Arrows

We fall like arrows, rocks or meteorites,
Most times, small distances not heights.

Fall in love like arrows, fast and deep
Fall in love like rocks, hard and strong
Fall in love like meteorites , with fire and passion

Fall in love fast and deep
Dreaming of it when you sleep
Took your legs with just one sweep
The angle that it hit was pretty steep

Fall in love hard and strong
With a bond that will last long
Sneaky, but hits you like a tank
There is nothing that protects your flank

Fall in love with fire and passion
Never seen anything of such fashion
Hoping it will burn forever, nothing greater,
Unless it leaves your heart with just a crater.

I am…

I am the tumor in the back of your brain

Tormenting  with nightmares I cause you pain

The modern Freddy Krueger knocking at your door

Set me free, what are you waiting for ?!?



I am that itch that you can’t scratch

That thought waiting to hatch

Not an egg but something bigger

Waiting for you to pull the trigger !!!



I am the paper cut on your finger

I don’t go away, I linger,

But exquisite not like a brute,

Point the direction and shoot !!!



I am the darkness taking over the light

You keep waiting to be saved by a knight

He doesn’t show, no matter where you check.

You can’t move with a sword at your neck !!!



I am the joker, I’m wild

Your mind and thoughts I’ve already defiled

There is no mercy to be shown.

All you do is stare blankly at your phone !!!

Lemme put your mind to ease

OK. So here’s the thing. Some of you asked me how come I don’t write anymore… or was it just something I used to do, or maybe I’ve never done it and I just copied some stuff and pasted it here. Well lemme put your mind at ease for a few seconds. I still write. I just stopped posting because nothing that I wrote so far feels…finished. I don’t want people to read something incomplete, a half story… I don’t want to be that TV show that you love and get canceled after 2 seasons…. Looking at you Revolution , Sens8 and many others we all love ..and never got an ending. I don’t want to rush it … or make it way longer than it has to be looking at you …The Mentalist , Vampire Diaries …and even Big Bang Theory…it’s already too much, Just end it. Ok. Enough rambling. I’ll eventually post something I promise 😊

Memoir (kinda)

My  Gramps

Everyone keeps telling me what a beautiful memoir I wrote about my grandmother, but what about my grandfather?

Growing up he was pretty much my only true male role model since I was raised by 3 women. When I first started writing this I wanted to do another memoir and write the happy memories I had with my grandfather, but truth be told my grandfather was a combination of good and bad and those things were what made him such a great man.

I think I’m going to start with the thing that my grandpa was widely known for, his drinking habits. I’ve seen this man crash an excavator, fall on his knees and not be able to walk, drink 2 liters of moonshine and still live, and many others. Yet these things didn’t necessarily made him a bad person, I had my first pitcher of beer when I was 5 or 6, I couldn’t even hold it in my hand and I remember a bar filled of old drunken people laugh at me because I was so weak. He smoked the most awful cigarettes in the world, they were called Carpati. I remember asking him to let me try a smoke, IT WAS AWFUL and it’s probably the thing that made me hate cigarettes. At 8 years old I moved to the city with my parents and they both smoked a pack-a-day, still to this day I was never tempted to start smoking. I guess I have to thank my grandpops for showing me how disgusting cigarettes are.

I also remember awesome moments when he would make bows and arrows and swords for me from an old wicker tree that was growing by our house. I think he made dozens of bows hundreds of arrow along with swords and whistles for me. I was pretty lonely growing up since the house where we lived was far from the main road, but I  can’t say I was ever bored.

My grandfather was always funny. It didn’t matter that he was drunk, happy , sad or disappointed he always found some way to make a joke out of the situation. I remember some of his last days, he was pretty sick…but it didn’t stop him from flirting and joking with the nurses that were taking care of him in the hospital. He was also very emotional. Every time he was drunk he would tell me how much he cared about me and how he wants only the best for me.

He passed away while I was in training camp with the national team. I can’t say I cried much at his funeral because I knew he was about to pass and I knew I will never let him die in my heart. For as long as I live I’ll always remember my grandfather and I will always talk about how he taught me to make my own “toys/weapons” , gave me my first beer, first cigarette , and told me that the rooster that’s on top of the Hungarian church in my village has to come down

Un omagiu pt Coca-Cola

Cum spuneam o sa caut si o sa postez ceva ce am scris in limba romana. Cred ca aveam cam 16 ani cand am scris asta (si spun asta pentru ca nu ii pot spune poezie)

Daca nu faci parte din secta
Imitatia-I perfecta.
Arata exact ca ea
Dar nu e iubirea mea
Are forme si e sexy…
Da problema-i ca e PEPSI!

Un raspuns…

Toata lumea ma intreaba : “Catalin, de ce nu scrii niciodata in limba romana, nu e mai usor?”

Stiu ca unii dintre voi se intreaba daca am uitat limba, iar altii spun ca sunt fitos cu aere de America si asta ar fii motivul pentru care scriu in engleza.

Meh. Poate. Poate pur si simplu e mai usor sa ma exprim in engleza. Poate prima mea poezie a fost in limba engleza (fals) , sau prima poveste a fost una pe alt continent (fals, a fost o adaptare moderna la “praslea cel voinic si merele de aur” candva in clasa a 8-a). Poate majoritatea prietenilor mei stiu limba engleza si asa impac pe toata lumea. Poate “eul liric” pe care il am in limba engleza e diferit de cel care il am in limba romana. Poate…nu am nici un motiv, poate incerc sa scriu pe foaie si cuvintele ies din creion doar in limba engleza ( la naiba, stiam eu ca trebuie sa cumpar un creion nou din Romania).

Tot ce pot sa ma gandesc cand scriu asta e ca o gramada din prietenii mei o sa incerce sa traduca asta in limba lor pe Google Translate si o sa iasa o supa de cuvinte. Ar fii ca o supa de litere, cand te joci cu ele in farfurie si incerci sa faci cuvinte. Pentru orcine nu vorbeste limba romana postarea asta conform traducerii in alta limba, a fost scrisa de un om dyslexic  (ß Word nu ma lasa sa scriu cuvantul asta in limba romana nicicum).

Ce sa zic, o sa caut acasa la parintii mei sa vad daca mai gasesc ceva caiete vechi cu poezii si povesti in limba romana, si o sa le postez..sau o sa scriu ceva nou.

O sa imi ia ceva vreme sa imi gasesc “vocea” in limba romana, dar promit sa am mai multe postari asa.

P.S: Am mintit la inceput, majoritatea oamenilor imi spun “BoBo”

Cheating The Reaper

My heart is about to go bankrupt
The CEO is somewhere in a church praying unaware
Of the condition that I am in at the moment
The doctor, the ripper and the priest all stand by my bed.
“In nomine patri et fili spiritus sancti” and I feel rain on my cheeks.
The priest sprinkles the tears of my loved one’s out of a holy flask.
Everyone watching through a tiny window how my company shatters

 

The first one to go was the visual department. Rain
On the windshield of the new Corvette the CEO bought.
It was a nice car but she never got to drive it too far,
I crashed it. Next was the kinetics department, I wanted
To speak but there was a tube going through my esophagus
Replacing my lungs. I tried to move it out of the way
But I felt like my hands were reaching through a rose bush.

 

Red stains on the porcelain white hands of the surgeon
Give power to the reaper’s scythe, ready to slice me.
But he has to wait its turn. The doctor opens me up to
Stitch my organs back together like a picture made by
An eight year old on a dirty piece of etamine in workshop.
The CEO returns to the company in an attempt to save
It from the reaper coming to collect the debt.

 

I feel nothing anymore, morphine running through my
Purple veins, that empty stomach feeling you get in a elevator.
I see a bright light for a few seconds then darkness again.
The scissors cut through my imagination as they go through
The thread that is keeping myself from spilling over the floor.
A door shuts and I start seeing the silhouette of a shadow,
She tells me between gasps of air “The surgery was a success”

you said i haven’t posted in a while, here is something to keep you busy.

https://docs.google.com/a/g.clemson.edu/file/d/0B5pym-gyLTdLSDdyOFUzbTlmV0U/edit

 

This is a short story i wrote a few months ago. I really liked it and i enjoyed writing it. 

Any feedback is welcome 

Memoir

Insomnia

 

I closed my eyes and there she was. Leaning over me. Reaching for my neck. Ready to choke me.

It’s strange because she loved me. I loved her. She raised me…I used to call her mom while calling my real mother be her actual name. I grew up with her on a farm. I remember her being a strong woman, never afraid of hard work. She had weather worn skin but her cheeks were always red, from being too much in the sun or for being too long in the cold. She taught me how to read, write and do math. I was the smartest kid in middle school because of her. She taught me manners, how to be a gentleman and in all honesty I would not be the man I am today if it weren’t for her.

It’s been four years since my grandmother left this world. “She’s in a better place” they always said. I just nodded at them while in the back of my mind I was picturing myself slapping some sense into them. I wanted my grandmother here not in a “better place.” I guess when someone close to me passes away I don’t imagine them as being on a vacation from what was their life. It’s like saying: “Oh they are not gone forever, just moved indefinitely to a retirement home in Florida. They are fine playing bridge every night with other “dead” people.”

I was not even there for the funeral. I was where I am now, thousands of miles away.  I guess it must have been the guilt of not being there that made me imagine her coming to kill me. The fact that I didn’t say a proper goodbye. She didn’t speak much last time I saw her. I didn’t even get  to tell her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me and how thankful I was that I had her in my life.  The last words I remember from her were: “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” She didn’t cry…at least on the outside.

The last time I got to see her was the summer before I started college. But I know she wouldn’t want me to remember her like that.  I know this because she told me so. She didn’t even want me to see her. The cheeks that were once red, the glowing skin, it was gone. She was pale. Leukemia got the best of her. She looked like a zombie from a horror movie. She was like a black and white rainbow. I know she used to smile and bake the best cookies, but now every part of her body was swollen and had the wrong color. I didn’t really want to accept it. I thought she would get better. I wanted her to be there with me forever. She had plans of seeing me married, holding my children…

She’s in a better place now…right?!?

Good Morning Workouts

 

Screams coming from the background,

All I can hear is the swoosh of the air

in my ear drum. Piercing like a shriek

the squeaking sound on my sneakers

on the freshly polished hardwood.

They must have used some scented wax,

vanilla, pinewood, strawberry short cake,

 the floor smelled like icing on a cake –

“ I couldn’t hear you, what were you saying?”

Like a nazy he puts his hand up in the air

and waves at me yelling “WAKE UP!”

“Faster! Faster ! More! More!”

So I ran – my muscles burned and my

veins started pumping battery acid.

Drenched in a pool of sweat my whole body

 throbs like an inflamed tooth that has

to come out – I don’t stop. I try to

 keep a steady pace and finally

I burst, thrusting through space

Giving it all in the last minute.

When all is done I’m a zombie

Walking like a 2 legged dog I drag

myself out trying to escape the delicious

smell. This is how Hansel and Gretel must have

felt.  As stumble holding on to the wall,  

through the door I search for an oasis –

There it is waiting for me, the water cooler.

I look back – once again until tomorrow

I am safe. I hear jokes and laughter, no more screams

“Good thing morning conditioning is over. “