plimbat sau ai chiulit, barurile in care te-ai plimbat nopti la rind, rind pe rind, in fiecare weekend, prietenii de familie care ti-au dat o piine cind n-ai avut, computerul pe care ai facut nopti albe doar ca sa vorbesti cu anumite persoane ce ti-a facut placere...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Vine acel moment in viata cind iti iei amintirile intr-o cutie memorabila, trei haine intr-o valiza, speranta in buzunare si pur si simplu pleci. Asa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6518309890525439650?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6518309890525439650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6518309890525439650' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6518309890525439650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6518309890525439650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/09/departures.html' title='Departures'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8747568084871404304</id><published>2010-09-02T04:49:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-09-02T05:01:56.517+03:00</updated><title type='text'>T'was about time</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TH8FF7Gd2fI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ima0_eO3gMc/s1600/firehorse.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;"There she is, standing in  front of me with her soul naked, bared through her glistering chocolate  eyes. And there she goes, she dances the world away, she sings with her  hands and draws with her lips the notes of my world. Swinging from side  to side, she lives... oh, man, does she live! Like I could never live,  she makes the Air and Fire vibrate, makes the Water listen to her Soul  command, she could decompose your personality, your principles, in a  split second and rebuild you in the next.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Man, she lives... like I could only learn to in a thousand lives...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Don't  wish to posses her, you don't stand a chance, try just to understand  and maybe you'll get a shot at this miracle, maybe you'll get a chance  to live.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Breathe... "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;he said, and then walked his fears to the door and wished them a safe trip.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TH8FF7Gd2fI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ima0_eO3gMc/s1600/firehorse.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TH8FF7Gd2fI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ima0_eO3gMc/s320/firehorse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512130068247075314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8747568084871404304?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8747568084871404304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8747568084871404304' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8747568084871404304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8747568084871404304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/09/twas-about-time.html' title='T&apos;was about time'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TH8FF7Gd2fI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ima0_eO3gMc/s72-c/firehorse.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-316995278481056366</id><published>2010-08-27T15:32:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-08-27T16:02:35.896+03:00</updated><title type='text'>De la cimpie la munte</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;M-am intors din descoperirea Rominiei cu 50 bani si inima in buzunar, poze in aparat, apeluri si mesaje in telefon, amintiri si cam atit. N-aveam nici bani sa ajung pina acasa de la gara. Si credeam ca greul incepe odata cu planurile de impachetare a lucrurilor pentru a le trimite in noul meu oras de resedinta incepind cu... curind. Stiam ca trebuie sa fiu adunata si stiam ca nu-mi va greu, dar cind iti vine un par in cap din parte tuturor, iar seara cind te bagi in pat parca nici patura cu care te acoperi nu te mai vrea aproape, te respinge subtil ca un ciocan cu raceala specifica unei nopti seci de ianuarie...  ajungi la concluzia ca esti bun de tap ispasitor pentru probleme psihice ale tuturor, plus ale tale egal un fel de dezastru. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Stateam intr-un picior pe sirma ghimpata la inaltimea Virfului Moldoveanu, iar din laterale se aruncau cu caramizi si rosii in mine, caramizile ma nimereau din plin, rosiile nu stiu, nu le mai simteam. Echilibru? Echilibru... "Aduna-te! Nu te pierde, lupta, lupta cu tine insati caci ai ales acum o vreme si nu poti da inapoi, e mai bine asa, e mai bine pentru toata lumea! Dar ei nu vad... ei nu vad si pe tine te doare... si ce daca? Dati-mi-le mie caci eu le pot duce :) Le voi duce pentru voi si veti fi bine si eu voi fi doar."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Acum imi culeg bucatile incinse inca de suflet de pe jos precum fisii de epistola arse cu ciuda gindurilor ce nu-ti lasa noptile in pace si le pun la loc, de unde au cazut, si le redau frumusetea. O merita dupa o perioada atit de lunga de raceala, o merit si eu. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"I'm left alone putting together bits of my heart from the ashtray of my soul. Maybe I would have needed someone to hold me a lighter for the next cigarette, but I'll light it myself since there's nobody there."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-316995278481056366?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/316995278481056366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=316995278481056366' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/316995278481056366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/316995278481056366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/08/de-la-cimpie-la-munte.html' title='De la cimpie la munte'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1492659595953262084</id><published>2010-08-20T16:28:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-08-20T16:41:54.233+03:00</updated><title type='text'>No Hard Feelings</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 102);"&gt;No one said it would be easy, nobody is a saint, not even you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 102);"&gt;I just lost my place again, because of one of the million stupid things I do. And I regret it somehow but I can't regret the past, even if the past means two days ago. I can understand stubborn, I can understand feeling hurt, I can understand love turning into hate or the sky falling on my head because of me, but I can't understand not understanding and not seeing; seeing all the things that were put in front of you on a silver platter and then kicking them away because the platter had a little rust on it. I ignored some rust myself, the platter that was put in front of me actually, because I liked the things that were offered on it. Congrats for earning a place in my twisted heart no one reaches. Congrats for trying to lose it, after a while it will fail but you'll think it worked. Congrats. And if I'm all rust to you, then I have nothing more to say but the three simple words + no matter what.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="385" width="480"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EdBym7kv2IM?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EdBym7kv2IM?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1492659595953262084?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1492659595953262084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1492659595953262084' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1492659595953262084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1492659595953262084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/08/no-one-said-it-would-be-easy-nobody-is.html' title='No Hard Feelings'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-4843660025497807477</id><published>2010-08-03T15:51:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-08-03T15:54:50.911+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Intelligent People Doing Silly Stuff</title><content type='html'>1) Cum te simti azi? David Guetta feat Kelly Rowland - When Love Takes Over (adica sentimentoasa, dar nu in sensul plangacios)&lt;br /&gt;2)Vei ajunge departe in viata? U2 - I'll Go Crazy If You Don't Go Crazy Tonight (da :)) )&lt;br /&gt;3)Cum te vad prietenii tai? Hooverphonic - One Way Ride (totul sau nimic)&lt;br /&gt;4)Te vei casatori? Hurts - Better Than Love (Da :)) )&lt;br /&gt;5)Care este cantecul care iti defineste cel mai bun prieten? Adele - Make You Feel My Love&lt;br /&gt;6)Care este povestea vietii tale? Casio kids - Fot I Hose (Axemax Remix) (long story short - you don't wanna know :)) )&lt;br /&gt;7)Cum a fost viata de liceu? Jem - They (the dirty bastards xD )&lt;br /&gt;8)Poti avansa in viata? The Temper Trap - Down River (daca e down river, e evolutie)&lt;br /&gt;9)Care este cel mai bun lucru la prietenii tai? ATB - One Fine Day (they make me feel problem-free)&lt;br /&gt;10)Ce te asteapta in week-end? Adele - Cold Shoulder (auch)&lt;br /&gt;11)Ce cantec te descrie? ATB - Renegade (clar, mnoh, acuma ce sa te astepti, mnoh mnoh)&lt;br /&gt;12)Ce cantec iti descrie bunicii? :))) Collectif Métissé - Laisse-toi aller Bébé (Radio Edit)&lt;br /&gt;13)Cum decurge viata ta? Laleh - Live Tomorrow (da, cam asa)&lt;br /&gt;14)Ce cantec se va canta la inmormantarea ta? Culcha Candela - Eiskalt (aaa... good with me)&lt;br /&gt;15)Cum te vad ceilalti? Caribou - Bowls (nice image...)&lt;br /&gt;16)Vei avea o viata fericita? ATB - Long Way Home (eh, va fi fericita oricum)&lt;br /&gt;17)Oameni te doresc in secret? David Guetta - Joan of Arc (dinaia truli)&lt;br /&gt;18) Cum te poti face fericit? David Guetta - Winner of the Game (:&gt; need i say more)&lt;br /&gt;19)Ce ar trebui sa faci cu viata ta? Morcheeba vs Chemical Brothers - Don`t do it again [ripper remix] (s-o 'dansez' if you get me)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-4843660025497807477?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/4843660025497807477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=4843660025497807477' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4843660025497807477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4843660025497807477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/08/intelligent-people-doing-silly-stuff.html' title='Intelligent People Doing Silly Stuff'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-9150935233059686244</id><published>2010-07-21T02:46:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-21T11:23:02.058+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Decide me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" &gt;At first I was so angry.. oh so angry at you, you couldn't even begin to conceive. Or maybe you could, 'cause you where a kid too back then, so long ago, when the statues of society where still young and the symbols of youth were so old... Then I got less angrier and more indifferent, ignorant, forgetting but never forgiving. Forgiving what? Things existing only in my mind. You are what you are. Then I left home to come home, and what a home full of love and caring, so much of it that eventually I got sick...and ran away...deep into my mind, a place that never stops lighting in the darkest black-hole, sending flickers down my spine and roses into my eyes, making my hands glow and my mouth move insanely awkward and disguised into beautifully polished words that never stop flowing, never stop amazing through their metaphors of life. Then there was Christmas... and so there was him, that amazed me. And I amazed him. We blended and nothing more was necessary; and I began feeling alone after a while... and became angrier by the day, for the same unclear reason. Shut up, I said to myself, and think. So I thought... and I decided to run away again for my home had left me hanging on loose strings of a bad puppet master who knew nothing of handling my wise built sensations, so wise they got me standing on barbed wire. And I spent months searching for the right way to run away, the right way to do this right, and things got complex. So simple they were... and they grew in volume like hot air balloons rising to a red-clouded sky. And I lighted my cigarette once more watching it's spirals in the twilight of my eyes piercing through my thoughts as the rising sun cuts in the flesh of the night sky.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" &gt;Now I'm still standing, and my request is simple, my desires are weak and breakable. I'm not angry anymore, I simply understood. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" &gt;So light me another cigarette , mystery man, and take me dancing where the moon kisses the sea, make me walk the surface of my dreams, help me scrape the stardust from the awakening lilies in the morning mist. Let me fall into an ocean of tears so that I may know the sadness of the world and forget my own, push me off a cliff so that I may appreciate the beauty of nature from above and throw me in a field of poppies so that I may see how a blooded forehead and tired hands color years on one's memory.  Last but not least bury me in shaded roses and let the thornes reach out to my heart such as arrows of a determined eagle, let them breathe... let them breathe me of everything I can give them better.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-9150935233059686244?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/9150935233059686244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=9150935233059686244' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/9150935233059686244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/9150935233059686244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/07/decide-me.html' title='Decide me'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8592679219349788749</id><published>2010-07-15T00:02:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T00:06:06.086+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soul'/><title type='text'>Copiii indigo - raspuns</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRia%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt; 	margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; 	mso-header-margin:36.0pt; 	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0cm; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Deci din cate am inteles, dvs, in baza articolelor publicate de catre oamenii de stiinta contemporani si a cunostiintelor acumulate, legati intr-un fel abilitatile copiilor indigo de dezvoltarea ADN-ului uman, dar si a abilitatii creierului de a percepe realitatea intr-un mod mai corect, fiind posibila astfel, intr-un viitor mai mult sau mai putin indepartat, armonizarea cu universul si alte entitati existente in realitatea cunoscuta (avand in vedere teoria universelor paralele, ar exista mai multe planuri de realitate, gen 11 din cate am inteles). Aprob, dar vreau sa pun accent pe latura spirituala si idealista a chestiunii. Acesti copii, care multi nu mai sunt copii deja, pot deschide ochii lumii, doar ca... nu le este acordata sansa.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Am un motiv foarte intemeiat pentru intrebarile puse. Obisnuita fiind cu oameni din generatia dvs care sunt foarte reticenti in ceea ce priveste acest subiect, al persoanelor care pot intr-adevar sa faca o diferenta, am intrebat cu scopul de a vedea daca intr-adevar se gasesc persoane mai varstnice care au puterea psihica si flexibilitatea principiilor de a vedea dincolo de limita impusa de gandirea colectiva.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;In ceea ce priveste copii deosebiti prezenti in fiecare generatie, dar care nu au fost valorificati, parerea mea este ca aruncand o privire in istoria omenirii si indeosebi asupra momentelor de capatai, acestia au aparut in numar mai mic datorita importantei scazute a evenimentelor dpdv al stadiului de evolutie al omului. Au fost acolo la momentul potrivit, insa omenirea nu s-a aflat niciodata intr-o mai mare criza decat acum. Cum ati spus si dvs, omenirea se autodistruge in prezent, ceea ce n-a facut pana acum niciodata, deoarece in zilele noastre s-a ajuns la un prag al constiintei umane greu de depasit considerand antecedentele evolutive ale acesteia, etape trecute mult mai usor in trecut.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Sunt curioasa in mod special de potentialul pe care il au copiii indigo si cum si-l pot valorifica. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;" lang="IT"&gt;Nu ma intelegeti gresit, nu sunt in gradul de a judeca, ci doar de a afla, e un fel de cercetare in scopuri personale&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8592679219349788749?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8592679219349788749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8592679219349788749' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8592679219349788749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8592679219349788749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/07/copiii-indigo-raspuns.html' title='Copiii indigo - raspuns'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8058747487769033600</id><published>2010-07-09T03:41:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-09T03:54:01.898+03:00</updated><title type='text'>3:43AM thoughts.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;I still wish I had a soul sorrounded by ice. N-am spus niciodata ca viata n-ar fi trista, am spus doar ca e frumoasa, indiferent de situatie ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="386" width="448"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://embed.trilulilu.ro/video/iqstormic/2b986ccfbcba87/0xe9eff4.swf"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;param name="FlashVars" value="durataAudio=251&amp;amp;titluEmbed=Morcheeba%20-%20Otherwise"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://embed.trilulilu.ro/video/iqstormic/2b986ccfbcba87/0xe9eff4.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="durataAudio=251&amp;amp;titluEmbed=Morcheeba%20-%20Otherwise" height="386" width="448"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.trilulilu.ro/video/Muzica" title="Muzica"&gt;Vezi mai multe video din Muzica&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8058747487769033600?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8058747487769033600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8058747487769033600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8058747487769033600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8058747487769033600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/07/blog-post.html' title='3:43AM thoughts.'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-7227555310446006562</id><published>2010-06-29T01:50:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-29T02:15:47.437+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Da dove ho cominciato</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 153);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Ed eccomi qua, di nuovo notte - un nuovo articolo scritto alle 2 di notte. A volte mi pare di avere una vera ossessione per questa ora, mi piace, m'incanta, mi fa sentire sìccome fosse soltanto l'inizio della notte, la fine della serata. Magari l'ora perfetta per andare a letto. Ma io no, io ci sto ferma sulle posizioni, dicendomi che sono da sola. Eh bhè, ho appena saputo che non lo sono. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 153);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Analizziamo un pò la situazione: il ragazzo che fino a qualche mattinata fa lo consideravo il mio fidanzato, anche se non mi sembrava magari il termine adatto, si è andato oggi senza nemmeno salutare; chiarifichiamo un pò le cose: lui mi piace, gli voglio bene, vado a letto con lui, ma alla fine lui è sempre lontano, una cosa che nessuno di noi può cambiare, e per lo meno pure io ho realizzato il tipo di relazione che abbiamo. Allora ... avendo questi dati conclusioniamo che lui se ne fotte già, che è stuffo della situazione magari. O forse il suo internet è caduto. Tutto dipende da come mettiamo le cose, da come preferisco io a guardarle. Le cose, ovviamente. Questo mi fa sentire da sola, molto da sola. E da dove trarmi allora la forza di guardare sorridente avanti quando non ho pratticamente nessun sostegno su questo lato della mia vita? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 153);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Ed Ecco La Risposta! Tutti i miei amici ... loro sono il mio sostegno ... loro che mi apprezzano per ciò che sono e non ciò che loro vorressero che io sia, loro che mi vedono esattamente così, senza maschere, non perché mi mostro io così ma per il fatto di voler vedere la vera me. Voi ... voi siete i miei bambini ... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 153);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;E tu? Tu perché non puoi fare lo stesso di loro? ...&lt;br /&gt;E allora ... dove mi trovo? Mi trovo esattamente all'inizio, alla Genesi della mia esistenza, la vera meta della vita: ritornare nella cula per poter osservare l'evoluzione.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-7227555310446006562?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/7227555310446006562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=7227555310446006562' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7227555310446006562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7227555310446006562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/06/da-dove-ho-cominciato.html' title='Da dove ho cominciato'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-5651823585523477228</id><published>2010-06-24T02:16:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T02:19:38.471+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Avem Timp...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin-left: 31.9pt; text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;Avem timp pentru toate.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="margin-left: 35.4pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 7.8pt; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;Să dormim, să  alergăm în dreapta şi stânga, să regretăm c-am greşit şi să greşim din  nou, să-i judecăm pe alţii şi să ne absolvim pe noi înşine, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;avem timp să citim şi să scriem, să corectăm  ce-am scris, să regretăm ce-am scris,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;avem timp să facem proiecte şi să nu le respectăm,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;avem timp să ne facem iluzii şi să răscolim  prin cenuşa lor mai târziu.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;Avem timp  pentru ambiţii şi boli, să învinovăţim destinul şi amănuntele,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;avem timp să ne alungăm întrebările, să  amânăm răspunsurile,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;avem timp  să sfărâmăm un vis şi să-l reinventăm,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;avem timp să ne facem prieteni, să-i pierdem,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;avem timp să primim lecţii şi să le uităm  după aceea, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;avem timp să primim  daruri şi să nu le înţelegem.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;         &lt;/span&gt;Avem timp pentru toate.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;Nu e timp doar pentru puţină tandreţe.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style="line-height: 115%; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;         &lt;/span&gt;Când să facem  şi asta murim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.(in memoriam Octavian Paler)&lt;br /&gt;2.(this one's for you...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-5651823585523477228?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/5651823585523477228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=5651823585523477228' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5651823585523477228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5651823585523477228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/06/avem-timp.html' title='Avem Timp...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-2757779577010343713</id><published>2010-06-21T01:05:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T02:00:43.716+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Din rabdarea Timpului si intelepciunea Mintii</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TB6cSNaJI5I/AAAAAAAAAE8/9L9brTi3gaY/s1600/tree-of-wisdom-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 317px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TB6cSNaJI5I/AAAAAAAAAE8/9L9brTi3gaY/s320/tree-of-wisdom-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484993232834732946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Morcheeba&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Stop chasing shadows, just enjoy the ride. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I've gained the world and lost my soul; maybe it's 'cause i'm getting old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;3. Rome wasn't built in a day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;4. It ain't gonna hurt now if you open your eyes.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Don't stop just yet, we've got the world looking in our window.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anonymous&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Keep all your light in the dark.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Adevarul umbla intotdeauna cu capul spart.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oasis&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;8. They try hard to put me in my place and that is why I gotta keep running. The future is mine.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Someday you will find me caught beneath the landslides.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;10. You're gonna miss me when I'm not there, you know I don't care. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. If I am to fall will you be there to applaud or will you hide behind them all?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. If I had to go in my heart you'll grow and that's where you belong.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Will you be there when I get back?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;14. I'm outta time.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;A-HA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;15. You'll never see me complain, I'll do my crying in the rain.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pendulum&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;16. All I believe and all I've known are being taken from me back at home.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Feed the fire, break the vision, throw your fists up, come on with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;18. Do your worst when worlds collide, bring no surprise.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shout for England&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. Come on. I'm talking to you - come on if you think you're hard enough.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. These are things I could do without.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fort Minor&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. 10% luck, 20% skill and 100% concetrated power of will.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;ATB&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. There's no contemplating, it's all negotiating.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. I can't find the answers to all the questions inside, some things just are the way they are.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg Laswell&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. This one's for the torn down, the experts at the fall, come on friends get up now you're not alone at all.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. This one's for the ones who stand, for the ones who try again, for the ones that need a hand, for the ones who think they can.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;26. I'm only left to wonder why I try. It comes and goes in waves.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Smiths&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. There us a light that never goes out.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pain&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. My mind is playing tricks on me, I'm not as stable as I used to be.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;JeSuis&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"&gt;♀&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;29. A fi un prieten adevarat inseamna a pretui pe cineva si-n alte zile in afara de Pasti, Craciun si ziua lui.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. Put some soul into what you say.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. Adevarata arta de a iubi nu consta doar in a simti, ci si a stii sa astepti.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. You don't need a reason for stupidity.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. Eu nu ma contrazic cu cine nu e dispus a se contrazice cu mine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;(more to follow/va urma)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-2757779577010343713?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/2757779577010343713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=2757779577010343713' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2757779577010343713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2757779577010343713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/06/din-rabdarea-timpului-si-intelepciunea.html' title='Din rabdarea Timpului si intelepciunea Mintii'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TB6cSNaJI5I/AAAAAAAAAE8/9L9brTi3gaY/s72-c/tree-of-wisdom-2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8406951901814626081</id><published>2010-06-14T03:50:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T04:23:04.007+03:00</updated><title type='text'>On my way to extinction</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TBWDZsyhr4I/AAAAAAAAAE0/-fNvDghk63Y/s1600/Free_Spirit.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TBWDZsyhr4I/AAAAAAAAAE0/-fNvDghk63Y/s320/Free_Spirit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482432598936498050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;E ora 2 si am intrat in bloc chiar la timp, inainte ca ploaia sa inceapa sfasietoare sa urle in noapte, eliberata de noptile caniculare ca o fecioara eliberata de indoieli. Eram cu Ea, radeam ca nu aveam cheie sa intram in casa. Si a inceput, draga de ea, ploaia, sa faca galagie, sa ne arate ca e mai puternica. Tocmai de aceea am avut puternicul impuls de a iesi afara si a ma opri acolo, in locul cel mai expus, a ma aseza pe asfaltul aflat la capatul rabdarii in genunchi, ghem, si a ma lasa purtata la voia intamplarii de fenomen. Cum zicea melodia, I'll do my crying in the rain. Si cat as fi vrut sa fac asta. Dar eram cu ea, asa ca totul s-a petrecut intr-o lume paralela, a mea. E pacat ca am ajuns sa ma pricep atat de bine in a face asta... fara ca Ei sa observe. Si nici macar nu stiu de ce as fi facut-o, probabil au unii dreptate cand spun ca e adolescenta, sau probabil am eu dreptate cand spun ca adolescenta e un domeniu total separat. Ma consider un om normal, doar ca ma compar cu media de varsta pe Romania ceea ce nu e tocmai ... bine, sa zicem. Dar daca nu ma pot compara cu media de varsta a tinerilor ... aici deja e un fapt ce nu ma mai priveste in mod direct.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Am realizat un lucru important astazi: inainte ma puteam bucura de lucrurile simple asa cum ma bucuram de cele mari, de aceea imi permiteam sa fiu nebuna fiindca daca era sa pierd ceva, pierdeam totul sau nimic; dar m-a ajuns din urma vremea in care ar trebui sa realizez ca sunt momente in invalmaseala asta in care lucrurile simple ma tin in loc si nu sunt de ajuns, iar daca vreau sa fac vreo miscare in vreo directie oarecare, trebuie sa fiu constienta ca nu-mi mai permit sa risc in stil 'totul sau nimic'. Asta ... doar daca vreau. Si trebuie sa decid repede daca vreau si ce anume vreau.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8406951901814626081?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8406951901814626081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8406951901814626081' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8406951901814626081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8406951901814626081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/06/e-ora-2-si-am-intrat-in-bloc-chiar-la.html' title='On my way to extinction'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/TBWDZsyhr4I/AAAAAAAAAE0/-fNvDghk63Y/s72-c/Free_Spirit.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-5896186569009656493</id><published>2010-06-12T16:37:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T04:29:14.527+03:00</updated><title type='text'>. punct si de la capat .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;I feel a new beginning arising and if you know what that means... well then you have an idea of what life is about, mainly. The end of an era is crashing onto my shoulders like spines on the most fragile skin, piercing the endlessness of optimism. Nothing lasts forever, maybe that's the lesson I must learn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;My inner self is tormented by this urge to do something, just because I don't have enough strength to carry on. Such as a wise song once said, "standing still could be the best move you ever made".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;Like chains on my throat, swords in my chest, rocks at my feet... I can't move...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;I don't feel sorry for anything. Just for the fact that people around me who love and care about me feel the effects of my state of soul. But if they want to, they'll wait 'till I'm done.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;Don't hold me, don't feel sorry for me, don't even try talking to me, it'll prove pointless in the end. Let me be and be glad if you get to see me a moment or two out of my shell. It's the most I can bear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;object height="55" width="448"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://embed.trilulilu.ro/audio/calinadrian/57e1fed7e363ed.swf"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;param name="FlashVars" value="durataAudio=296&amp;amp;titluEmbed=Sarah%20Brightman%20-%20The%20Journey%20Home."&gt;&lt;embed src="http://embed.trilulilu.ro/audio/calinadrian/57e1fed7e363ed.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="durataAudio=296&amp;amp;titluEmbed=Sarah%20Brightman%20-%20The%20Journey%20Home." height="55" width="448"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.trilulilu.ro/audio/Muzica" title="Muzica"&gt;Asculta mai multe audio Muzica&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-5896186569009656493?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/5896186569009656493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=5896186569009656493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5896186569009656493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5896186569009656493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/06/i-feel-new-beginning-arising-and-if-you.html' title='. punct si de la capat .'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-5222996070715091123</id><published>2010-06-10T21:11:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-20T19:20:04.918+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Captivity</title><content type='html'>&lt;div  style="text-align: left; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Statuie veşnică zîmbind&lt;br /&gt;Pe aripile timpului&lt;br /&gt;Arzînd.&lt;br /&gt;Caută-ţi sufletul dispărut&lt;br /&gt;Odata cu el.&lt;br /&gt;Dă-ţi lanţurile amintirilor jos,&lt;br /&gt;Fă-ţi zîmbetul să radieze&lt;br /&gt;din chipul veşnic spre apus întors.&lt;br /&gt;Nu mai plînge, copila mea,&lt;br /&gt;Eşti doar la început.&lt;br /&gt;Căci săbiile ce te vor secera&lt;br /&gt;Se îndreaptă-acum spre tine.&lt;br /&gt;Tu fă-ţi scut de înţelepciune&lt;br /&gt;Şi arme de blîndeţe.&lt;br /&gt;Alege să traieşti&lt;br /&gt;În veşnică tinereţe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(pentru tine, cu drag)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-5222996070715091123?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/5222996070715091123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=5222996070715091123' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5222996070715091123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5222996070715091123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/06/captivity.html' title='Captivity'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-7120640662553910016</id><published>2010-06-09T20:17:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T20:32:47.063+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Round and round, the circle spins anyway...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-family:arial;" &gt;3 iunie 1991, ora 3:49, Spitalul Odobescu. O mama gafaia pentru ultima contractie ce va finaliza nasterea unui copil. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-family:arial;" &gt;3 iunie 1991, ora 3:50, Spitalul Odobescu. Dupa o palma asa ca de  inceput, un copil s-a facut auzit pentru prima data in lumea aceasta. Cu  ochii acoperiti de putinul par ce-i acoperea capul, a fost spalat si  dus in cresa, alaturi de ceilalti copii, unde i s-a atasat, conform  regulamentului, o banda pe manuta. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-family:arial;" &gt;3 iunie 1991, ora 3:51, Spitalul Odobescu. Interventia ce o va tine pe proaspata mama pe masa de operatii pentru urmatoarele 6 ore incepe. Nasterea usoara a lasat in urma complicatii. Acum incepe lupta dintre viata si moarte. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-family:arial;" &gt;3 iunie 1991, candva dimineata, aceeasi locatie. Doctorul ii transmite proaspatului tatic conditia sotiei sale: daca trece noaptea, va trai. Daca nu, soarta n-a fost de partea ei.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-family:arial;" &gt;20 august 1992, Brebu, Prahova, candva dupa pranz. Tatal moare in urma unui infarct.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-family:arial;" &gt;Care e concluzia? Daca proaspata mamica nu trecea noaptea, copilul cui ar fi ramas nou-nascutul? N-a fost sa fie, dar fiti fara grija - n-a plecat unul, a plecat celalalt. Cineva tot pleaca in final ... plecarea e schimbare, e curaj, e nou. Uneori e mai bine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-7120640662553910016?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/7120640662553910016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=7120640662553910016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7120640662553910016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7120640662553910016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/06/3-iunie-1991-ora-349-spitalul-odobescu.html' title='Round and round, the circle spins anyway...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1122230086762897671</id><published>2010-06-05T15:01:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-05T15:34:27.312+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Zile de carton</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Am plecat ieri cu autubusul 15, ca in fiecare zi, de la scoala. Dar inainte am mers si pana-n mall, ca fetili. Cautam naiba stie ce. Important e ca mai aveam ambitie sa caut ceva. Era sec in autobus, stii? Asteptam ceva, dar am renuntat vazand ca orice stare as avea, autobusul tot pe acelasi traseu va merge, trenul tot va fluiera, taxi-urile tot vor trece pe galben, iar sirenele ambulantelor tot atat de tare vor cutremura bulevardele. E o senzatie stranie, sa-ti dai seama ca unele zile sunt pur si simplu de carton, uscat si sec, zgarios, abraziv aproape. Prin acea senzatie nu trece nimic, nici macar cea mai luminoasa raza de iunie, cel mai duios zambet de prieten, cea mai dulce mangaiere de mama. Mi-am facut curaj sa privesc dincolo de pelerina de carton ce acoperea ziua si nu am vazut mare lucru, caci privirea-mi era deja prea absorbita de oras. Imi furase sufletul pentru cateva minute. Parca nu mi-a lipsit, ca si cand n-ar fi fost niciodata acolo, iar cand l-am primit inapoi i-am spus "did you enjoy the ride?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And the cardboard day crippled into tiny bits of plastic tears that climbed up my cheek and filled my eyes with the reality of emptyness. Dream on, baby, dream on. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1122230086762897671?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1122230086762897671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1122230086762897671' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1122230086762897671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1122230086762897671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/06/zile-de-carton.html' title='Zile de carton'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1503660959843602050</id><published>2010-05-28T01:03:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T01:26:35.108+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Randomly ordered chaos - vol II</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Perchè lotti? Perchè cerchi ancora di provare che c'è qualcosa di diverso intorno a te? Non c'è, fa solo parte della tua immaginazione a volte troppo ricca di elementi reali che la confondi con la realità stessa. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Personalmente ho l'anima stanca, seccata ... ma che ancora ha il coraggio di aspettare stupidamente una goccia di sangue emozionale che le ridarrà la mobilita di una volta, la capacità di accogliere, stupire, far ridere e, perchè no, vivere. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Abbracciami ... ti vorrei sentire accanto al mio respiro. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Slegami, tanto senza potere mi sento le mani, senza la capacità d'una volta di guarire.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Baciami i pensieri, magari vibreranno di gioia o di stanchezza.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;E' il momento della delusione senza ritorno. Buttami dentro e forse, ma solo forse, ritornerò con un diamanto ancora da lucidare ... me, te, lui, lei. Chiunque.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Adesso ascolterò la tempesta. Lei sa più di voi.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;De ce lupti? De ce incerci inca sa demonstrezi ca exista ceva deosebit in jurul tau? Nu exista, face parte doar din imaginatia ta uneori prea bogata de elemente reale incat o confunzi cu realitatea insasi.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Personal am sufletul obosit, arid ... dar care gaseste inca curajul de a astepta in mod stupid o picatura de sange emotional ce-i va reda mobilitatea de odinioara, capacitatea de a fi primitor, a uimi, a face sa rada si, de ce nu, a trai.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Imbratiseaza-ma ... mi-ar placea sa te simt langa suflul meu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Elibereaza-ma, oricum fara putere imi simt mainile, fara capacitatea de odinioara de a vindeca.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Saruta-mi gandurile, poate vor vibra de bucurie ori oboseala. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;A venit momentul dezamagirii fara intoarcere. Arunca-ma inauntru si poate, doar poate ma voi intoarce cu diamantul inca neslefuit ... eu, tu, el, ea. Oricine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Acum voi asculta furtuna. Ea stie mai multe decat voi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1503660959843602050?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1503660959843602050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1503660959843602050' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1503660959843602050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1503660959843602050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/05/perche-lotti-perche-cerchi-ancora-di.html' title='Randomly ordered chaos - vol II'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-9203834626203439839</id><published>2010-05-26T21:42:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-26T21:43:53.702+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Enjoy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;object width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fdz7-FsV-Jo&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fdz7-FsV-Jo&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-9203834626203439839?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/9203834626203439839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=9203834626203439839' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/9203834626203439839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/9203834626203439839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/05/enjoy.html' title=''/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8126817767294359356</id><published>2010-05-26T00:47:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-26T00:51:12.459+03:00</updated><title type='text'>On Vacation!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Fratilor, lumea asta dezamageste atat de tare incat imi permit sa exagerez! Asa ca de azi, o saptamana, ma laud cu o bine-meritata pauza de la messenger! Asta nu include si compul xD Asa ca pace voua, cititorilor!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.clivir.com/pictures/shingles/relax.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 468px; height: 312px;" src="http://www.clivir.com/pictures/shingles/relax.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8126817767294359356?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8126817767294359356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8126817767294359356' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8126817767294359356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8126817767294359356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/05/on-vacation.html' title='On Vacation!'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-4092012590422896060</id><published>2010-05-18T00:48:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T01:02:14.334+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Shalalalalaaaaa</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;La vita è spudoratamente bella. Inganna, infrange, delude, picchia, rompe, a volte rompe pure il cazzo. Ma con tutto questo... è la più bella dramma che può succedere in tutto l'Universo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Ci siamo messi a fare stelline sul cielo disegnato in colori d'acqua su un foglio attacato al soffito. Insieme abbiamo ricostituito il mondo antico, per poi farlo a pezzi di nuovo. Abbiamo soffiato in argento le nuvole della notte che coprivano la Luna piena... di fantasia, per poi dire alla Luna che lei non è tanto bella come le nostre nuvole. Ci siamo impegnati a vedere dentro di ogn'uno. No, mi sono impegnata. E basta. E poi.. cosa significa capire? Fare lo stupido e dare il consento a qualsiasi cosa l'altro dica? Ma nooo! Significa proprio cadere nelle tenebre dell'anima e quando hai finito il percorso verso il versante finale precedente il superficio alzi la testa, ti guardi intorno, e le laure sono tue, tutte tue. Le meriti. Magari... è una triste verità che pochi ce la fanno a scendere per lo meno nelle tenebre perche c'hanno paura di non tornare più, o di dover uscire senza avere i lauri tanto desiderati. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Avevo un motto ben impreso nella mente qualche mese fa. Penso che vale per tutto alla fine.. °Non ho paura del buio°... te lo prometto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-4092012590422896060?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/4092012590422896060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=4092012590422896060' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4092012590422896060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4092012590422896060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/05/shalalalalaaaaa.html' title='Shalalalalaaaaa'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-579396017989014680</id><published>2010-05-04T00:07:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-04T16:30:25.779+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S-AhN3bPaZI/AAAAAAAAAEs/1RSkOhSJSVs/s1600/sleep-1024x679.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S-AhN3bPaZI/AAAAAAAAAEs/1RSkOhSJSVs/s320/sleep-1024x679.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467406469728004498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;The light in my eyes shatters into small rays void of consistency, too weak to do more than simply light the surface of my untamed skin, unharmed mouth and unspoken hair.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;I've done harder things in life, agreed, but this is new, this is different, it's almost original, yet I know I'm not the first with a heart capable of thinking it up. And somehow I can't quite make anything out of it. Strange, funny, ticklish, particular and much more, but this page ain't big enough for the two of us (heart &amp;amp; mind of course).&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;I've done harder things in life, but going to bed each time alone after seeing you just smiling right behind that thin glass screen and drooling over wanting to be there ... is just a bit over the top. It tires me, takes away my soul and sanity little by little.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Just a thought: I sometimes don't know if I'm feeling the right thing here, or if there actually is a right feeling. Now I'm just curious ... just curious ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Draw me a map of yourself. It's not necessarily that I need it or something, I just want to see how much of yourself you know and are aware of. Now draw me a map of myself. What's the difference ... ?&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;.GN.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-579396017989014680?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/579396017989014680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=579396017989014680' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/579396017989014680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/579396017989014680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/05/light-in-my-eyes-shatters-into-small.html' title=''/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S-AhN3bPaZI/AAAAAAAAAEs/1RSkOhSJSVs/s72-c/sleep-1024x679.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3065032503447138132</id><published>2010-05-01T15:28:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-05T14:51:31.659+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Survey</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S9wffeMi9pI/AAAAAAAAAEk/wfHEYjROeJw/s1600/indecision_dice.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 316px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 284px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466278673263031954" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S9wffeMi9pI/AAAAAAAAAEk/wfHEYjROeJw/s320/indecision_dice.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic; COLOR: rgb(255,255,153)font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Ce e mai de condamnat: a nu-ti urma destinul si a te abandona sau a lasa in urma o persoana draga, chiar daca pe o perioada limitata?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffff99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffff99;"&gt;Raspuns: amandoua, dar nu-i stress...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3065032503447138132?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3065032503447138132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3065032503447138132' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3065032503447138132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3065032503447138132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/05/survey.html' title='Survey'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S9wffeMi9pI/AAAAAAAAAEk/wfHEYjROeJw/s72-c/indecision_dice.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-748353043988971556</id><published>2010-04-24T01:26:00.009+03:00</published><updated>2010-04-24T02:38:31.532+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Vedere le cose diversamente</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S9Iu_Kl-x2I/AAAAAAAAAEc/0YGs0T-Ndmw/s1600/sometimes-life-can-be-resentment-series.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 152px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S9Iu_Kl-x2I/AAAAAAAAAEc/0YGs0T-Ndmw/s200/sometimes-life-can-be-resentment-series.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463480960664127330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Varianta  I: Te-am privit de atatea ori goala si erai atat de frumoasa. Erai ca  luna plina intr-o noapte de mai, ca panzele corabiilor proaspat spalate,  pregatite de voiaj, ca ciresele abia coapte, doar bune de cules sau ca  noaptea cea dinaintea pornirii la drum. Iti admiram formele  contrastante cu mediul in care te aflai, cum coborau incet spre Infern  si se inaltau peste Ceruri, in curbele lor retinand esenta fericirii,  iar in supletea lor afectand in bine valoarea lucrurilor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Dar la  un moment dat ceva se schimbase, iar eu nu te mai puteam privi goala,  caci te acopereai cu valul agitatiei, a stress-ului si a forfotei  specifice unui nou inceput. Sau te acopeream eu, prin simplul fapt ca  exist, atrag si resping... evenimente si oameni. Ce conteaza... erai  acoperita. Si totusi te puteam trai ca pe o senzatie noua in fiecare zi,  te puteam simti lipita de mine, de sufletul si trupul meu, suficient de  puternic incat sa imi trag puterea de a spera ca intr-o zi te voi vedea  din nou goala...nuda...in fata mea neputincioasa, la fel cum eram si eu  de altfel ori de cate ori mi te infatisai fecioreste, pur si  neprihanita.&lt;/span&gt;    &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand  te expui lumea se invarte, faci din ziua crunta, noapte de nepretuit.  Cand te expui.... lumea ingenuncheaza... &lt;/span&gt;    &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Varianta  II: Te-am privit de atatea ori goala si ma gandeam ca e erezie sa vad  un lucru atat de crunt. Te simteam printre degete si senzatii cum te  scurgi lenta si gratioasa, asa cum doar tu stii. Si totusi te preferam  invaluita in misterul vesmintelor de portelan ce-ti luau din taria  vinovatiei, caci ma faceai sa ma simt vinovata de a te fi adus intr-un  stadiu atat de nedrept.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt; Nu  mai erai vulnerabila, nu mai faceai fata, nu mai jubilai, iubirea mea,  nu mai jubilai... si nici macar nu ma durea... eram pasiva si te priveam  in gol, caci sa fac ceva ar fi insemnat sa te dezamagesc - nu stiam ce  sa fac. Asa ca am asteptat ca tu sa-ti revii caci nu era momentul meu de  actiune. Si acum tresari din Neatins pentru a ajunge in Senzational. Si  e minunat sa te vad resuscitata, mi-ai lipsit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar eu te iubesc asa cum  esti, oricand si oricum esti, caci te-am acceptat deja cu ceea ce ai  sa-mi oferi si cu ceea ce ai vrea sa-mi oferi, dar nu reusesti mereu. Nu  astept nimic de la tine si primesc totul. Mi se pare corect. In schimb  tu poate astepti ceva de la mine, dar eu... nu am ce oferi... am o  singura placere... de a te fi vazut in toate ipostazele tale... goala,  nuda, secata, jubiland, alergand, mergand la pas normal sau luandu-mi-o  inainte.&lt;/span&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Ti-as  fi dat si un nume mai original si mai potrivit, dar oamenii in general  te striga Viata. Tu... tu esti cel mai mare dar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-748353043988971556?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/748353043988971556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=748353043988971556' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/748353043988971556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/748353043988971556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/04/vedere-le-cose-diversamente.html' title='Vedere le cose diversamente'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S9Iu_Kl-x2I/AAAAAAAAAEc/0YGs0T-Ndmw/s72-c/sometimes-life-can-be-resentment-series.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8706389515284437173</id><published>2010-04-16T03:06:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-04-16T03:37:10.209+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S8evW2W5TLI/AAAAAAAAAEU/JDQZiPFwM2A/s1600/Lest_we_forget.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 154px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S8evW2W5TLI/AAAAAAAAAEU/JDQZiPFwM2A/s200/Lest_we_forget.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460525880293543090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;My days pass empty and I just watch them go as though I were just an observer. But when you're there, I get involved.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Take me away, 'cause I just don't wanna stay and the lies you make me say are getting deeper every day. (Oasis - All Around The World)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Miine am o lucrare importanta de dat si se pare ca inca nu sunt pregatita. Oricum voi trece ca gisca prin apa pe linga ea, precum ploaia ocoleste un oras, dar nu-mi fac griji, m-am obisnuit de ceva vreme sa ma arunc cu capul inainte, fie ce-o fi. E ma bine, nu-mi da timp sa realizez cite risc si de ce, imi doar timp sa actionez, iar spontaneitatea actiunilor ma ajuta sa o scot la capat mereu. Desigur, le mai gindesc si eu inainte, dar nu destul incit sa apuc de a ma teme. Frica a devenit un termen atit de efimer incit transparenta sa ma lasa complet curajoasa. La exterior. Be stupid, take chances e una din devizele mele preferate, dar mai adaug take the time to wonder. I love stupid decisions, they make me fly. Stupid decisions often take to great achievements, at least for the moment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Fiecare avem un tipar in viata pe care-l urmam, in sensul ca unele lucruri se repeta constant in decursul anilor, iar atentia la aceste tipare si gasirea de solutii personale ajuta la rezolvarea conflictelor cu propria persoana, ceea ce nu asigura rezolvarea unei probleme, dar asigura linistea interioara si armistitiul cu tine insuti.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Sunt un produs al societatii contemporane scapat de sub control si ma mindresc cu asta. Sunt un artificiu al umanitatii eliberate de povara constringerii, ceea ce ma duce pe anumite drumuri nebatute, necunoscute si nemaiauzite, ca sa nu mai pomenesc de anormale, considerind ca normalitatea este relativa sau chiar inexistenta. &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Am plecat catre noi tarmuri, am lasat tarimuri imbelsugate in urma si am ales sa creez eu astfel de tarimuri, dar mai bune. Imbelsugat nu inseamna neaparat bun. Am puterea de a modifica, de a sanctifica si de a observa. Ce legatura au acestea intre ele? Doar produsul muncii mele va putea arata aceasta, iar produsul muncii mele este departe de a fi inceput sa se arate intru totul.&lt;/span&gt;   &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gindeste-te la mine cind ti-e greu, cind ti-e bine, cind ai vrea sa ma nimicesti si cind ai vrea sa ma ridici pe-un piedestal, caci ranchiuna-ti distruge omenia, gindurile negre iti sunt induse excesiv de catre tine insuti, iar iubirea-si face loc zilnic prin multimea de probleme pentru a se apropia de tine. Doar... daca ti-ai pastra si tu pozitia, in loc sa te indepartezi. Nu te teme, sunt aici, si chiar daca n-as fi, as fi tot aici. Just open those God damn eyes, will you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ploaia spala totul, este eterna purificatoare a acelui produs compus din ectoplasma a fiecaruia dintre noi, numit suflet. Lasa ploaia din viata ta sa-ti deschida ochii, sa te spele de demonii ce ti-ai creat singur sau ce ti i-a creat viata cu ajutorul altora sau a evenimentelor. Viata are acest dar de a se folosi de oameni sau evenimente pentru a te ridica sau a te dobori. Tu fii bun cu ea si explica-i ca pentru tine ploaia va fi mereu salvarea ta, iar risul, stergatorul tau de parbriz, permitindu-ti astfel sa-ti vezi de drum. Tu fi-i prieten chiar daca ea te va trada uneori, tu tine de persoana ta cu inversunare, iar dupa ce ai realizat aceasta da-ti drumul...de pe culmile senzatiilor... pentru a cadea in prapastia sentimentelor... si a spera ca vei ajunge vreodata sa-i atingi profunditatea, caci acest lucru e cel mai greu intre toate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8706389515284437173?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8706389515284437173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8706389515284437173' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8706389515284437173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8706389515284437173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-days-pass-empty-and-i-just-watch.html' title=''/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S8evW2W5TLI/AAAAAAAAAEU/JDQZiPFwM2A/s72-c/Lest_we_forget.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1708440086086399863</id><published>2010-03-31T01:02:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-03-31T01:13:24.683+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Randomly ordered chaos</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;Inertia ta ma omora incetul cu incetul, dinauntru spre afara, ca de obicei cum se intimpla peste tot de altfel, nimic special, doar uman. Acum uite-te putin la tine, uite-te bine, priveste din afara cutiei: prin singe adrenalina iti fuge ca o nebuna ce e, te motiveaza sa misti, the importance of being idle is not so clear now anymore, is it? Vibrezi, si asta ma bucura enorm. Imi dai si mie un ragaz oarecum, dar nu intelege gresit, nu sunt obosita si nici nu ma pling, doar ca uneori trebuie si eu sa-mi exercit talentul de a fi acolo. Si fara a spune nimic consistent, doar a fi acolo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;Priveste din afara cutiei, ajuta caci mentine calmul, alteori dauneaza caci iti dai seama de fapt de valoarea intimplarii - de multe ori nula. Cu toate pe cap si totusi esti in fata monitorului, verificind ce ti se pare tie relaxant sau interesant, vorbind, exprimindu-te si gindind. A gindi e un dar excelent, dar uneori din punctul de idle-ness, exercitat gresit. I know, trust me. Deviza mea se aplica deci si in cazul tau: pina nu e o problema de viata si de moarte, pina nu iti e atit de frica incit sa te impiedice din zbor, din datul cu capul direct in toate atit de tare incit ar putea lasa traume, pina atunci totul este cit se poate de roz si de parfait, cum zic frantuzii, tout c'est parfait. Presupun ca am scris bine, nu as vrea sa par vreo Chirita sau ceva, nu-mi sta in fire.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;Am plecat la dus, sunt linistita deocamdata, maine imi incepe inca o zi de scoala de care-mi va fi dor poimaine. What can I say...decit ca poate trebuia sa ma abtin din a...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1708440086086399863?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1708440086086399863/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1708440086086399863' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1708440086086399863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1708440086086399863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/03/randomly-ordered-chaos.html' title='Randomly ordered chaos'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3464777725191078006</id><published>2010-03-25T21:43:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T10:29:49.866+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Can you spell life?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Caci eu nu prea pot fara a ma gindi ca o definitie acceptabila in ultima vreme nu-i gasesc. Ma simt pierduta, in deriva, nu ma pot concentra pe nimic, totul in jurul meu pare atit de mare... incit ma nimiceste, ma striveste si parca ar urmari sa ma sufoce. Nu mai suport sa stau in fata calculatorului, imi ia din libertate si simt asta ca pe o lesa cumva. Dar uneori I must. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Unde sunt vremurile mele de glorie? Unde-au disparut asa? Parca erau acum putin timp... acum monotonia le-a luat locul, iar aventura a disparut cu totul. Cred ca mi-am gasit dependenta: nevoia de aventura. Am rabdare pina cind aceasta va veni din nou, sau voi avea eu dispozitia necesara pentru a o crea, pentru a-mi pompa din nou elixirul Vietii in vene. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Fiecare zi se scurge scirbos catre un nou apus. Este Apusul mult asteptat, iar eu sunt fanul cel mai  infocat. Datorita inertiei vietii de pe parcursul primaverii, tind sa cred ca renasterea e asteptare, stagnare, accelerare, in aceasta ordine, caci eu simt sa stagnez, iar asta ma dizolva parti launtrice, dupa ce am acceptat asteptarea. Accelerarea imi lasa gura apa si stiu ca foamea-mi va fi stavilita odata si-odata, deci am rabdare. Eu sper, caci speranta n-are forma si nici culoare, deci e universala prin definitie. E usor de intretinut cu o cantitate minima de optimism.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Am ajuns in perioada in care ignoranta presupune efort si nu-mi dau seama de ce anume. Era atit de frumos cind puteam topai de colo-colo fara pic de energie consumata in van, puteam a-mi mentine starea de zbor intr-atit incit sa ajung din nou in pat seara, multumita de faptul ca nu eram nevoita sa dau explicatii. Acum am ajuns sa trebuiasca a-mi da explicatii pina si mie insumi...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Am ajuns rau, de unde eram, but better days are coming and life is still great... I just have to believe that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3464777725191078006?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3464777725191078006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3464777725191078006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3464777725191078006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3464777725191078006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/03/can-you-spell-life.html' title='Can you spell life?'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1080942721235856938</id><published>2010-03-09T08:06:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T08:25:40.866+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Despre tigara</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S5Xp25FsZcI/AAAAAAAAAEM/EvxPQtSwzgk/s1600-h/Copy+of+coffee-and-cigarettes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 193px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S5Xp25FsZcI/AAAAAAAAAEM/EvxPQtSwzgk/s320/Copy+of+coffee-and-cigarettes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446516453621392834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Sunt fumatoare inraita. Si toata lumea nefumatoare m-ar caracteriza drept 'dependenta'. Ei da, de ce nu, cind fac rotocoale din tigara sau expir fumul cu atit patos incit ai putea jura ca-mi pare rau ca nu-l pot retine in mine. Am obiceiul de a privi valurile cenusii ridicindu-se din tigara si a inconjura camera, invaluind totul intr-o aura de speranta. De acolo mi-am tras eu bunavointa si buna-dispozitia. Mi-a fost singura prietena pe timp de razboi, mi-a inteles nevoie pe cind eram fara emotii, fara trairi si fara viata. Acum am inviat. Dar din pacate resuscitarea e dureroasa, iar impactul cu propriile-mi sentimente - distrugator. Am inceput sa simt iarasi acea respingere pentru Ea, si asta-mi consuma din energie. Cine este Ea? Ea este pur si simplu o figura din viata mea care ma va insoti toata viata, dar care mi-a facut destul rau, poate nu din vina ei, poate din vina mea, caci sunt cam perceptiva, cam prea sensibila la ce se intimpla in jurul meu. Zidul lipsit de trairi ce-l construisem in jurul sufletului meu s-a naruit cind ai venit Tu, fiindca asa esti tu talentat. Acum merge un "in pana mea". Ah, ce bine a cazut ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;In lumea mea, cind totul merge bine, fumez. Cind ma simt bine, fumez, fiindca fumatul inseamna celebrare - a vietii, a victoriei asupra lor, a tuturor celor carora le-ar face placere sa ma vada ingenuncheata. Nu zic "ingenuncheata" in sensul pe care-l intelegeti toti, acela de a se supune si a fii nefericit, ci acela de a face ce zic ceilalti, oprimata si cu aripile taiate. E diferit. Imi trebuie putere ca sa savurez gustu-i dulce-amarui si valu-i misterios pe care-l lasa in urma. Iar acum nu mai am putere ... nu-mi mai trebuie nimic. Am planuri si ma voi tine de ele fiindca zilele trec nemiloase, dar atit, de altceva ce mi-ar putea consuma energia ma voi desprinde si ma voi vindeca de anumite 'evenimente' neplacute repetindu-mi mereu "asta a fost acum 10 minute, face parte din trecut". So yes, I'm kinda' letting go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Ah, da, teoria mea de viata ... ce face rau face parte din trecut la scurt timp dupa ce se manifesta. Sunt mindra de asa o conceptie si de faptul ca o pot aplica. Binele meu deasupra tuturor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;So I'll take another step into the wild, another leap through time, then return and walk away. Just because I can.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255); font-style: italic;"&gt;The Cigarette ... my one and only love ... and one and only companion as I walk this world alone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1080942721235856938?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1080942721235856938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1080942721235856938' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1080942721235856938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1080942721235856938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/03/despre-tigara.html' title='Despre tigara'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S5Xp25FsZcI/AAAAAAAAAEM/EvxPQtSwzgk/s72-c/Copy+of+coffee-and-cigarettes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1484708390446927417</id><published>2010-03-08T22:32:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T23:13:56.688+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Nu exista de fapt</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Sa va spun despre durere. Ea este atit de frumoasa incit imi face blogul sa infloreasca de posturi si inima sa-mi jubileze de viata si sa strige "Doamneee, nu era mai bine daca nu-mi pasa?" si sa-si caute echilibrul mult visat - sa faca diferenta intre ceea ce ar trebui sa-i pese si ceea ce nu. Intre timp, Viata e frumoasa. Si uite ca when we want to dissolve and just transform into liquid, coloured paste that sinks into the ground, filled with the colours of what we had once been, we just turn to our friends for indulgence. Such pitty... si totusi provocarea e sa vorbesti inca frumos cu toata lumea, nestiind ca acest lucru de fapt te va duce la pierzanie, fiindca e, in fond, inuman, e inuman sa presupui ca ceilalti pot intelege exact chinul. E inuman sa le ceri sa te suporte doar pentru ca tu ai Ceva. Nimeni n-ar trebui sa fie nevoit sa te suporte&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Doar sa inteleaga ca simpla prezenta ajuta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;®Je Suis .: ma doare capul&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;someone: cu cine te-ai certat&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;®Je Suis .: sunt dezorientata, Nordul e undeva la stinga nu?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;someone: e sub picioare&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;someone: balanseaza&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;someone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;: ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;®Je Suis .: o da, so the world really is upside down, eh?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;®Je Suis .: i knew it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;someone: you did ?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;someone: "i did, i DID"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;®Je Suis .: ok, presumed it, but stilllll&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Long live humour...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Da, e inuman sa-i impovarezi pe altii de belele tale, existente sau nu. Tocmai ce a terminat Ea de transferat energia ei negativa mie. O duc, dar totusi ma doare capul. Doamne ajuta ca sunt tinara inca.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;And when the skies suddenly don't matter anymore, and when the feeling of a head too heavy for a single person to bare sorrounds me... well in that particular moment I need to take a breath of air and just think. It's good, thinking. Takes my mind off it all. Vorbesc in 100 de limbi straine concomitent, iar filosofia mea de viata iese la suprafata precum uleiul pe apa. Am o singura problema - nu stiu ce sa fac cu toata energia asta negativa, ahhh. Astept sa treaca, n-o dau mai departe, sunt un colector si pot face fata daca altii nu pot. Mai putin antrenament si pot prelua energia negativa a doua persoane! Ah, cit de grozava sunt, incep sa nu-mi mai incap in piele de atita smecherie si auto-slavire.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Uneori chiar ai impresia ca exista o problema. Cind de fapt singura problema e faptul ca nu stii, dom'le, nu stii sa dai la o parte ce te siciie. Uneori simti ca efectiv nu poti da un sut dinala de fotbalist talentos la chestia aia ce-ti ocupa mintea si-ti consuma neuronii si-ti incinge sinapsele. De aceea zic "nu exista de fapt", nu exista nicio problema, exista doar iluzia descarcata de alta persoana pe procesorul tau personal al unei probleme, ca un virus ce-ti incetineste procesele. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;So how can it be that I just can't and don't want to go on from here. Or, actually, I could but don't wanna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Unde mi-e pamintul de sub picioare? Unde imi sunt orizonturile neclare? Unde mi s-au imprastiat creierii? Nimic din acestea nu mai am in momentul de fata, si totusi ziua de miine isi va anunta triumful necrutatoare in aproximativ 7 ore. I don't wanna fly, I don't have the wings to; I don't wanna swing, 'cause it could make me dizzy; I don't wanna dance 'cause it could unbalance my feet; I don't wanna run 'cause it's not me to run before the right time. I just wanna ... I just wanna have the patience to wait...and wait...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;So wait...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1484708390446927417?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1484708390446927417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1484708390446927417' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1484708390446927417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1484708390446927417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/03/nu-exista-de-fapt.html' title='Nu exista de fapt'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8260611898028304797</id><published>2010-03-07T05:07:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T05:24:08.024+02:00</updated><title type='text'>How to Be</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;"Sometimes I wonder about you... " zicea o mama exasperata de nemultumirile fiului ei, cind acesta se plingea de lipsa afectivitatii din partea ei. Ei bine, eu o spun din alt punct de vedere... si de aici mai bine continuam in italiana...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;A volte mi sembra di averti perso da qualche parte, per nessun raggione vero, solo perché ti ostini così, a ranchiuderti nel tuo mondicino ed esilarmi dall'altra parte del muro. Ma io non ci faccio caso, perché penso che tu mi lascierai dentro quando pensi che sia il momento. Ma poi forse... dovrei fare qualcosa di speciale per essere lasciata dentro. Al tipo lasciarti dentro prima. Sì, penso che questo funzionerà, ma c'è un gran rischio anche qua. Perché posso risultare io quella ferita. Ma penso che non sarò mai così ferita da dover ricuperarmi come dopo una perdita o qualcosa, non regretto nulla, e quando ho dei momenti di regretto, me lo ripetto sempre.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Po c'è un'altra frase che ripetto sempre quando le cose non sono chiarissime ma i rischi sono chiari come la luce del dì: "Coraggio e che Dio sia con me". Oh, sì! Questo sì che è un'incorraggiamento, e se non me lo da nessuno, bhè, la soluzione c'è sempre.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Ed alla fine sono io a prendere le decisioni, io sola, io stessa, soltanto io, e penso che non dovrei mai dimenticare il detto di mia nonnina "non fare cose per poi rimpiangerle". E non faccio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Penso che penso troppo a volte, e troppo veloce. Ma è così eccitante...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8260611898028304797?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8260611898028304797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8260611898028304797' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8260611898028304797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8260611898028304797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/03/how-to-be.html' title='How to Be'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-474645940934424656</id><published>2010-02-22T04:36:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T04:52:52.947+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I see</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3053/3029168092_3f564a9d67.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 490px; height: 500px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3053/3029168092_3f564a9d67.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;Some expressions are worth a thousand words... for example his face after the train left and, not seeing me anymore, he turned his head forward and just made a face... just a face... but not like any other faces I've seen him do before, and believe me I've seen the majority of his faces. His patience exceeds mine in some points, but is lower than mine in others. Just in the right spots. He claims to have no ambition, but still he fights daily with a lot of things on his list. He says he only does the bare minimum. If so, then it's a huge waste. I'm here to value that waste of energy, to turn it into his own advantage. So why is he here for? To teach me, like all the others. I need to be taught. Surely he'll be gone one day, but hey, for the moment I'm living and incredible thing. It's so pure and normal that it goes beyond the credible. It's 4.30 in the morning and we just said our good-nights. No 'kiss', no 'ILY', no drama, just the plain good-night and 'what else am I to say? just look at my face and you'll know what I wanna say :))'. And under those words was the expression of him not wanting to go to bed alone. I don't want that either, but my feelings are much more tamed than his. My face can show everything, nothing or just the things that I want to show, whether they're real or not. That's what makes me dangerous, combined with the ability of being completely honest.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;How long has it been now? 5 months? It's enough to give birth to a whole new conception of ... oh dear, should I say it ... love. It needs no words, it has no knowledge of words, it's so simple that a thousand master-minds as well as a thousand empathisers couldn't explain it with words.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;Ok enough of the gooey talk, I'm off to bed. (typical of me, such an emotionless ending)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-474645940934424656?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/474645940934424656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=474645940934424656' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/474645940934424656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/474645940934424656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-see.html' title='I see'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3053/3029168092_3f564a9d67_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6297919429480579419</id><published>2010-02-14T02:47:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T03:19:39.903+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Quotations</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Citeva idei, fraze, citate din gindurile ce-mi umpleau mintea pe-un autobus, pe-un autocar, pe oricind mi-am permis sa ma eliberez.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Doubt... is such a wonder&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;ful thing.It allows you to always explore more and, maybe most&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;importantly, it makes you prepared. Doubt is the first step to knowledge; first you doubt yourself, the others, then the World &lt;/span&gt;a&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and finally God, the afterlife &amp;amp; co. This unique feeling gives you the right to choose also between one belief / idea or another. So don't be afraid to question everything, we won't be seing eachother anytime soon (and I bet you'll doubt that)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not seek to conquer nor dominate, I seek to harmonise and learn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Telefonul mobil e facut dupa chipul si asemanarea omului, in sensul ca acesta are wallpaper, adica o masca, echivalentul mastii afisate de catre o persoana la primele intilniri. Apoi urmeaza meniul care se acceseaza mai greu, fiindca fiecare telefon are o anumita combinatie de taste pentru a fi deblocat. Ei bine, asa si oamenii, pt a fi cunoscuti mai in amanunt trebuiesc luati intr-un anumit fel. Iar meniul reprezinta tocmai aceasta parte, a launtrului. Apoi sectiunile meniului sunt domeniile din viata unui om, de exemplu mesageria e echivalentul vietii sociale si a vietii amoroase, setarile sunt echivalentul modificarilor pe care acesta le face in concordanta cu schimbarile din viata sa, reprezentate prin sectiunea de apeluri, unde mereu se schimba cite ceva. Apoi este sectiunea de aplicatii, echivalentul talentelor unei persoane care il ajuta sau nu in viata. Familia si locul de munca sunt reprezentate de sectia de divertisment, deoarece ocupa destul de mult din timpul nostru si ne aplicam in perfectionarea noastra pe respectivul domeniu. Si nu in ultimul rind, amintirile si trairile de orice fel, bagajul emotional, salvat cu grija in galerie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: times new roman; font-style: italic;"&gt;That's all for now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6297919429480579419?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6297919429480579419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6297919429480579419' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6297919429480579419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6297919429480579419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/02/quotations.html' title='Quotations'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1915638149061936040</id><published>2010-02-08T01:23:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-02-08T01:34:35.318+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Alegorie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Eu pot să fac din poezie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;ce alţii ar numi nebunie;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;pot să cînt,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să plîng,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să urlu,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să zbier,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să rîd,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să fug,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să mă întorc,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;fără ca nimeni să mă ştie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;pe mine şi nici de-al meu noroc&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;o perioadă bună, pînă cînd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;întorcîndu-mă acasă&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să văd că n-ar fi trebuit să plec&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;nicicînd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;din cauza lor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;a tuturor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;celor care mi-au purtat vre-un dor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;dar c-am plecat luînd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;pînă şi praful ce-a rămas în urma mea&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;cu mine pe un alt tărîm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să nu mă mai m-ajungă gînd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;de egoism străin sau familiar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;căci am cedat ... de mult, de mult,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;şi am rămas ca un balon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;spart, prin care aerul nomad &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;al tuturor celor ce m-au îngrădit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;a trecut necontenit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;de foarte ieri pînă foarte azi.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Ca să mă aflu unde sunt acum - în mîine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Şi-am plecat ... doar ca să fiu aici acum&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;pe propriu-mi drum deşi acasă,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;să ştiu că nu mai contează&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;nici ce-am făcut&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;nici ce-am pierdut&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;nici cuvinte&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;nici morminte&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;nici o samă de aduceri-aminte ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1915638149061936040?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1915638149061936040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1915638149061936040' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1915638149061936040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1915638149061936040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/02/alegorie.html' title='Alegorie'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-2747255147253879676</id><published>2010-01-26T00:27:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T00:39:08.587+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soul'/><title type='text'>To Be</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://underwa.ter.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2008/01/sunset.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://underwa.ter.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2008/01/sunset.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Sa stii c-am invatat sa zbor. Si zbor, in fiecare zi mai departe, cu fiecare fum de tigara mai usor, cu fiecare respiratie rece mai repede. Imi bate inima si asta nu e lucru nou. Dar lucru nou e ca acum o si simt, dar nu simt inima - organul, simt sufletul. Da, exista, in lumea mea exista si tind sa cred ca e lumea reala, de fapt nu tind, ci chiar cred ca e lumea reala.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Zbor, si am vrut ca tu sa stii asta, am vrut sa iti dedic unul din zborurile mele catre Nou. Poate intr-o zi ti-l voi dedica.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Gata, nu-mi mai pot taia aripile cum au facut-o inainte, acum sunt libera, zbor si fara aripi, zbor cu Fiinta. E alegerea mea daca sa ramin la sol ori ba. E alegerea mea... si aceasta e mare lucru. Gindesc si simt si inchid ochii, e cel mai frumos sentiment, e un sentiment desigur, ma invirt intr-o frenezie de ceaiuri, tigari, vorbe si concluzii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Acum e vis si atunci imi tine spate, ma sprijina. N-am uitat nimic, dar nici nu vreau sa mi-amintesc. Scriu Paradoxul asa cum il vad si imi formez propriile concepte. Nimeni nu-mi poate lua lumea, e a mea, si sunt egoist de mindra de asta. Cum pot coexsita egoismul si mindria? Who knows, maybe it's just a coincidence. I don't believe in coincidences like I don't believe in coffee or Coke.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Alunec acum, nu mai zbor, am renuntat putin caci ar putea sa ma faca dependenta. M-as putea prabusi, desi nu cred in prabusiri irecuperabile. De aceea merg inainte.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Noapte buna, sper ca vei citi asta si intr-o zi de maine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-2747255147253879676?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/2747255147253879676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=2747255147253879676' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2747255147253879676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2747255147253879676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/01/sa-stii-c-am-invatat-sa-zbor.html' title='To Be'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6551084447140811080</id><published>2010-01-25T00:42:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T00:53:11.780+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I miss you...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S1zPJ9E3c4I/AAAAAAAAAEE/_Cv2xonqWDA/s1600-h/DSC01204.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S1zPJ9E3c4I/AAAAAAAAAEE/_Cv2xonqWDA/s320/DSC01204.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430443020622721922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;... or the idea of you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;E ciudat si uneori stau sa analizez, nu mi se pare normal cum te-ai strecurat atit de bine in lumea mea, piesa care lipsea parca, si inca lipseste dintr-un anumit punct de vedere. Why did you come? Where have you been? Stiu eu raspunsul: in drumul meu catre completarea puzzle-ului. Da, eu imi fac propriul puzzle acum, eu ma ridic la nivelul asteptarilor mele cind trebuie, eu am vrut cu tot dinadinsul sa fiu eu, si am ajuns. That's where you've been.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Acum unde esti? O zi fara sa fi vorbit si parca a trecut un secol, jeez, wake me up somebody! Parca dorm cind e situatia asta. Esti linga mine fara macar sa fii linga mine. Abia astept, abia te astept, te voi sufoca, ma voi bucura de fiecare farima din fiinta ta, te voi seca de tine, asta am sa fac. Ai sa fii atit de imbatat dupa ce plec incit are sa te doara capul cind te vei trezi si vei vrea mai mult. Am destul de dat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Nu ma sufoci cum faceau ceilalti, nu-mi iei mintile, nu-mi intorci lumea pe dos, nu ma sfisii intr-o mie de fiinte si bucati de suflet, ci ma conservi, ma pastrezi, fuzionez cu tine, ma faci sa ma simt ca acasa, oriunde acasa ar fi.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Am tot zis eu ca nu-mi gasesc locul in lume... si nu stiu inca daca l-am gasit, dar tu ma faci sa ma simt ca acasa, so this must be it... for now; life is long.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;Am rabdare, dar n-am vlaga. Nu-ti pot cere nimic fiindca nu-mi poti oferi nimic. Deja te am, deci am totul. Imi continui drumul catre acel ceva ce-l caut de ceva vreme si aproape l-am gasit, iar tu nu imi pui piedici, nu ma faci sa simt ca am totul cu tine, sunt cu picioarele pe pamint, nu traiesc in nori de cind constientizez starea in care sunt, tu-mi pasesti alaturi. Tu-mi pasesti alaturi...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6551084447140811080?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6551084447140811080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6551084447140811080' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6551084447140811080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6551084447140811080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-miss-you.html' title='I miss you...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/S1zPJ9E3c4I/AAAAAAAAAEE/_Cv2xonqWDA/s72-c/DSC01204.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3392740410452714487</id><published>2010-01-23T02:43:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-23T03:15:55.969+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Pocahontas</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;Ma bucur ca am luat Disney Movie Pack, sunt unele chestii pe care nu le-am vazut inca. Cred ca desenele animate sunt facute de oameni mari pentru oameni mari. Replici care suna a clicheé, lectii pe care ar fi trebuit sa le invatam de multa vreme reamintite intr-un mod simplu, usor de inteles pentru toata lumea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;Cel mai mult m-au impresionat ultima replica din film "no matter what, I'll always be with you". Da, suna lame, dar in ochii mei a adus in prim plan celebra replica "so this ain't no bullshit after all". Astia chiar vorbeau serios, si noi ziceam ca parintii nostrii sunt old-fashioned. We didn't really understood actually, I know I didn't. But now it's all so clear, anxiety is almost worn out, distances are shrinked and metaphores come in a whole new form, shape, color. No one gets it... no one sits and listens... it's quite so sad. A doua chestie impresionanta a fost melodia &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6I9msnGWFBY&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;Colors of the wind  &lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;(click) care mi-a dat tema de gindire, mi-a amintit cit de neroditoare e de fapt viata noastra intre 4 pereti, intre 3 strazi si 4 felinare, intre doua cafele si magia pierduta a unui sarut pe care majoritatea il dau ca si consecinta a dorintei avide de a simti ceva, orice, greseala care e: se cauta placerea fizica mai presus de orice. Am uitat de unde am pornit, cea mai mare greseala a noastra, a tuturor, am uitat ce ne tine in viata, ea, Mama. Si am mai uitat un lucru: ca nu avem suflet degeaba, nu suntem dotati cu o varietate mare de sentimente doar de dragul de a fii superiori animalelor (asa cum le numim noi).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;Nu exista spatiu si timp pentru asa ceva, nu e posibil sa-l definesti, e un Lucru ce te invaluie pur si simplu, te face simti, asa ca simte, let go, don't be so afraid anymore... caci de fapt frica se naste din nestiinta. Simte-te liber sa stii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;So this is it... hope someone get's my message... this really is from the heart.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3392740410452714487?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3392740410452714487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3392740410452714487' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3392740410452714487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3392740410452714487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/01/pocahontas.html' title='Pocahontas'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1776848343331104721</id><published>2010-01-22T17:01:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-22T17:51:21.564+02:00</updated><title type='text'>E pur sempre, non ho paura del buio</title><content type='html'>Lo sai che c'ho pensato? Ho pensato come mi hai trascinato l'ultima volta verso l'infinito e come mi hai dato delle certezze che non erano mie, ma erano pur sempre le certezze che volevo avere. Non sto parlando dal cuore adesso, sto parlando dalla mente, dal mio pensiero troppo rapido per essere preso e troppo lento a volte per poter realizzare quanto sono fortunata.&lt;br /&gt;A volte ho la sensazione che se ci penso sopra troppo, poi magari svanisce dalla mia vita, questo sentimento di voler fare di tutto, di poter farlo, di essere completa e di avere la libertà di non .&lt;br /&gt;La distanza è troppo grande, troppo dolorosa, e poi mia mente è oramai fatta così: quando c'é il rischio che una cosa diventa dolorosa al minimo, la blocca. La blocca come il muro di un antico castello blocca l'invasione di un'armata che vuole entrare per forza nel castello, ma basando il suo modo di agire su una tattica precisamente pensata. Sì... precisamente pensata... niente di spontaneo, niente di naturale... così la percepisce mia mente, che è poi tanto complessa che se volessi mettere tutto ciò che sa fare in un libro, quel libro peserebbe troppo e muoverebbe la terra.&lt;br /&gt;Ma la mia anima? La mia anima è così leggera che se le muoveresti la mano davanti leggermente, sparrirebbe nel nulla, inghiotita dalla sua propria purezza, vollerebbe via senza pensarci due volte o più di un secondo. La mia anima...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1776848343331104721?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1776848343331104721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1776848343331104721' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1776848343331104721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1776848343331104721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/01/e-pur-sempre-non-ho-paura-del-buio.html' title='E pur sempre, non ho paura del buio'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-4362451122571911542</id><published>2010-01-07T00:08:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T00:20:26.634+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Numb</title><content type='html'>Am plecat din Italia intr-o dimineata insorita, Universul ma vroia acasa. Am plecat din Italia intr-o zi insorita, toata fiinta imi striga "e momentul, du-te". Am plecat din Italia intr-o zi insorita ce prevestea frumosul inceput al unei povesti de dragoste. Eu cu mine. M-am indragostit de mine si de ce am descoperit ce pot face, pot schimba lumea daca vreau, pot alerga tot zidul chinezesc in maxim 1 ora. Ce romantic scriu, ce jalnic, nu ma consider romantica, doar talentata in ale cuvintului. Da, suna arogant, asa si trebuie sa sune pentru a avea rezonanta si credibilitate.&lt;br /&gt;Am deviat... unde ramasesem? A, da. La partea cu secretul puterii mele interioare. Numbness-ul a avut o contributie importanta, m-a tinut stabila multa vreme, mai mult decat as fi vrut. Am zis ca am curaj sa infrunt orice si uite-ma in fata unei dileme: to breathe or not to breathe? Daca aerul meu ar fi fost aici, as fi respirat usurata, as fi actionat liber, n-as fi apreciat probabil destul. Dar asa sunt eu, gasesc mereu ce e mai greu de atins. Si cand gasesc ceea ce caut parca mi se face frica, frica de mine, de cat de jalnica pot fi cand infloresc. Ah, nu, eu infloresc mereu, dar este o parte ce s-a inchis in boboc la un moment dat, boboc frumos cu secretul bine pus deoparte, bine prafuit incat sa nu isi dea nimeni seama ca e de fapt acolo, sub nasul lor. Nu fac intentionat, asa sunt eu doar. Simplu, este?&lt;br /&gt;Te rog ceva doar: daca esti dispus sa risti sa ma faci sa rad, sa traiesc, sa simt ceva, orice, atunci macar anunta-ma si pe mine sa stiu ce ma asteapta dupa ce realizezi ca de fapt e prea mult pentru tine si ca de fapt acum iti masori adevaratele puteri.&lt;br /&gt;Cred ca de aceea sunt aici, ca ei sa vada cat de adanc pot merge cu sufletul. Cine ajunge pina la fund (care nu sunt convinsa ca exista) este norocosul castigator al unei imparatii imense... imense...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't take me as a joke, don't make me feel I can actually live, don't remind me that I really have  the right to. Don't make me pitty myself, it's kinda' cruel you know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-4362451122571911542?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/4362451122571911542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=4362451122571911542' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4362451122571911542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4362451122571911542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/01/numb.html' title='Numb'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1401483605251743314</id><published>2010-01-02T10:22:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-02T10:33:32.427+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Aho Aho copii si frati, la multi ani lui 2010 sa-i urati!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;PLUGUŞORUL 2010!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Aho, aho, copii de daci,&lt;br /&gt;Fără oi, găini şi vaci,&lt;br /&gt;Ascultaţi-mi urătura&lt;br /&gt;Până mi-or închide gura,&lt;br /&gt;Că s-au mai văzut ocazii&lt;br /&gt;Când luaţi de roşii razii&lt;br /&gt;Unii n-au mai zis nimica,&lt;br /&gt;Doar şi-au înghiţit mărgica.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;La ureche toacă lată,&lt;br /&gt;Trageţi plugul înc-o dată!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Mânaţi măi!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Aţi lăsat pământul baltă&lt;br /&gt;Şi-aţi plecat toţi laolaltă&lt;br /&gt;După visul de cărbune&lt;br /&gt;Şi-acum importaţi şi prune.&lt;br /&gt;Importaţi şi caş şi mere&lt;br /&gt;Să faceţi la turci avere,&lt;br /&gt;Iar pe câmpul prins de mană&lt;br /&gt;Sunt doar spini şi buruiană.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;La ureche toacă lată,&lt;br /&gt;Trageţi plugul înc-o dată!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Mânaţi măi!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Aho, aho, pui de romani,&lt;br /&gt;Ştiu că-n ţară n-aveţi bani,&lt;br /&gt;Dar de douăzeci de ani&lt;br /&gt;V-au condus numai hultani&lt;br /&gt;Care v-au împins amarul&lt;br /&gt;De-aţi plecat rupând hotarul&lt;br /&gt;Şi trăiţi c-un dor de casă&lt;br /&gt;Într-o lume ofticoasă.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;La ureche toacă lată,&lt;br /&gt;Trageţi plugul înc-o dată!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Mânaţi măi!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Aho, aho, urmaşi de geţi,&lt;br /&gt;Cât sunteţi şi mai puteţi,&lt;br /&gt;Puneţi mâna pe lopeţi&lt;br /&gt;Şi în ţară apăreţi&lt;br /&gt;Că-i un rai cu frumuseţi&lt;br /&gt;Unde vin mereu drumeţi.&lt;br /&gt;Puneţi mână lângă mână&lt;br /&gt;Şi clădiţi ţara română&lt;br /&gt;Ca să fie-n Europa&lt;br /&gt;Mai presus de ce-i la Popa,&lt;br /&gt;Iar atunci conducatorii&lt;br /&gt;Vor uita jugul grandorii&lt;br /&gt;Şi largi vise iluzorii,&lt;br /&gt;Şi-or lucra cu voi odată&lt;br /&gt;Pentr-o ţară luminată&lt;br /&gt;Şi-un popor nemuritor&lt;br /&gt;Prosperând în viitor.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;La anul şi la mulţi ani!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Si desigur si o melodie ce imi place mult si cred ca se potriveste cel putin in mare masura cu nazuintele romanului in general -&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEQVdnMrv70&amp;amp;feature=channel"&gt;CLICK&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1401483605251743314?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1401483605251743314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1401483605251743314' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1401483605251743314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1401483605251743314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2010/01/aho-aho-copii-si-frati-la-multi-ani-lui.html' title='Aho Aho copii si frati, la multi ani lui 2010 sa-i urati!!'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1866699871585610097</id><published>2009-11-16T23:14:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T00:48:43.723+02:00</updated><title type='text'>shhht...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;Nu mai simt nimic, am terminat-o cu realitatea de ceva vreme. Inima a incetat sa-mi bata, sufletul a incetat sa mi se zbuciume in cusca sa destul de incapatoare incat sa-i indure miscarile rasucite, dar cu un neajuns foarte mare: prea mica pentru a-mi gazdui foamea de independenta si libertate. Ce inseamna libertatea? Ce e independenta? Pentru mine, inseamna un singur lucru: sa pot gandi singura, sa pot gresi si singura, sa pot sa ma ridic si, cel mai important, sa cad si sa fiu singura. Sa am libertate de miscare, de vorbire, de actiune. Pe scurt, sa am programul meu si un acoperis deasupra capului.&lt;br /&gt;Si tu, care-mi urmaresti gandurile mai mereu, tu - cel care ma obsedezi cu prezenta ta in fiecare zi, prezenta mentala, caci cea fizica e departe de a fi realizabila. Tu... ar trebui sa dispari, sa-ti iei vacanta din mintea mea, sa o lasi goala si pustiita, mai bine asa decit ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1866699871585610097?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1866699871585610097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1866699871585610097' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1866699871585610097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1866699871585610097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/11/shhht.html' title='shhht...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-2606678322315864450</id><published>2009-10-25T03:46:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T03:46:00.123+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A ship...</title><content type='html'>Ca un paianjen ce-si tese panza, am indraznit sa incep a-mi tese propria panza de sperante. Am inceput cu primul fir - primul semn de respect autentic pe care l-am primit vreodata astfel incat sa-l primesc cu placere. Am continuat cu al 2-lea fir, deja mai puternic, odata cu prima discutie cu adevarat interesanta si cat de cat sincera, cat ne-a permis mandria sau mai bine zis scutul. As fi inceput sa tes si al 3-lea fir cum se cuvine daca lucrurile ar fi ramas asa cum le-am descris, dar nu s-a intamplat asta, poate din vina mea, poate din vina lui, poate din vina vantului ce-a purtat pe aripile sale 25 de minute lungi in caldura lunii octombrie, in acea zi de toamna in care sorcovele mele nu erau la locul lor sau poate din cauza dansului armonios ce a retinut un ceva relativ important pentru mine...in acea seara...&lt;br /&gt;Dar nu e acea seara de vina pentru alte semne ce trebuiau sa continue povestea celui de-al treilea fir de matase arahnida. E de vina faptul ca el n-a si-a stiu motivele subiective pentru care sa continue incurajarea teserii firului meu... firul meu... atit de fragil...&lt;br /&gt;As fi inceput sa tes si al 3-lea fir cum se cuvine daca celelalte doua nu s-ar fi rupt intre timp, nu ar fi fost infirmate de gesturi marunte, patetice.&lt;br /&gt;Nu, nu m-am indragostit, mi-am mai facut doar inca un set de amintiri frumoase. Is it me? Is it them? Is it something? Dunno... only thing that I do know is that I will go on no matter one, I will never allow myself to tire, to rest more than it is strictly necessary. I told a boy tonight that "it doesn't matter" and felt like it really didn't matter anymore. Good news, huh?&lt;br /&gt;Asa cum un paianjen isi tese singur panza de paianjen si altii i-o distrug, asa mi se taie si mie elanul atunci cand parca o iau incet pe ulei. E o veste buna deoarece imi tine picioarele pe pamant, dar doare de fiecare data, ma usureaza de fiecare data de cate o bucata din suflet. Sper sa mai raman cu vre-o firmitura pana la sfarsit.&lt;br /&gt;Am ajuns la o concluzie fundamentala: creierul meu este defect, am traume ireversibile su garnitura de "agaţo-manie", ma agat de o idee cateodata prea usor, cateodata prea mult, cateodata prea pasional, mi se readuce aminte ca totusi sunt o fiinta umana care gandeste lucid Mereu si ca Rabdarea e una din marile mele lectii de viata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This one's for the lonely, the ones that seek and find&lt;br /&gt;Only to be let down time after time"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why not? Let's just chill...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-2606678322315864450?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/2606678322315864450/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=2606678322315864450' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2606678322315864450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2606678322315864450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/10/ship.html' title='A ship...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-5904160911003212727</id><published>2009-10-19T15:03:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T03:09:26.055+02:00</updated><title type='text'>It's just like this</title><content type='html'>E ciudat cum, odata cu trecerea timpului, noaptea incepe sa nu mai fie destul de larga, spatioasa temporal, pentru a acoperi toate nevoile mele, toate orele de care am nevoie pentru a face tot ce nu am facut peste zi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am invatat ieri seara o lectie importanta doar stand intinsa pe pat, pe burta, cu ochii inchisi si ascultand o melodie foarte ritmata. Am invatat ca daca atunci cand corpul meu aude muzica, ritmul imi intra pana-n sange, nu ma ridic de pe pat sa dansez, n-o voi mai face curand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce-avem de pierdut? Nu pentru ca viata e scurta, ci pentru simplul fapt ca ne definim "in viata" si ar trebui sa demonstram acest lucru.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;M-am ridicat de pe pat, am inceput sa dansez, a fost ce mi-am dorit, a trecut, dar lectia e invatata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cinste vietii... si cui o apreciaza la justa valoare.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-5904160911003212727?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/5904160911003212727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=5904160911003212727' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5904160911003212727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5904160911003212727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/10/its-just-like-this.html' title='It&apos;s just like this'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-4498917928672293472</id><published>2009-09-10T23:23:00.008+03:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T00:06:25.231+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Life is a foreign language</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SqlnJLtxmzI/AAAAAAAAAD0/jaCsyN572-4/s1600-h/3__dance-for-life-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SqlnJLtxmzI/AAAAAAAAAD0/jaCsyN572-4/s320/3__dance-for-life-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379944637332036402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;... cum vreti sa-i spuneti, tot momentul prezent reprezinta. E momentul pe care il asteptam cu totii in fiecare seara, sa se faca din nou astazi. Sa se faca din nou lumina, iar noaptea cu misterele si pericolele ei sa dispara, sa se evapore, asa cum a facut si cu o seara inainte, asa cum face in fiecare seara la sfarsitul unui astazi. Astepti sa treaca astazi-urile doar. Toate zilele trec in ritm tacut, batut in ritm constant; toate zilele trec taraite, incet, fara nimic deosebit, in sir indian si cu un numar precis fiecare, fiecare diferita in functie de starea vremii si starea de spirit a celor din jur si fiecare foarte similara celeilalte prin monotonia lucrurilor ce le ai de facut zilnic si repetitia obiceiurilor bine intiparite in miscari. Pentru ce traiesti? Ce astepti? Ceva mai bun? Trece chiar acum pe langa tine, a trecut mereu si va mai trece. In ritmul acesta la ce te astepti? Eh, nu conteaza, tu nu vezi... tu nu vezi in ce consta ceea ce ti-am descris mai sus, nu ai cum, esti prea prins in ritmul tau, in ganduri inutile si aspiratii neacompaniate de clasica fraza "va urma". Esti orb. Stai linistit, esti doar orb. Ajunge pentru a anula toate celelalte simturi interioare. Noaptea... e refugiul tau cat timp dormi. Sau e refugiul tau cat esti treaz, pana tarziu, stai in fata calculatorului cu orele si dupa aceea te lauzi prietenilor cu multe nopti albe... dar nu le spui si continuarea: in care n-ai facut nimic. Sa stii ca "nimic" e un cuvant puternic. Si cat stai in fata calculatorului ce faci? Te gandesti? Nu... faci acelasi lucru pe care il faci si in somn: te refugiezi pentru a uita starea in care esti. Mai bine dormi in cazul asta. Dormi... nu cumva sa te incumeti sa te uiti pe geam: ce forfota, cita viata, uite Luna - iti zambeste ca in majoritatea noptilor, uite un nor, uite mai multi, uite cita verdeata care se comporta exact ca in timpul zilei deoarece vantul nu vede de e zi sau noapte, el doar trece, se face auzit, simtit, uite-o strada goala, trece o pisica, oare unde merge? E usor sa traiesti, dar e si mai usor sa traiesti doar fizic. Sufleteste e alt domeniu deja, un domeniu greoi, ca matematica in generala sau in liceu. Mai bine copiem tema de la altii, mai bine ne interesam de alte lucruri decat de unica sursa adevarata de umanitate pe care o avem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;Ma duc sa mai privesc odata Luna, vreau s-o am bine intiparita in minte, asa cum maine voi privi peisajul diurn pentru a-l avea bine intiparit in minte pe cand ma duc mai departe si pentru a simti cu adevarat ca fac parte din aceasta lume, din acest miracol...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-4498917928672293472?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/4498917928672293472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=4498917928672293472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4498917928672293472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4498917928672293472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/09/life-is-foreign-language.html' title='Life is a foreign language'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SqlnJLtxmzI/AAAAAAAAAD0/jaCsyN572-4/s72-c/3__dance-for-life-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-5518359060248931572</id><published>2009-07-22T01:57:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T02:43:10.746+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Numb'/><title type='text'>Yup yup!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Yeah...yep yep yep... I'm a fool as always, no sweat, don't wanna care no more. I'll get over it eventually. Yeaaah... yep yep yep... I'm just sorry fo' myself, I'm doing this to myself as always, tried avoiding it but the honey was...just too much gold-like(in real life I hate honey but it makes a good figure of speech here, or so they say)... just too... close, too unreal. Well now it's real, a real fucked up thing  :)) Oh so numb...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Said too much... should catch up with my sleep now... don't want to but got a busy day tomorrow, a very busy day for my patience... I didn't want to believe my host-bro when he told me "fake it" but now I can just observe myself... it comes naturally, can't control it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Don't know what's wrong, maybe nothin', maybe it's just my immagination or just me, sometimes it feels like it, sometimes it doesn't...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Can't even remeber the basic idea of this post! Oh well... time passes equally for me anyway... might as well use it well, right? Riiiight :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-5518359060248931572?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/5518359060248931572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=5518359060248931572' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5518359060248931572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5518359060248931572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/07/yup-yup.html' title='Yup yup!'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-497570037974634539</id><published>2009-06-21T01:43:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T02:26:27.436+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Critics'/><title type='text'>It hurts but it's true</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-style: italic;"&gt;Sì, gente, sto parlado della verità! Incredibile ma vero: la cosa più chiare al mondo è anche la cosa che fa male più che altro. E' da capire allora che la gente non si vuol sentire delle cose in modo che capiscano. Eheh, ma allora perché abbiamo la capacità di communicare? Bhò, ma chi lo sa, forse per parlare di cose come andare a fare shopping, cosa comprare con questa ocasione, dove ho messo le mie cose, che cosa mangiamo oggi, che dieta applichiamo per l'estate che viene, chi ha fatto cosa oggi e magari qualcuno si chiede un rapido "perché" prima di passare al prossimo soggetto. La verità è dappertutto. L'ho realizzato oggi. Ho finalmente fatto la conessione fra "l'aspetto non conta" e "è che c'hai dentro che conta", ma dico la vera conessione perché una conessione logica si fa subito, ma una conessione cervello-cuore si crea un tantino più difficilmente. La cosa buffa è che ho fatto questa conessione durante uno di quei veloci pensieri riguardando l'attività di domani. Pensavo a prendermi la gonna nera con una maglietta sopra e magari le Converse che tanto mi piacciono; step 2: mi sono immaginata seduta ad un tavolo di un terazzo, sotto un'ombrellone bianco che impedisce le raggi del Sole a farmi male, e stando seduta a questo tavolo cominciai a parlare di varie cose... ad un certo punto da sorridente vedo il mio volto passare ad assetato di condividere e comparare ciò che sapevo con le altre persone sedute intorno al tavolo con me. Mi rendo conto che non conta più ciò che ho adosso, non conta più il mondo che ci circonda, il tavolo è l'unico spazio materiale che riconosciamo più ma neanche quello totalmente, vedo i confini tra di noi scomparrendo, vedo il legame energetico formatosì fra di me e gli altri che mi stanno ascoltando o magari stanno partecipando facendo dal monologo  un dialogo, vedo tante cose.. vedo come sui cervelli degli altri si sta imprimedo una immagine di me che non ha nulla da fare con ciò che rappresento io fuori. E' impressionante veramente quando si arriva alla vera facia di una persona, si arriva a vedere la verità dietro la pelle, a vedere l'anima, quella energia che pulsa dentro di noi e che è visibile solo quando non si ha paura di essere esposti troppo. Parlare in modo saggio ognitanto fa vedere che esistiamo, brucciamo ancora dentro. Parlare in modo superficiale fa vedere che non abbiamo un vero senso lì, che siamo spenti dentro... l'azione di parlare è abusato ogni giorno ... e cioé la verità è abusata ogni giorni... qua comincia la menzogna:)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-497570037974634539?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/497570037974634539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=497570037974634539' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/497570037974634539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/497570037974634539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/06/it-hurts-but-its-true.html' title='It hurts but it&apos;s true'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3105666825724727875</id><published>2009-06-17T22:49:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T22:49:06.869+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Napoli: Petru muore in diretta e Marco Mariano se ne va al bar - AgoraVox Italia</title><content type='html'>E' un'articolo che presenta il caso cosÃ¬ com'Ã¨ stato, con la giusta dosi di sarcasmo e realismo secondo me, e anche se ce n'Ã¨ troppo non fa niente - meglio di piÃ¹ che troppo poco. Una mia amica Ã¨ stata lÃ  a Montesanto nel momento della sparatoria ed ha detto che sentiva i gridi della moglie di Petru...e poi silenzio. Solo leggendo questo articolo mi sono resa conto quant'era mia amica vicino al pericolo. Ed ho avuto un brivido.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.agoravox.it/Napoli-Petru-muore-in-diretta-e.html#forum10909"&gt;Napoli: Petru muore in diretta e Marco Mariano se ne va al bar - AgoraVox Italia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shared via &lt;a href="http://addthis.com"&gt;AddThis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3105666825724727875?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3105666825724727875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3105666825724727875' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3105666825724727875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3105666825724727875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/06/napoli-petru-muore-in-diretta-e-marco.html' title='Napoli: Petru muore in diretta e Marco Mariano se ne va al bar - AgoraVox Italia'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-2054496510233405682</id><published>2009-06-14T04:34:00.007+03:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T22:53:02.735+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='angry'/><title type='text'>Bhò, che titolo vuoi da me a quest'ora?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eh sì, mi sono proprio scocciata di essere confusa da tutti quanti! Ma che cacchio qualcuno deve giocare così con la mia mente quanto li dico chiaramente di farne atenzione? Ma parlo proprio per i sordi o qualcosa? Tanto è vero che sono tutti quanti sordi e ciechi, perché giustamente tutti sanno parlare e basta. People can we wake up a little? I mean com'on, I'm not in love with you or somethin', I just think you're my friend. Accept that even if I told you some things. Did you even listen tot the reasons for which I told you those things? Maybe, but they didn't sink in well enough because I'm the only one who knows what some people should observ and what not. Ok, fine ... I just hate hurting other people, because I know I can deal with myself and forgive if someone hurts me, but others can't. Such a pitty, such wasted time, such wasted energy when you could've done something useful with that. I know, I know, They say that Love is the most uplifting feeling man can have but, but, but... I just see it as unnecessary, at least at the moment. I don't trust anyone beacause I'm breakable! If you're my friend you understand that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Buonanotte amico, spero che tu mi tratterai bene perché io non sono tanto sicura dopo ciò che ho visto. Prenditi cura del mio cuore by non spezzarji nemeno un gramo del calore che c'ha dentro..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Passando ad altre cose, mi rendo conto che non so farmi capire, stranamente, perché prima sapevo. Dico che sono più forte, ma sono anche più confusa, tanto che quando mi sembra di essere lucida non posso essere quasi mai sicura di aver ragione o torto. Tutto sommato, sono arrabbiata, ma è una rabbia permanente; tuttavia spero che scomparira presto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ciao&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-2054496510233405682?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/2054496510233405682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=2054496510233405682' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2054496510233405682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2054496510233405682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/06/bho-che-titolo-vuoi-da-me-questora.html' title='Bhò, che titolo vuoi da me a quest&apos;ora?!'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6258707307816878793</id><published>2009-05-24T23:27:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T00:44:39.819+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Critics'/><title type='text'>Raised normally</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;Am crescut ca orice copil normal, poate cu o sensibilitate crescuta pentru sentimentele oamenilor din moment ce sunt orfana de tata. Am vazut lumea prin ochii multora, crezand ca este viziunea mea. N-am stiut ce sa aleg la inceput din ce aveam: vroiam sa fiu ca restul lumii, credeam ca pot fi, dar sincer nu am gandit niciodata ca ei. Am reactionat ca ei, am avut sentimente ca ei, dar nu stiu daca am gandit vreodata intr-un mod ce poate fi definit intr-un fel satisfacator. Am ajuns la 18 ani aproape si nu stiu inca cine sunt exact. Pana acum 9 luni jumatate credeam ca stiu ce "eu" am ales. Am ajuns in Italia si am inceput sa caut acea parte din mine de care mama-mi povestea mereu ca e "speciala". N-am gasit-o, cu toate ca eu credeam a fi diferita pentru modul de gandire. Uite ca nu sunt asa diferita. Si totusi definesc lumea ca fiind ignoranta, totusi ma vad diferita. Poate pentru ca sunt eu, fiindca am constiinta de mine insumi, fiindca imi dau seama cat sunt de norocoasa sa fiu in viata, sa traiesc in lumea aceasta. Sa vad, sa experimentez. Nu de putine ori m-am regasit uitandu-ma la o floare, admirand-o, ca si cand as vedea pentru prima oara un asemenea lucru... nu odata m-am oprit sa ma uit catre cerul senin sau innorat sau plin de stele, gandindu-ma la fraza "oamenii uita sa priveasca stelele in goana lor"... sau nu rar mi-am oprit sirul gandurilor pentru a fi martora la trecerea vietii pe langa mine, sa fiu martora la maretia ignorantei la care a ajuns aceasta lume. Doamnelor si domnilor, oamenii se cred superiori din 3 motive:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;1. se cred inteligenti daca nu mai cred in Dumnezeu si cred doar in progresele tehnologiei;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;2. se cred credinciosi daca merg la biserica odata la an, fiind ipocriti desigur;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;3. se cred impliniti daca ajung sa castige la Loto si sa aiba bani castigati usor pana la adanci batraneti; sau si sa aiba bani pana la adanci batraneti.. ajunge.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;Aceste trei motive arata superficialitatea subiectelor pe care le trateaza fiecare subiect uman in medie pe zi. Cred ca sunt eu cam critica, dar nu-mi place lumea in care traiesc. Se spune aici, pe Terra, ca daca nu-ti place, nu te uita. Si ce sa fac, imi scot ochii? Doamne fer'. In fine, revenind la subiect, citeam astazi cartea fara de sfarsit (nu o termin anul asta, cred) intitulata "Dovezile stiintifice ale vietii de dupa moarte" si imi dadeam seama tot mai mult ca din 6.5 miliarde de oameni, probabil 10%, inclusi budistii, vor reusi sa isi dea seama in viata asta ca de fapt noi trebuie sa colaboram pentru a evolua din toate punctele de vedere dar ideea este ca pe cand isi vor da seama de acest lucru vor imbatrani, si chiar daca il vor spune si altora, numarul de oameni in cunostiinta de cauza va fi prea mic pentru a se putea face ceva. Imi pare rau ca nici eu nu pot schimba ceva pentru lumea aceasta chiar daca mi-ar placea foarte mult. Din pacate am o constiinta care nu ma lasa. De aceea spun ca nu stiu incotro sa o iau cu viata mea...mi-as dori atit de mult sa scriu o pagina in istorie.. si chiar nu as vrea sa fie doar pagina mea, ci pagina unui grup, pagina care ramane in istorie nu datorita unui nume, ci datorita unui fapt care ar schimba  modul in care se desfasoara lucrurile in aceasta lume. Mama imi spunea mereu: "iti complici viata de una singura" si eram de acord cu ea. Acum ca am mai crescut un an, doi, imi dau seama ca nu eram singura care facea acest lucru. De acolo a trebuit sa gasesc si motivul pentru care imi complicam viata singura, si l-am gasit chiar astazi, in paginile unei carti, in citatul unei persoane foarte intelepte care a fost: "ignoranta". Deci revenim la vechiul discurs, oamenii sunt ignoranti. Dar uite ca acum avem si o consecinta: nefericirea. Fir logic: oamenii sunt ignoranti in privinta vietii lor pe pamant, ignoranta genereaza ganduri negative si pesimism (aka nu suntem multumiti spiritual) iar acest lucru ne face nefericiti. Exista atitea moduri de a fi inchis dpdv mental, lucru ce l-am descoperit aici, in experienta aceasta de schimb de culturi. Exemplu personal: am reusit sa inteleg punctul de vedere al unei persoane din alta tara dupa multa vreme, dar am reusit. E greu sa fi deschis din punct de vedere mental, dar e posibil. Daca lumea ar avea urechi sa asculte, nu sa ignore, ar fi perfect. Daca lumea ar inceta sa-mi spuna ca sunt visatoare iar ideile mele sunt utopice, si ar incepe sa vada ca ei sunt superficiali, ar fi excelent. Daca... ce bine ca exista daca, fiindca daca n-ar exista daca, ar exista altceva cu siguranta pentru a defini posibilitatea de a face ceva, dar a nu face cu buna stiinta din cauza fricii alimentata de materialismul cu care s-a obisnuit mintea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;As vrea sa fac diferenta... as vrea sa ma si asculte cineva.. in ultima vreme mi se pare ca lumea ma asculta din ce in ce mai putin, chiar daca idea pe care vreau s-o exprim este simpla si cotidiana. Poate ma plang cam mult, dar asta este, nu ma pot abtine, trebuie sa-mi eliberez mintea de chinul acesta, trebuie sa critic, sa impung cu adevarul pentru a trezi relitatea in oameni, o realitate care este greu de acceptat, dar ca orice adevar de fapt, si care cantareste mult si care nu vine inghitita, ca multe lucruri pe care le spun eu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;Okay, am terminat ... pareri nu cred ca vor fi, oricum nu citeste multa lume aberatiile unei fete de 18 ani care este considerata si confuza pe deasupra :)) doar sunt in formare.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;Noapte buna :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6258707307816878793?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6258707307816878793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6258707307816878793' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6258707307816878793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6258707307816878793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/05/raised-normally.html' title='Raised normally'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3811407094340007495</id><published>2009-04-25T02:12:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T02:42:21.323+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Balance is gone'/><title type='text'>The Man From Earth</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Lucruri facute de om - extraordinar de complexe, avansate, calculate, scrise in poezie, proza etc, rasturnate, puse drept, pe orizontala, pe verticala, suspendate, ingropate, care zboara, care zboara pe pamant, care zboara in apa... nimic. Nu conteaza nimic. Nu avem nimic. Alergam zilnic in stanga si-n dreapta pentru a ne asigura o existenta - cei tineri pentru un viitor luminos, cei mai putin tineri pentru un prezent stabil. Multi dintre noi ne consideram speciali, profunzi, diversi de restul lumii si cu toate astea facem exact aceleasi lucruri ca restul lumii, avem multe din valorile acestora, ne limitam sa gandim doar cat trebuie, sa ne fie bine dar prin metode usoare, sa adunam cat mai multe amintiri, cat mai multe obiecte pe care le consideram de valoare. Cum spunea un vers dintr-o melodie "Vama veche" - &lt;i&gt;Fericirea este imposibil de ajuns, dar in cautarea ei merita sa alergam toata viata. &lt;/i&gt;Cum se spune, impactul te omoara, nu cazatura.&lt;br /&gt;Lucruri obtinute usor ... viitor in care sa avem de toate, si de cele care nu ne trebuiesc. Unii se plang ca trebuie sa depuna efort pentru a avea in viata, pe altii nu-i deranjeaza. Mereu am spus ca as fi dispusa sa fac eforturi mari pentru a obtine ce vreau, avand in vedere ca ma consider una ce nu a facut eforturi in viata. Dar... cred ca eforturile mele sunt acelea de a iesi la lumina, de a vedea adevarul, de a patrunde in lucruri. Vreau ... sa stiu ... mai mult ... dar ... nu inteleg de ce lumea imi este impotriva. De ce cand eu deschid gura in momente de contemplatie toti se sperie de mine sau prefera sa nu discute. Parca am avut momente in care m-am simtit si marginalizata din cauza aceasta; parca m-a si batut gandul sa gandesc simplu dar parca, doar PARCA asta faceam de la inceput. Aceasta chestiune ridica o intrebare foarte interesanta: de ce cand ni se prezinta un fapt foarte simplu nu il putem accepta? Ma refer si la mine in acest caz. Desigur, totul este posibil, accept asta dar frica de a "lua teapa"(n-am gasit alta expresie mai descriptiva) este destul de puternica incat sa ma faca sa nu iau in considerare unele din aceste cazuri cand imi sunt prezentate, iar pe altele, ma hazardez sa spun ca majoritatea, le iau in considerare chiar daca nu arat acest lucru. Sec, nu? Unde ne duce materialismul ... fiindca, desigur, camuflarea unui gand, a unei impresii de acest gen, deriva din materialismul din noi: sa nu vada lumea ca mai si gandim mai departe decat stiu ei ca dupaia ne considera ciudati si nah avem o reputatie de aparat. Desi nu ma regasesc in acest grup (ma cert des cu persoane pe teme de gen)  prefer sa ma includ deoarece consider ca suntem toti oameni si toti facem la fel intr-un anumit moment, nu? Poate am facut-o si eu, fara sa-mi dau seama macar.&lt;br /&gt;Lucruri simple ... materialism ... simplicitatea mintii ... uitarea care ar trebui sa ne sperie in schimb o vedem ca pe un scut impotriva amintirilor dureroase. Am uitat sa fim optimisti intr-un fel realist, am uitat sa ne uitam spre stele pentru a vedea ce pozitie ocupam in Univers, am uitat de marii filozofi care ne-au avertizat probabil in privinta evolutiei societatii noastre si care ne-au dat explicatii bazate pe o gandire sanatoasa a cum e lumea in jurul nostru si pe ce principii se bazeaza.&lt;br /&gt;Ce tristete... dar intelege cineva ce vreau sa spun prin articolul asta? Nu-l consider timp pierdut indiferent de raspuns, dar as fi curioasa ... fiindca omul e curios ... dar nu mereu in ce trebuie.&lt;br /&gt;Traim fizic si avem impresia ca traim si sentimental. E doar o impresie, un amalgam de sentimente aparent puternice deoarece multi dintre noi nu mai stiu masura puterii, in doua cuvinte - doar iluzii. Ne complacem intr-o viata in care uitam sa ne intrebam "dar eu maine de ce ma trezesc de dimineata?" si sa incercam sa dam un raspuns serios, nu unul in gen "trebuie sa ma duc la scoala", "trebuie sa merg la lucru", "trebuie sa fac X chestie"... fiecare din aceste raspunsuri ridica o alta succesiune de intrebari "ce castigi tu personal cu asta? averi, intelepciune? de ce faci toate aceste lucruri zilnice? care le e scopul? cu te alegi cand mori?"&lt;br /&gt;De ce gandesc asa? Fiindca de aici incepe intelegerea lumii in care traiesti dar mai presus de toate, asa ajungi sa te intelegi personal, de dinauntru afara, nu invers. Intelegand care e pozitia ta in lume, ajungand sa-ti cunosti capacitatile in toate domeniile intalnite de tine pana in prezent vei reusi sa faci pace cu tine insuti, sa ajungi la un echilibru.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ma mir uneori cum de functioneaza societatea asa si nimeni nu spune nimic sau nu actioneaza cum ar trebui... inaltam valori complexe zilnic pe culmile intelepciunii, dar nu stim nimic. Nimic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3811407094340007495?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3811407094340007495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3811407094340007495' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3811407094340007495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3811407094340007495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/04/man-from-earth.html' title='The Man From Earth'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-7122968521605852706</id><published>2009-04-12T21:49:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T22:35:18.878+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soul'/><title type='text'>No</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SeJAD0N3_vI/AAAAAAAAADs/LDvh4Yy8LQs/s1600-h/DSC00483.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SeJAD0N3_vI/AAAAAAAAADs/LDvh4Yy8LQs/s320/DSC00483.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323888143805972210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;And I feared my tears would come out screaming from my eyes as I was telling Fede what I felt. But they didn't, as usual. I can't cry anymore for any serious reason, it just feels weak. I fantasise about having beside me the boy I met almost 2 months ago but who represents a breaking of my principles, I think how wonderful it would be to find my inner peace soon beeing conscious in the same time that I have to wait untill I'm 40 to achieve that and just push away any hopes because I feel desorientated and don't want to be illuded anymore. Don't really know what I'm doing, don't really see on which side I'm fighting or if I'm even fighting... don't know why I told Fede that I didn't like staying with my mom, I should have shut up on that one because I kinda' made a promiss to myself that I would suffer in silence if there were ever something to suffer about...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;Shrugging helps sometimes, it makes my had somewhat clearer... frowns twist my face in an unpleasent shape. Can't help thinking that I want to be away from my mom so badly because I can't stand her piercing voice when something goes like she doesn't want it to. I understand her frustration too, you know; she said to me the other day "always being in the middle class, never higher, never lower"... I told her "you should be glad for this"... yes... it seems that life has been to her like italian teachers are to students when giving grades: you smash your head(metaphore) to do something better that usual, but you never get the maximum reward because somebody or something doesn't feel like giving it to you. I'm so sorry, I don't want to be unthankful or ungrateful, I really don't, but a conflict between my rational side and my heart-driven side is confusing me, making me see both parts and unable to find middle-way to work things out. Yes, I'm a looser from this point of view...I loose to one of the sides usually, never get to please them both. I thought I could accept my destiny, to be at the service of others from a personal point of view, but it seems like I can't do that without protesting at some point. I don't usually protest out loud, but inside me is enough I think.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;I got it: I should stop thinking!...if I only could...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;But please, don't mind me, you couldn't understand the things I'm talking about anyway. I seemed to have found a person that understood me; now we're separated by 100 things. I still thinkg about her a lot, hope she thinks about me too, hope everything's gonna be allright..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;Jusst goes to show, we all get what we deserve&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-7122968521605852706?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/7122968521605852706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=7122968521605852706' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7122968521605852706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7122968521605852706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/04/no.html' title='No'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SeJAD0N3_vI/AAAAAAAAADs/LDvh4Yy8LQs/s72-c/DSC00483.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8917242815106491753</id><published>2009-04-05T00:37:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T00:59:21.806+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Solitudine'/><title type='text'>Noaptea</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;"&gt;La notte è arrivata di nuovo, si è estesa le ali come un velo di seta sul sempre affolato Napoli, riducendulo al silenzio per le prossime 10 ore. 10 ore su 24 di tranquillità, di purezza. Sempre affolato, Napoli ... questa frase diventa ironia durante la notte. Il Sole li fornisce energia, la Luna lo spoglia di tutti i segretti e le sporchezze del giorno. Quante chiacchere, quante bugie, quanti scontri, tutti succedono durante il giorno tra la gente che non realizza che si nasconde tra le tende di questa maschera perfetta: un mare di superficialità. Facendo la comparazione con Timisoara arrivo alla conclusione che le due città in causa non sono tanto diverse, ma c'è qualcosa che alla venerabile Napoli manca: l'animo costante. Almeno a casa mia in Romania sento sempre che la notte solo chiarisce i fatti trascorsi durante il giorno, ma a Napoli sento che durante la notte esce la vera vita alla luce della Luna, abbaiando ad essa come i cani tormentati dalla solitudine, la vita che tutti quanti provano di tenere nascosta. Gli unici momenti di sincerità della città si rivelano al buio, l'intimo buio che sa tenere i segretti nascosti al giorno. Non sto parlando di domeni considerati tabù per il giorno, come il sesso o le crimine, sto parlando di stati d'anime, tante anime tormentate dalla semplicità dei pensieri cotidiani. Capisco...benissimo...perché...anche io dopo un tempo sentivo di impazzire per il fatto che non avevo più niente a che pensare, non avevo più niente con cosa tenermi allenato il cervello. Sono scivolata in una sorta di sogno da cui non mi potevo più svegliare...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stanotte invece mi sento più libera, più spensierata... più lontana dalle catene della mente. Finalmente riposo, finalmente pace e tranquillità. Mi dispiacerebbe dire che non ce la faccio 'cchiu perché non sarebbe vero e non lo dico, infatti. Ma dico una cosa simile: non voglio più. Sì, lo so, la mia formazione qua non è completa ancora, lo sento in ogni ossa del mio corpo e lo accetto. Così imparo a controllare la mia pazienza e, spero, anche la mia pazzia. Sì, sono stati certi momenti in cui mi sentivo pratticamente persa ma penso di essere sulla strada giusta, quella del ritrovo di me stessa. Chi sono io? Nessuno. Chi voglio diventare? Ho smesso da un pò a mettermi questa domanda perché ho capito che ormai sono certe cose che da un certo momento non dipendono più di noi, o almeno di me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ci vuole 'na conclusione? Non ce l'ho. Non sodisfatti? Pecato, sarebbe meglio abituarsi perché va così adesso: le regole sono orale, non si possono scrivere da nessuna parte. Si possono solo vivere essendo incosciente di esse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;"&gt;La notte...il mio rilievo, il mio alter-ego.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;La notte, il sollievo della città per sempre affolata...di pensieri, dilleme, problematiche, superficialità e paura di vita.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bonsoir&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8917242815106491753?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8917242815106491753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8917242815106491753' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8917242815106491753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8917242815106491753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/04/noaptea.html' title='Noaptea'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-2149430418780993238</id><published>2009-04-02T22:57:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T23:04:48.777+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='italiens'/><title type='text'>Irony</title><content type='html'>We all know: italians talk a lot, debate, discuss, but never arrive to a conclusion or if they do, they don't have dangerous tendencies like standing out and putting a good idea in practice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now... this is a stupid question to ask an italian:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;- Should we talk about it or keep quiet?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...It's like asking a man who has spent the last 4 days in the desert if he's thirsty...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate to think that people have such a good impression on 'em... but here I am, watching them in their everyday life.. and thinking - "How blind can a man be untill he gets into that situation?"...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just goes to prove, nobody's perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.: this question is found in an english book for conversation ... conclusion? I'm pretty sure that it wasn't an italian to make the book, and if it was, then I think he was laughing his ass off when he saw what he had just written but decided to not change the exercise because he already knew that nobody would EVER notice the irony.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-2149430418780993238?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/2149430418780993238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=2149430418780993238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2149430418780993238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2149430418780993238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/04/irony.html' title='Irony'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-5261543227470061110</id><published>2009-02-27T17:56:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T18:33:01.530+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Parca stiam</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SagViXNxcSI/AAAAAAAAADc/2qIi5JSXFJw/s1600-h/DSC00240.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SagViXNxcSI/AAAAAAAAADc/2qIi5JSXFJw/s320/DSC00240.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307515840947646754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In fiecare zi din experienta asta pot spune ca am invatat ceva. De multe ori cuvantul "experienta" nu poate cuprinde simnificatul pe care as vrea sa il dau eu stationarii mele de 10 luni in Napoli, Italia. Mi-am dat seama de multe lucruri aici, doar stand in fata acestui calculator si citind tampenii pe Facebook si net, sau iesind cu prietenii.&lt;br /&gt;1) Nu avem nevoie decat de aer, apa si mancare (in aceasta ordine) pentru a supravietui, caci fiecare fiinta umana este capabila de autocontrol asupra mintii si corpului, ca sa nu mai zic spiritului.&lt;br /&gt;2) Toata lumea este ipocrita intr-un fel sau in altul. Dar cred ca asta o stim cu totii deja... in teorie... dar cum e sa vezi acest concept in practica zi de zi? Cati suntem care nu ne facem o prima impresie? Putini, zic eu. Nu ma consider speciala pentru ca am descoperit ipocrizia tuturor in viata de zi cu zi, dar cred ca este un pas destul de mare pentru un adolescent sa fie constient de tot ce misca in jurul sau, de limbajul trupului si de mesajul ascuns in spatele unor vorbe spuse in vant, dar doar in aparenta.&lt;br /&gt;3) Sunt capabila de a nu fi influentata. Cine ma cunoaste bine stie la ce ma refer, iar ceilalti doar cred ca stiu.&lt;br /&gt;4) Am invatat ca daca imi este frica de o anumita reactie sau situatie nu voi ajunge niciodata niciunde. Cred ca am auzit de mii de ori expresia "doar am intrebat, n-am dat cu piatra" si n-am inteles niciodata la ce se refera exact - la faptul ca tacand din gura nu se rezolva nimic si ca vorbele au o influenta foarte mare daca acestea contin substanta necesara, sentimentul adecvat situatiei.&lt;br /&gt;5) Sinceritatea... ma consideram o persoana foarte sincera, si eram destul de sincera cu persoanele din jurul meu, nu se poate plange nimeni. Dar cu mine? M-am cam ignorat din acest punct de vedere. Macar acum pot accepta cine sunt, pot gandi mai limpede ca ieri, pot aprecia lucrurile la justa lor valoare si dintr-un punct de vedere cu adevarat obiectiv. Am descoperit cat e de important sa te accepti asa cum esti, dar fara a exagera. Apropo - "oamenii se schimba" e valabil pentru un numar restrans de persoane, caci foarte putini se schimba cu adevarat.&lt;br /&gt;6) Speranta - e un concept foarte abstract. Dar cert este ca fiecare dintre noi se trezeste dimineata datorita unui ideal la care vor sa ajunga, datorita unei persoane care le este alaturi sau pur si simplu fiindca vor sa traiasca. Speranta poate ajunge sa-ti stea pe creier la un moment dat si sa devina absurda. Aici intra optimismul care permite in realitate existenta sperantei. Dar de multe ori e bine ca aceasta speranta sa fie si pierduta, fara a uita totusi latura optimista a lucrurilor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nu stiu daca pe altcineva in afara de mine intereseaza aceste lucruri, si tind sa cred ca nu, dar as vrea sa las ceva bun in lumea asta, as vrea sa raman pe lumea asta ca o amintire placuta, nu doar ca o persoana care s-a nascut, a crescut, si-a facut datoriile si a murit, ca toti ceilalti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nu va lasati sa deveniti propriul dusman, este lucrul cel mai pericuols care se poate intampla unei persoane. Si partea proasta e ca sunteti in stare sa va luati prin surprindere oricat de ageri ati fi. xD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah ironie si sarcasm... cum ar fi lumea goala fara de voi!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-5261543227470061110?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/5261543227470061110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=5261543227470061110' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5261543227470061110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5261543227470061110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/02/parca-stiam.html' title='Parca stiam'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SagViXNxcSI/AAAAAAAAADc/2qIi5JSXFJw/s72-c/DSC00240.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-4813050375463400755</id><published>2009-02-26T21:46:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T22:44:57.622+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The big return</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sono ritornata oggi a scuola dopo la settimana di scambio. Mi aspettavo ad una totale ignoranza da parte delle mie compagna, ma questo ha superato ogni limite. Io pensavo che le mie compagno pensano di me come una persona diversa dalle altre, anche una egocentrica (anche se nei ultimi 3 mesi non ho fatto altro che evitare di parlare prima di loro, ho fatto sì che non davo risposte se nessuno me lo chiedeva), ma non ho mai pensato che mi considerassero una da evitare. Insomma, in 2 ore non è possibile che tutti i fazzoletti che c'avevano sparissero così. Cioè io ho chiesto 1 fazzoletto, 1! ma certamento che tutti dicevano... "mi dispiace, non c'ho fazzoletti"... solo il ragazzo della classe, Francesco (Kekko), ha provato di darmi un fazzoletto, ma veramento li aveva finiti. Comunque, quando parto da qua, voglio dire a tutte quelle che si sentiranno che hanno avuto un attengiamento schifoso verso di me.&lt;br /&gt;Giù con le tamarre, spero di non dover sopportare molte figure di mer*a nella mia vita! xD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-4813050375463400755?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/4813050375463400755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=4813050375463400755' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4813050375463400755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4813050375463400755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/02/big-return.html' title='The big return'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-1568538925309765235</id><published>2009-02-14T16:21:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T02:38:27.862+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Paradox</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;Am ajuns in aceasta familie gazda din greseala, cred, si totusi ma gandesc ca ori destinul ori atenta selectionare a familiei de catre responsabilii AFS o fi avut vreo influenta. Cine stie...eu sigur nu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;Oricum, ajunsa aici am incercat sa ma integrez in societate si eu, ca tot omul, si dupa vreo luna de incercari de socializare cu colegii mei de clasa la un nivel mai inalt de cel superficial, mi-am dat seama ca anul meu scolar se va desfasura stand intr-o banca si vorbind foarte rar in timpul orelor, facand nimic in practica, dar in teorie facand atitea! In fine, trecem si peste asta si ajungem la familia care ma gazduieste. Nu este o familie adevarata din punctul meu de vedere deoarece, din pacate, in afara de mama, Antonella este si vaduva, deci Lorenza si Salvatore sunt orfani de tata. Dar in plus de asta, Salvatore este plecat in Statele Unite cu AFS-ul, deci in casa raman Lorenza si Antonella. Ok, ne putem obisnui, in fond eu am locuit mereu cu persoane putine in casa, maxim 3 pt a ma exprima in termeni exacti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;Am inceput analiza psihologica a subiectilor casei, dar aceasta analiza nu m-a dus foarte departe decat dupa Craciun cand, odata stabilit ritmul meu mental si odata ce reusisem sa ma conving ca repaosul total in care mi-a intrat creierul nu este cauzat de prostia si tampenia cu care credeam ca am fost dotata, am inceput sa analizez cu adevarat comportamentul persoanelor cu care locuiesc. Situatia este urmatoarea: convietuiesc sub acelasi acoperis, dar ignoranta predomina atmosfera; Lolly si Anto se cearta cam de 2 ori pe zi din motive sustinute de amandoua cu argumente mai mult sau mai putin valide, ca de exemplu Lolly zice mereu ca ajuta in casa cand Anto ii reproseaza ca nu face nimic; eu tind sa fiu de acord cu Anto avand in vedere ca Lolly nu face intr-adevar nimic in casa... sau daca face, nu face pana la capat si/sau de buna calitate (k-lumea adica). Deci si diferentele de opinie primeaza, ca urmare a ignorantei. Mai apoi, Anto este tipul de mama delasatoare care spune zilnic fraza "lasa ca facem mai tarziu", iar de aici ies polemici intre noi doua, fiindca eu sunt de principiul "facem acum fiindca mai tarziu nu mai face nimeni nimic", si tind sa cred ca am mai multa dreptate decat ea. Dar Anto este si tipul de persoana copilaroasa, in sensul ca viata a invatat-o intr-adevar sa gandeasca bine pentru familie, dar personalitatea ei este adesea dominata de incapatanare, fixuri, iar mintea ei este adesea preocupata de lucruri marunte. Nu este o acuzatie aceasta, deoarece aceste lucruri care pe mine ma scot din sarite sunt ca un fel de autoaparare a creierului pt a nu intra in colaps din cauza stresului de zi cu zi si un mod de a se detasa de lumea din exterior. Partea buna a ei este in schimb spiritul mamesc cu care este dotata si intelegerea fata de proprii copii si de mine in situatia in care nu se intalneste cu fixurile ei.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;Lolly in schimb este persoana care e convinsa ca are mereu dreptate, ceea ce eu nu suport; are principii bazate gandirea in care are atita incredere, dar deseori aceste principii sunt eronate. Partea rea este ca nu accepta ca a gresit, ceea ce mi se pare o tampenie totala, dat fiind ca principiile mele se bazeaza pe experienta mea de viata de pana acum si pe ceea ce am cules bun de la mama mea, dar si rau. In orice caz, eu cu Lorenza ma inteleg pana la nivelul de superficialitate si nevoia de convietuire, nimic mai mult, iar cu Antonella mult mai bine, fiindca e mai usor de discutat cu ea si, spre deosebire de Lolly, e o persoana foarte sociabila.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;In concluzie, nu indraznesc sa devin emotional dependenta de aceasta "familie" deoarece in final as ajunge sa fiu tot atit de crizata ca si Lorenza sau tot atit de delasatoare ca Antonella. Dar ma bucur ca am ajuns aici, in aceasta casa, fiindca sunt atitea de invatat despre cum sa fii si cum sa nu fii in diferite situatii si sunt atitea de invatat despre cum sa ai un raport echilibrat cu copilul tau. Mai mult decat atit, am vazut in mine acel altruism, am vazut ca pot face lucruri fara sa astept ceva in schimb, aici referindu-ma la scoala...si cred ca am invatat sa fiu mai putin naiva, chiar daca pe moment imi vine sa cred ce mi se zice. Mai sunt norocoasa si din alt punct de vedere: cum sunt ele, Anto si Lorenza stiu sa dea multa iubire, chiar daca nu inteleg persoana de langa ele; pot fi dulci ambele, Anto mai mult decat Lolly, dar amandoua imi vor binele. Ma distrez cu amandoua cand se iveste ocazia si sper sa le raman ca o amintire placuta dupa ce plec si sa le lipseasca macar ceva de la mine, sa las ceva in urma mea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-1568538925309765235?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/1568538925309765235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=1568538925309765235' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1568538925309765235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/1568538925309765235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/02/paradox.html' title='Paradox'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6313245343812357690</id><published>2009-01-28T23:13:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2011-02-20T01:28:18.921+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soul'/><title type='text'>A special kind of Us</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SYDTZnyxL7I/AAAAAAAAACs/EpXEovJ5Eyg/s1600-h/78581612.J5xxLGkg.IMG_3251a.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296465598919815090" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SYDTZnyxL7I/AAAAAAAAACs/EpXEovJ5Eyg/s200/78581612.J5xxLGkg.IMG_3251a.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 134px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #996633;"&gt;And I watched my chocolate girl swaying her body across the room. Chocolate hair, chocolate skin, chocolate deep eyes... and a sweet voice that's singing one of my favourite songs. "She's not one of us" I dare to whisper to my consciense, although I know it won't listen to me... just because it has its own ways.&lt;br /&gt;"How many times have I told you not to play with people's sight?" I say to her in a soft and rather appealing voice.&lt;br /&gt;"Many times" she answers me in a small, shivering voice, soft as a petal and light as a bird's joyful song in the full summer season.&lt;br /&gt;"Then why do you still do it?" I ask her a little bit more serious this time, even if I know very well that the only thing she'll do is sweep across the floor a little more, with her light-sounded paces. Oh God, I can't even hear her steps clearly. They're like soft background music in a wild scene of fighting panters.&lt;br /&gt;"Because I know they like it, all of them... It's like romantic poetry to me...written by a poet that's never been in love - both soft and gentle and deep.. but shallow at the same time, unable to express those feelings as he has never met them. I felt pretty often that I should stop, but their awed gaspings make me chuckle... a thing that rarely happens to me." She tosses her silk hair back and forth to massage her naked back while she sighs in recent.&lt;br /&gt;"It's true, you're not much of a laugher... but you do smile an amazing smile. You should be very grateful for that." I take another sip from the black cup that holds my tea. Tea helps me think clear, it relaxes me as well. I sigh in the slightest pain... her pain - the one that wore off a long time ago anyway.&lt;br /&gt;"Yes... but what is life without laughter? What is eternity without you? How can I be grateful for something I didn't wish of? I always wanted to laugh as healty as you do... but all I get from myself is a poor chuckle. Funny, isn't it?..."&lt;br /&gt;"What...?"&lt;br /&gt;"That the reasons why we were born are unknow to us... and the reason why I'll be still young when you'll be passing away ...are cruel as a man executed slowly...painfully..."&lt;br /&gt;"Why do you speak to me of such things?... Why do you think such things? Enjoy the moment, it's the only sure thing we have." Desperation was starting to take over me as I considered what she had just said. I didn't want to remember... I didn't want to know. I just wanted her, for as long as I could...for as long as we could...&lt;br /&gt;She faced me, her eyes staring, her face blank. Even if her skin was coloured and her body was smooth-lined, she now became hard as a rock, her skin turned white, her lips curled into a crooked smile... then she approached me...&lt;br /&gt;I smiled at her - a forced smile - not willing to give in to my real feelings. I knew she couldn't do that, she changed her skin color every time she felt something new. She could pe brown as the coffee's colour when you poured milk in it, or white as paper or as snow, anyway both as sharp-edged and frosty-looking...and feeling.&lt;br /&gt;I knew then that despair had tooken over her too... I knew she wanted me forever from the way she was approaching me, with sharp, but at the same time liquid moves, possesion and desire burning in her now water-clear green eyes. Her lips uncurled, her hands reached out, her neck touched mine and, for a moment, we were the Alfa and the Omega reunited, the Beggining and the End forming an unseparable circle. She bent her head back in an abandoning kind of move... and I pressed my lips to hers, letting my flow of energy take over her body while her flow of stillness took over mine.&lt;br /&gt;We were reunited... at last....&lt;br /&gt;The burning fire of my lips melted my white chocolate beauty... leaving me with the smooth linger of her lips on mine...&lt;br /&gt;I was brought to reality by my mp3 who was playing that same song that the girl in my dreams used to mumble... the bliss chime...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6313245343812357690?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6313245343812357690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6313245343812357690' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6313245343812357690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6313245343812357690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2009/01/special-kind-of-us.html' title='A special kind of Us'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SYDTZnyxL7I/AAAAAAAAACs/EpXEovJ5Eyg/s72-c/78581612.J5xxLGkg.IMG_3251a.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6347861948763121620</id><published>2008-12-25T21:43:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T23:01:57.394+02:00</updated><title type='text'>And so this is Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Adesso che siamo arrivati di nuovo nel periodo del Natale, vorrei chiedere a quelli che legono(se legge qualcuno) di non pensare che sono matta perchè stò scrivendo sul blog nel 25 Dicembre... &lt;br /&gt;Qualcuno mi disse oggi che si terrà il 29 Dicembre libero per me, per andare a pattinare.. non sono sicura di questa promessa (infatti aveva detto "prometto che..etc") ma anche se questa promesa verrà rotta, non fa niente, sono abituata xD. &lt;br /&gt;Comunque... il mio punto di vista è il seguente: perchè per Natale e Capo d'Anno facciamo promesse che poi dimentichiamo oppure non le teniamo? Perchè è bella la tradizione oppure perchè è bello mentirci che diventeremo più buoni nel prossimo anno? Dopo la festa del 31 Dicembre comunque facciamo le stesse cose.. è un fatto generale. Non ho visto mai il Natale così commerciale come quest'anno, non ho sentito mai così forte l'assenza dello spirito di Natale. &lt;br /&gt;Forse per la maggior parte della gente con cui vivo oggi le cose che stò pensado mo sono delle sciochezze, ma invece no, questo è il Natale per me adesso, questa è la realtà secondo me.&lt;br /&gt;Sarebbe una bella cosa di vedere di nuovo il Natale non come una festa obligatoria, ma come una cosa che facciamo con piacere, ed il Capo d'Anno come un nuovo inizio, cioè ciò ch'era prima. &lt;br /&gt;Vabbè, basta fare dei complimenti alla festa di Natale del presente, auguro un Buon Natale a tutti, un Anno Nuovo pieno di sorprese(perchè non possono capitare tante cose buone a tutti, anche se le auguro con tutta l'anima) e poi... niente... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spero che avete avuto un bel Natale quest'anno e spero che il mio discorso sia almeno leggibile :P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6347861948763121620?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6347861948763121620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6347861948763121620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6347861948763121620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6347861948763121620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/12/and-so-this-is-christmas.html' title='And so this is Christmas'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-5103811690760385995</id><published>2008-11-26T23:59:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T00:20:04.519+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soul'/><title type='text'>Timpul</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SS3LPDwXYmI/AAAAAAAAACU/W3b4F8QlS4E/s1600-h/thank-you.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SS3LPDwXYmI/AAAAAAAAACU/W3b4F8QlS4E/s200/thank-you.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273094198287360610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Ho visto stassera qualcosa che non mi aspetavo vedere... avevo delle idee disordinate, ma non pensavo che una frase così semplice me la poteva ordinare in una fretta così grande...&lt;br /&gt;"..penso come passa in fretta il tempo". E' come qualcuno mi aveva letto i pensieri.&lt;br /&gt;Stavo sul balcone 20 minuti fa... ho odorato l'aria fresca della sera, come ogni sera, ma l'odore era diverso..non sentivo più l'odore freddo e solitario dell'inverno, invece sentivo un odore sporcato, ma non capisco perché. Forse perché anche io ho cambiato atteggiamento, ma di più perché questa sera non è una sera banale, questa sera io scrivo da tutto il cuore sul blog, vorrei scrivere milliaia di pagine con i miei pensieri nella speranza che qualcuno le vedesse e se ne acorse che Io sto qua, sognando quando non ci stanno altre cose più importante da fare, quando sento che sono da sola anche se ci sta un sacco di gente intorno a me... Forse perché, come mi ha detto un "amico" l'altra sera, devo pensare diverso, ma devo sentirmi di pensare diverso. Adesso ci stò, adesso sento che si può fare, anche se no immediatamente, ma si può fare. &lt;br /&gt;Ti ringrazio, Pensiero Nero, per avermi disturbato tanto tempo. Ho avuto bisogno di quasi 3 mesi per rendermi conto verramente che la vita non è tutta rose ma non è ne anche nera come il ciello primo della tempesta. La vita semplicemente è, e se noi non possiamo fare qualcosa di bello con lei, allora chi può farlo? Io vorrei assai trasmettere questo pensiero sublimo agli altri, ma purtroppo non c'è nessuno ad ascoltarmi, forse perché io penso un pò più nel fondo delle cose, mi piace sapere che c'è dentro, e anche se ci provo tantissimo e scopro tante cose nascoste fin'ora, non riesco mai a trovare veramente una constanza alla vita ed alle cose che l'accompagnano. Forse con questo io assomiglio la vita...perchè non siamo constante in nessuna cosa e colpiamo all'improviso. &lt;br /&gt;Grazie cara per essere con me, queste parole sono nella tua onore, e credo ce il tuo scopo nel'esistenza umana è di farci svegliare, di farci avanzare sulla scala della spirtualità e maturità dell'anima.&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-5103811690760385995?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/5103811690760385995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=5103811690760385995' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5103811690760385995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/5103811690760385995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/11/timpul.html' title='Timpul'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SS3LPDwXYmI/AAAAAAAAACU/W3b4F8QlS4E/s72-c/thank-you.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-7638464287996437600</id><published>2008-11-07T23:52:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T23:56:42.949+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soul'/><title type='text'>I remember you</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SRS47AskofI/AAAAAAAAACM/wwV2ujAIKA8/s1600-h/462772122_6f4a8037c2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 291px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SRS47AskofI/AAAAAAAAACM/wwV2ujAIKA8/s320/462772122_6f4a8037c2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266037188241695218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CSALVAT%7E1%5CIMPOST%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;14&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:595.3pt 841.9pt; 	margin:70.85pt 2.0cm 2.0cm 2.0cm; 	mso-header-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Tabella normale"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0cm; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 153, 51);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Cat ai crescut. Doamne! Cat am pierdut… ce am pierdut… acesti 2 ani in care te-ai maturizat pastrandu-ma in inima ca pe un strain, ca pe o persoane care nu trebuie neaparat bagata in seama, doar cand ne gandim cat rau imaginar ne-a facut. Si pana la urma… ce ti-am facut eu vreodata? Am decis eu in locul altora? Am tinut eu inchis pe cineva in vreo carcera si acum nu-mi mai amintesc? Ufa… nu e drept. Oricum, sper ca peste vreo 2 ani sa-ti dorest sa ma vezi asa cum mi-am dorit eu in ultimii 2 sa te vad, fara rost insa, fiindca daca te vedeam, mai rau faceam. Cine stie daca ma scuipai in fata, ma priveai cu dispret sau nici macar nu ma bagai in seama. Suportam oricare dintre variante, doar ca nu mi-ar fi venit sa cred, sau n-as fi vrut sa accept.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 153, 51);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Ca mai aveam cate ceva in ochi cand vedeam cate o poza cu tine, asta e altceva, ceva ce tine de trecut, dar ca acum am ceva pe suflet cand vad cate o poza cu tine, cand stiu ca am vorbit cu tine, dar in van, fiindca si acel dialog l-am avut cu rugaminti. Mie imi trebuie sinceritate, nu rugaminti. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 153, 51);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Dumnezeu stie ce a fost mai bine de facut, ma bazez ca tot El ii va da prilejul micutei mele sa se intoarca la mine… sincer…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 153, 51);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;In fine, concluzand o altra minunata polemica despre sentimente fara rost, sunt pregatita sa deca seara incheiata, trecutul aruncat intr-un colt pana cand va fi momentul sa-l iau la rost si sa-i peticesc gaurile, iar gandurile… ei bine, gandurile le cititi voi!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-7638464287996437600?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/7638464287996437600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=7638464287996437600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7638464287996437600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/7638464287996437600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-remember-you.html' title='I remember you'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SRS47AskofI/AAAAAAAAACM/wwV2ujAIKA8/s72-c/462772122_6f4a8037c2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3054471800616602080</id><published>2008-10-30T01:34:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2010-08-25T03:00:03.413+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soul'/><title type='text'>Anywayz</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQj411tTsFI/AAAAAAAAAB8/Q_z_iorOlwg/s1600-h/WH2699%7EPeace-in-Playing-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 311px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQj411tTsFI/AAAAAAAAAB8/Q_z_iorOlwg/s320/WH2699%7EPeace-in-Playing-Posters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262729768416292946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Have you ever wondered why blue eyes cannot be forgotten?...&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;why summer loves are short, too short at least 4 my taste and why the taste of the first kiss can never be mistaken with the one of other kisses? At least this goes for us suckers..ups, girls that have some sensibility left&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(sorry, ma' bad). I feel more alive writing on this blog, just spilling out my thoughts, my worries, in 3 different languages, hopping that someone may actually understand what I want to say and actually come up with a solution... at least an idea of a solution, than I do in my real life. I just float by things without direction, just to see people enjoying pathetic little lives, without showing their souls in public. We get easily used to wearing a mask... that's not even necessary sometimes...&lt;br /&gt;I'm changing... and it doesn't go unnoticed. I can feel it in every cell, in every drop of my blood, in every corner of my mind, in every damn room of my heart! Fuck it, I can't even think straight nowadays... Without further complaints, I would like to propose a toast to Straight Thinking, that's gotten me this far! And so God help me, will get me going always further&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, even if at the moment it seems to have lost itself somewhere along the road&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Like this famous song says: maybe time can fill the empty heart inside.&lt;br /&gt;Most people think that a heart remains empty because of a sad love story, but a heart is always lonely when you start everything from scratch. A soul-mate to find maybe? No... soul-mates are illusions. A simple friendship that starts from nothing can always fill an empty spot.&lt;br /&gt;I think I've said enough... Good-bye for now, au revoir, la revedere, arrivederci, sayonara etc... :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3054471800616602080?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3054471800616602080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3054471800616602080' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3054471800616602080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3054471800616602080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/10/anywayz.html' title='Anywayz'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQj411tTsFI/AAAAAAAAAB8/Q_z_iorOlwg/s72-c/WH2699%7EPeace-in-Playing-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-4287708703349901044</id><published>2008-10-28T00:30:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T00:39:52.158+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><title type='text'>5 :D</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;Le 5 condizioni x l'uomo perfetto:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;1.Un uomo dev'essere forte, un leader, deve avere lo scharm e la charisma.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;2.Un uomo deve sapere cucinare ed deve aiutare la donna in casa con le cose da fare.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;3.Un uomo dev'essere gentile, sensibile, x conquistare l'anima della donna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;4.Un uomo dev'essere buono in letto, sapere come soddisfare la donna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;5.Questi 4 uomini non si devono conoscere tra di loro.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;Cele 5 conditii pt. un barbat perfect:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;1.Barbatul trebuie sa fie puternic, un lider, trebe sa aiba sarm si carisma.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;2.Barbatul trebuie sa stie sa gateasca, trebuie sa'si ajute partenera la treburile gospodaresti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;3.Barbatul trebuie sa fie sensibil, galant, pentru a cuceri sufletul alesei.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;4.Barbatul trebuie sa fie bun la pat, pentru a satisface partenera.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;5.Acesti 4 barbati nu trebuie sa se cunoasca intre ei.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;The 5 rules for the perfect man:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;1.The man must be strong, a leader, he has to have charm and charisma.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;2.The man has to know how to cook and has to help his partner with the daily chors.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;3.The man must be sensitive, gentle, as to conquer the soul of the loved one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;4.The man has to have good performances in bed so that he may offer satisfaction to his partner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;5.These 5 men must not know about eachother.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-4287708703349901044?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/4287708703349901044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=4287708703349901044' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4287708703349901044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/4287708703349901044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/10/le-5-condizioni-x-luomo-perfetto-1.html' title='5 :D'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-6267872087161876680</id><published>2008-10-26T03:07:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T03:07:00.838+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Solitudine'/><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Chiar as vrea sa stiu ce e in mintea mea, parca nu mai rationeaza, parca refuza sa ma accepte, parca ma implora sa-i dau o pauza, si desigur ca eu o refuz mereu, fiindca nu stiu exact cum se face ca de fiecare data cand spun ca nu mai pot, pot mai mult, gasesc noi resurse de a o lua de la un alt si un alt capat, mereu reusesc sa inchid ce nu'mi convine intr-un colt al sufletului de unde ii este imposibil sa iasa. Cred ca ma lamentez prea mult, sincer, cred ca ce simt eu nu e important, dar totusi daca nu e atit de important, atunci de ce ma simt mereu vulnerabila? Sunt ca o pasare de prada, mereu gata sa atac pe cineva in preajma caruia ma simt amenintata. Deja nu mai disting prieten de prada, floare de albina, bine de rau, disting doar lumina de la capatul tunelului care se apropie cu pasi repezi, sau cel putin astfel imi place sa cred, fiindca asta ma tine in viata. Pentru mine, sa stiu ca personalitatea la care am lucrat atit se clatina ma face sa ma simt ca un castel fara baza, ca matematica fara plus si minus. Oricum, sper ca in final imi voi reveni, si ca'mi voi da seama din ce exact mi'am revenit :P fiindca nu sunt sigura inca in ce fel de stare am cazut. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Zilnic ma vad constransa sa port un soi de masca de care nu am mai auzit pana acum, pe care nu am mai purtat-o pana acum. Acum imi dau seama ca am fost ferita de ea. Mi-e greu sa ma arat, dar incet-incet reusesc. Sper sa aiba rabdare cu mine cine simte ca ma vrea aproape :P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-6267872087161876680?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/6267872087161876680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=6267872087161876680' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6267872087161876680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/6267872087161876680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/10/blog-post.html' title='...'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-8708430533933690096</id><published>2008-10-25T23:48:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T23:55:54.986+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Solitudine'/><title type='text'>La Paura</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;Tutti abbiamo paura di metterci in discussione... perché? Perché abbiamo paura di rimanere da soli? Perché preferiamo non pensare troppo alle cose che danno fastidio di solito?&lt;br /&gt;Allora io mi metto sempre in discussione ma non sono quasi mai da sola. Almeno questo è l'impressione che do. E' vero, sono da sola in questo mondo perché mettersi in discussione significa anche perdere delle persone che ci stanno intorno. Quando decido di dire la verità in faccia, rischio anche essere esclusa, separata, ma solo così penso che posso trovare delle persone in cui fidarmi. E' difficile trovare persone così, bune da fidare, ma comunque esistono.&lt;br /&gt;Vorrei essere in un buon giorno un lider, una persona che può guidare degli altri alla luce, almeno alla luce che io considero come buona e vera. Verra anche questo momento, almeno spero.&lt;br /&gt;Non scrivo delle polemiche , solo condivido le mie oppinioni. Spero che sia qualcuno che sia d'accordo... se no, allora sembra che sono davvero... unica :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-8708430533933690096?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/8708430533933690096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=8708430533933690096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8708430533933690096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/8708430533933690096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/10/la-paura.html' title='La Paura'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-3179369819515329574</id><published>2008-10-24T22:39:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T23:05:42.108+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='AFS'/><title type='text'>Incontri</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Lo sai... quando senti che hai incontrato tutto il mondo in una stanza... vabbè, così mi sono sentita quando sono entrata in una stanza di 29 ragazzi di 24 paesi differenti. A volte è meglio non pensare alle differenze, ma questo è impossibile quando ricordi che tutti siamo diversi.&lt;br /&gt;Questa cosa che ho descritto sopra rapresenta l'incontro tra me e tutti i ragazzi stranieri che sono venuti a Napoli e in campagna per studiare qua, per vivere qua e per fare delle sciochezze qua, invece di a casa loro. Se credi che sai chi sei, allora devi pensare bene a questa cosa quando arrivi in un posto dove niente è più famigliario, dove i tuoi punti di rifferimento spariscono, i tuoi amici non sono più vicino a te a consolarti quando piangi, a ridere con te quando sei felice, a picchiarti quando sbagli; arrivi in un posto dove devi essere sempre tu, dove devi fare tutto da solo e dove tutti i pensiere diventano tuoi.&lt;br /&gt;Almeno per me è così... non dico, anche nel mio paese stavo sicura di chi sono, anche qua sono sicura, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQIqbQMxw8I/AAAAAAAAABA/75phSP1aXLE/s1600-h/light-dark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQIqbQMxw8I/AAAAAAAAABA/75phSP1aXLE/s320/light-dark.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260813962415555522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;ma la unica differenza è che qua nessuno non mi può cappire benissimo quando ho dei dubbi e&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;nessuno non mi può dare l'aiuto di qualle ho bisogno.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Perché ho scritto queste cose? Per sottolineare il fatto che in questo tipo d'esperienza Tu devi essere il tuo miglior amico, il tuo miglior compagno di tutto.&lt;br /&gt;In questa esperienza credo che ho incontrato la mia anima di parecchie volte è gli ho chiesto: "Ma scus', sei pazza? Cosa ti sta succedendo?".. e lei mi ha risposta "Aspetta un attimo".. aspettando un attimo, capivo sempre. Allora quando la vostra anima si comporta stranno, aspettate un attimo, riflettete e vedrete che tutto si risolvera.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-3179369819515329574?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/3179369819515329574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=3179369819515329574' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3179369819515329574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/3179369819515329574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/10/incontri.html' title='Incontri'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQIqbQMxw8I/AAAAAAAAABA/75phSP1aXLE/s72-c/light-dark.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-2909627832354482091</id><published>2008-10-19T20:13:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T23:29:58.505+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Avere bisogno</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;And wonce again Nostalgy has left it's mark on my soul... I can't even think about the reasons why I let it into my heart. Maybe because of the need to be treasured in the way that I consider right, maybe because some feelings that are indiscribable in words can only be understood from a single glance in the eyes of the loved-one... just maybe because...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't tell you how much I need the presence of someone in my love live. Going to bed with no one in your mind is the worst thing that a woman can feel...and a man...but it depends. Some of us are used to solitude because we've had plenty of it, and some of us are just tired of having plenty of solitude. It's said that when you're lonely from a psichical point of view, it's best to transform you're energy into pleasureful activities, but no activity, as pleasent as it can be, can substitute the power of the feeling of plenitude...&lt;br /&gt;Anyway... some day I will find what is destined for me to find, and if I don't, I'll most certainly know it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-2909627832354482091?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/2909627832354482091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=2909627832354482091' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2909627832354482091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/2909627832354482091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/10/avere-bisogno.html' title='Avere bisogno'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8553902522740550540.post-558892499271929899</id><published>2008-10-19T18:22:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T23:29:09.796+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='inceput'/><title type='text'>So far away</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);"&gt;Intotdeauna ne uitam in spate si ne gandim: ce frumos ar fi fost daca... ei bine, si eu am aruncat o privire in trecutul meu pentru a vedea de cite ori mi'am dorit ceva si n'am realizat. Acest blog imi va da oportunitatea sa'mi vars amarul, sa-mi exprim bucuriile si sa impartasesc si celorlalti din intelepciunea ce o gasesc in fiecare zi - un fel de explicatie a zilei care tocmai se sfarseste.&lt;br /&gt;Imaginea urmatoare simbolizeaza.... noul inceput :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.stnicholaswestwoodhills.ca/history_files/page6_1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8553902522740550540-558892499271929899?l=dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/feeds/558892499271929899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8553902522740550540&amp;postID=558892499271929899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/558892499271929899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8553902522740550540/posts/default/558892499271929899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dificildecontrolar.blogspot.com/2008/10/so-far-away.html' title='So far away'/><author><name>Je Suis ♀</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14188783857920577775</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='20' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uE5c3a5t07Y/SQeXGaiVTVI/AAAAAAAAABk/PEJbDNA6TnM/S220/dd01.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
