Obsesie

Unedited story preview. Steal it and be sued!


The blonde man angrily grabbed Frank’s neck.
“ Redemption!”, he hissed. “You were praying for redemption. You little piggy, you thought we couldn’t actually hear you? We hear everything you human scum are thinking. Hasn’t it occurred to you that we might be gods?”
The god neared his thick lips to Frank’s, who noticed his breath was hot and somewhat foul. He sniffed the painter’s face and than spat on his chin. Grabbing a bottle of wine from his damaged leather jacket, the immortal let go of Frank. Catching his breath, the human bravely yelled:
“ Yet you were once human yourselves. Is there any place for contempt among kin?”
“ What might you know on who’s human and who’s not, worm? You sunk lower than the rats I used to eat for breakfast back in my good days. Your kind has no right to speak. And I will personally make sure that you, yourself will not be entitled to this particular right for the rest of the bleeding eternity!”
Frank thought that the ability to use complicated phrases was rather unexpected from such an apparition. In fact, it sounded somewhat ridiculous spoken with the god’s guttural, hissed voice. The painter couldn’t help to wonder if the powerful creature in front of him had once been a heavy drinker and smoker. Noticing the patched leather jacket, another question rose in his mind: was the immortal so…young?
“You are really pissing me off now. What part from I can hear your thoughts haven’t you understood? Assumptions, assumptions. Is that how hive reasoning works? What the hell did you expect? A sword? A halo? White doves? A golden helmet with fucking wings on it? Oh, of course. A pompous 17th century attire. I take it you find my leather jacket unappealing? Stole it from a dead biker back in 1986. His brains were splattered all around the highway, but this piece of leather is still in great shape, isn’t it? Lay down your soul to the gods rock’n’roll! “
Frank opened his mouth to reply to the sarcastic immortal. He had nothing to lose. The god was quicker and grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him in the air.
“I forgot. Of course I drink, you boot licking groundhog! Are you blind? I also happen to smoke bad cigarettes. Like my pretty teeth?” he grinned, “ And perhaps you assume that having God of Disfigurement written on your forehead makes it impossible to copulate with hot virgins. Say, you don’t have a daughter, do you? ”, he muttered, jamming Frank into the wall.
“Let there be light!”, laughed the immortal reaching for the light switch. “Good, now I’ll be able to take a better look at your entrails.”
His features were certainly not as Frank had expected them to be. He was the least dark he could be and his figure still bore childish traits. The god had no wrinkles, except the ones surrounding his trickster smile. Curly, dirty, blonde hair was flowing down his not very broad shoulders. Beneath his leather jacket, ragged clothes were covering a thin, yet muscular body. The immortal’s disfigurement was less gruesome than his attitude. He had a marble eye and a burnt underneath, which followed his delicate nose, leaving him without a part of his right nostril, and continued to his thick lips. His mouth was probably the most striking in his physiognomy, sensual but somewhat irregular. The good eye was of a dark brown and both his eyebrows were unusually thin.

Molifte?

Inainte sa ma culc, stau si ma intreb: Ce dracu sunt alea moliftele sfantului vasile? Google nu vrea sa ma ajute deloc. Iar eu cred ca stiu mai multe despre Asiro- Babilonieni decat despre riturile ortodoxe. Ia, Ia Pazuzu!

Tramvai

Imi aprind o tigara. Inchid ochii. Aud ploaia. Miroase a jeg, a caine ud. Se pare ca sunt in tramvai. Refuz sa privesc indelung la chiorul care canta la vioara. Sterg geamul cu maneca de la pulloverul rosu si observ ca mai am cateva statii pana la Piata Progresului. Mi-e frig. Ma consolez cu gandul la supa de rosii pe care am s-o beau calda, din cana mea de plastic. Va trebui sa cobor cu o statie inainte pentru a ma opri la magazin. Oare am haine de schimb? Berea bauta in Sovata mi-a cam pus capac. Cred ca si de la aia mi-e atat de rece. S-au urcat niste tigani. Un ea si o el. Gagica are taieturi pe mana si un tatuaj. La fel ca si mine. Ma intreb cum dracu eu sunt in pullover si parpalac, iar ea in maieu. E stirba.
Tramvaiul opreste. Ma reped prin ploaie spre geamul chioscului. Cer supa, niste icre si un pate Antrefrig. Merg cu pasi mari si repezi. Nu vreau sa fac pneumonie.
Traversez cu atentie, ca de obicei. Ajung in fata usii. Incerc sa o deschid. Se pare ca cineva mi-a facut o farsa. Usa e sudata. Toate geamurile sunt sparte. Acolo nu sta nimeni. Ma asez pe asfaltul ud si incep sa plang. Respir adanc, imi fac curaj si deschid ochii. Hanneman se uita sictirit la mine de pe usa camerei.

Dude, they want to kill the cats

La mine in bloc, iubitorii de porumbei si se pare ca si de sobolani (oricum, porumbeii sunt sobolani cu aripi si pene, asa cum zice o draga prietena din Colorado) au decis ca ar fi bine sa extermine minunatele feline pe care Copilu' si cu mine le hranim cat de des putem (mai mult ea decat mine).
Eu atat am de zis: o singura pisica daca vad moarta, in doua zile va fi covor de porumbei in rigor mortis. Imi dau cuvantul. Pentru mine va fi o placere, pentru ca oricum porumbeii sunt destul de sus in Top 100 lucruri pe care SvartKatt le detesta. Bonus: cand ma satur de priveliste, mai fac si foc de tabara din ei, si il chem pe domnul Dremora Kynmarcher cu cati bikeri poate el strange sa bem un Whiskey bun la caldurica si sa cantam Steppenwolf cat putem noi de tare. Aceeasi piesa. De la 22.00 pana la 05.00.
Si, da. Ochi pentru ochi, dinte pentru dinte. Asa am invatat eu la orele de religie cand eram mica.

C17H19NO3·H2O (autodistrugere)

Pe unii ii mananca in popo, cum zice romanu'. Acesti domni "unii" nu pot sta potoliti. Le stau in gat casutele din suburbii, copiii blonzi, golden retrieverii, vacantele cu familia si cele 12 ore la birou. Domnii le-ar putea avea pe toate astea. Daca ar vrea. Caci domnii autodistructivi "este" inteligenti in general.
Acum, problema cu tendintele autodistructive e mai cotoioasa. Intr-un fel se manifesta la 15 ani (stiu eu pe cineva care si-a scris Dead pe mana la un revelion, asa, de draci), intr-un fel la 19 (mai stiu pe cineva care a ajuns la Bagdasar cand a incercat sa studieze anatomia pe propria-i manuta) iar intr-alt fel mai incolo ( si stiu si pe cineva care se autosaboteaza in relatiile personale). Aici cotoiul este ca, daca nu te potolesti, cu cat inaintezi in varsta, cu atat mai subtile devin tendintele autodistructive. Nu te mai imbeti crita, nu mai faci sculptura in carne, nu mai dormi pe cine stie unde, dar toate actiunile tale devin un plan urias de sabotaj al propriei persoane. But enough about you, let's talk talk about me.

Avem de ales

Toti avem la un moment dat de ales. Intre bere si whiskey, Fallout sau Withcer, Memento Mori sau Candlemass, Byron sau Keats, concerte sau vacante, bluza magenta sau maieut fuchsia. Depinde de preocupari. Dar cat de adanci sunt radacinile rascrucilor noastre?
La fel ca si domnul Dremora Kynmarcher, care mi-a populat gandurile in ultimele saptamani, acum si eu am de ales. Iar alegerea mea e mai importanta decat a lui. Pentru ca eu sunt eu. Si pentru ca avatarul de Maica Tereza e demult in urma.
Asa cum i-am spus si lui DK (nu Death Knight, ci Dremora Kynmarcher, nu confundati tampenia de WOW cu capodopera de Oblivion) pentru a cunoaste un om, pentru a sti ce vrei de la el, trebuia sa te cunosti pe tine. Ori asta, fara terapie psihanalitica sau ani de asceza, e mai greu. Radacinile alegerii lui nu stiu unde sunt infipte. Nici nu ma intereseaza prea mult.
Important e ca eu stiu unde duc potecile intre care ma aflu. Una duce la o forma veche de autodistrugere, un fel de autodistrugere lenta, statuta. O boala lunga. A doua poteca, duce la un nou tip de autodistrugere. Un fel de autocombustie. Numai ca in loc de benzina, sinucigasul foloseste Jager Boom Boom. A treia poteca, care a fost tot timpul acolo, duce la liniste. La miros de somn si nopti petrecute vorbind despre Hegel si ascultand Sarcofago. Din nefericire, timpul este limitat. Nu pot face ce am zis intotdeauna ca am sa fac. Anume sa public trei nuvele revolutionare pentru literatura fantastica si dupa aia da-i frau liber la dementa, tata!
Si asta complica lucrurile. In loc sa le faca simple, ma imbarliga si mai mult. Si ma face sa uit de maseaua de minte care imi gaureste obrazul, dar si de atributiile pe care le am la servici. Psihologia Judiciara s-a dus demult pe apa sambetei.
Ieri am fost cu Copilu' si cu Herr Doktor in oras. Din vitrina magazinului ne veghea omul cu sfesnicul de pe coperta Live in Leipzig. Sa-mi fi acceptat Schizotipalul invitatia la cafea?

P.S. Cateodata trebuie sa alegem si intre KFC sau McDonalds

Me and you

I'm trouble and you're nothing but trouble.