<?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-6172812019933706067</id><updated>2012-01-17T15:40:26.418-08:00</updated><category term='good day and good luck'/><category term='bittersweet letters'/><category term='memories'/><category term='laughable'/><category term='regular days'/><category term='depressive entropy'/><category term='break me shake me'/><category term='raynsplanations'/><category term='the untold stories'/><category term='the untold storys'/><category term='my dark materials'/><category term='touch of muse'/><category term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>Raise the stake</title><subtitle type='html'>it's time to think big. but is it enough?
       i hope so cause i'm all in</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>57</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-4344648003961934142</id><published>2011-02-11T23:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-05-10T17:03:13.068-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stars</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q6NjgG7tbp8/TVY3pEo16BI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/etxWjsgFRUI/s1600/firefly_flying-10187.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q6NjgG7tbp8/TVY3pEo16BI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/etxWjsgFRUI/s320/firefly_flying-10187.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572702767676778514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The day I looked at stars wasn't anything special. I was just minding my own business, thinking about money, sex and stuff, when it happend. I was blinded for a second and everything stopped, just to start again, rejuvenated. It came as a memory of a moment in time, long ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was sitting in my bed in the middle of that first real spring day when everything ended. She has just left and I deleted her number from my phone, canceling her existence. I was not sad, but numb. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The sun coming thru the blinds was lines of burning fire, tattooing my wall. From under the covers I could see the dust lighting up and dissapearing as it flew chaotically throughout  the sun captured in my room. Everything else was quiet until a fly came out of nowhere and started to buzz around the room. I followed it with my eyes on the couch, then on the monitor. It just stood there, contemplating the surface in a way I never cared.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's when I threw the pillow at it. I wanted it moving, alive, not another petriefed object in my room. The monitor fell on the floor seemingly cracking from the noise it made. I didn't care, I was following the fly on its path when something wonderous happend. It went into the sun, immediately illuminated as it burned, as it transformed into something miraculous: a firefly. Then, after what seemed like minutes, it landed near my bed, on the table. I looked at its body, now the milky black of a normal fly and wondered where all its magic dissapeared and why is it so easy to lose it all. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I slowly took my book and in one fast, final motion, crushed the insect. It left a disgusting stain on the brown wood of the table as a testament of its existence. I had to kill it, it just didn't deserve to exist anymore as it was.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That day the stars showed me what I could be, if only I could see more, if only I tried more. I knew right then that I had to get home fast, and do what was only right. I now could see myself in my true colours. And I was ugly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-4344648003961934142?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/4344648003961934142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=4344648003961934142' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4344648003961934142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4344648003961934142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2011/02/starz.html' title='Stars'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q6NjgG7tbp8/TVY3pEo16BI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/etxWjsgFRUI/s72-c/firefly_flying-10187.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-5294291155584860928</id><published>2009-05-22T22:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T23:00:57.648-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>just a thought</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SheRFDiQPwI/AAAAAAAAAZc/QtqeSZbXsMU/s1600-h/3072821281_a8e26a704b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SheRFDiQPwI/AAAAAAAAAZc/QtqeSZbXsMU/s320/3072821281_a8e26a704b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338895399305363202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're so busy being cool that we forget to be grateful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe i am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And maybe i'm sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;!--Session data--&gt;&lt;input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;div id="refHTML"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-5294291155584860928?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/5294291155584860928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=5294291155584860928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5294291155584860928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5294291155584860928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2009/05/just-thought.html' title='just a thought'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SheRFDiQPwI/AAAAAAAAAZc/QtqeSZbXsMU/s72-c/3072821281_a8e26a704b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-6696414938509732396</id><published>2009-01-26T14:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-07-08T18:28:21.844-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='my dark materials'/><title type='text'>forbidden shadows</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R5u7DsZKYMI/AAAAAAAAAL0/X3alinhrDLQ/s1600-h/2067155662_9752bf45d1_m.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R5u7DsZKYMI/AAAAAAAAAL0/X3alinhrDLQ/s320/2067155662_9752bf45d1_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159923470213734594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Copiii mi-au pus porecle.Stiu asta pentru ca ii aud cand trec prin fata casei mele, si pentru ca, pe cand eram de varsta lor am pus si eu aceleasi porecle oamenilor ca mine.Nu le port pica.Unii imi zic "vrajitorul" altii "ucigasul-de-copii" si chiar "diavolul".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ceea ce eu stiu,iar ei inca nu, si poate nu vor afla niciodata, este motivul pentru care au nevoie sa imi zica intr-un fel sau altul.Motivul este simplu,primordial si rece.Frica.Copii nu pot trai cu frica,viata lor e doar un slalom printre frici,dar rar se intampla ca una dintre ele sa ii posede.Se debaraseaza atat de usor de ele,un nume,un act fizic cum ar fi plansul si pe urma dispare.Frica a fost invinsa pentru a nu se mai intoarce niciodata.Acuma nu mai sunt batranul necunoscut si infricosator, acum sunt vrajitorul , acum sunt ucigasul, si, desi pare contraintuitiv,acum ma pot lovi cu bulgari de zapada sau pot lasa o carpa aprinsa la usa mea.Nu mai le este frica. Dar nu ma deranjeaza si nici nu conteaza.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parintii insa conteaza,ei asculta ce le spun copii seara camd vin acasa dupa o zi de joaca, se uita pe geam din cand in cand dupa ei,iar frica lor,mai puternica si mai periculoasa ca orice frica de copil,dublata de imginatie, ii tine treji. Ei &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;stiu &lt;/span&gt;ca nu sunt vrajitor, dar &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nu stiu &lt;/span&gt;daca sunt sau nu un ucigas , un psihopat, un pedofil.Asta ii tine langa fereastra.Asta ma face sa zambesc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De aceea ranjesc, cand ma vezi tarand prin curte sacul negru cu gunoi si tu stai si te intrebi daca chiar este doar gunoi, daca nu cumva dara aia este sange de om sau niste apa murdara, si daca ar mai trebui sa iti lasi copilul afara.Si data viitoare cand vei mai privi peste gardul meu,data viitoare cand vei spiona crezand ca nu te vede nimeni,manat de frica,o sa vezi lucruri si mai infricosatoare si o sa incepi sa nu mai poti dormi.Iar timpul va trece.Copiii se vor muta la casele lor,insa eu voi ramane aici.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si cu cat vei lasa frica sa iti manance mai mult din constiinta, mai mult din imaginate, cu atat vei pierde mai mult contactul cu realitatea si in final,intr-o zi,te vei trezi si ii vei auzi pe copii punandu-ti porecle,si pe oameni urmarindu-te pe ascuns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si d-abia atunci, o sa poti zambi si tu.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-6696414938509732396?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/6696414938509732396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=6696414938509732396' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6696414938509732396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6696414938509732396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/01/forbidden-shadows.html' title='forbidden shadows'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R5u7DsZKYMI/AAAAAAAAAL0/X3alinhrDLQ/s72-c/2067155662_9752bf45d1_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-5962096634755124323</id><published>2008-11-17T10:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T12:46:36.780-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the untold stories'/><title type='text'>ordinary life</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SSKtzv-FHQI/AAAAAAAAAVs/AHlI-Nn_0IA/s1600-h/354192490_42e8c738a7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SSKtzv-FHQI/AAAAAAAAAVs/AHlI-Nn_0IA/s320/354192490_42e8c738a7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269965618538683650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sa va spun un lucru.Toate filmele de pe lume cu psihopati,criminali in serie, masacre nu te pregatesc pentru ziua in care deschizi frigiderul si gasesti o mana taiata in locul unde ar trebui sa fie doar o bucata de salam. Nu. Tot simti ca trebuie sa vomiti si tot iti tremura tot corpul oricat te-ai chinui sa te calmezi.Involuntar arunci o privire spre mainile tale sa fi sigur ca inca le mai ai.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Insa dupa un timp,devine mai usor.Cum se spune ca prima data e cel mai greu? Cam asa e si cu asta.Daca ti s-a intamplat asta de mai multe ori o sa inchizi usa frigiderului la loc si o sa iti zic ca pur si simplu nu iti mai este foame.Si nici nu ai minti. Insa adevarul este ca niciodata nu vei putea sa iti opresti senzatia de voma si gustul de fiere ce ti se va cuibari in gura venind de undeva din adancul stomacului.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nu vorbim prea mult despre ce face in timpul zilei.O intreb doar politicos cum a fost ziua ei iar ea imi spune ca "bine". asta poate fi orice si nu vreau sa stiu mai mult,sper ca s-a plimbat prin parc sau poate a mai crosetat niste sosetute pentru copii orfani. ii place sa faca asta si tot timpul imi zice ca ar trebui sa avem un copil. nu sunt prea sigur...Apoi ne concentram,poate cu un efort vizibil din partea mea, pe ceea ce ne uneste si pe ceea ce iubim unul la celalalt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Odata ce jocul nostru a inceput toate astea isi pierd din valoare. moralitatea , ce e bine si rau, nu mai are un inteles clasic in micul nostru balonas de viata,asa cum e el.Suntem suficienti unul pentru celalalt si asta e tot ce conteaza.Cand ma uit in ochii ei si imi zambeste numa pot gandi decat la un singur lucru: ea este femeia vietii mele.Apoi imi vine un al doilea gand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Femei aceasta,femeia aceasta care doarme langa mine, a omorat oameni. nu un om , nu doi. nu un unchi oribil care a violato cand era mica, nici macar cineva care a umilit-o. multi oameni, oameni care pur si simplu au enervat-o. i-au dat restul gresit,i-au taiat fata in trafic sau , cateodata au ignorat-o pe strada. faptul ca ignori pe cineva care,pana la urma, nu ai de ce sa o bagi in seama este o sentinta la moarte cateodata. nu ti se face pielea de gaina?! Gandul acesta cam sparge balonasul asta al nostru pentru mine.Un pic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iar eu o iubesc pe aceasta femeie, fac dragoste cu ea o sarut de dimineata si ii spun "draga".&lt;br /&gt;"draga, iei tu lapte azi am multa treaba si nu pot ajunge."&lt;br /&gt;"nici o problema,iubitule. eu sunt libera azi"&lt;br /&gt;"esti cea mai buna" ii zic.&lt;br /&gt;asa ca ma intreb, ce spune asta despre mine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pe ce se bazeaza pana la urma relatia noastra? eu as zice pe incredere, ii stiu secretele as putea sa o denunt oricand dar nu o fac. eu stiu asta si ea stie la fel de bine. asa ca de fapt, nu e vorba de incredere,de fapt e vorba de dragoste altfel cum as putea sa accept asta?&lt;br /&gt;Cateodata vorbesc cu colegii la munca,cei mai multi de varsta mea inca umbla din floare in floare cautandu-si jumatate.imi zic de multe ori ca sunt norocos. le spun ca sper ca si ei vor fi la fel ca mine de norocosi pana la urma. si rad. ha ha. ei vorbesc despre cum chiar le placea o tipa dar toate par sa aiba cate ceva care pur si simplu distruge orice sansa. una nu se epila inghinal si nici nu era dispusa sa o faca, alta are 2 pisici.un coleg s-a despartit de una pentru ca sforaia.SFORAIA. hey ,incearca sa vezi cum e sa traiesti cu o criminala in serie. nu sforaie totusi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si eu eram exact ca ei,si deodata nu am mai fost si acum doar ma prefac foarte bine. dar ne descurcam,am facut niste reguli si le urmam. fara ucideri in cartier, fara uciderii de copii si bineinteles, fara sa ma ucida pe mine. reguli bune de viata zic eu. cateodata imi inchipui cum o sa fim la batranete. eu o sa stau intr-un sezolong la soare pe o plaja din california si ea o sa vina incet sa imi zica ca baiatul de la bar nu i-a facut cu ochiul si ca "daca ar fi fost ea tanara...". cine ar auzi aceasta povestire ar zambi si i-ar spune curtenitor, dar sunteti inca asa de frumoasa. si ea ar zambi inapoi. iar eu as privi marea in continuare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Insa sunt realist si stiu ca probabil nu vom ajunge pe acea plaja, si nu voi privi marea.Cred ca si ea stie, mai devreme sau mai tarziu va fi prinsa sau eu voi fi urmatorul pe lista ei.E doar o chestiune de timp ca unul din aceaste lucruri sa se intample.E ciudat ca zic asta dar oare frica nu e o parte complemtare a oricarui sentiment adevarat de iubire? Frica de a pierde persoana iubita,frica de a nu mai fi destul de bun.Asa e si cu mine.Cateodata mi-e teama ca imi voi pierde capul.La propriu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ma indrept inapoi spre pat,e duminica si vreau sa mai trag un pui de somn.&lt;br /&gt;"ai uitat ceva in frigider" ii spun si o sarut pe obraz in timp ce ma culcusesc sub patura.&lt;br /&gt;"ah..scuza-ma iubi,eram prea obosita aseara sa termin. cand te vei trezi nu vei mai gasi nimic in regula?"&lt;br /&gt;"bineinteles.." sunt deja adormit , inchid ochii si vad din nou in fata ochilor mana. sangele picurand pe cutiile de lapte de pe usa...sper ca cand ma voi trezi nu va mai fi un organ uman taiat in frigider. si mai sper ca si mainile mele vor fi la locul lor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-5962096634755124323?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/5962096634755124323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=5962096634755124323' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5962096634755124323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5962096634755124323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/11/sa-va-spun-un-lucru.html' title='ordinary life'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SSKtzv-FHQI/AAAAAAAAAVs/AHlI-Nn_0IA/s72-c/354192490_42e8c738a7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-3079186640353090597</id><published>2008-11-14T10:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T04:05:10.950-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='touch of muse'/><title type='text'>women.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SSKvY_p26nI/AAAAAAAAAV0/o_ztV4RV-vI/s1600-h/2104604448_4e51ef044e_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SSKvY_p26nI/AAAAAAAAAV0/o_ztV4RV-vI/s320/2104604448_4e51ef044e_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269967357915622002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am batut la usa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi-au zis sa nu ma uit niciodata la ea, ci doar in jos.sa intreb ce am de intrebat si sa plec. trebuia sa fiu langa ea pentru asta, nu puteam intreba altfel,nu as fi stiut. trebuia sa o simt ca sa stiu. sa stiu adevarul.de aceea venisem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi-a raspuns cu o voce cristalina invitindu-ma inauntru. "stiam ca o sa vii" mi-a zis. si eu stiam ca o sa vin, mare surpriza. eram probabil prins inca de atunci dar nu o stiam, sau nu vroiam sa admit. eu. ea. prins. ce gluma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am intrat ,deschizand si inchizand dusa fara zgomot si priving tot timpul podeaua. era acoperita de un covor pufos, din acela ca si cum un animal fusese intins acolo.se plimba de colo colo prin camera dar era ca si cumzbura, pasii ei nu scoteaua nici un sunet dar ii simteam mirosul mutandu-se dintr-o parte in alta. parea nervoasa. "asa si acum, ce vrei sa iti zic? ce vrei sa stii? "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"doar...trebuie sa aud de la tine...trebuie sa imi spui. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"da..da..ce?? si uite-te la mine cand ma intrebi. d c nu te uiti la mine"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"stii ca...nu pot. nu pot pana nu voi fi imun.pana ce nu ma vei..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"termina cu prostiile.tu esti deja acolo.esti deja acolo." imi lua mainile in mainile ei si mi le stranse.imi atinse fata care inca priveau staruitor covorul alb. "priveste-ma. vreau sa iti vad ochii"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi a plecat si a inceput din nou sa se plimbe de colo colo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De fapt, era vorba de parul ei. nu de ochi, sau de buze..desi pentru mine... parul ei era absolut perfect, si era imposibil de privit de o fiinta imperfecta, si cred ca de fapt, venisem pana aici ca sa fiu transformat. iubirea te face perfect mi-ai zis batrana, si atunci am pornit incoace...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"te rog priveste-ma...ma simt atat de singura..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;stiam ca isi doreste asta, in fiecare...cuvant se simtea acea dorinta de a fi privita, iubita , atinsa...dar stia ca nu pot, si totusi ma ruga. era foarte egoist din partea ei, m-am gandit. ar fi trebuit sa ma intorc si sa plec chiar atunci, oricum nu era in stare sa imi zica. oricum nu putea sa imi zica chiar daca ar fi fost adevarat. asa era ea. totusi nu am plecat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am mai stat un pik amandoi in tacere. apoi s-a asezat langa minepe pat si m-a sarutat pe obraz. apoi m-a sarutat din nou, aproape pe buze. mi-a intors capul spre ea. aveam ochii inchisi si buzele ei erau gustoase si matasoase exact cum trebuiau sa fie...era natural. dar mi-a soptit atunci ...priveste-ma...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sunt doar un barbat. sunt slab. mai slab decat mi-as dori. asa ca am deschis ochii.a fost...a fost un moment de perfectiune. trebuie sa recunosc tot ce am vazut in secundele acelea..felulin care se uita la mine parul ei, fiecare fir atat de bien definit , atat de stralucitor..cand s-a ridicat si parul ei s-a invartit un pik ca o fantana de lumina....cred ca nu am mai simtit ceva atat de intens niciodata. niciodata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi, totul s-a innegrit si in final nu am mai vazut nimic. stateam pe covorul pufos cu ochii deschisi si nu vedeam decat negru. nu era insa asa rau, inima imi batea repede si mi se pare ca totul se intampla mai complet si mai lin in jurul meu. cred ca am auzit oameni roind in jurul meu, si poate ca si pe ea plangand. acum ii parea rau se pare. nu stiu sigur. nu cred.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i-am auzit vorbind despre mine insa, ziceau ca s-a mai intamplat asa ceva si ca as fi avut o sansa, dar nu azi. azi nu s-ar fi intamplat altfel. asa au zis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;azi tocmai se spalase pe cap....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-3079186640353090597?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/3079186640353090597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=3079186640353090597' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/3079186640353090597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/3079186640353090597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/11/women.html' title='women.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SSKvY_p26nI/AAAAAAAAAV0/o_ztV4RV-vI/s72-c/2104604448_4e51ef044e_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-1532778727507636333</id><published>2008-11-07T01:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T18:19:12.503-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the untold storys'/><title type='text'>colectionarul</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbUCDzlZ98I/AAAAAAAAABU/BgX-xQVeoVo/s1600-h/To_Composer_John_Cage_by_PedroPeralta.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbUCDzlZ98I/AAAAAAAAABU/BgX-xQVeoVo/s320/To_Composer_John_Cage_by_PedroPeralta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022923223811618754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi-a fost teama ca va pleca de langa mine. mi se mai intamplase si tot timpul suferisem. nu vroiam sa se mai repete. asa ca am decis sa o inchid intr-o cusca in camera din spatele casei. nu am avut de ales. nu vroiam sa o pierd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nu s-a impotrivit aproape deloc. dupa ce am inchis usa am crezut ca se va isteriza dar nu a facut nimic, doar a stat acolo si m-a privit cu ochii ei mari si plini de repros. probabil ca stia inca de atunci ca acesta este drumul spre eliberarea ei.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ii aduceam mancare in fiecare zi si urmaream cum ciuguleste gratioasa ce ii dadeam. speram ca intr-un fel intelege ca totul este doar o exprimare a dragostei mele pentru ea, adica ma purtam foarte frumos tot timpul cu exceptia custii,iar pana la urma nu era mare lucru pentru ca chiar de  acolo avea acces fara efort la tot ce isi dorea. sau cel putin asa speram.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;continua sa ma priveasca de fiecare data cand o vizitam fara sa spuna nimic. tacerea ei insa era ca strigat de eliberare si imi frigea sufletul. incepusem sa nu mai dorm cum trebuie din cauza mustrarilor de constiinta. incepusem sa am un vis care se repeta obsesiv. se facea ca o eliberam...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nu trecuse nici o luna de cand o tineam acolo iar totul devenise cenusiu. nu mai era cu adevarat ea pe care o iubisem inainte sa o inchid. era ca ceva impaiat poate. sau ca o fotografie ce iti naste cateva amintiri placute. mi-am dat seama ca timpul se apropia, dar vroiam sa mai astept un pic, sa pregatesc ceva special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in acea ultima zi, m-am dus devreme in oras si am cumparat mancarea care ii placea ei cel mai mult, am pus muzica la vechiul casetofon din camera si i-am explicat ca stiu ca nu mai pot sa o tina asa. m-a privit insistent in tot acest timp aprobandu-ma intelegatoare. nu ma ura. iar asta imi producea o bucurie nespusa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;intr-un final am deschis usa si am lasat-o sa iasa. a stat o clipa in acelasi loc , parca nestiind daca sa creada, apoi a iesit rpd, a sarit pe scaun dupa care pe fereastra deschisa. inainte de a iesi afara s-a intors si pentru prima data in ultima luna a scos un sunet: " miau! ". apoi a sarit afara.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;banuiam ca nu o sa o mai revad vreodata si cred ca este adevarat ce se spune. de ceea ce ti-e frica, nu scapi.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-1532778727507636333?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/1532778727507636333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=1532778727507636333' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1532778727507636333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1532778727507636333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/colectionarul.html' title='colectionarul'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbUCDzlZ98I/AAAAAAAAABU/BgX-xQVeoVo/s72-c/To_Composer_John_Cage_by_PedroPeralta.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-8941992884884452797</id><published>2008-09-22T17:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T17:59:44.868-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><title type='text'>culori</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfOx66raSfI/AAAAAAAAAY0/OavzyL_Y1d0/s1600-h/cul.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfOx66raSfI/AAAAAAAAAY0/OavzyL_Y1d0/s320/cul.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328798409851292146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(17, 17, 17);"&gt;o poveste mai veche...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Cand se trezi nu vazu in jur decat intuneric.Un intuneric laptos,gandi ea si amuzata de aceasta constructie oximoronica incepu sa rada.Totusi, rasul ei cristalin nu reusi sa distruga noaptea din jur,si nici o raza de lumina nu se facu vazuta de prin parti.Stia ca asa va fi, dar totusi mai radea.Era ceva natural pentru ea.Rasul si culorile.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Nu vroia sa se mai gandeasca din nou la modul in care ajunsese aici.Epuizase in ultimele luni de ce –urile, si cum-urile.Era timpul faptelor, si eventual al resemnarii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Dincolo de noapte, era bineinteles viata.Viata in culori.Inchise ochii si o vazu atat de clar. Oamenii mergand de colo colo, unii colorati viu, altii in culori inchise si mohorate..Zambete si rasetele lor, lumini galbuie ce palpaiau mai aprins sau mai stins.Nu exista zambet fara lumina, si raset fara o raza ce strabatea atmosfera.Totusi, multi oameni nu vedeau asta.Putea vedea si tristetile oamenilor, necazuri mici si mari ce ii apasau.Colorate ca totul in jur..O culoare speciala, un albastru mat, lucios.O culoare atat de potrivita pentru o stare ca tristetea.Era o culoare taioasa si dura.Apoi veneau o gramada de alte culori ale vietii. Si moartea. Da, moartea era o alta culoarea speciala.Transcendeta ei o frapa de fiecare data. Era ciudat cum ramanea etern acolo , si totusi..incolora.O mira de fiecare data, si incerca in minte sa o atinga cu mana. Dar culorile nu puteau fi atinse, doar simtite, vazute…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Apoi erau acele relatii, sentimentele trimise cu fiecare gand.Erau ca niste fulgere multicolore,atat de vaste erau culorile ca nu aveau nume. Mici fulgere ce se duceau peste tot, in tot orasul, tara, globul.Nu, isi zise ea, din spatiu Pamantul poate este albastru, dar pentru ca oamenii nu vad culorile ca ea, daca le-ar vedea, ar zice ca este multicolor, in continua schimbare.Fulgere se loveau de oameni si patrundeau in ei, daca exista un receptor. Asa ii placea sa le zica..receptori si&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;ne-receptori.Cei mai multi erau ne-receptori.Nu reuseau sa primeasca gandul,sentimentul, nu il vroiau, sau pur si simplu nu avea legatura cu ei.Iubiri neimplinite, prietenii false.Erau asa de variate realtiile umane…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Dar ne-receptorii aveau un rol extreme de important.Fulgerasele vesele si colorate ce ii loveau , se spargeau de ei in mii de bucati mici.Bucati gri.Acestea erau ca culorile mortii.Ramaneau acolo, formau o pojchita ce se ducea greu.Mii de ciobouri gri erau pe jos.Dar oamenii nu le vedeau, calcau pe ele , prin ele.Nici ea nu le vedea inainte, dar in ultimele luni,avusese timp de intelegerea culorilor.Griul era peste tot.Subton al vietii urbane mai ales.Aici gri-ul era la el acasa.Si din pacate isi zise ea. Desi oamenii nu vad culorile, ele ii influenteaza.Tristetea gri, melancolia..era cauza cioburilor . Ironic, cum lipsa intelegerii duce la si mai multa neintelegere. Si iar zambi.Era un sistem colorat in jurul ei. In mintea ei.Iubea sistemul.O tinea in viata , in legatura cu viata ei .Culorile.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Deschise ochii si surase.In jur era tot negru.Era oarba. Si asa avea sa fie pentru tot restul vietii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-8941992884884452797?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/8941992884884452797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=8941992884884452797' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8941992884884452797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8941992884884452797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/09/culori.html' title='culori'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfOx66raSfI/AAAAAAAAAY0/OavzyL_Y1d0/s72-c/cul.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-537034836545883356</id><published>2008-07-03T14:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-07T03:31:43.861-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='break me shake me'/><title type='text'>yes,u are.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SG30OkNXpsI/AAAAAAAAAQc/k9CRGa2UYyM/s1600-h/2629514148_d68e7068a1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SG30OkNXpsI/AAAAAAAAAQc/k9CRGa2UYyM/s320/2629514148_d68e7068a1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219096074267371202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll see you in the morning, she said.&lt;br /&gt;It was sweet and it was something i'd been longing to hear sincer forever.But it wasn't true.The moment i'll close the door, the moment i'll be out in the cold all that was left on the other side of the door would be just a memory,just a dream i'll wonder if i really dreamed or just read about it in a swapy newspaper. I knew it right now, just as i looked at her.It felt unreal, like it wasn't me the one looking, the one smiling,like it was someone else's story. And it broke my heart. I didn't wanted to leave but i had to, i always have to and i already know the future:she'll be amazed.than worried. than mad. and in the end she'll hate me.Oone day she'll say to herself that she accepted what had happend,she'll whisper to someone else "sweet dreams baby" she'll wear someone's else shirt but deep down,she'll still hate me. And i cand't even blame her. I hate myself anyway. I hate myself as i walk out of the door,start the engine and head south. I hate myself as i kick the best thing that ever happend to me out of my life because, plain and simple, i am scared.But i say i'm noble,i say i'm doing a good thing for her,that's what i say at least.What i think...well. i think i'm a fucking coward really! Why does she wants me here it's a mystery to me but i'll not be around long enough to find out.I'll walk away just like my father did when i was three. Yeah old man, u'd be proud of me. Scumbag!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Such an irony how i sweared so many times i'll never be like him and here i am.Horey!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So i turn around and head to the door, and my stomach hurts and it hurts even more when i cath a last glance of her curling under the red blanket in her t-shirt and "sleep pants" how she calls them. I realise i'll never be able to smell that special parfume she wears anymore because would just chocke me. just like im chocking now when a breez of it gets to me. I smile again. I say:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"i'll see you in the morning baby! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then i open the dorr. Outside is cold and the wind blows by my car.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-537034836545883356?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/537034836545883356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=537034836545883356' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/537034836545883356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/537034836545883356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/07/ill-see-you-in-morning-she-said.html' title='yes,u are.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SG30OkNXpsI/AAAAAAAAAQc/k9CRGa2UYyM/s72-c/2629514148_d68e7068a1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-7766185682124552698</id><published>2008-04-16T18:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T18:09:14.293-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><title type='text'>pathing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfO0MHRvSjI/AAAAAAAAAZM/hJQyzudo97E/s1600-h/pa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfO0MHRvSjI/AAAAAAAAAZM/hJQyzudo97E/s320/pa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328800904314309170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pic pic. una cate una .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;drumul ii fu neted si fin.istovi un pic pe o geana si apoi isi dadu drumul.aluneca rapid pe marginea nasului apoi deraie pe obrazul ei catifelat si se indrepta cu viteza spre buze.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gustul sarat ii aminti de felul cum se simtea,de ce si cum sa ii treaca. se strese la ochi si ridica telefonul. era timpul sa puna capat,intr-un fel sau altul.forma numarul incet,fiecare cifra parca intiparindu-se in inima cu foc lasand cicatrici. apoi telefonul incepu sa sune...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;se uita la mobil de mult timp, nu mai stai de cat de mult timp, pentru ca oricat de stupid ii parea era vorba de zile, multe zile. in somn se gandea ca va suna,iar cand era treaz il verifica periodic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;astepta. si simtea ca se va intampla. ca un copil care,culcandu-se in seara de Craciun se roaga sa vina Mosul si sa ii aduca biciclet mult dorita,stiind in acelasi timp ca Mos Craciun nu exista iar ca parintii i-au luat o masinutza de data asta, dar dorindu-si, asteptand sa gaseasca acolo acea bicicleta albastra, si sa vada mirarea de pe fata parintilor lui..mirarea si uimirea ca ceea ce i se intampla lui este real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi , telefonul se trezi la viata. stia cine este,tonul personalizat o dadea de gol. in sfarsit suna. iar totul avea sa fie bine..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-7766185682124552698?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/7766185682124552698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=7766185682124552698' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7766185682124552698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7766185682124552698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/04/pathing.html' title='pathing'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfO0MHRvSjI/AAAAAAAAAZM/hJQyzudo97E/s72-c/pa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-1781284520007534538</id><published>2008-03-12T13:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-12T14:29:50.009-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good day and good luck'/><title type='text'>racoricios.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R9hLRHaVJiI/AAAAAAAAANw/pQnUMm-mJYQ/s1600-h/2185210717_4043825bc2_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R9hLRHaVJiI/AAAAAAAAANw/pQnUMm-mJYQ/s320/2185210717_4043825bc2_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176970529081730594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ceva trebuie sa se miste in tine,pentru o fractiune de secunda,trebuie sa o iubesti.Daca nu poti,nu are rost sa mai incepi.E valabil si invers? Nu stiu sigur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; M-am dus,deci,sa vorbesc cu ea.Eram foarte hotarat,totul parea la locul lui,muzica suna ademenitor din boxe. Un moment de film,totul se misca cu incetinitorul,iar eu ma indreptam spre ea.Cand am ajuns,un editor foarte malicios a dat insa drumul miscarilor normale si m-am simtit zdruncinat.O secunda. Trage aer in piept. Ce vroiam sa zic?! Ii simteam mirosul.textura pielii.Chiar ca nu ma ajuta deloc.Apoi s-a intors spre mine.Avea acea privire de "te cunosc de undeva? ". Sunt interesant,sunt complex,sunt amuzant.Brad pitt. am inceput:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"ahh...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unde sunt toate cuvintele astea cand ai nevoie de ele?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"...buna!" am reusit intr-un final. A fost greu,avea niste gropite absolut adorabile. Oh,nici asta nu ma ajuta prea mult.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Treaba e cam asa,nici nu stiam cum arata pana sa ajung aici.Unul din prietenii mei mi-a zis " uite-te mah la aia ce bucatica buna e". am intors si eu privirea. mare greseala. Nu am apucat sa vad ce inseamna bucatica pentru ca tocmai rade si cumva,jur, ii sclipeau ochii. Sailor-moon effect sau ceva de genu. In boxe se auzea ceva un pic suparat.cred ca Arctic Monkeys.Fake tales of san francisco...na na na naaaa. "i don't want to hear you". prea tarziu pentru asta.plecasem deja. Ii stralucisera ochii ce era sa fac?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Asa ca,eram aici. Buna. Simplu.Dragutz.Perfect. Cred ca ranjeam,sau paream pierdut.Nu era nici o oglinda.Bum bum bum. Robbie canta Come Undone. Era linia ei. Asteptam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"nu". a zis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce naiba e cu linistea asta? chiar a zis asta? inca ranjeam.  aaaa. ."ce? "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"nu" a repetat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am inceput sa rad. Adica radeam de-a binele. Nu ma puteam opri daca va zic. Nu. HA HA.Am facut cale intoarsa iar dupa cativa pasi,m-am intors,inca razand, sa o mai privesc odata.&lt;br /&gt;Si atunci mi-a zambit. Dar zambetele sunt de atatea feluri,iar de nu ar fi,nici ca mi-ar mai placea asa de mult...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deci,cum continua povestea? A iubit-o sau nu a iubit-o? Nu se stie. Si chiar daca am sti,nu am spune,pentru ca atunci cand spui lucruri magice,ele devin comune.Asa ca nu uitati sa soptiti,cand descoperiti...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-1781284520007534538?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/1781284520007534538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=1781284520007534538' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1781284520007534538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1781284520007534538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/03/racoricios.html' title='racoricios.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R9hLRHaVJiI/AAAAAAAAANw/pQnUMm-mJYQ/s72-c/2185210717_4043825bc2_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-1177513835394496129</id><published>2008-02-23T17:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T10:18:56.996-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bittersweet letters'/><title type='text'>i know.i'm glad i do.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R9a-3XaVJhI/AAAAAAAAANo/dgtqZz71rQM/s1600-h/176401074_4342c6ed7a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R9a-3XaVJhI/AAAAAAAAANo/dgtqZz71rQM/s320/176401074_4342c6ed7a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176534680095499794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand ai cu adevarat pe cineva? in pat dupa un orgasm sau inainte? cand o tii de mana pe aleea unui parc? cand plangi ca si cum nu te vede nimeni la ea in brate? cand cand cand ?!&lt;br /&gt;Eu cred,ca ai pe cineva atunci ca acea persoana nu mai poate pleca de langa tine..si sa ramana aceeasi persoana. Cred ca asa sunt persoane pe care nu o sa le aiba nimeni in nici un fel(ceea ce e foarte trist) dar si ca poti pierde persoane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se poate intampla sa spui ca ai pierdut pe cineva,dar sa insemne ca ai pierdut-o din tine,iar cealalta persoana va zice ca te-a pierdut. De fapt, probabil ca v-ati pierdut.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Insa e mai bine sa pierzi pe cineva,decat sa nu ai ce pierde.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar cel mai bine e sa nu pierzi pe nimeni. If only...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-1177513835394496129?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/1177513835394496129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=1177513835394496129' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1177513835394496129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1177513835394496129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-knowim-glad-i-do.html' title='i know.i&apos;m glad i do.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R9a-3XaVJhI/AAAAAAAAANo/dgtqZz71rQM/s72-c/176401074_4342c6ed7a.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-6524722727471691303</id><published>2008-02-20T12:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T04:30:34.371-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='break me shake me'/><title type='text'>one side of a story.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7yWOM_bNxI/AAAAAAAAAMU/jg6wZxNd0Pg/s1600-h/1383113710_a0c0889c1f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7yWOM_bNxI/AAAAAAAAAMU/jg6wZxNd0Pg/s320/1383113710_a0c0889c1f.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169171643064071954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand am ridicat ochii,i-am intalnit pe ai ei.Verzi , clari,si atunci,inlacrimati.Am vrut sa imi retrag privirea pentru a nu fi nepoliticos si pentru ca am simtit ca ii invadez intimitatea si mi-a fost rusine.Este o idee ciudata,avand in vedere ca eram intr-un autobuz de transport in comun,dar atat de puternica era privirea ei si ce exprima ea in acel moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar ochii nostri au ramas blocati , privindu-ne fara sa ne spunem nimic,fara sa ne cunoastem,doi straini intr-un spatiu de calatorie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apoi am zambit.La un inceput un pic timid, apoi cu mai mult curaj,si am vrut,am vrut cu adevarat, sa pun cata caldura puteam in acel zambet,pentru ca imi doream din toata inima sa nu mai planga.Am vrut sa ii spun ca totul va fi bine,si ca eu sunt aici nu ca sa o ajut,dar ca sa o sustin si incurajez si sa o inteleg.Pentru ca asta imi da putere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nu stiu ce a inteles,dar intr-un final si-a sters lacrimile cu dosul mainii acoperite de maneca bluzei,si m-a privit un pic amuzat,parca intrebandu-se ce gandeam.Ma simteam ca si cum eram singuri in acel autobuz aglomerat, ca si cum aveam o discutie la un nivel inaccesbil nimanui altcuiva.Globul nostru de cristal.Ca si cum am fi vorbit ore in sir despre orice subiect,fara ca sa imi amintesc cuvintele ci doar sentimentele impartasite.O conversatie pura.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Atunci a inceput sa chicoteasca si am tresarit jenat dandu-mi seama ca ma holbam la ea.Intr-un loc in care oamenii evita sa se priveasca pentru mai mult de o secunda, eu depasisem orice bariera acceptabila.Speram si intr-un fel stiam ca ma intelesese,dar nu puteam fi sigur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dupa aceea am continuat sa ne privim,cateodata aruncandu-ne un ochi pe fereastra dar in tot acest timp nezicandu-ne nici un cuvant.Era ca si cum ne-ar fi fost teama sa rupem momentul de magie,clipa noastra.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intr-un final s-a ridicat ,s-a apropiat de locul unde stateam si m-a sarutat copilareste pe obraz.Apoi s-a repezit spre usa si a coborat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am ramas mult timp privind in gol,gandindu-ma care a fost oare partea ei de poveste si simtindu-ma stupid ca mi s-a parut ca am avut ,pentru acele minute scurte,o conexiune mai puternica decat cu multi din oamenii pe care ii cunosc de ani.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar poate ca chiar asa a fost...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-6524722727471691303?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/6524722727471691303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=6524722727471691303' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6524722727471691303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6524722727471691303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/02/one-side-of-story.html' title='one side of a story.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7yWOM_bNxI/AAAAAAAAAMU/jg6wZxNd0Pg/s72-c/1383113710_a0c0889c1f.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-7448174392984869775</id><published>2008-02-17T05:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T05:50:00.896-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bittersweet letters'/><title type='text'>windshield.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7g7Ws_bNwI/AAAAAAAAAMM/3PH8Na5hgAM/s1600-h/128116494_813d65ab80.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7g7Ws_bNwI/AAAAAAAAAMM/3PH8Na5hgAM/s320/128116494_813d65ab80.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167945833627989762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm stuck on moments. i see it as a recurring idea in everything i begin to write or think.&lt;br /&gt;moments. i lately started to belive that everything is about a moment. everything has been defined in a moment. we maybe see something as a dynamic process over a period of time, but in reality, what started the 'something' is a moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;think about a war. the world war II lasted for a couple of years. but the war itself started in a moment of madness ,maybe in hitler's bed when he was 20. that moment definied his actions and all we lived[well, not we but the people who lived it] is the consequence of that moment. sure, he made it happen that's another story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;think about happiness. i used to think that happiness is a momentary state. i am happy now. i'm ok tomorow, not happy. i'll be happy again. but looking at this theory from my new point of view, i understand that happiness can be a permanent or at least continuously state but it is definied by a moment. something inside was touched and changed and generated this intense feeling of happiness. all you feel afterwards is a consequence. and that's maybe the beauty of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;same with love. i know that people say(and in english is this very good construction) "i've grown to love her/him" for exemple. but it's not like one day you loved someone less, the other more and more until u hit the jackpot. everything was a forplay. a forplay for the moment when loved really emerged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;maybe it's silly. but that's what i think and i live and die by moments. and when i feel i just happend to had one,i'm really interested to feel,live and see the consequences of the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and i'm so dissapointed to see it wasted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-7448174392984869775?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/7448174392984869775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=7448174392984869775' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7448174392984869775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7448174392984869775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/02/windshield.html' title='windshield.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7g7Ws_bNwI/AAAAAAAAAMM/3PH8Na5hgAM/s72-c/128116494_813d65ab80.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-5282448458287169657</id><published>2008-02-11T15:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T15:55:23.746-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>seconds of life</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7DgGs_bNvI/AAAAAAAAAME/knU3iB_U1XE/s1600-h/273403769_fd6bf3fe5e_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7DgGs_bNvI/AAAAAAAAAME/knU3iB_U1XE/s320/273403769_fd6bf3fe5e_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165875178354980594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noi in general cautam. Nu stim tot timpul ce ,cateodata nu stim nici de ce,dar tot timpul cautam. Cand am gasit ce cautam, nu ne oprim. Cautam in continuare. Altceva. Pentru ca intodeauna lipseste ceva si pentru ca intotdeauna avem nevoie de mai mult. Suntem niste drogati.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Azi sunt satul de cautat. Sunt satul de intrebari,de raspunsuri,de fantome din trecut.Sunt satul chiar si de lucrurile bune pe care le-am gasit.Azi tot ce mi-as dori ar fi sa pot sta intins in patul meu,si sa fiu fericit acum si nu in cautarea fericirii de maine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si as mai vrea, ca asa cum stau intins si zambesc fara motiv,sa imi intorc capul si sa imi zambeasca si ea la fel. Un moment sublim de liniste comuna.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sper ca voi realiza atunci ca de fapt asta am cautat in tot acest timp.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-5282448458287169657?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/5282448458287169657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=5282448458287169657' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5282448458287169657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5282448458287169657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/02/seconds-of-life.html' title='seconds of life'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R7DgGs_bNvI/AAAAAAAAAME/knU3iB_U1XE/s72-c/273403769_fd6bf3fe5e_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-3384029199134794535</id><published>2008-02-02T18:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T18:06:15.975-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><title type='text'>fantesy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfOzacA5B7I/AAAAAAAAAZE/T7ffoa_5ag8/s1600-h/fa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfOzacA5B7I/AAAAAAAAAZE/T7ffoa_5ag8/s320/fa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328800050887329714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;bang! i wake up quickly, grab the book by my pillow ,open it randomly , and start "reading". i have no idea what waked me up, but i'm pretty sure someone entered my room to check if i'm finally done with sleeping. i look a little confused over my book and it's noone there. i stretch and decide to get off bed.As i search for my slippers i notice that i'm fully dressed, my new t-shirt looks all ravelled and my jeans are a mess. no surprise afterall, it's been like that for some time. i then go to my computer move the mouse to see the display and close my eyes for a second before i get a glance at the time,i'm always scared what will say. now, that's a surprise: it's 3:44 a.m.i've been sleepin for..i can't remember.i need sprite,bananas and a shower.i chose to take them backward, i jump under the hot water thinkin that a miracle would be great right now,but no fairy appears in my bathroom asking me what  my 3 wishes are, so i take the towel and go back to my room, picking the soda and an apple[ we're out of bananas] on my way. i put on my pj and check the watch again. 3:53. i was pretty quick now i can start learning,as i'm anyway up. but first i have to check my mail, my websites and probably some other chores. time passes quickly and i feel that once again i'll catch the sunrise,i hate it lately, it's a bad sign that i'm going to miss the rest of the sun, or at least until 4- 5 p.m,so i decided to go to sleep and learn later. it's 5 30 a.m and i'm drinking the last drops of sprite. i head to bed thinking again that i have to quit this life. it's not safe. there's too much sugar...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-3384029199134794535?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/3384029199134794535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=3384029199134794535' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/3384029199134794535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/3384029199134794535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/02/fantesy.html' title='fantesy'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/SfOzacA5B7I/AAAAAAAAAZE/T7ffoa_5ag8/s72-c/fa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-5343397283801865156</id><published>2008-01-23T17:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T17:30:47.538-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>grow up.live on.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R5fqN8ZKYLI/AAAAAAAAALs/vqxjvGV-vSw/s1600-h/0000044181_20071108171416.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R5fqN8ZKYLI/AAAAAAAAALs/vqxjvGV-vSw/s320/0000044181_20071108171416.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158849423447056562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cum sunt racit zilele astea a trebuit sa imi cumpar niste medicamente.Mi-am luat niste pliculete de Fervex si scria pe ele "pentru adulti".Pentru un moment am avut o ezitare,oare nu sunt prea puternice?! Adica..eu sunt un adult? e ciudat,nu ma simt ca un adult. pana la urma mi-am facut un ceai Fervex si astept sa ma simt mai bine. hopefully :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in alta ordine de idei, sunt foarte trist ca a murit Heath Ledger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's life , huh?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-5343397283801865156?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/5343397283801865156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=5343397283801865156' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5343397283801865156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5343397283801865156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/01/grow-uplive-on.html' title='grow up.live on.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R5fqN8ZKYLI/AAAAAAAAALs/vqxjvGV-vSw/s72-c/0000044181_20071108171416.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-9124395333859962104</id><published>2008-01-04T16:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-25T09:44:41.306-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='my dark materials'/><title type='text'>winter story.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R37e4eo4ZBI/AAAAAAAAAKo/IAiv1MTq5vk/s1600-h/2081699397_c4be3a3a8d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R37e4eo4ZBI/AAAAAAAAAKo/IAiv1MTq5vk/s320/2081699397_c4be3a3a8d.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151800085636998162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am deschis usa si m-am indreptat spre treptele verandei pentru a lua ziarul. D-abia cand m-am aplecat mi-am dat seama ca picioarele imi erau umede iar papucii acoperiti de o pulbere alba.Am ridicat ziarul si am privit cartierul cu casele si masinile lui acoperite de zapada.Aseara a nins, mi-am zis, si nici macar nu mi-am dat seama. Sunt chiar atat de batran?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imi amintesc ce mult imi placea iarna, a fost intotdeauna anotimpul meu preferat inca de cand eram copil si tata ma lua la derdelusul cel mai inalt din parc.Nu aveam voie sa ma dau singur dar tata venea cu mine intotdeauna si niciodata nu mi-a fost frica.Apoi erau colindele si cadourile si artificiile,toate acestea sunt asociate cu iarna.Si bineinteles,zapada.&lt;br /&gt;De fapt, in zapada mi-am cunoscut sotia.Tocmai venise una din acele ninsori abudente care acopera totul peste noapte si eu iesisem de dimineata impreuna cu sora mea la o bataie cu bulgari in parc,ca pe vremuri.Dupa ce sora mea a fost invinsa si sapunita pe masura a reusit sa evadeze si a luat-o la goana spre casa.Am facut un bulgare si l-am aruncat spre ea dar ,din fericire zic acum, nu si-a atins tinta. In schimb a lovit o fata care tocmai trecea pe acolo.Aceasta a fost luat-o prin surprindere, a alunecat si a cazut intr-unul din nameti, practic disparand cu totul in el.Desi mi se parea extrem de amuzant,m-am speriat un pik si am alergat la ea sa o ajut sa se ridice.Nici nu mi-am dat seama cum arata atat de plina de zapada era..Acum probabil ca ar trebui sa va zis ca ochii ei mi-au ramas pentru totdeauna in minte si am stiut ca trebuie sa o invit la o cafea de impacare.Dar,adevarul este ca buzele sunt cele ce m-au impins la aceasta miscare.Doamne,ce buze avea.Pline si rosii si le tinea, asa cum numai putine fete o fac in mod natural, putin intredeschise ca si cum se pregatea sa te sarute. Nu stiu daca avea asta in minte deoarece parea un pik suparata dar eu sigur asta aveam. De ce a acceptat ramane un mister pentru mine,dar cred ca ar fi de acord cu mine cand zic ca a fost una din deciziile bune din viata ei.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ne-am casatorit tot iarna.Deja hotarasem ca iarna e anotimpul nostru si ca ne reprezinta asa ca la finalul lui ianuarie am organizat nunta.Poate ca a fost ca in povesti sau nu stiu.PEntru mine insa, a fost un moment deosebit. Imi amintesc cum preotul rostea  "juri sa o iei pe aceasta femeie...".M-am simtit mai barbat ca niciodata atunci,m-am simtit responsabil pentru ea si m-am simtit fericit.Eram atat de fericit.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"...in sanatate si in boala..." am jurat in ziua  acea,si ninsoarea se putea vedea prin vitraliile bisericii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toate amintirile acestea, de la un pic de zapada pe papuci.Ha,chiar ca imbatranesc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dragule,vii odata, e frig!" s-a auzit din spatele usii ramase deschise.&lt;br /&gt;"Imediat" am raspuns eu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A ramas insarcinata in martie si asteptam copilul in decembrie si aveam o presimtire ca avea sa ninga in acea zi.Deja il iubeam mai mult ca orice si nici nu se nascuse inca.Insa ea...avea stralucirea acea noua a gravidelor dar parca,mi se parea mie, era ceva mai mult,ca si cum ar fi avut o revelatie si o noua intelegere.Se schimbase din momentul cand ramasese insarcinata si devenea parca mai angelica in fiecare zi,mai nepamanteasca...si o iubeam mai mult in fiecare zi. Da,zilele acelea de dinainte de nastere au fost unele din cele mai fericite ale noastre,faceam in fiecare sapatamana ceva pentru copil[nu am dorit sa stim daca va fi fata sau baiat],am facut cursuri Lamanze,am visat ce va fi cand va fi mare si cum l-ar chema daca ar fi fata sau daca ar fi baiat.Am fost ce-i drept niste parinti ca oricare altii dar asta nu schimba cu nimic cum ne simteam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"...la bine si la rau" am jurat in fata preotului si am privit-o cu iubire.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intr-un final am ajuns si la ziua nasterii.Doctorul care a venit sa imi dea vestea era tanar,inalt si avea ochelari.Imi amintesc foarte bine pentru ca l-am privit in ochi mult timp dupa ce mi-a zis.M-am holbat la ochii lui prin acei ochelari pana ce s-a intors si a plecat,si m-a lasat sa imi continui viata mea ciuntita.L-am urat.Dar nu mai conta.Se nascuse moarta si nu era nimic care sa schimbe asta.Sotia mea era insa bine.Mi-a zis. Da,am fi botezat-o eva si ar fi fost pianista.Dar doctorul nu stia nimic din toate astea,si nimeni nu va sti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Timp de doua luni nu a scos nici un cuvant.Am stat langa ea, i-am dat sa manance,am imbratisat-o am sarutat-o.Iar ea doar imi zambea cateodata si nu zicea nimic.Doctorul,alt doctor,mi-a explicat ca e doar temporar si ca o sa isi revina.Am sperat din toata inima desi simteam cum mor si eu odata cu ea.Toata acea furie.Toate acele intrebari.De ce noi?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apoi,intr-o zi de ianuarie chiar ca aceasta s-a trezit inaintea mea si a facut micul dejun.M-a trezit mirosul de oua ochi si m-am indreptat circumspect spre bucatarie.Mi-a zambit spunandu-mi ca sunt lenes si m-a invitat la masa.A zis ca e asa frumos ca ninge si ca trebuie sa mergem in parc sa imi spuna o veste importanta.Nu stiam ce sa cred, dar am hotarat ca vom avea timp sa vorbim despre asta mai tarziu.Eram doar fericit ca in sfarsit ii auzeam glasul si oh,cat de mult imi lipsise.&lt;br /&gt;Dupa ce am terminat de mancat ne-am infofolit bine si am pornit spre parc.Era fericita si vorbea mult despre o graoza de lucruri pe care imi era mult prea greu sa le urmaresc.Eram prea coplesit atunci.Ne-am asezat pe o banca ,mi-a luat mainile si mi-a zis "dragule,sunt insarcinata!". Am ramas blocat.Ma uitam in gol,si nu imi venea sa cred.&lt;br /&gt;M-a tras de pe banca si a inceput sa sara pe zapada proaspat asezata in timp ce tipa si chiuia "sunt insarcinata, sunt insarcinata!".cativa oameni ce trecea pe langa ea,i-au strigat un "felicitari". Eu o tineam de mana si o priveam pierdut.Nu puteam nici sa zambesc.Mi-am dat seama ca am pierdut-o,si mi-am dat seama ca sunt comandamnat.DAr nu aveam de gand sa renunt. Am inceput sa sar si eu cu ea sa o imbratisez si sa o sarut.&lt;br /&gt;Seara am facut dragoste si mi-a soptit inainte sa adoarma"daca e fata,vreau sa o cheme eva".&lt;br /&gt;A doua zi cand m-am trezit,era din nou liniste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"..pana cand moartea va va desparti" am admis.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De atunci,singurele momente cand vorbeste sau face ceva sunt zilele cand urmeaza sa imi spuna ca e insarcinata.Intotdeauna iarna.Aceeasi zi,repetata la nesfarsit.Aceeasi emotie din partea ei.Aceleasi replici..Singurul lucru care imbatraneste sunt eu si poate parcul.Dar ea oricum nu pare sa observe.Apoi tacerea revine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"hai mai repede!! sunt atat de nerabdatoare sa iti spun!" am auzit din casa si m-am intors tarsaindu-mi picioarele prin zapada.Au trecut treizeci de ani de atunci si inca mai sunt in stare sa sar cand imi spune vestea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"asa sa va ajute Dumnezeu".&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/6172812019933706067-9124395333859962104?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/9124395333859962104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=9124395333859962104' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/9124395333859962104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/9124395333859962104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2008/01/winter-story.html' title='winter story.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R37e4eo4ZBI/AAAAAAAAAKo/IAiv1MTq5vk/s72-c/2081699397_c4be3a3a8d.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-4656376501949990139</id><published>2007-12-28T15:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-26T15:10:20.683-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='my dark materials'/><title type='text'>love is cruel.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R3WHRuo4ZAI/AAAAAAAAAKg/eW4ntnWpqSI/s1600-h/427773403_c3097942f4_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R3WHRuo4ZAI/AAAAAAAAAKg/eW4ntnWpqSI/s320/427773403_c3097942f4_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149170487615054850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am crezut pentru un moment ca iti pasa. atunci am ezitat. privirea ta adanca s-a infipt in ochii mei si toate amintirile despre noi s-au revarsat asupra mea,dintr-un loc in care fusesera ascunse de atata vreme. am vrut cu adevarat sa cred ca totul se mai poate schimba si ca dragostea noastra va invinge,insa stiam ca nu va fi posibil. era,dupa toate standardele, prea tarziu. te-am invinuit ca s-a ajuns aici si ca d-abia acum ai inceput sa regreti,sau cel putin asta cred ca am putut sa inteleg. ca ti-ai dat seama ce ai pierdut si cum iti va afecta asta restul vietii. vreau sa marturisesc ca mi-a parut rau. poate , daca as avea o a doua sansa as fi facut lucrurile altfel. dar, in apararea mea vreau sa spun, ca te voi iubi in continuare,in mintea si sufletul meu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dupa acea privire ai inceput sa tipi si ai distrus momentul. ai stricat ce ar fi putut fi , un ramas bun frumos. asa, a trebuit sa iti tai mai intai gatul si totul s-a umplut de sange murdarind ceea ce speram sa fie,opera mea de arta. asta m-a enervat, si dupa ce tipatul ti s-a stins am inceput,frustrat, sa infig cutitul in fiecare parte a corpului tau fara nici o ratiune. am citit in ziar ca ai fost injughiata de cinzeci si patru de ori. m-am bucurat insa cand am aflat,deja ma calmasem, ca doctorii au spus ca probabil nu le-ai simtit decat pe primele doisprezece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aceasta este marturisirea mea iubito, si sper ca macar la final sa fi inteles. dar iti mai spun un ultim lucru.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sunt in sfarsit, dupa atata timp, fericit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-4656376501949990139?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/4656376501949990139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=4656376501949990139' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4656376501949990139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4656376501949990139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/12/love-is-cruel.html' title='love is cruel.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R3WHRuo4ZAI/AAAAAAAAAKg/eW4ntnWpqSI/s72-c/427773403_c3097942f4_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-2644082724644420880</id><published>2007-11-18T11:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T12:09:57.564-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>state of mind</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R0CcCUQ7d8I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/yttHUDPvZYg/s1600-h/2038842652_a7a798a82b_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R0CcCUQ7d8I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/yttHUDPvZYg/s320/2038842652_a7a798a82b_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134275138815752130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;esti optimist daca cand te culci la 4 dimineata iti pui alarma la 9.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;esti realist daca cand te culci la 4 dimineatza iti pui alarma la 11.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;si esti pesimist daca la 4 dimineatza decizi ca mai bine nu te culci deloc pentru ca orium nu o sa te trezesti la timp pentru nimic si asa castigi timp. apoi cazi rapus de oboseala la 8 dimineata si iti distrugi ziua dormind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;problema cu pesimismul este ca creeaza un cerc vicios din care este din ce in ce mai greu sa iesi pe masura ce te afunzi. si daca ar fi doar asta...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;asa ca , culcarea la 12 trezirea la 7. be an optimist!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-2644082724644420880?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/2644082724644420880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=2644082724644420880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2644082724644420880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2644082724644420880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/11/state-of-mind.html' title='state of mind'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/R0CcCUQ7d8I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/yttHUDPvZYg/s72-c/2038842652_a7a798a82b_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-2527975276249293976</id><published>2007-10-30T09:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T09:57:13.234-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the untold stories'/><title type='text'>gazing at the stars</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RydhxF2-h3I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/hN8ag5v3yxY/s1600-h/205125227_270ad8f582.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RydhxF2-h3I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/hN8ag5v3yxY/s320/205125227_270ad8f582.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127174196798850930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cum stateam intins privind cerul, l-am simtit venind de cand era inca departe. Incepuse sa se innopteze si ma gandeam ca ar trebui sa fac asta mai des, ca poate,daca as sta mai des sa privesc lumea si sa ii inteleg frumusetea si complexitatea, as fi mai fericit. Am cautat mult pana sa gasesc acest loc in care sa ma asez si sa fiu incojurat de natura,priveam norii inrositi de apusul soarelui dar inca albastri,ma uitam in dreapta si vedeam campul aplecat de de floarea-soarelui si in stanga o livada de meri infloriti.Totul era perfect si corpul imi vibra de anticipare. Momentul era aproape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pe masura ce se apropia,gandurile incepusera sa mi se invarta din ce in ce mai repede in cap.Cum am ajuns aici, de ce sunt aici,daca nu cumva fac o greseala.Stiam ca ma voi intreb asta,si hotarasem ca nu voi da inapoi.Dar sentimentele acestea care ma copleseau,de comuniune,de impacare erau noi si nu le asteptasem si samanta indoielii incepuse sa apare in mintea mea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am zambit amindindu-mi cum ma privea cand ii povesteam cate o intamplare sau dupa ce faceam ceva absolut normal si am inceput sa rad de-abinelea cand mi-am dat seama ca sunt un prost.Inca un prost care crede ca asta va schimba cu adevarat ceva,ca va face lucrurile mai simple si ca va fi impacat.Inca un las de fapt.Cred ca am avut atunci, chiar atunci, un moment din acela de claritate cum citesti ca au unii oameni cateodata si le schimba viata total. Chiar cred asta si de fiecare data cand spun cuiva ii vad sceptismul din ochi,le vad cinismul,deja un prim instinct pentru multi,aparandu-le pe fata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deja zgomotul apropierii lui ma surzea si desi acum pare incredibil,am trait cateva ore in acele putine secunde ramase.Am revazut-o.I-am vorbit.Si m-a iertat.M-am iertat.Nu era oricum vina ei ca am ajuns aici.Nu era vina ei ca a murit dupa doar atat de putin timp de la casatoria noastra.Si nici a mea.Asta era important.Totusi nu era nou.Am tot auzit aceste lucruri in ultimii trei ani de terapie dar niciodata nu m-au atins ca in secundele acelea.Acesta este momentul meu de claritate.Si de aceea sunt aici sa va povestesc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand era atat de aproape,aproape prea tarziu,a scos acel sunet.Un strigat sfasietor,care ma implora sa nu fiu slab.Asa mi s-a parut oricum si atunci am sarit in dreapta si m-am aruncat pe marginea drumului abrubt,m-am rostogolit pana am ajuns in lanul de florea-soarelui si am ramas intins acolo, privind din nou cerul. Trenul trecea pe langa mine cu viteza,lasand in urma un zgomot,acum, linistitor. Tac-tac.tac-tac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Au trecut patru ani de atunci dar inca, si cred ca pentru totdeauna, mirosul de floarea soarelui imi va aduce un zambet pe buze si un sentiment de recunostinta si bucurie pentru ca sunt inca aici. Iar cateodata , pe seara, ma poti gasi in gara urmarind trenurile care vin si pleaca, de pe o banca ,fara sa ma urc vreodata in vre-unul si fara bagaj.Pentru ca cateodata simt nevoie sa mi se reamintesca ca sunt doar un prost.Un prost care crede.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-2527975276249293976?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/2527975276249293976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=2527975276249293976' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2527975276249293976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2527975276249293976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/10/cum-stateam-intins-privind-cerul-l-am.html' title='gazing at the stars'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RydhxF2-h3I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/hN8ag5v3yxY/s72-c/205125227_270ad8f582.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-6336428978692321518</id><published>2007-10-12T16:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T08:14:17.397-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>nu e de ajuns sa fii norocos.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RxPM3F8xKFI/AAAAAAAAAJk/qbq8nGNOF88/s1600-h/1530214094_98d02698d1_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RxPM3F8xKFI/AAAAAAAAAJk/qbq8nGNOF88/s320/1530214094_98d02698d1_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121662448112314450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;trebuie sa si stii esti. trebuie sa admiti cu fiecare celula ca esti,sa radiezi fericirea care vine cu norocul,implinirea. sa zambesti. sa fi la un pas de moarte si sa iti zic. i'm ready to die. dar so happy to live. sa simti.sa imparti. sa speri. sa vrei. sa ai pasiune. sa nu uiti. si sa te porti astfel incat nici ceilalti sa nu uite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sa nu te trezesti intro zi ca nu mai stii de ce traiesti dar nu vrei sa mori...si cand te doare iti doresti sa nu te mai doara. dar numai pentru ca nu iti place durerea nu pentru ca durerea te opreste de la a face ce iti doresti in viata si cu timpul tau.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;alunga-ti gandurile rele si gaseste fericirea si multumirea in existenta de zi cu zi.si va deveni mai buna. si mai satisfacatoare!  alunga-mi gandurile rele si gaseste-mi fericirea...VREAU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;im sick of being scared. im ready to be happy....i want to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-6336428978692321518?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/6336428978692321518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=6336428978692321518' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6336428978692321518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6336428978692321518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/10/nu-e-de-ajuns-sa-fii-norocos.html' title='nu e de ajuns sa fii norocos.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RxPM3F8xKFI/AAAAAAAAAJk/qbq8nGNOF88/s72-c/1530214094_98d02698d1_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-980881802789039323</id><published>2007-09-17T14:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T14:38:57.796-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='depressive entropy'/><title type='text'>truth or dare?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Ru7zlK8QS6I/AAAAAAAAAIw/UgkuBb0gQN8/s1600-h/Locus_Manumittis_by_SeBzI.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Ru7zlK8QS6I/AAAAAAAAAIw/UgkuBb0gQN8/s320/Locus_Manumittis_by_SeBzI.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111290447029881762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;orice inceput. este de fapt un final deghizat. poate chiar acolo.poate in alta parte.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;acolo. pentru ca speranta creeaza ceva. orice inceput da speranta. iar cand ceva este creat poate fi si distrus. nimeni nu stie insa cand , cat de curand..unii nu stiu nici daca.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dar mai des in alta parte. energiile isi schimba directiile. si cu cat mai putina energie dreneaza o anumita parte a vietii. cu atat partea aceea sufera mai mult. eventual, moare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;este corect? nu. sau poate. da... nu stiu de fapt. poate ca e un lucru care este dincolo de morala. este un mers al lucrurilor. nu exista vinovati. nu exista inocenti. doar exista rezultatul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;idea este,daca chiar trebuie sa fie o idee, ca finalul sa contina si amintirile existentei. sa fie un final cu inteles.cu substanta. un final fara regrete. doar in contextul in care exista acest final. din exterior,poate ca nu este nimic, sau poate e ceva spectaculos. sau poate ca e o veste mondena.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;imi vine in minte o supernova. te uiti pe telescop si vezi acea explozie , parca cu incetinitorul. este uimitor. este un show natural si impunator. dar in fapt, este un final. un sfarsit al unui sistem solar. un final ce nu spune nimic despre vietile entitatilor care au locuit acel sistem. sau daca chair au existat acele entitati...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;toti ar trebui sa ne dorim. ca moartea sa ne fie dulce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;si sa nu uitam..ca finalul. este si el un inceput....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-980881802789039323?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/980881802789039323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=980881802789039323' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/980881802789039323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/980881802789039323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/09/truth-or-dare.html' title='truth or dare?'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Ru7zlK8QS6I/AAAAAAAAAIw/UgkuBb0gQN8/s72-c/Locus_Manumittis_by_SeBzI.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-2625776919314820526</id><published>2007-08-18T06:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-18T15:48:58.633-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='touch of muse'/><title type='text'>a midnight summer dream.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rsb3QSk717I/AAAAAAAAAIg/HResK9odx14/s1600-h/99828412_f9b229fed0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rsb3QSk717I/AAAAAAAAAIg/HResK9odx14/s320/99828412_f9b229fed0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100035487280388018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi-am uitat directia si am inceput sa ma invart in cerc. mi-am lepadat dorintele si m-am supus sortii. mi-am abolit sentimentele si a incetat sa mai imi pese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am murit. in fiecare zi cate un pik. in fiecare zi la fel. pana cand si asta a devenit trivial. pana cand si moartea nu mai insemna nimic. decat o rutina. spala.clateste.repeta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;trebuie sa te adaptezi cand esti prins.trebuie sa iti creezi o realitate destul de veridica pentru a o putea accepta. destul de slaba pentru a nu o lua in serios. destul cat sa nu innebunesti. in timp ce un colt ascuns al mintii cauta.cauta o scapare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cuvintele te pot salva mi-a zis. sentimentele te pot salva. mi-a zis din nou.  exprima-te si vei fi salvat. iubeste si te vei elibera. i-am ras in fata dar nu a reactionat. mi-a zambit. ai uitat. ai uitat cum era a zis. dar nu e prea tarziu. cuvintele.sentimentele.elibereaza-te.salveaza-te. traieste. repeta.repeta.repeta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ca o mantra imi sunau in cap. trecutul. trecutul trebuia sa fie cheia. greselile. alegerile. regretele.&lt;br /&gt;nu mai credeam in mine de mult. e greu sa asculti din nou.  dar iar mi-a vorbit si m-a tinut de mana. si mi-a zis ca trebuie sa pot.ca pot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;vedeam cum clepsidra se scurge.cum nisipurile din jurul meu sunt din ce in ce mai aproape de a ma sufoca. cum ea imi zicea sa cred.cum muream. cum ma luptam. cum pierdeam. i-am zis ca e prea tarziu. nu mai e nimik aici. sunt deja mort. i-am dat drumul la mana si am inceput sa rad de ea. i-am zis ca e copilaros sa creada,i-am zis sa plece cat mai poate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi s-a auzit sunetul de final. si tot nisipul a navalit peste mine.pentru o ultima data. am tras aer in piept.am expirat. am repetat. m-am uitat sa ii mai vad odata parul,zambetul,ochii. sa ii vad bluza neagra in timp ce se departeaza si scapa. si numai acest gand m-a bucurat si ceva a inceput sa se miste din nou in mine. o lumina in abis.nimic. dar totusi era un sentiment..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi am vazut-o langa mine. i-am zis ca e proasta.am tipat la ea. dar ea se uita la mine si ma tinea strans de mana. nici nu imi dadusem seama. nisipurile cadeau acum peste noi si incepusera sa ii acopere gura. murea. murea odata cu mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;si pe cand nu mai puteam respira deloc. pe cand nu ma vedeam nimic. pe cand nu mai auzeam nimic. m-am gandit. m-am gandit ca nu e prea tarziu. pentru mine. pentru ea....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-2625776919314820526?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/2625776919314820526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=2625776919314820526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2625776919314820526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2625776919314820526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/08/midnight-summer-dream.html' title='a midnight summer dream.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rsb3QSk717I/AAAAAAAAAIg/HResK9odx14/s72-c/99828412_f9b229fed0.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-2334170878084403652</id><published>2007-07-31T14:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-08T11:35:37.359-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>de ziua mea.pentru voi.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rq-zDiCNZ3I/AAAAAAAAAIM/WUbCckARmFY/s1600-h/483555930_475487ed17_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rq-zDiCNZ3I/AAAAAAAAAIM/WUbCckARmFY/s320/483555930_475487ed17_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093486576836372338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;trebuie cateodata sa te asezi si sa multumesti pentru ca ai ce ai. sa apreciezi ce ai pentru ca vei plange cand le vei pierde...e un sentiment frumos sa apartii. e un sentiment frumos sa simti ca oameni care merita si pe care ii respecti ...te apreciaza..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dar inca simt mancarimea aceeaa,vocea aia rea care intreaba.." d c?? d c? merit? meriti? nu cred ca meriti razvanel..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;incerc sa push it back where it belongs. si incerc sa fiu mai bun pentru a stii ca merit...dar acum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;vreau doar sa multumesc tuturor for being there.for being great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;much luv ppl...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this salitos is for u all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-2334170878084403652?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/2334170878084403652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=2334170878084403652' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2334170878084403652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2334170878084403652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/07/de-ziua-meapentru-voi.html' title='de ziua mea.pentru voi.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rq-zDiCNZ3I/AAAAAAAAAIM/WUbCckARmFY/s72-c/483555930_475487ed17_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-7919617033251664300</id><published>2007-07-03T03:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-03T03:32:04.913-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>the bad part.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rooljv82DeI/AAAAAAAAAH8/AGW4usJBi98/s1600-h/674820638_7d1cf2dcd1_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rooljv82DeI/AAAAAAAAAH8/AGW4usJBi98/s320/674820638_7d1cf2dcd1_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082916425538342370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;bey deci nimik nu mai e cum trebuie pe lumea asta cand si the good guys are bad.&lt;br /&gt;prietenii stiu de ce.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-7919617033251664300?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/7919617033251664300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=7919617033251664300' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7919617033251664300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7919617033251664300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/07/bad-part.html' title='the bad part.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rooljv82DeI/AAAAAAAAAH8/AGW4usJBi98/s72-c/674820638_7d1cf2dcd1_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-8626884972872658620</id><published>2007-06-28T09:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T12:39:32.804-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='break me shake me'/><title type='text'>maybe it hurts for a reason.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RoPf7f82DcI/AAAAAAAAAHs/kFQb12cZjs4/s1600-h/262641475_e0534a4a08_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RoPf7f82DcI/AAAAAAAAAHs/kFQb12cZjs4/s320/262641475_e0534a4a08_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081151017886027202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Maybe it hurts for a reason.I stood there,fascinated again how your eyes turn from light green to dark green based on your feelings,and couldn’t help thinking how bad i blew it. How my idiotic nature,intersected with something that could be such a good thing,decided to destroy again the chance.Because I don’t deserve it...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I tried to express what I feel.But the words danced around the subject,and couldn’t surprise the essential.I couldn’t force myself to say it.And once again the sadness that floats in your eyes made my stomach shrink.i wanted to take that sadness away,put it in a bubble, and leave it there forever.if I could…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;U stood up and I needed to hug you ,to feel the touch of your tanned skin,the fresh smell of your hair,the promise of happiness.But I’ve seen it in your body language and in your look that this wouldn’t be good.You just wanted me to stay away and to disappear.And right then , I wanted that too.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;After that u walked into the bus,and as the bus’s doors closed I got a last glance at your floral apparence and felt like another sad story started for me.because my stories always start with the end.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;[track sunrise avenue - fairtytale gone bad ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-8626884972872658620?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/8626884972872658620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=8626884972872658620' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8626884972872658620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8626884972872658620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/06/maybe-it-hurts-for-reason.html' title='maybe it hurts for a reason.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RoPf7f82DcI/AAAAAAAAAHs/kFQb12cZjs4/s72-c/262641475_e0534a4a08_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-6154938258478256170</id><published>2007-06-16T15:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-16T16:37:02.676-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bittersweet letters'/><title type='text'>and because i can't.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RnRruRgjDUI/AAAAAAAAAHc/bZFYa22qwTs/s1600-h/554337366_1b16cb0331_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RnRruRgjDUI/AAAAAAAAAHc/bZFYa22qwTs/s320/554337366_1b16cb0331_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076801122671463746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i can't get everything done my way. i can't act anyway and suppose to get my results. i can't get away with it. and i'm happy for that. let's just hope that because of it i'll get someplace where i can really appreciate what i have. keep what it's good for me. and stop making stupid things and stop taking stupid decisions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this way.maybe i'll stop kicking myself all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cause it hurts...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[ track marilyn manson - heart shapped glass ]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-6154938258478256170?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/6154938258478256170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=6154938258478256170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6154938258478256170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6154938258478256170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/06/and-because-i-cant.html' title='and because i can&apos;t.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RnRruRgjDUI/AAAAAAAAAHc/bZFYa22qwTs/s72-c/554337366_1b16cb0331_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-6945126225314454794</id><published>2007-06-10T10:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-10T10:16:17.030-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='regular days'/><title type='text'>because i can.</title><content type='html'>pretty weird day today. just finished the exams and everything has a sense of happy-freedom-ish. but it's a false feeling i still have like ALOT of exams [ cunoscute ca restantze in unele cercuri...]. but hey, i guess i have to take what i can, from where i can. so today i'm freeeee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on other note, federer lost the final..again!! against nadal doooh. well, nice game anyway. so good go nadal, your reign will be over one day soon[ or late..] :)  ah, that's the downside of being king, u're always afraid u'll lose your crown...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so i'm back in a game but keeping it low for a while. hope july'll be my month but never know...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;zipping and zapping.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-6945126225314454794?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/6945126225314454794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=6945126225314454794' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6945126225314454794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6945126225314454794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/06/because-i-can.html' title='because i can.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-1990168108640307915</id><published>2007-06-09T05:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T10:38:39.479-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bittersweet letters'/><title type='text'>crepuscular</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rmqd9hgjDTI/AAAAAAAAAHU/zeLjcBKkeNg/s1600-h/Black___White_Masquerade_by_Radyga.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rmqd9hgjDTI/AAAAAAAAAHU/zeLjcBKkeNg/s320/Black___White_Masquerade_by_Radyga.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074041610478751026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;inca o noapte si inca o zi. inca o zi ramasa pana la final.ce bine ca se termina. e trist ca se termina. dar cel mai trist e ca de fapt nu se termina niciodata...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;inca o noapte si inca o zi. inca o shaorma efeminizata si o plimbare pe strazi .ce bine e sa nu ai probleme. ce rau e ca ai. si ce foarte rau ca o sa ai tot timpul..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ultima noapte.si intaia zi. din noua ta viata. de maine,de maine, iti spui....de maine sa fie...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[ track - Black Moon - looking down the barrel ]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-1990168108640307915?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/1990168108640307915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=1990168108640307915' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1990168108640307915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1990168108640307915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/06/linia-orizontului.html' title='crepuscular'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rmqd9hgjDTI/AAAAAAAAAHU/zeLjcBKkeNg/s72-c/Black___White_Masquerade_by_Radyga.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-4515076906929516758</id><published>2007-06-07T00:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T10:37:22.816-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>eazy game.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmfEbRgjDSI/AAAAAAAAAHM/SUL9CYEwtZ0/s1600-h/200584.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmfEbRgjDSI/AAAAAAAAAHM/SUL9CYEwtZ0/s320/200584.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073239478091582754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so this days are about learning mostly. nothing out of ordinary i guess. as this should be the program for the next ...3 weeks or so. i don;t mind. it's cool. read.remember.apply. as eazy as federer crushing nadal in the final.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;problem is. u gotta get in the state. u gotta force yourself into reading/learning. because there's a psy barrier. u break that and u are in a new , unlimited teritory..or u don't breka that and u just might be in the losers - land. so choices again..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;of course it's only school and many many many [ stress that ! ] are passing the exams with no special effort. but...i am not "the other ppl" so it's my fight to battle that's what makes it important right? if u get that. fine. if u don't. fine again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;u might say. i'm selfish. but i deny that. if i have to be something like that for you. than so be it. but name it properly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm self-centered.  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[track robbie williams- feel ]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-4515076906929516758?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/4515076906929516758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=4515076906929516758' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4515076906929516758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4515076906929516758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/06/eazy-game.html' title='eazy game.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmfEbRgjDSI/AAAAAAAAAHM/SUL9CYEwtZ0/s72-c/200584.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-4395567385707708209</id><published>2007-06-06T07:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T07:13:01.729-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen there...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmbA0BgjDQI/AAAAAAAAAG8/7MvkAP3y-UE/s1600-h/526353018_9275d57cfa_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmbA0BgjDQI/AAAAAAAAAG8/7MvkAP3y-UE/s320/526353018_9275d57cfa_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072954030270123266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;there's a bee in my room. that's how sweet i am!  :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-4395567385707708209?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/4395567385707708209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=4395567385707708209' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4395567385707708209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4395567385707708209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/06/beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen-there.html' title='beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen there...'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmbA0BgjDQI/AAAAAAAAAG8/7MvkAP3y-UE/s72-c/526353018_9275d57cfa_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-2976666517835075902</id><published>2007-06-04T01:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T05:37:01.630-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bittersweet letters'/><title type='text'>no particular someone...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmPiFliGVFI/AAAAAAAAAGk/xZKKkc6ZMXA/s1600-h/526649344_c9ae29c94a_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmPiFliGVFI/AAAAAAAAAGk/xZKKkc6ZMXA/s320/526649344_c9ae29c94a_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072146190951666770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;essence of time. what's that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;what exactly do u want from me? what can i promise??? nothing! that's what. we're not designed for long term baby, it's all short term . that's the definition of human. s-h-o-r-t t-e-r-m. oh yeah, sometimes one of us raise from ashes and mediocrity and build smth that will last for what we'd reffer as long term...and we all look at it with confused feelings of humiliation,jelousy, pride...yeah. but tell u what. not even that. not EVEN what the greatest of our man can do last that long...it's just alot for us...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so what can i say?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it's all for nothing...but let's pray for something. and when everything else fails. no problem...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we can always live for today. as there is no tomorow. and that way...we'll have an eternity catched in one moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so dance with me baby.today.tonite.and forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-2976666517835075902?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/2976666517835075902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=2976666517835075902' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2976666517835075902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2976666517835075902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/06/how-to-savewhats-left-to-be-saved.html' title='no particular someone...'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmPiFliGVFI/AAAAAAAAAGk/xZKKkc6ZMXA/s72-c/526649344_c9ae29c94a_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-4726550717221170439</id><published>2007-06-02T20:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-02T21:10:08.301-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good day and good luck'/><title type='text'>the other view</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmI-uliGVCI/AAAAAAAAAGI/Xa9jchlCMgQ/s1600-h/stars.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmI-uliGVCI/AAAAAAAAAGI/Xa9jchlCMgQ/s320/stars.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071685100442637346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sometimes it's good to watch the world thru other people's eye. what are they hidding? don't you wonder, how would be too see if everything's different? maybe the way light reflect from others eyes makes it all different,maybe the chemicals in their body transforms every touch,every feeling into smth else,new..and maybe wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i've always wanted that. but the closest i can get is too listen to other ppl. just feel their words when describing anything,look at their irises how they contracte or dilate as their story unfolds and maybe u'll get a new vibe that might turn your own view into something that seemed,just seconds ago, unbelivable...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so next time, pay a little more attention, be a little more opened and try to really understand the other person,if not for the poor joy of that...then for yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;u migt just be amazed...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-4726550717221170439?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/4726550717221170439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=4726550717221170439' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4726550717221170439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4726550717221170439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/06/other-view.html' title='the other view'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RmI-uliGVCI/AAAAAAAAAGI/Xa9jchlCMgQ/s72-c/stars.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-460175480254470586</id><published>2007-05-26T17:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-26T17:53:17.346-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good day and good luck'/><title type='text'>u gotta do...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RljWBViGVBI/AAAAAAAAAGA/DrokCqPk1qM/s1600-h/Break_the_Rule_by_CumiGoreng.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RljWBViGVBI/AAAAAAAAAGA/DrokCqPk1qM/s320/Break_the_Rule_by_CumiGoreng.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069036699053872146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...what u gotta do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- ganduri de sesiune -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pai, cum ziceam. trebuie sa faci , ceea ce trebuie sa faci. trebuie sa inveti , sa te concentrezi, sa nu iesi, sa nu pierzi timpul. fii eficient. work 100% of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dar cumva,e neplacut sa faci ceea ce ai de facut. dar extrem de placut sa faci ceea ce nu trebuie. asa ca...ma gandesc, ca daca nu as avea nimik de facut. as face totul. pentru ca ar fi like breaking all the rulez.&lt;br /&gt;" DO NOTHING!! " "oh fuck u! i'll do what i want. i'll work! hahaha, ce o sa imi FACI?? ha!!! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dar , tot timpul am ceva de facut..asa ca nu fac nimik.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;talk about irony.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so ppl. nu mai faceti nimik de acum incolo. it's for your own sake.   d c?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cause I said so!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[ track the fray - how to save a life ]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-460175480254470586?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/460175480254470586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=460175480254470586' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/460175480254470586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/460175480254470586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/05/u-gotta-do.html' title='u gotta do...'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RljWBViGVBI/AAAAAAAAAGA/DrokCqPk1qM/s72-c/Break_the_Rule_by_CumiGoreng.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-6758496099497235108</id><published>2007-05-24T19:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-26T17:21:21.914-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='break me shake me'/><title type='text'>jurnalul unei amnezii .</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlZReViGVAI/AAAAAAAAAF4/SiYVFhXKcHw/s1600-h/297595964_f4e6be2f98.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlZReViGVAI/AAAAAAAAAF4/SiYVFhXKcHw/s320/297595964_f4e6be2f98.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068328012270162946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ziua 1. dimineata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;m-am trezit azi si pentru o secunda poate, nu mi-am amintit nimik despre mine.de fapt a fost mai mult decat atat, era ca si cum nu am fost nimeni. sau poate altcineva. apoi toate amintirile mi-au aparut si sunt iar eu,sunt R.numai ca am un sentiment ca totul e un fals,ca si cum nu sunt cu adevarat R.pentru ca daca sunt R, atunci cine a fost acolo in locul meu cand m-am trezit? sau cine este acum in locul meu,daca nu sunt eu R? sau poate ca eu si R suntem una si aceeasi persoana.insa asta nu imi explica de ce nu ma simt ca fiind R,desi toate amintirile  si simturile imi zic ca sunt R.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ziua 1. un pic mai tarziu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi-am facut baie si am avut un moment ciudat in fata oglinzii. m-am recunoscut. aceeasi fata,&lt;br /&gt;acelasi nas un pic prea mare, acelasi par lung si un pic cret,aceeasi privire. totusi cand m-am uitat mai adanc in ochii mei[sau a celui din oglinda de fapt] am simtit ca altcineva ma priveste din ei. ca si cum as fi prins in spatele acestui strain.dar am cotrol total asupra corpului si pot face ce vreau. poate ca am pierdut controlul sau sunt pe cale sa il pierd si cand il voi pierde unde voi disparea ma intreb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;acum plec la munca, poate ca totul e o impresie de dimineata ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ziua 1. seara.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;la munca totul a fost cum trebuie.nimeni nu a sesizat  nici o diferenta nimeni nu era mirat ca am aparut acolo in afara de mine. eu eram mirat ca  nimeni nu ma intreaba cine sunt,apoi mi-am dat seama ca arat la fel ca inainte. ca R.dar ma si purtam ca el insa ca un automatism, nu stiu sa ma port ca mine pentru ca nu stiu cum ma purtam[ sau daca sunt altcineva de fapt] si purtarea lui R imi este naturala cumva. si oricum e util sa pot face ce facea si el. pe la finalul  zilei mi-am dat seama ca daca asta faceam si ieri inseamna ca  si ieri eram tot R. prin extensie cred ca am fost R intotdeauna deci sunt R. nu sunt altcineva, sunt R! imiplace asta si adeavarul e ca ma&lt;br /&gt;simt ciudat sa vorbesc despre mine la persoana a 3-a. insa ma roade  ca sunt ca un strain pentru mine insumi...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ziua 2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;m-am trezit si toata ziua de ieri pare departe. ce ciudat sa te simti ca si cum nu ai fi aceasta persoan unica si ireproductibila. ma simt bine acum. e bine sa fiu eu. azi ma intalnesc cu F. nu ne-am mai vazut de o saptamana pentru  ca a fost la parintii ei, sper ca nu va observa nimik ciudat in comportamentul meu pentru ca asta nu prea mi-ar pica bine. stiu ca mi-e dor de ea pentru ca o iubesc. si cand iubesti pe  cineva e normal sa iti fie dor  de persoana aceea. insa chiar o&lt;br /&gt;iubesc eu? adica eu, R, chiar o iubesc sau vreau sa cred asta pentru ca asa ar fi normal si asta imi amintesc de ieri sau din celelalte zile??? m-a sagetat idea  ca de fapt doar ar trebui sa o iubesc pentru ca e langa mine cand am nevoie de ea si ma sustine si imi place de ea...dar asta nu e iubire de fapt. sau nu e  neaparat iubire.iubire e ceva mult mai complex. si sigur mult mai...mai total.&lt;br /&gt;eu o iubesc?? poate ca eu nu o iubesc dar R o iubeste cu adevarat asa ca ... se pare ca inca nu&lt;br /&gt;sunt in regula. pentru ca incep  sa pun sub semnul intrebarii ceea ce simt!ceea ce simt EU!! oricum, dupa ce o sa o vad totul va fi mai  bine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;day 2. seara.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi-a sarit in brate cand m-a vazut asa cum face tot timpul  si pe urma ne-am sarutat. a  fost ca intotdeauna si chiar o iubesc. ce intrebare idioata,mi-e rusine de mine ca am scris asa ceva. apoi ne-am plimbat si am mancat ceva si mi-a povestit  tot ce a facut si mergem la munte in  week-end. la final am  intrebat-o daca ma iubeste[nu stiu de ce...]&lt;br /&gt;"da! sigur ca te iubesc!"&lt;br /&gt;"da?d C? pe cine iubesti?"&lt;br /&gt;"pe tine! pe barbatul care esti! micile tale lucruri,si felul in care ma privesti!"&lt;br /&gt;"deci daca te-as privi la fel, si as vorbi la fel si as avea celasi gesturi si as arata la fel m-ai iubi la fel ?? "&lt;br /&gt;a facut o pauza apoi a zis :&lt;br /&gt;"pai ..ai fi tu nu? nu asta esti tu?? hai nu mai vb prostii!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;asa ca uite, are dreptate. asta e raspunsul la intrebarea mea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e ca vorba aia: daca mergi ca o rata.macai ca o rata.si zici ca  esti o rata...atunci esti o rata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;deci nu pot fi decat o rata, aaa..nu pot fi decat R. deja mi-e dor de ea cred ca o sa ii dau un telefon..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;day 3. seara.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a fost inca o zi frumoasa. si acum ma uitam la stele. nu imi  amintesc sa fi facut asta mai demult pentru ca lui R nu ii placea sa faca asta...dar acum imi place.asta ma face mai putin R?si mai mult cine??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am citit o carte azi si scria acolo ca evolutia noastra personala ne-ar putea duce la o  senzatie de instrainare daca se  face prea brusc pentru ca nu ne mai recunoastem...dar asta nu se intampla aproape niciodata pentru ca totul se invata treptat. e ca si cum iti  creste parul..nu iti da nici o&lt;br /&gt;senzatie dar daca ti-ar creste deodata cu 10 cm ne-am speria nu? si ca zilele acelea cand simti ceva nou si te simti diferit de ce ai experimentat si zici ca nu te simti ca tine, dar esti tot tu! asa sunt si eu acum...sunt tot eu..sunt sigur ca...sunt tot eu!&lt;br /&gt;poate ca in noaptea aceea am avut o revelatie si m-a facut mai bun, un pic diferit...pe mine m-a facut mai bun!! pe mine, eu. R.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am decis ca nu voi mai scrie in jurnal de acum incolo si voi  cointinua sa imi traiesc viata mea...pentru ca imi place foarte mult unde sunt. poate ca sunt doar norocosul care isi  bate un cui in picior.asa ca nu voi mai scrie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;day n - dupa mult timp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am dat din greseala peste jurnal in timp ce adunam lucrurile pentru noua casa[ ma  mut cu F. ]. acum am terminat de recitit si ma simt un pic cutremurat parca. aproape ca uitasem  toate astea si mi-a lasat un sentiment foarte ciudat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E ingrozitor sa nu stii cine esti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[track radiohead - nobody does it better]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-6758496099497235108?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/6758496099497235108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=6758496099497235108' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6758496099497235108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/6758496099497235108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/05/jurnalul-unei-amnezii-inchipuite-in-3.html' title='jurnalul unei amnezii .'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlZReViGVAI/AAAAAAAAAF4/SiYVFhXKcHw/s72-c/297595964_f4e6be2f98.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-8312883727407254531</id><published>2007-05-24T18:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T20:32:05.550-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='raynsplanations'/><title type='text'>memories are never true.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlY5lViGU_I/AAAAAAAAAFw/b8fgqmH9Oxw/s1600-h/Memories_by_dub_psychosis.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlY5lViGU_I/AAAAAAAAAFw/b8fgqmH9Oxw/s320/Memories_by_dub_psychosis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068301744250180594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aren't! oamenii nu stiu sa isi aminteasca ceea ce s-a intamplat. pentru ca totul se invalmaseste cu implicarea emotionala. iar tot ce nu are implicare emotionala...well, nu merita amintit. cel care povesteste de fapt..creeaza. creeaza trecutul. asa cum cel care noteaza istoria o modeleaza.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ne amintim primul sarut[ that smell, that taste, the discovery..]. prima noapte [ atmosfera,intensitatea,teama,asteptarea...] ne amintim momente importante din viata noastra,zilele care ne-au marcat si totul e la superlativ. totul este ca in filme.a fost minunat. pentru ca inauntru, traim un film. sau de fapt, pentru ca filmul este ce avem inauntru si vrem sa ne reamintim...we're remembering a lie. but we've been living the truth. isn't that so? or is it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;asa ca am putea in viitor sa avem niste computere care sa inregistreze si sa redea perfect tot ceea ce ni s-a intamplat. every moment, every nuance. vom vedea astfel cat de lipsit de maretie a fost totul. ca vantul batea prea tare, fardul era imperfect si poate nu aveai ochii inchisi, si nu toata lumea a aplaudat[ :) ]. dar ironia este, ca atunci nu va mai fi o amintire...pentru ca nu va mai fi uman!. va fi cel mult o descriere a evenimentelor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;reformulez deci. oamenii stiu sa isi aminteasca.e tot ce pot face. dar nu stiu sa descrie cu exactitate...well, i stand by my right to remember..i stand by my right to live..i stand by my right to feel.to feel greater.and ultimately to be greater cause that's how i remember i was..and that's how i'll be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and i invite u to do the same!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and if someone will ever ask for...exactness. let's hope the brain will tell him what i alwasy say:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"u don't want the truth.truth is boring..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[track- maroon 5 - makes me wonder (uncut version baby!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-8312883727407254531?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/8312883727407254531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=8312883727407254531' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8312883727407254531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8312883727407254531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/05/memories-are-never-true.html' title='memories are never true.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlY5lViGU_I/AAAAAAAAAFw/b8fgqmH9Oxw/s72-c/Memories_by_dub_psychosis.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-5285874671376723287</id><published>2007-05-21T23:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-21T23:24:28.263-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good day and good luck'/><title type='text'>another day. another fight.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlKMZ1iGU-I/AAAAAAAAAFo/bW_5euXPBpI/s1600-h/9887123_8005cb4929_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlKMZ1iGU-I/AAAAAAAAAFo/bW_5euXPBpI/s320/9887123_8005cb4929_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067266906239947746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BANG.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;soarele te loveste drept in ochi printe jaluzele intredeschise si astazi decizi ca nu te vei intoarce pe partea celalata si vei continua sa dormitezi ci te ridici si faci o baie, dar nu inainte de a deschide larg geamul si sa lasi mirosul de tei sa iti patrunda in nari. este o zi frumoasa si cu toate ca de acum deja ti-ai amintit ca sunt atat de multe de facut totusi esti inca surprinzator de vesel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ha.it's another day to go thru. planul de a razbate peste toate obstacolele pare foarte realizabil acum si iti vine sa razi. cum se face ca de fapt totul este asa de simplu??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;imbracat si parfumat te indrepti spre iesire, si soarele te izbeste inca odata incalzindu-ti fata si reamintindu-ti ca esti norocos sa traiesti. zambesti din nou si pornesti la drum. este inca dimineatza si mai este mult pana cand te vei putea relaxa total,seara, dar stii ca maine vei lasa in mod special jaluzele deschise..pentru ca in definitiv. viata trebuie traita, nu dormita.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;track- robbie williams- lose some win some.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-5285874671376723287?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/5285874671376723287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=5285874671376723287' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5285874671376723287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5285874671376723287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/05/another-day-another-fight.html' title='another day. another fight.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RlKMZ1iGU-I/AAAAAAAAAFo/bW_5euXPBpI/s72-c/9887123_8005cb4929_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-9117841140447738156</id><published>2007-05-12T12:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-12T13:08:49.792-07:00</updated><title type='text'>finish it.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RkYeulkjJcI/AAAAAAAAAFM/tQV0rkcFtUk/s1600-h/unlucky_by_damage1013.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RkYeulkjJcI/AAAAAAAAAFM/tQV0rkcFtUk/s320/unlucky_by_damage1013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063768616732927426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sunt unul din acei oameni ghinionsti cred. nu stiu. sometimes i feel this way. there were times when i felt lucky to be me..but fewer and fewer lately...and it just seems like my life's so not fair...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and frankly i'm not too keen on living right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but just here. just when i get here. i start to wonder if i'm just giving up too easily on my chances. my future. and me , generally speaking.  can i try harder? could i do better? hell.i don;t know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;right now i don't feel like i can. i just don't think i have something to do with all this...it's plain unfair...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tomorow's justice...tomorow's pain..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-9117841140447738156?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/9117841140447738156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=9117841140447738156' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/9117841140447738156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/9117841140447738156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/05/finish-it.html' title='finish it.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RkYeulkjJcI/AAAAAAAAAFM/tQV0rkcFtUk/s72-c/unlucky_by_damage1013.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-3686207305295130333</id><published>2007-04-13T11:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-13T12:24:02.072-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laughable'/><title type='text'>wrong word.right description.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rh_X0b6MaHI/AAAAAAAAAEo/ZX7XP2e__5I/s1600-h/lalele_frumoase_lalele_by_paipwey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rh_X0b6MaHI/AAAAAAAAAEo/ZX7XP2e__5I/s320/lalele_frumoase_lalele_by_paipwey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052994602777995378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so i was at someone's house and her mom was doing her mom things round there while we were looking over some school stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;at one point her mom went by ,stoped , looked at me and said :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" why don't you two do more team-work for school? she never does anything on her own!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"yeah i do" said the girl [ we could call her &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; the scheleton's designer&lt;/span&gt; ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" u are smart, she is beautiful, i'm sure you could work something up!"  [ &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;hahaha&lt;/span&gt; ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i was like " thank you, i'm sure she's smart too "  [ &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;hahaha&lt;/span&gt; ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" what did i say? "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" beautiful "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" are u sure?! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the girl in question responded pretty angry: " YES!! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cand le spui ca sunt frumoase nu le place, daca le spui ca sunt destepte iti zic ca inseamna ca nu le gasesti frumoase. so ce vor de fapt fetele?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dunno, dar pot zice ca eu stiu ce vreau. o fata si frumoasa si desteapta :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm so unique, huh...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-3686207305295130333?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/3686207305295130333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=3686207305295130333' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/3686207305295130333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/3686207305295130333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/04/wrong-wordright-description.html' title='wrong word.right description.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rh_X0b6MaHI/AAAAAAAAAEo/ZX7XP2e__5I/s72-c/lalele_frumoase_lalele_by_paipwey.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-4983619655277057562</id><published>2007-04-12T03:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-12T04:27:47.287-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='break me shake me'/><title type='text'>to sleep.perchance to dream.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rh4Vi76MaGI/AAAAAAAAAEg/p14ZFVZiN5Y/s1600-h/448994313_7365e3dc63_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rh4Vi76MaGI/AAAAAAAAAEg/p14ZFVZiN5Y/s320/448994313_7365e3dc63_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052499521897785442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cate lucruri iti pot trece prin minte din momentul cand ea spune raspunde la telefon si tu spui "buna". Cateodata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tot timpul am crezut ca asa e viata. Unii castiga, altii pierd.  Nu m-ar deranja daca nu as simti ca totusi nu e corect. unii pur si simplu castiga orice ar face, iar altii pur si simplu pierd.dupa un timp iti dai seama ca asta e si nu ai de ales, te resemnezi.asta daca pierzi. iar daca esti din cealalta tabara, nici macar nu te gandesti prea mult la asta. gandurile de genul asta nu prea au timp sa apara in mintea unui castigator. ai de luat un trofeu. ai de condus o domnisoara, si bineinteles, zambetul. trebuie sa zambesti cand castigi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Asa ca stateam si ma intrebam cum am ajuns in situatia de a juca acest joc . daca nu as fi lasat sa se ajunga aici nu as fi putut castiga sau pierde niciodata. as fi fost ales automat castigator. sau doar as fi fost. nici o problema pentru mine. dar totusi am ajuns sa joc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;initial m-a lovit un pic pentru ca nu eram inca gata sa accept ce stiam . ca nu sunt de partea aceea norocoasa a oamenilor nascuti sub steaua care trebuie. si desi stiam, asta nu inseamna ca trebuia sa si accept. vreau sa zic. destinul se mai si schimba nu? dar uite ca dupa ce am inceput sa joc mi-am dat seama ca poate am pierdut deja, si m-am gandit ca nu ar fi asa rau daca as pierde cu demnitate. pacat ca imi pierdusem demnitatea cam dupa prima repriza...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;si de fiecare data dupa ce auzeam vocea ei , imi dadeam seama cat de rau e nu sa pierzi,ci sa pierzi meciul secolului. oamenii vin si te felicita, ai fost acolo, ai participat, da sigur, cealalta echipa ia gloria , faima si fata. dar nu iti face griji cineva isi va aminti si de tine un pic. altii nu au ajuns nici pana aici. si atunci zambesc. tot nu pot avea altceva...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dupa aceea totul e doar o reeditare al acelui meci. nu numai ca pierzi, dar chiar te astepti sa pierzi inca din start. probabil ca asta e momentul cand devii un ratat. nici nu te mai mira. dar la final continui sa zambesti, si altii ca tine iti pot vedea in ochi infrangerea si resemnarea,si iti zambesc si ei inapoi. oricum, ce mai conteaza, nu?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;din cand in cand insa, simti un mic gol in stomac si iti dai seama ca e chiar sperantza, ultima ramasa in cutia aia blestemata [ fapt cat se poate de ironic avand in vedere ca tot ce a iesit din cutie a adus lucrurile rele oamenilor " moartea, boala, etc ". iar ultima ramasa e cea care ii ajuta sa traisca in continuare, dar e cumva invers, caci eu credeam ca ce e in cutie nu influentzeaza omul, tocmai daia a trebuit sa fie deschisa.....dar acum, asta e legenda ]. speri cateodata ca maine va fi mai bine, si vei reusi poate in final sa invingi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; destinele pot fi invinse...iar invinsii pot deveni invingatori...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi ii spui pa.inchizi telefonul si , ciudat, iti trec prin minte doar doua cuvinte care totusi nu iti alunga iluziile ca ceva s-ar putea schimba vreodata:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" Game Over".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-4983619655277057562?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/4983619655277057562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=4983619655277057562' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4983619655277057562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4983619655277057562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/04/to-sleepperchance-to-dream.html' title='to sleep.perchance to dream.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rh4Vi76MaGI/AAAAAAAAAEg/p14ZFVZiN5Y/s72-c/448994313_7365e3dc63_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-7447282732444638533</id><published>2007-04-05T17:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-05T17:38:43.519-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bittersweet letters'/><title type='text'>the patience..</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RhWVuvt2ooI/AAAAAAAAAEY/cnvFev3fIGg/s1600-h/Patience_by_Ghost_001_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RhWVuvt2ooI/AAAAAAAAAEY/cnvFev3fIGg/s320/Patience_by_Ghost_001_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050107187481191042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... to wait the sweetest second, and so to make it even sweeter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... to make the little steps, those who take u to the greatest victory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... to see what holds tomorow, but to live for today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... to fight the urge, and find the right time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... to hope for better times,the joy that they came.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... to stay for the sunrise, and the magic attached.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and the unpatience for the day you'll have this patience....:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-7447282732444638533?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/7447282732444638533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=7447282732444638533' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7447282732444638533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7447282732444638533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/04/patience.html' title='the patience..'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RhWVuvt2ooI/AAAAAAAAAEY/cnvFev3fIGg/s72-c/Patience_by_Ghost_001_.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-3270003064445969339</id><published>2007-04-02T15:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-02T16:43:47.655-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='touch of muse'/><title type='text'>sometimes, a fantasy..</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RhGU-GyfG7I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/4SuKmnwYDxI/s1600-h/438566379_d6839a1161_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RhGU-GyfG7I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/4SuKmnwYDxI/s320/438566379_d6839a1161_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048980451954203570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... of good times, and happiness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;se intampla asa cateodata. ai o zi grea, nimic nu se leaga , esti obosita si vrei doar ca ajungi acasa, sa dormi si sa uiti. cateodata te sperii de zile ca astea pentru ca par atat de repetate incat stransoarea asta a vietii devine si mai vizibila. si mai deprimanta. te urci in masina si mergi spre casa, iar traficul iti reaminteste doar d c ti-ai dori sa ai metroul personal. parchezi cu greu si cand cobori si iti vezi casa si pentru prima data respiri cu adevarat pe aceasta zi aerul de primavara si simti mirosul de flori, de viata, de nou. poate nici nu realizezi ca ai simtit asta , dar pentru un moment undeva , ceva a simtit mai adanc decat toate partile rele ale acestui azi. mergi mai departe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;intri un pic pe net, mananci ceva, te uiti la survivor, faci o baie calda si lunga, cauti doar picatura de relaxare sa te departeze de tine de azi, care poate nici nu simti ca esti tu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e deja intuneric si te bagi in pat cu o carte sau nu. sper s-adormi ma repede si sa poti visa, caci visele sunt libertate cateodata, sunt cealalta parte a zilei, si poate vei fi norocoasa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;adormi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;si atunci se intampla minunea programarii noastre genetice de a nu putea cu adevarat sa controlam ce simtim si ce ne atinge. secole de conditionare, milenii de evolutie se zbat pentru a scoate la iveala ce e natural frumos uman. si asa apare visul..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi te intorci pe partea cealalta si cineva care ar privi ar putea spune ca ai reusit inca odata sa invingi ziua, presiunea, lumea in care traiesti... ganguresti cu un zambet:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" viata este frumoasa.."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-3270003064445969339?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/3270003064445969339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=3270003064445969339' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/3270003064445969339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/3270003064445969339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/04/sometimes-fantasy.html' title='sometimes, a fantasy..'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RhGU-GyfG7I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/4SuKmnwYDxI/s72-c/438566379_d6839a1161_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-142131123269217101</id><published>2007-03-31T22:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-01T08:31:50.676-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='raynsplanations'/><title type='text'>just for fun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rg9GmGyfG4I/AAAAAAAAAD4/m14CI88vNbE/s1600-h/Will__s_Inexperience__colored_by_CasualStorm.png.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rg9GmGyfG4I/AAAAAAAAAD4/m14CI88vNbE/s320/Will__s_Inexperience__colored_by_CasualStorm.png.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048331327776955266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i've come to the ultimate conclusion, that our existence is rigged. we're not free, we're just a joke for someone higher, we're a gag, a method of entertainment on a boring saturday evening. we dance as it's signed..we are happy when good things happen and sad when things go wrong.  how wonderfully funny must be to see the reactions of a humble human to factors like luck, love, death and hope. just put a little hope there, give a little luck at the start [ just to feel a little the sweet taste of expected victory ] and then distroy all the hope with an unexpected event. bang bang. u'll see the smile the energy the adrenaline the desperation the tears and the sad acceptations of facts..the whole human show, such emotive creatures...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we're just some puppets, we play our part. and when the lightning strucks,instead of losing your head, try to be a bigger person and hold your grip. u'll dissapoint the viewer,u'll be more than a monkey. and for sure u won't be a joker. like me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-142131123269217101?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/142131123269217101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=142131123269217101' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/142131123269217101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/142131123269217101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/03/just-for-fun.html' title='just for fun'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rg9GmGyfG4I/AAAAAAAAAD4/m14CI88vNbE/s72-c/Will__s_Inexperience__colored_by_CasualStorm.png.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-7298685637583448900</id><published>2007-03-27T15:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T15:37:03.025-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='depressive entropy'/><title type='text'>silence talks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RgmYq5h0Y4I/AAAAAAAAADs/64T9FtcwVAc/s1600-h/what_is_the_meaning_by_ivorylily.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RgmYq5h0Y4I/AAAAAAAAADs/64T9FtcwVAc/s320/what_is_the_meaning_by_ivorylily.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046732720209945474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;zile ciudate si pline de intelesuri oare sau doar noi incercam sa le facem sa conteze si sa nu spunem la final candva ca am trait degeaba cand poate asta  facem caci de ce altfel am avea atata nevoie de validare a semnificatiei fiecarei clipe ce se scurge prin si nu pe langa noi   oare&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cine stie pana la urma...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-7298685637583448900?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/7298685637583448900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=7298685637583448900' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7298685637583448900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/7298685637583448900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/03/zile-ciudate-si-pline-de-intelesuri.html' title='silence talks'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RgmYq5h0Y4I/AAAAAAAAADs/64T9FtcwVAc/s72-c/what_is_the_meaning_by_ivorylily.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-5866747919100909374</id><published>2007-03-06T12:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T13:39:05.290-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='raynsplanations'/><title type='text'>the most important decision of your life</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Re3fSOf49EI/AAAAAAAAADk/h620s9eLBAI/s1600-h/A_Fishy_Idea.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Re3fSOf49EI/AAAAAAAAADk/h620s9eLBAI/s320/A_Fishy_Idea.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038929062319944770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; there comes a moment when u have to wonder. what drags you behind?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;what's keeping u from achieving your potential? and why others make it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; it's hard.because you have to be honest. and that's really hard...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;today i've heard something that might be the key, or anyway, one of the keys..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the biggest mistake u can make it's to say, when the alarm goes on, "just another 10 minutes".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that's definitely keeping u behind...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for the better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-5866747919100909374?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/5866747919100909374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=5866747919100909374' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5866747919100909374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5866747919100909374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/03/most-important-decision-of-your-life.html' title='the most important decision of your life'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Re3fSOf49EI/AAAAAAAAADk/h620s9eLBAI/s72-c/A_Fishy_Idea.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-5609760166074381141</id><published>2007-02-15T06:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-15T06:35:36.596-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='touch of muse'/><title type='text'>fleeting moment of optimism</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RdRvo6WSE7I/AAAAAAAAADQ/qdnfUrS2GHY/s1600-h/Nameless_Angels_by_Chizuri.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RdRvo6WSE7I/AAAAAAAAADQ/qdnfUrS2GHY/s320/Nameless_Angels_by_Chizuri.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031769432327852978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" i have dreamed my path tonite/&lt;br /&gt;was escorted by two angels/&lt;br /&gt;And they looked at me in anger/&lt;br /&gt;Desperation,hope and faith/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; i waked up confused but certain&lt;br /&gt; i won't dissapoint my angels&lt;br /&gt; Cause i've seen the future,brother&lt;br /&gt; And is great.  "&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-5609760166074381141?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/5609760166074381141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=5609760166074381141' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5609760166074381141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5609760166074381141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-have-dreamed-my-path-tonite-was.html' title='fleeting moment of optimism'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RdRvo6WSE7I/AAAAAAAAADQ/qdnfUrS2GHY/s72-c/Nameless_Angels_by_Chizuri.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-2973416822666114058</id><published>2007-02-15T05:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-15T06:38:38.443-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='break me shake me'/><title type='text'>misunderstanding</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RdRsVKWSE6I/AAAAAAAAADE/hQCAyN28tJI/s1600-h/Tied.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RdRsVKWSE6I/AAAAAAAAADE/hQCAyN28tJI/s320/Tied.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031765794490553250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" oh  Doamne! oh Doamne!  unde sunt?!  ce se intampla?! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tipatul mi se opri undeva in gatlej cand am realizat ca eram legata de un scaun si aveam gura acoperita de banda adeziva.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" oh Doamne! s-a terminat! o sa mor! s-a terminat! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nu inteleg cum am ajuns aici, adica ieri luam cina la el acasa. gatise pentru mine cu ocazia Zilei Indragostitilor si totul era asa de bine. Apoi..nu mai imi amintesc...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;El.Dar cum se poate...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;" aa...urasc sa mananc singur, tu nu?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;m-am uitat circumspecta la barbatul elegant care tocmai se apropiase de masa mea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" partenerul meu de afaceri tocmai m-a lasat balta. se pare ca nu sunt la fel de important ca sedinta ce a aparut asa ca...cum ziceam, urasc sa mananc singur!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" mda..nici mie nu prea imi place. dar eu nu sunt singura!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;s-a uitat in dreapta in stanga, apoi la mine intrebator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"adica..da..acum sunt. dar nu eram mai devreme am venit cu...in fine, acum sunt sigura ok" am ras.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"atunci nu te va deranja sa ma mut la masa asta, promit sa fiu amuzant! " a spus el zambind ghidush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"bine, va invit alaturi de mine!" si am facut o mica plecaciune.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si chiar a fost foarte amuzant si la final mi-am dat seama ca nu mai doream sa plece asa repede, si m-am simtit usurata cand mi-a cerut numarul sa "mai mancam impreuna cand toata lumea in jur ne va lasa balta " .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In urmatoarea luna ne-am intalnit foarte des si, in mod deloc surprinzator am devenit un cuplu. Incepusem sa ma gandesc ca poate...imi gasisem jumatatea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apoi m-a invitat la el pentru cea mai romantica cina de Valentine's, nu ca ar fi crezut prea mult in sarbatoarea asta dar mi-a zis ca orice motiv e la fel de bun pentru a face ceva pentru mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Singurul lucur care imi dadea de banuit era ca nu vroia sa il prezint prietenilor mei sa nu mai vorbim de parinti.Dar mi-a promis ca dupa aceasta zi va incerca sa fie mai "sociabil".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cina a fost de vis si totul era asa cum trebuia sa fie,cum mi-am inchipuit  de atatea ori dar niciodata nu mi se intamplase, eram cum sa zic, in al noulea cer. Dupa ce am dansat ne-am asezat pe canapea mi-a zis ca imi pregateste o ultima supriza zilei. Mi-a zis sa imi inchid ochi. Apoi...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am simtit o carpa pe fata mea care ma sufoca, si mi-am pierdut cunostintza..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"nu se poate! pur si simplu...nu se poate!! totul e un vis. un cosmar!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deodata s-au aprins luminile in jurul meu si am vazut c eram intr-o camera simpla. in fata mea era o masa goala iar eu eram imbracata doar cu o bluza de spital. Se auzeau niste zgomote dincolo de usa si in sfarsit credeam ca totul avea sa se termine si ma voi trezi alaturi de el in pat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apoi usa s- adeschis si a intrat el. Era imbracat intr-un halat alb si avea intr-o mana un cutit si in cealalta ceva ce semana cu o trusa de scule, ca acelea pe care le vezi in reclamele pe la televizor. S-a apropiat de mine zambind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Atunci mi-am dat seama ce rau ma inselasem. Nu avea sa se termine. Ci,era dabia inceputul...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;END.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-2973416822666114058?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/2973416822666114058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=2973416822666114058' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2973416822666114058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2973416822666114058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/02/misunderstanding.html' title='misunderstanding'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RdRsVKWSE6I/AAAAAAAAADE/hQCAyN28tJI/s72-c/Tied.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-8563228310352211522</id><published>2007-01-29T04:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-29T05:26:27.990-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='break me shake me'/><title type='text'>the hot guns</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rb3x8DlZ-CI/AAAAAAAAACg/gRXWQAEV1sM/s1600-h/Live_Fast.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rb3x8DlZ-CI/AAAAAAAAACg/gRXWQAEV1sM/s320/Live_Fast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025438773271984162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;simti ritmul?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;simti cum aerul se loveste de parbrizul masinii cu de 200 de kilometri la ora? tic tac.tic tac. aceasta e inima ta. tictac.tictac. din ce in ce mai repede. in fata se vede deja zidul. simti presiunea? cine se va opri primul? nu te intereseaza asta nu? conteaza doar cine se va opri ultimul. te uiti in dreapta. apoi in stanga. sunt inca langa tine. nu le e inca frica. din nou in fata.  mai putin de 3 km si vei ajunge. in realitate. mai sunt doar 2 ,7 km in care poti apasa frana, dupa asta nu va mai conta oricum. tictactictactictac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"jocul este simplu. cel care opreste cel mai aproape de zid castiga. ceilalati sunt gainile. nu pot fi gaina. niciodata. am castigat tot timpu, voi castiga din nou. aici este momentul meu de maretie. sunt o legenda. iar o leganda nu pierde.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;shhhrsss. da, aceasta a fost prima frana. mai sunteti doar doi. iti mai auzi inima? nu, asta nu e inima, e adrenalina popmandu-se prin vene.inima s-a oprit momentan. iar daca in urmatoarele 10 de secunde nu pui frana. se va opri de tot. dar inca nu esti singurul ramas.&lt;br /&gt;10. de ce nu se opreste??&lt;br /&gt;9.  dreapta.ii vezi frica in ochi nu? deja ai castigat. i-ai vazut frica. zambesti.&lt;br /&gt;8.  fata. e atat de aproape. simti asta?&lt;br /&gt;7.  o simti. o simti si tu.&lt;br /&gt;6.  e frica amice, chiar si tu. leganda. timpul trece.&lt;br /&gt;5.  de ce nu opreste?&lt;br /&gt;4.  asa e. gandul acela . prinde-te de el. asculta-l. urmeaza-l. frana.&lt;br /&gt;3.  acum apas-o.apsa-o cu toate puterea prietene. salveaza-te. stii ca ai castigat oricum. daca nu se opreste acum moare. ce spuneau regulile de cel ce moare?...&lt;br /&gt;2.  vrei sa mori?&lt;br /&gt;1.  auzi? a pus frana aia. dar pentru tine e prea tarziu. esti un invingator. un erou. un idiot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" e prea tarziu oricum. stiu . iar daca frana nu ma mai poate salva, pot la fel de bine sa apas acceleratia pana la fund. impact total. am trait tare,si as lasa un cadavru frumos in urma.daca ar mai ramane ceva. ha ha. ce-as trage-un fum acum. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;stii ce?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;your name might be remembered.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-8563228310352211522?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/8563228310352211522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=8563228310352211522' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8563228310352211522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8563228310352211522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/hot-guns.html' title='the hot guns'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/Rb3x8DlZ-CI/AAAAAAAAACg/gRXWQAEV1sM/s72-c/Live_Fast.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-1255005323419628964</id><published>2007-01-26T15:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-24T07:31:46.550-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the untold stories'/><title type='text'>script..</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbsizTlZ-BI/AAAAAAAAACU/3MSLQV-9VQQ/s1600-h/Christian_Bale_by_junalesca.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbsizTlZ-BI/AAAAAAAAACU/3MSLQV-9VQQ/s320/Christian_Bale_by_junalesca.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024648074087757842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;intro: o camera foarte moderna in stil minimalist , pe fundal se vede bucataria, gen american cu un bar pe care se afla niste sticle. pe canapea sta un barbat bine facut imbracat doar in boxeri. se ridica se uita spre camera si spune zambind:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" cand te uiti la mine vezi un barbat alb, brunet. stiu , arat foarte bine.  [ &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;face o pauza&lt;/span&gt; ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;acum uite-te inca o data mai de aproape [ c&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;amera zoom pe tot corpul de sus pana jos apoi din nou pe chipul lui&lt;/span&gt;]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;spune-mi. sunt un om bun? sau un om rau? [ &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;rade&lt;/span&gt; ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sa va spun ce mi s-a intamplat acum cateva luni. [ &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;se indreapta spre bar si povesteste in timp ce isi pune niste wiskey intr-un pahar de cristal si apoi adauga gheata din frapiera&lt;/span&gt; ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am cunoscut-o la o petrecerea unui prieten si mi-a atras din prima atentie pentru ca era pur si simplu frumoasa. mi-am dorit imediat sa o am. iar cand imi doresc ceva, trebuie sa il obtin.[&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;zambeste superior&lt;/span&gt; ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am intrat cu ea in vorba rapid si am descoperit ca avea un prieten, de fapt..un logodnic. oricum nu conta. am stat cu ea toata seara si am reusit sa o fascinez destul incat sa accepte o invitatie la o cafea a doua zi. apoi, a fost usor. nu a trebuit decat sa ii schimb niste idei si conceptii mostenite inconstient de la parintii ei conservatori si sa o dezinhib in anumite directii. m-am jucat cu mintea ei pana cand a ajuns sa nu mai fie sigura daca chiar il iubeste pe domnul logodnic. nu era suprinzator, mintea e un lucru usor de manipulat..daca stii cum :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi intr-o seara m-a sunat sa imi spune ca s-a despartit de el si ma invita la ea. ma asteptam la asta si eram pregatit. cand am ajuns mi-a deschis usa si m-a sarutat. nici asta nu a fost surprinzator.apoi am avut cea mai tare partida de sex [ &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;bea din pahar si continua&lt;/span&gt;].. din viata ei bineinteles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;imi amintesc ca in timp ce tipa de placere a primit un mesaj,stiu asta pentru ca mesajul a vibrat in pat si asta facut-o sa tipe si mai tare [ rade ]. eram sigur ca e de la el si mi-a adus un ranjet pe fata. cred ca satisfactia e mai mare daca exista si alte mici victorii in jurul celei mai mari.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lasa paharul pe bar si se uita la ceasul de la mana ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;mi-am pierdut interesul foarte repede dupa aceea ca de obicei, dupa ce am ce imi doresc nu mai exista nici o provocare. asa ca nu am mai sunat-o. m-a mai cautat de cateva ori dar cred ca pana la urma a inteles. a fost un joc si ar fi trebuit sa isi dea seama. cred.. tot timpul e un joc de fapt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;se indreapta spre usa de la dormitor]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;acum ma scuzati dar s-a facut tarziu si trebuie sa ma pregatesc.am o noua provocare asta seara.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;deschide usa si inainte sa intre se mai intoarce odata spre camera ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;ah, si daca va intrebati ce s-a intamplat cu ea, am aflat acum cateva zile ca se casatoreste in curand. uimitor, dar nu am primit o invitatie la nunta [ &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;zambeste iar parca ironic ] &lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;dar e minunat ca binele invinge intotdeauna..nu-i asa? [ &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;incepe sa rade in timp ce inchide usa.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[ camera se departeaza de usa focalizandu-se din nou pe canapeaua de piele ,acum goala]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;END.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&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/6172812019933706067-1255005323419628964?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/1255005323419628964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=1255005323419628964' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1255005323419628964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/1255005323419628964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/intro-o-camera-foarte-moderna-in-stil.html' title='script..'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbsizTlZ-BI/AAAAAAAAACU/3MSLQV-9VQQ/s72-c/Christian_Bale_by_junalesca.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-569235900540132599</id><published>2007-01-25T14:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-25T14:48:33.276-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the untold storys'/><title type='text'>frozen lovin</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbkxEDlZ-AI/AAAAAAAAACI/UXlHkmJqwZw/s1600-h/422e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbkxEDlZ-AI/AAAAAAAAACI/UXlHkmJqwZw/s320/422e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024100805059934210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;peisajul: marea,o mare ,intr-un din  zile de iarna:inghetzata. pusa  pe "pause" de o entitate superioara.esti inca si mai mult,nu poti simti frigul dar poti simti totul altceva,colturile taioase ale unui val in cadere,suprafata grunjoasa a marii cristalizate,mirosul sarat si intepator.mergi pe mare printre valurile ca niste partii si nisipul acoperit de o pojghitza subtire straluceste in lumina cruda a soarelui, cineva iti striga de departe sa nu treci de gemandura.nu e real,e cineva dintr-un timp uitat de mult,un alt loc,o amintire.Vezi geamandura departe,un bol de gheatza oprit intr-un etern repaus.Stii insa ca trebuie sa mergi mai departe caci,undeva,marea isi continua fluxul,refluxul,freamatul.Esti in cautarea vietii,din ea dar si din tine...nu stii cum ai ajuns aici,sau ce se intampla cu adevarat.Cerul e albastru-pal si te priveste impasibil.De undeva de sus auzi un vajait si  langa tine cade un porumbel alb facundu-se tandari de blocul imens de gheata pe care mergi, intregul lui corp se transforma intr-o multitudine de cioburi albe,dar ochii raman intacti si te privesc parca cerandu-ti sa nu uit.Incepe sa iti fie frig,timpul pentru cautare se scurge repede si nu mai e mult,dar esti aproape, auzi marea...un sunet ambiguu,dar indubitabil scos de apa ce isi indeplineste cu regularitatea inaintarea spre nisip,se aude exact ca intr-o scoica.Trebuie doar sa mergi mai departe , sa mergi mai mai departe... &lt;p&gt; finalul il vei gasi in inima ta....&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-569235900540132599?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/569235900540132599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=569235900540132599' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/569235900540132599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/569235900540132599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/frozen-lovin.html' title='frozen lovin'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbkxEDlZ-AI/AAAAAAAAACI/UXlHkmJqwZw/s72-c/422e.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-5679126080741648557</id><published>2007-01-24T13:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-25T03:46:57.056-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='depressive entropy'/><title type='text'>by chance</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbfQQTlZ99I/AAAAAAAAABg/1FtC_5_3RGg/s1600-h/Take_Your_Chances_V2_by_deadidentity.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbfQQTlZ99I/AAAAAAAAABg/1FtC_5_3RGg/s320/Take_Your_Chances_V2_by_deadidentity.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023712887908726738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you pick two cards. and go all in. will you win?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you throw a dice. every number sends you somewhere. are you ready?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you flip a coin. head or tail. whatever comes. decides your future. feeling scared ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it has begun from the day you were born.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;good luck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-5679126080741648557?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/5679126080741648557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=5679126080741648557' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5679126080741648557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/5679126080741648557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/by-chance.html' title='by chance'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbfQQTlZ99I/AAAAAAAAABg/1FtC_5_3RGg/s72-c/Take_Your_Chances_V2_by_deadidentity.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-4923868804883860300</id><published>2007-01-20T02:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-20T08:12:39.043-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='touch of muse'/><title type='text'>sesiunea...de somn</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbID_DlZ97I/AAAAAAAAABI/rzcJ7s729Rg/s1600-h/Unspiration___Anatomy_Study_by_CanisLoopus.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbID_DlZ97I/AAAAAAAAABI/rzcJ7s729Rg/s320/Unspiration___Anatomy_Study_by_CanisLoopus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022080916300363698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FOCUS.FOCUS. it's here...no time to lose. no life to live. you have to learn. and learn. get smart. cheat if u can. cheat if u want. but at least fake it. fake smartness. fake it till you make it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;somnul este inamicul sesiunii.este partea intunecata. cosmarul sesiunii.dar nu pot sa nu ma intreb daca nu cumva sesiunea este cosmarul somnului. dar somnul viseaza..? iar foile din fatza iti soptesc usor un cantec de leagan...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cateodata sunt fericit. alta data nu. depresia este o constanta si m-am obisnuit. eu . si depresia. we get along...but now...it might be too much.. there's three of us&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu. depresia. si sesiunea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;si cateodata trebuie sa gasesti resursele necesare pentru a privi totul ca o provocare si sa reusesti. trebuie sa reusesti. altfel cum vei reusi mai departe?  sesiunea este doar un model artificial de viata reala. un model usurel they say... so cand lucrurile nu merg la ce mai poti spera? timpul trece...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;esti gata?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                     am zis si voi mai zice...mi-e somn de vise...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-4923868804883860300?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/4923868804883860300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=4923868804883860300' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4923868804883860300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/4923868804883860300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/sesiuneade-somn.html' title='sesiunea...de somn'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RbID_DlZ97I/AAAAAAAAABI/rzcJ7s729Rg/s72-c/Unspiration___Anatomy_Study_by_CanisLoopus.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-454986396351580983</id><published>2007-01-08T02:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-04-17T14:38:46.772-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laughable'/><title type='text'>mommy,mommy, there's a mouse in the kitchen !</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RaIj8Ugxr_I/AAAAAAAAAA8/3gGMGFQqFlg/s1600-h/ECC_Church_Mouse_by_kyoht.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RaIj8Ugxr_I/AAAAAAAAAA8/3gGMGFQqFlg/s320/ECC_Church_Mouse_by_kyoht.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5017612454049460210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i just wanted to eat a sandwich before i go to bed. i cut the bread. when my sis entered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i took the chees and start creating. when smth moved.it was like a fast black movement in the corner of my eye. i turned around. sis was staring at me "DID U SEE IT?!". i said " See what? " . very calm. i proceded to cut the cheese thing. "It was a RAT!!!". i smiled and said sounding very sure of myself  "nee..maybe a bug..".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"oh come on! bugs don't run so fast! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"oh..they do ..they do..."  [ right... ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As i made my sandwich the thing decided to go under the fridge. he passed thru my legs and hidded fastly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my calm evaporated as i droped the mustard on the floor and start screaming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"it's a RAT. it's a RAT!!! " ruuuuuun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i got out of kitchen as my sister was already in the bathroom. i shut the door and start finally breathing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"shit"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my sis came and said.."oh my god! oh my god! we are cursed. why are they alwasy mice where we stay? what's that? is it a sign? we are cursed!! :((( " she started sniffin terrified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"eeeh..don't be silly! it's just little mouse. he doesn;t bite! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"go to sleep!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"aaa..aren't u afraid?! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"who me? of a mouse?? come on. i'm a MAN! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"oke..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;she ended up wth the yellow pages in my bed [ said she can't sleep alone! ] looking for ppl to kill  the mouse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"do u think gheorghe popescu would do it??? "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"aham...i'm sure he would!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"what about andaluzia narcovescu ? "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"haha. no way! she'd run away scared and get herself a hotel room! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"mmm...i think maria nicolae is the one!! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"noup. she'd feed the mouse and build him a lil house..not a good choice. stop looking in the wrong book sis!! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;later that nite. me , the MAN. went in the kitchen to take a glass of water armed with my toy sword [ the mouse couldn;t know it's a toy right?! ] and boots to kick him if he wants to attack...then got to the computer and watched "the attack of the mice".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;talk about irony...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-454986396351580983?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/454986396351580983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=454986396351580983' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/454986396351580983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/454986396351580983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/mommymommy-theres-mouse-in-kitchen.html' title='mommy,mommy, there&apos;s a mouse in the kitchen !'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RaIj8Ugxr_I/AAAAAAAAAA8/3gGMGFQqFlg/s72-c/ECC_Church_Mouse_by_kyoht.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-8759258873967552639</id><published>2007-01-05T15:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-05T16:05:34.767-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='raynsplanations'/><title type='text'>despre...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZ7nW0gxr-I/AAAAAAAAAAw/HtwWr8aHbPE/s1600-h/Independant_by_DesertShadow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZ7nW0gxr-I/AAAAAAAAAAw/HtwWr8aHbPE/s320/Independant_by_DesertShadow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5016701414176567266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pai..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ma gandeam la titlul blogului meu. poate cititorul meu se intreaba de unde vine. cred ca este timpul pentru o explicatie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;este in fapt doar o extindere a teoremei mele despre fereastra limitativa prin care se prives oamenii unii pe altii. acceptam deseori sa nu vedem decat ce vrem, doar o parte din oameni si sa nu cautam mai mult sa vedem ce este cu adevarat acolo. adanc ascuns sau deseori nici macar atat de adanc. acceptam o viziune 2D asupra celorlalte persoane. o viziune bidimensionala deci.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;omul este insa o persoana 3D. avem atatea fatzete incat poate 3d nici macar nu e destul...si este poate imposibil sa cunosti pe cineva total intr-o viata. poate ca da. dar sigur poti cunoaste pe cineva  foarte bine si foarte intim. foarte..tridimensional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;insa e normala frica de a fi descoperit. e normal sa nu stii daca ce se gaseste acolo. eul tau cand ramai in final singur cu tine in intunericul camerei tale. daca ce esti. va placea. sau este ceea ce persoana cauta...iti este frica ca ii vei speria pe toti. te infasori in zeci de imagini alternative si le oferi..pana cand?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pana cand te maturizezi. si ce implica asta. poate ca are o radacina comuna cu prietenia. si anume...acceptarea. acceptarea celuilalt. si acceptarea ta insuti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;intr-un fel. prietenia ne invatza sa acceptam. si acceptand invatam sa ne iubim. si astfel..ne maturizam...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ironic este ca prietenie ne invatza maturizarea. si maturizarea ne alunga cateodata prietenii..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;rayne dixit : " maturizarea is...a bitch! "&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-8759258873967552639?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/8759258873967552639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=8759258873967552639' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8759258873967552639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/8759258873967552639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/despre.html' title='despre...'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZ7nW0gxr-I/AAAAAAAAAAw/HtwWr8aHbPE/s72-c/Independant_by_DesertShadow.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-2612006227723578372</id><published>2007-01-04T08:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T10:33:40.985-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life acording to rayne'/><title type='text'>ce isi doresc oamenii.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZ0uEdLbxdI/AAAAAAAAAAk/abdDS1v3NR4/s1600-h/340965614_b7602647ab_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZ0uEdLbxdI/AAAAAAAAAAk/abdDS1v3NR4/s320/340965614_b7602647ab_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5016216214047540690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;o intrebare ca m-a fascinat de cand eram mic and socially awkward...pana in ziua de azi cand sunt mare[cough] and...socially awkward...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oamenii isi doresc pe cineva care sa ii asculte cu cea mai mare atentie. sa ii inteleaga. si poate...poate apoi sa uite.  fiinte ale momentului, ne este frica de consecintzele faptului ca some know something about us... alienarea este trademark-ul secolului.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;te adaptezi sau mori cum zicea cineva. fii ca noi. fii cinic...si daca nu vreau?  daca inca mai cred in prietenie iubire ajutor morala onestitate onoare? daca spiritul corporatist nu mi-a impartit inca sufletul in sertarase si categorii, dupa toate normele UE?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" hey.good luck with that. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;stii ce imi place ?  ca toate fetele sunt atat de fete in spatele tuturor aparentzelor... iar asta e un exemple de anti-cinism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;maybe there's still hope...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.                                                                                                                              forever searching.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-2612006227723578372?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/2612006227723578372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=2612006227723578372' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2612006227723578372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2612006227723578372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2007/01/ce-isi-doresc-oamenii.html' title='ce isi doresc oamenii.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZ0uEdLbxdI/AAAAAAAAAAk/abdDS1v3NR4/s72-c/340965614_b7602647ab_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-695844382258599374</id><published>2006-12-29T14:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-29T14:48:54.619-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='depressive entropy'/><title type='text'>almost the end.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZWbO9LbxcI/AAAAAAAAAAY/OJqLbfH3WvU/s1600-h/Untitled_by_Mitas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZWbO9LbxcI/AAAAAAAAAAY/OJqLbfH3WvU/s320/Untitled_by_Mitas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014084441389909442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the end of the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;incerci sa tragi o linie si sa vezi ce nu se leaga si promiti. promiti ca de next year totul va fi mai bine. promiti ca you'll do it right. promiti ca nu vei uita ce ai promis...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apoi de trezesti si esti la fel. cand se produc schimbarile de fapt? ce evenimente te pot misca atat de mult incat sa iesi din inertia ta? cineva observa ca se intampla unele lucruri care te pot influentza sa te schimbi spre mai bine si mai rau dar totul e...artificial. ai fi putut face asta si fara acele evenimente. d c avem nevoie de asta? de ce nu e destul sa vrem...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;iar cand viitorul se arata un pic infricosator. iar coltii consecintzelor actiunilor tale se ghicesc usor prin umbra. te zburlesti un pic si intorci capul sa privesti cerul. si iti amintesti o vreme cand inca se mai putea face ceva...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sper din toata inima ca inca se mai poate...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dar urmele lacrimilor mele pe obraji nu povestesc nimik despre motivul pentru care au curs...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                              i'd break my heart..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-695844382258599374?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/695844382258599374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=695844382258599374' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/695844382258599374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/695844382258599374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2006/12/almost-end.html' title='almost the end.'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOdcFINtQb8/RZWbO9LbxcI/AAAAAAAAAAY/OJqLbfH3WvU/s72-c/Untitled_by_Mitas.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6172812019933706067.post-2486714459169900461</id><published>2006-11-29T02:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T10:34:24.400-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good day and good luck'/><title type='text'>i'm still here</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/5971/753517092277063/1600/227650/the_book_of_Opeth_by_afairjudgement.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/5971/753517092277063/320/91000/the_book_of_Opeth_by_afairjudgement.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;soon.i'll be even more here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;because it's all so new i have to  figure it out. but i  hope i will soon...meanwhile i'll pe reposting  some of my  old  post i really like..not much, maybe 20 :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and ... for the bigger picture... i'll start with the explanation of the link. stay tuned :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                               i'd still break my heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6172812019933706067-2486714459169900461?l=bidim3nsional.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/feeds/2486714459169900461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6172812019933706067&amp;postID=2486714459169900461' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2486714459169900461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6172812019933706067/posts/default/2486714459169900461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bidim3nsional.blogspot.com/2006/11/im-still-here.html' title='i&apos;m still here'/><author><name>rayne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00228154931493906791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
