Ultimul trecut (Tot morți)

O pătură de stele cade ca un oblon erodat peste o zi în care era să fim uitați,
Reflexii fragede ne colorează fețele și îngânăm secrete ostile ca între frați.
Se schimbă culoarea cerului iar noi apreciem confortul unui străin
Dar repausul degradant din sicriu continuă să ne amintească de coșmarul pe care îl trăim.
Ne-a legat o violență fină și delicată cât timp am comis păcate ca un favor.
Nimeni nu suspină, nu regretă, nu atinge, dar suntem tumefiați de dor.
Înfruntăm percepții tăioase care ne-au creat cicatrici și răni abisale.
Toți te acompaniem în acest zbor în care etalezi aripi din petale.
Într-o frenezie de sfinți, ne străduim din răsputeri să nu uităm cumva
Că nu este doar o poveste auzită, că nu i s-a întâmplat altcuiva.
Am învățat să plasăm amintiri identice ca borne în timp, pe vechiul orizont.
Le aclamăm, le invocăm, dar încercările de resurecție ricoșează rarefiat ca un resort.
Incitarea la visare este curmată deoarece pe lumină va durea cel mai acut.
Am fost întrerupți de o scânteie care s-a prăbușit pe trupul fără conținut.
În întuneric știm mai bine că durerea este doar o crudă fantasmă.
Nimeni nu plânge, nu intuiește textura, nu zdrobește pielea lui ca o plasmă.
Va fi pentru totdeauna o oglindă în cer care va reflecta setea de el zile și nopți.
Claritatea lui se va regenera când va fi întâmpinat de brațele sfinților morți.
Cade chiar acum tenebrul și va spăla praful, flama și ale noastre nume
Iar pe noi toți ne așteaptă un giulgiu aspru și eternitatea expusă în gropi comune.
Amintiri și visuri frânte brusc se desprind de pe carcasa lui osoasă...
Percepția sa a fost nimicirea timpului în piese și nici o piatră neîntoarsă.
O mare centură de aer calm și dezordonat precede fulgere și tunete dezlănțuite.
Își anunță prima noapte în singurătate printr-o simfonie sălbatică de vuiete.
Sunetele unui chin și al unui elogiu îl saltă spre o descompunere în temutul pustiu.
Ne dezintegrăm și noi și deja se zărește o luminozitate obscură lângă sicriu.
Pătrund raze prin corpurile noastre și pe lângă ele, prin răni și memorii în exfoliere.
De lângă cruce, o radiografie discontinuă se proiectează peste bolți îndoliate de stele...
Vine ziua când vom merge iar umăr la umăr, cu coșciugul pe umărul nostru.
Prietenul nostru drag va fi sensibil mai sus, țintit acum de un monstru.
Visăm să avem amnezie doar față de el, dar îl simțim la fiecare pas epuizat.
Marșul furibund al cortegiului se intensifică odată cu mirosul aspru emanat.
Suntem idoli modelați de alintul morții care vor mai fi pomeniți doar în melancolii
Sau în prohod, cântecul de leagăn pentru cei care mor tineri și rămân veșnic copii.
Moartea se degajă dar toți rămân în convoiul care irigă regrete în negrul strident.
Trecem prin tranșee rigide. Sicriul se zdruncină. Îngeri moi ne anihilează eficient. Lent...
Toți s-au fixat la căpătâiul său și vor fi martorii unei înmormântări în catifea.
Rage fiul luat din inima uscată a mamei fiindcă va fi absent la ceea ce va urma.
Din doliul ce apasă capacul erupe trecutul mort, cazat în grădina regală de piatră.
Suntem aproape ajunși în prag și aflăm că letargia nu epuizează miracole și nu iartă.
Extenuați, lăsăm tortura să geamă, izbutește să cearnă ecouri dislocând zbiarăte de temut.
Amintirile par acum filme despre fantome. Scanez banda și fotografii. Eu nu știu unde sunt.
Am încremenit și am uitat nume, fețe prizoniere în beznă, cusute în negura vie.
Cortegiul e acum tăcut și privește în gol, către trupul înghețat din care se desprinde câte o fâșie.
Unicul mort pălește irevocabil când muzica difuză izbucnește pe fundal.
Un calvar apărat de-o rază și de reziduurile demiurgului dintr-un voal.
Pare să doară scena care rulează deoarece se iscă o revoltă extenuantă în cer;
Un ultim omagiu, uniți, înainte să se tragă cortina peste cavoul său de fier.
-Nu plângeți și nu-mi mai vorbiți, le-a spus demonilor cu un murmur intim.
Să vă amintiți de noi în fiecare zi după momentul în care o să pierim.
Voi mai ști oare dacă ceilalți vor mai trăi sau când vor muri?
Mă va purta speranța înapoi în timp și ne vom întâlni să ne reînvii...?
Acum zac peste gratii de cavouri profanate și nu mai știu ce am simțit.
Sceptrul e fixat pe masacrul lacrimilor și luminează trupul vânăt și ciuruit.
Un cadavru decimat de formol din care va curge torențial un râu de infecție.
-Sunt un mort scobit, țâșnesc brutal fragmente de carne în orice direcție.
Un corp fără nucleu, captiv, în corzi, pe baricade, cade într-un somn de veci pe căi străbătute.
Piere și lumina. Ultimul asalt al gloriei se mistuie între incantații și ecouri mute.
Nu o să uităm ziua în care ai murit, o himeră pe un drum umbrit.
Sentința pare finisată, căci tu îl parcurgi într-un giulgiu în franjuri, găurit.
Foi cu partitura clopotului zboară spre fețe purtate, fără expresie și se dărâmă.
Zoaie de lacrimi uzate, dar limpezi, se năpustesc asupra clipei de tăcere din țărână...
Mortul este iertat când stropii amari năvălesc praful tăcut și abătut.
Resimțim balada morții adiind în pământ. Doar uitarea mai vine. Se risipesc ani din unicul trecut.
Coșciugul va coborî în bernă, într-o plajă de cenușă, iar armata de oseminte spre eternitate te saltă.
Ești purtat pe brațe cangrenate și amputate, acompaniat pe scenă de copilăria noastră moartă.
O clepsidră putrezită peste care este țesută o pânză de urlete, de când omul e așezat pe ramuri de oase.
E întuneric în pământ. Încercăm să te tragem înapoi, dar ne izbim de armura ta din mătase.
Ne zgâriem de o perdea de raze care împăturește un infern secvențial, dezertor dintr-un paradis stins.
Nemurirea ta fără sfârșit se încovoaie sub noi și de acum declinul nu mai e un viciu pretins.
Suspine vibrează când cuiele despică lemnul și generează un val de plecăciuni peste mormântul sfărâmat.
Mortul primește onoruri în genunchi și e ovaționat cu salve de armă secată, ca un despot întunecat.
Țărușurile străpung și pământul, bolovanii asimetrici acoperă scândurile reci, iar eu privesc spre nicăieri.
Peste țipete, în gropi și în tranșee, sunt numele expuse, atârnând în lanțuri, care mai recunosc doar dureri...
Titluri rostite în agitație fiindcă pământul se răstoarnă și îndoaie sicriul, făcându-l un început frânt.
-Dragii mei, mamă, tată, să nu mă uitați, chiar dacă nu mai sunt cu voi să vă încânt.
În cavou e acum o sculptură osoasă animată, dornică de mobilitate, în spatele cortinei de mâini prăbușite.
Nemurirea ta e repetiție, știută de cruci alterate, fără nume și de goliciunea îndoliată din morminte.
Dărâmat peste coșciug, iau contact cu o altă lume unde dublurile noastre sunt nenăscute.
Dominate de renunțare, sunt și căptușite cu tenebru, încătușate de coroane boante, în așchii, cusute...
Sicriul se surpă, capacul se deformează și începe să răsufle visuri prăpădite, o anomalie conturată postum.
Gardul viu uman absoarbe flori, îngenunchierile înfipte acaparează geneza și o transformă în scrum.
Sângele și fumul sedimentează în subteran un relief defunct, în colaps, care din amintiri s-a cernut.
Copiii dezertori rămân fără muniție, simt uzura, iar lipsa de locomoție din cavou îndeamnă la un veșnic zăcut.
-Ce te face frumoasă, viață ? Acum în epilog realizez că a fost despre familie, iar o parte din mine te-a iubit.
Nu va urma... Voi mai apărea doar la trecut, în memorii false, închipuite de prieteni care nu m-au rănit.
O parte din mine a reținut amintiri care nu s-au petrecut, dar aparțin altcuiva și sunt un scut după înhumare.
Pe lângă groapă sunt rămășițe de venă înfundată din care a curs venin fără încetare...
În veșmântul de schele e deja o armonie între o negură ce curge cu presiune și ceață.
Osemintele și organele veștejite sunt devorate. Pleoapele sigilate. Doar beznă în față.
Transfuzia cu toxic ia o altă turnură când ruine sfinte înhață renumele predat și anesteziat.
Corpul e retușat de putrefacție, va fi alungat din colonie și va agoniza naufragiat.
Pământul radiază acum tragism, este pelerinaj la mormânt și se îngână un imn.
Se iscă un flux de copii inerți care îi intonează doar atât: Ajută-ne să construim !
-Sunt în paragină, în pânza de urlete, defunct, dar lucid. Știu că eu nu mă mai întorc acasă.
Resimt o nostalgie palidă, o angoasă strivitoare, iar malurile de pământ m-apasă.
De-abia acum după ce s-au luat mâinile de pe cruce și tăcerea crunt s-a așternut,
Din ochii mei stinși și pustiiți se retrag imagini redând amintiri din ultimul trecut.
O să vă ajut să clădiți, ne apucăm de săpat în matcă, jos, spre paradis, după răsărit.
Demonul înaripat l-a învelit cu o pătură de stele, a suflat roua de pe el și i-a șoptit:

...

(întunecime)

-Final-

-A fost despre mine de la început până la sfârșit !

VaLi.

Our last swan song: Mirror in the sky...

I told you from the debut that we have no regard for tragedies,
Destined to be blown away like powder, by the death's breeze,
We're worrying to touch our frozen friend, we committed no sin.  

Father changes rules and gives you a taste of his own medicine.

I sit and whisper towards the stoned body. His requiem goes on.

Making no sense, you settle down the ground, bruised, all alone...

That wasn't your time, yet, you're ready to go, robbed of disguise,

And an emphatic holy absorbs loud signals of pain out of our eyes.

Brother, with this nocturnal departure, you took a lot of my heart!

Let me know you are there, so I will forget the homage I took part...

My spirit will not resurrect you, all by itself, buried in a vocal abyss. 

After brutal rivers of tears, you are gonna become the first to miss!

All our sorrow, kid, routes of scars and nicotine next to the morgue,

Are on the verge of generating my collapse into a deep amnesia fog.

Love has gone, moved along, but we remember a time we had trust,

Past is gonna find us and try to match the memories, covered in dust...

When I'm awake in dawn, cause that's when the wreck hurts the most,

We're in ruins, no alibi, we imagine paradise, with you being the host.

Struck by a sequence of memories, that is like movies about my ghost.

Don't let me find you're gone, child. Exploit the heaven, move to coast.

We're compelled by the leading demons and the lingering freedom bell,

Into a pursuit of inner healing. Will even work? Well, only time will tell...

He's way out on his journey and we're mourning him through every cell.

Think about who's escaping. Then remember our organic friend who fell.

Series of fallen vengeance, pack of lies and a lack of breach in our voice...

We've matured. From kids to boys to idols to kings, by unanimous choice.

Entering in the shadow of remorse, with pain and purpose, seeking home,

Filtering complaints, calling out harmful poison of enemy lost in the storm,

We are providing mind over matter, yet the regrets and sighs are still dry.

Moving along, from now on, in the comfort of angels, we either do or die...

Then 'figure out', he said to the saints. 'A boy from old horizons was here'.

And that is how I ended up. Outside the skinny shield, but I'll remain near...

When you'll be cold and will land, surrounded by young glory and the lord,

Think about our young blood, chased from the past, a fight we can't afford.

A dark intruder admits our encounter in front of the vision, who broke free.

Believe in my fairy tale, look into the future, lift a cross between us and me...

And your bright name will no longer shine in stone, will survive on soft sand.

Everybody loved the innocent child who passed like the star with a cold hand.

Stumbling in the weak city, your illusion running on the path of empty wishes...

Came up short of tenderness and consumed excess when we bailed his ashes.

He has no regrets, he said, but that can't be what we need if any of us is there.

Our teen spirit is embedded in this funeral, since ancient times, going nowhere.
Demons will make us eternally. I don't want people to forget our familiar faces.
Back to where I've never been, dressed in black, a rose sunken in dark places.
From head to toe, your revival smells like putrefaction. A casualty in the flame.
I don't play the savior role. My end is not far away, but there's no one to blame.
Forget our love, our glory, despite your extinguished grave, that you are aware.
Denying my berth in the rivalries. Inspiring the past to cease? Don't even dare!

You must die young if wanna be chandelier in the sky, belonging to an alliance.

Child, don't let us forget the time of our lives, risen by your Pattern of Violence...

Version³ : Inner Child gone bad.

When this jaded story cease to begin
And my body goes of its slippery skin,
I wrap my sorrow underneath the light.
Yet, the scene is one step off my sight...
Dawn was here, deep into the dreams. 
I use their purpose, not their screams.
Time has wings, but past breaks free!
We are what memories allow us to be...
Fear my demons and the pain inside,
Fight back, waste your missiles wide...

Let me find when you're down the wire,
Gone, but never denied by a dying liar...

Remember when I set the time on fire?

The goal was to accomplish my desire.
To keep the wounds hanging in chains,
To stop the venom pouring in my veins...
All we wanted was a shadow in the dark,
But our empty senses gave us no spark.
Our future struggles in a heavy silence.
'Cause the past was Pattern of Violence...

...(IV)

The silence of forgiveness shattered your mind.
No cure, you used to have wasted demons inside.
Your face is before us, squeezing a wounded wing;
It's time to remember our glory from a dusty string.
Surging through sunken memories down the verge,
Where my deepest drained scars are ready to emerge...
Hungry wolves in galore looking for blood and meat,
Rampant eagles are scratching the resurgent spirit.
Out of the legion' street only the good died young.
Your funeral in ruins flows in the requiem we sang...

Bursts of love blown out at a corner of a cold stone.
The last weapon above, hunting toxic flesh and bone.
We're not some angels reaching for a grace in the sky.
No one at your grave, child. Behind the curtain, we cry...
Fallen human pieces among the track of a premonition.
Rise of the wrecks secures a spot 'cause hell is repetition...
We will remember the words of those kids we left behind,
In the shadow, we're not terrified about what we could find.  
A dead child will never be old, after his ashes laid to rest.
Our past was there, a mutual identity, sequel to the nest...

III

When the belief falls apart after one drink,
The love in excess makes you worried sick.
You resemble souls that grind out the people.
Like a flush who divides the good and the evil...
And here we are again, for an inglorious start.
But you can't see the scars of my bitter heart.
All we ever need is to let us taste some pain.
Facing the threats, will you faithfully remain?
Friends and enemies will mourn us at the wake.
Everything burned in our path, for God' sake...

We feed ourselves with lava from the flame.
You sink in the dark and no one is to blame.
Demons inside us are praying a natural guilt.
Poisoned eyes destroy all that we ever built.
No words of wisdom, life is a deal that we broke.
We're still running through a journey of smoke...
Surviving, like a freezed bait in a rampant storm.
Unleashed by a bite, we find our way back home.
We struggle to stick wild in the fight, to recover.
We are natural born monsters, aren't we, Father?


 

II

The quest to avoid a breach in reason,
Like a gap beyond any symbolic prison.
Maybe the heroine will make us float
And will carry us to the edge of the earth...
Where the battles for survival are cruel
And killing cold blood is the only rule...
Too many unveiled secrets until now.
We say goodbye, afraid to take a bow.
We taste the passion of the future death
Among strangers, on a melted path...

Facing the anarchy a little bit sober.
In dawn the scream of saints is over !
Pain hits us with the speed of light.
Your call is like a twist in the bite.
The angels smell the bitter sin scent
And crosses forget what we meant...
The bodies and memories feel no match
And echoes starts vibrating from scratch.
Where is your god to take the lead?
We die believing only in what we lived...

I

Down and hurt, pursuing faith.
We can't find the rhythm,
Before breaking to the gate.
Still searching for freedom... 
The darkness shook our hope,
The names hanging on a rope.
Dry fate at the edge of the dream. 
Putrefaction will make us scream...
Wings of petals blasting with remorse.
Blind horizons make past even worse... 

When forgiveness makes no sense, 

We fall like phantoms of ourselves.

We used to have demons inside.

Breathe stops. Yet, they're still alive...

Born in lust, seeking basic rigid sighs,

Death will always be our only paradise.

Chasing your venom kiss by default.

Is like a velvet ghost out of her drought...  

I'll be there in flames, saying 'goodbye'.

How does this truth feel? Oh, my...

 

Pogoanele's broken arrow: Poetry in motion. The road not taken...

With the promise of an end against this breed, the children side emerges into an army of senses, on a ride from scratch. We're at the inbound, one step closer to the edge of the dream, that we created in the middle of nothing but memories, at the bottom... Child, stay wild ! We reach down the chosen road that we must travel through the highway of the lights. We were supposed to be forgotten in the abyss, in boiling waves like holy toxic wrecks, with no cure, above a faded paradise. Like a hunter, seeking the prey through tight lanes we regain our basic view diving in the inner factory. Old projections screaming, pressing steps and a rude race, standing tall in front of our youth... If we'd believe for a while we could have much of the same answers, but left behind the cruel truth... Do not allow us to live forever for this long trip, swinging out of the time reversibility. Child, don't let us die young...

Pogoanele: To be forever young, you have to die young™... Va Li

Statues of stone are ripping them apart, delaying the glorious days. We're flowing over the evening thin vault. Some stars are rushing to bring up the night. Still, some clear spots, which we follow until a new star rises and raises the empire. And i think we thought we could throw something up there, when we were just some kids. A mark to last, to seek our energy to evolve... In Pogoanele every summer is like a call to arms; we gather soldiers to teach how to hang in the fight, with some missing bullets, on a pursuit of happiness. We were afraid that the angry rain who was committed to the summer days could wash away the past and the names or the game. But that was the darkness' job... To heal our wounds, our scars from the emotional cuts. To neutralize the pain and the fantasy... At night you could hear the blood in our fallen veins; we didn't recognize our old faces in the empty mirror in front of us... So, receive me back on the noisy streets of Pogoanele, brother. Until the dawn, right? Oh, and you don't have to open your heart. Even if we're not praising our leaders, we will not be stuck in some bitter tears in Heaven, friend. Does it feel like we've ever been alive inside? Let us become true...

Chasing our shadows: Young blood and voices of friends...

We were soldiers of our reasons and unrecognizable to bruises , we used to have demons inside when we wasted sins on the streets. Our legs felt like stone, our bones struggled to carry us back home. But that moments are vanished... No one here anymore to greet us, a bunch of boys with a mutual identity and basic memories. And we don't want to lay down on a bed of roses 'cause we could suffer severe wounds from their thorns, throughout our struggles... Now we slip on a melted path, praying the guilt to be a child no more. Torches scent the end and fall in the horizon, whispering a sigh, where the blind spots are filled by our glory. There's joy not far from here ! The 'nest' is like a gap between flames or rays. That's all Pogoanele is about: it's unveiling our leadership, our names hanging above the dusty cloud, which we left behind after a football session. Forgiveness not one of our escaping plans, 'cause crosses forget what we meant by no match between oblivion and us. We are the gods to be blamed, we shut the faith down to a whisper; we remember sequences, but not like they occurred. We forgot what we were and we might become what we are... Then, we reach a status when we recognize only short-terms feelings. I hope i'll live those instants in Pogoanele. Thus, i will know that i was happy during my whole life...

Closer to the edge, grinding out: The bite of a stake! Antebellum...

Pogoanele dethrones all the painful memories, while you step into it. All the children that have gone before, out of this dream, don't forget to get back here, in sweet redemption. I remember one moment when I struggled to forget and I lost myself in empathy and ferocious hitting. I went down in flames, buried in oblivion, where the past was running free and I fell short of glory, lost in my toxic faith. One day, maybe we will meet again... to rebuild the road to Caldaresti. It's a trip into the wild, on a dusty route, full of deep holes which digs abyssal scars into our bodies, with cold groove. Like an historical ritual, the 'a lot of kilometers' travel begins when the sun reach its zenith. The brain says 'stop!', but our feet, free of muscles are keep walking. People scan us and witness how we are being melted by the heat. The wind is shaking us and all the sins escape in the air. The roars of cows, the bright rust of the former factories and the sound of the trains mark the near station. Its shade is causing us an early amnesia. We're tripping by the railway, we march through powder and we pass the border to Caldaresti. A new challenge to face off, in a village where there is no symbiosis with the rest of the world. After a few kilometers, again, we're spinning towards Pogoanele and we're climbing a famous tight bridge, which was rehabilitated at the beginning of the present century. Under it, the football stadium collects all the waste stone, fallen after a big truck crossed the bridge. Up on the bridge, in the past, we shared a good vision at the great matches between old local rivals. Moving forward to top of it, from the bottom, you can already feel the sense of Pogoanele. A half of the mission was accomplished and now a desert way leads only to Pogoanele, the only place where you can find again, signs of civilization, like a sprain of the destiny. Back to origins, in Pogoanele where the venom of the blood is the only feeling, which pumps in our hearts, poisoned dreams, right out of our minds, over and over again, because... Pogoanele is repetition!

Pogoanele always in our hearts…

Pogoanele was the dream of childhood for us. This is what we’re keeping it today in our souls…
A train station, empty and quiet, with the original smell of green… Smell of departures or arrivals…
The problem is, why other trains don’t stop there? What are we waiting for? The hope is no longer dead and if it’s really quiet you can hear the ghost of the factory from behind!
And if you start to run on the train lines aiming Caldaresti Bridge, on Faurei direction, you will return all the time in the same place: “Gara Pogoanele”. After realizing that you’re stuck there, the only way available is back in the city…
And now, another adventure is just starting...

Pogoanele's farewell : One life, one street!

This is it. Here I am, in front of destiny’s final curtain call, at the edge of the Earth. I had an inglorious life, like a pursuit to immortality. Now, when I close my former eyes of the tiger, I can only see the shadow of me, chasing the pulse; my dusty steps, my mistakes. My forbidden dreams. I'm dying faster, inbound in sin and anguish, starting an ambush against the angels with soft wax wings. I'm condemned to oblivion, fearless of dark or death's freedom...
A bittersweet impulse... A coin falls into my hat. Summer’ struggle days are coming, thus YOU get to march on soft sand. Every hour is spinning away like the night sky. My memories, the only thing I had left. But I still get to carry me. Is that a light ? No... I was wrong. I thought that I don’t have death, that Heaven can wait, but morning breeze killed another of my dreams. Now, I don’t even know who I am . A fallen star or a shining dreamer? Anyway, it ain't enough for what it may seem. I just wanted to live, now I only wanna come back to life. To my purple life, full of happiness. I live my happy ending. My needs are one step too far, and it’s a little bit too late. I’ve hadn’t enough yet, but I lost the fight. I was too weak, no power, no luck. No Eden for me! I’m losing, but I still get the opportunity to be a hero! The moments when I was fearless vanished away. For me, there's no tomorrow. Every day is today. Each morning I go back to my bleeding swamp. Perhaps I betrayed myself... My Resurrection never came... Death would be best I can ever get. If got to go, got to go! Like this, speechless... No sighs, no regrets. Alone in front of death. My last lullaby, among past' mask. For me, this ain't a slump. I live every day a flashback. The devil whispers in my ears... The venom of my awesome existence is working in me... This is the story of my life, born on the street of crushed wishes! I’m a machine no longer living. Round up! Rest, to the fullest, is fragile silence, blown in delusion of being just a hero...

the 56th article : i’M still Beloving you’s...in memoriam…of our dreams; We get to carry each other.

The rhapsody starts in the early 2000's, when our childhood was at it’s top; a few children formed a football team and every day, during holidays, since morning until late in the night we were faithful to the religion we called 'football'.
We are and we will remain always just children, illuminated by Pogoanele’s streets memory. And cows which went back home, spreading smell of milk. We are now full of regrets, contemplating time’s disease, by missing the old days…We are some broken stars on the vault of the starry sky wonders, visible only off the great Pogoanele hill, which burning in the atmosphere made some of us to shake cause of the impatience of wishes, which fulfillment exceeds those barriers of dream and night, landing in the middle of town in broad daylight.
From CEC Headquarter to the Court, from the vegetables market to Silo, all culminates with the smell of cooking food, which is widespread in block slum, worthy of a sad poetry; are shrinking as a bundle of lightning rays , in our mind, causing pain...
But we’re not suffering , because we already broke the subjective plane and our human pain, being the model of the one grown on Unirii Street full of long long ago gone era’s fascination, but still pulsing life in our soul, of those who have crossed it day and night, during long holidays and of those who can’t imagine today, itself away from that carriage noise, which disturbs the whole street in a hot summer afternoon, where villagers are hiding in the house or under shade trees, to rest after a morning soaked in sweat of an eternal work, and us, returned to sleep state only by several hours, we are planning quietly the assault, which will continue upset for the thousandth time the daily life of the „ Simple Minds”.
Thus, any disorder is just a light breeze of our childhood which scattered our heart and body, of person born to suffer. It’s a disease easily cured with the smell of fresh grass, wet by a rain of the local common, or by three sanctified wine sips and a healthy spoonful of cage from an elder woman just returned from the cemetery, in a cool ,,Memory of the Dead” morning, or even with a stolen sweet apple, from the Court yard.
So, we don’t die. Neither now or over the years. We are emboding, with every lost breath, into spiritual and vegetal town body, WHO grew us. There we come and there we go, appearing at every bell beat from the cloud of dust,that once ,,watch” from the top, the entire football field, of the kindergarten yard.Those were the days of our lovely lives...

Mihai, ionuţ, cristi, vaLi, gabi, george, marian, ionuţ, gabi, andrei, doru, andrei, cosmin(junior) , Jhonny :)( a little to far of phenomen) , PaLop.(new entry in the club; great match last summer; youth) and DARiUS. – PRiDE Unirii Street football dream team, who has reached great maturity, for optimal athletic performance. Endless !



Copyright © 2009, Mihai (mail which changed and saved my life)

Rich Men Table : Breakthru!

A true copy of C.Brancusi's Silent Table, rest, in a shy corner, on the tennis court, like a steady for the beer bottles of the players. It is made of strong wood, brought illegal from Pogoanele's Forest, by a well-planned ambush.
At this table unfolds card games championships, spiritualism sessions and homework for school.:)It's the good wine house's terror, drank after an applicant tennis match, taking over the friends's model.Mother is gone, the stepfather is hairless and by his uncle's example to follow , detached by any extra-care, than his living wish to live so intensely the short-time period, that risks and costs passed in a marginal plan, the new generation flourished from transition's ashes, give us fascinating examples of individuals who fuse the new suburb of Pogoanele.
Here, drink is the simple comfort of human being, which enters on the natural path of maturity, becomes a matter of fact and a leitmotif of human's life, every day, over and over again...
In the first photo you can't identify sadness or shyness, the human being is filled with alcohol, in a worthy way of metaphysical murder, which give us no more surprises.See and not believe...Demon drink !

Corrida: OLÉ !

In Pogoanele, the density per square meter of the cattle is like the human's density from Burundi.(again, for 1.Gabi) Thus, the native population decided to undertake a bullfighting, which will satisfy local's desires of fabulous.
We borrowed the spanish model in terms and we established a full-of-EGO dream team of the cattle, which can compete every month with the bravest men. The track has many bends, for, property cattle to catch more difficult the athletes.The "bull-race" has part of an colossal audience, and the spectators participate actively in the game.
There was some regret incidents, when the bulls escalated the protection walls, and the fans were slightly injured.The little matadors get a symbolic prize, a baby cow, thus, their youth toreadors will continue the tradition.
An interesting episode, in event's short history happened when a gladiator of Indian origin, refused the prize won after his succeed quest in The Cow Marathon.
We're now waiting with excitement as the authorities to take officialy from the Spaniards the street oranges and tomatoes fights.Until then, in Pogoanele will pursue the tramp!-tramp! rally, Pogoanele's habitants's outburst, which reveals our Latin pride, transformed by the spirit's shells into a destiny...wizard !

POGOANELE's extermination camp : just screams.

War is wrong, but we have a better idea: KiLL! This is what Hitler done during the 2nd World War. His ideas made a nest in Pogoanele, into an infected building, which used to serve like music school. They just repainted it to look nice on outside. This time, inside the Jews were the subject of an unseen atrocities.
Starting 1940, before Romania's war entrance, the camp included 1,000 persons, from each corner of Europe. The population reached his high-number in 1943, in Hitler's full glory, counted 7,500 dying Jews...They had no muscle, their clothing hurt, they were just the shadows of the men they used to be. The Memorial Pain ends only in 1946 when, hundreds of bones are issued from the ,,house". No survivor, just signs of an incredible carnage. They are all now with the angels.
Holocaust heroes tell that they were forced to eat other people, who were dead. In Pogoanele lives a veteran, a guardian of the camp, who relates about that life in his goodbye book, a bunch of Jews's memories, before and after their painful suffering.
Roman Polanski, the ,,Pianist" director, visited the silent scene and concluded that he never saw anything like this. He seriously intends to edit the movie, by adding videos filmed here and interviews with the participants of Arian casting.After every dream, in the morning they were returning where nobody could hear their desperate scream. They went back to cruel reality.
The camp it is now a bright museum, keeping the memories, the pain , the snapshots and some images of SS guardians who helped the Jews to die faster. My tribute to the most intriguing history moment ever: The terrifying Holocaust.Now, spinning away and head to sweet home, to eternity,'cause you'll certainly die another day !

Pogoanele's Celebrities : Speechless!

This article is a dedication.


Ion A. Radulescu Pogoneanu, born on august 14th 1870, in Pogoanele, dead on march 14th 1945 was the best schoolmaster in domain and a prominent member of the Romanian Academy.He sustained the writers and the actors and helped them to stay in Pogoanele. He was burried in a grave without a cross, on his request, in Pogoanele, in presence of King Mihai I and the whole army, which fired gunshots to the sky, for the loving memory of the academician. The city was called Pogoanele, by his surname, a little sign of respect from the population, which will never forget him. Grace to him, Pogoanele it is now on the cultural romanian map.
The middle picture, illustrates the grand Academy Building, which hall, records paintings and simply memories, belonging to him.
In the first photo is his son who died on 1962, after a deadly battle with the communists for Pogoanele's habitants rights.He won the war with the price of freedom, and then the life. He was exiled in a sanatorium, and one year before his death he was back in Pogoanele with the the inability to walk, to think, to fight...
They were awarded The Romanian Star, post portem , in rank of a knight, for many services brought to the country.Nobody came to receive the distinctions, thus they were placed near their graves. A little bit too late.We dont't let the head down in front of this elective and divided gest.Trees don't tremble at any tremor.Allow us to be speechless...

Pogoanele Open : The pursuit of Legend; Quest for Eternity!

Our first article about the White Sport had an important echo, thus ITF decided to give Pogoanele the bid to host the fifth Grand Slam of the year. The tournament was scheduled in march, because the sky is clear in this period of the year.
Next year, Pogoanele welcomes the best tennis players. We will display another technology for Hawk Eye, we will place a new surface on the field, a combination between hard and floor gym and we will grant the biggest prizes in whole tennis history.
In the photo are two experts from ATP and WTA, who came to inspect the work stage of the infrastructure and the status of the sponsors. All of them were straight in front of the sun, managed the fact with their soul and said ,,ok".
Our local favorite, a leading talent called Iulica, will be the top seed on the qualification draw grace of his remarkable footwork, being at the bottom of it. The star it is now in Shanghai to watch his future opponents. He is training with the former World no.1, Ilie Nastase, who satisfies all his needs(equipment,psychologist and medical check)
The courts are impeccable, ready to host the most expensive feet on earth.We assure you that we don't broke the gorgeous-forever green-vegetation, which enclose the complex. Central Court suffered a reconstruction, having a capacity of 15,000 seats and a folding roof in present. Other 3 arenas have 10,000 places and retractable roof too, enough to motivate any player to accept the challenge to show his best performance, here in Pogoanele. The remaining 16 fields are almost empty at every match( only 350 seats). Now, we are building hotels, roads and airports. Who knows, maybe in the near future Pogoanele we will have the privilege to host The Olympics Games.The final countdown begins now. Come in Pogoanele, otherwise you will wish you'd never been born at all.
We will post very soon the videos which prove all that I said earlier.
Time ! First serve, please...

Pogoanele's cinema: Update

Like all Capitals of European Culture, Pogoanele has a movie house, where runs the best movies ever.Here, we focus on old movies, because the more ancient the more good.
Still, the last movie welcomed by the cinema was James's Cameron "Avatar".
In the 70's and 80's in Pogoanele was an abundance of indian movies.There was a car which travel far and wide the streets to announce the Indian Movie Night.Each time, after just an hour, on the theatre's walls wrote ''Sold Out", like on London's Emirates Stadium (for 1.Gabi). The tickets weren't enough for all the people. The cinema room was always too small for wishes of local people.Thus, in front of the gate it is a giant screen were people can see the movie from their cars.If this is what's happening outside, imagine what's going on inside.A delirium crazy.
In the 90' after the Romanian Revolution the indian movies vanished from Romanian Film Market to accommodate the US movies and the home movies, which were different than ten years ago.
Nowadays, the theatre hosts Romanian Movie Festival, within which were noted some youth Directors from Pogoanele, with very bold short films.We are waiting, for the next year, to be presented a Documentary about Pogoanele. Are there any directors able to acquire such a difficult chalenge ? I officialy launch the proud race for the best movie about us... The winner will achieve an important prize, if he will fulfill the task.Pogoanele will love you from the bottom of it's heart !
This will be really it, it will come the day of the final curtain call over magic theatre's scene. Hundreds of movies, theatre shows and simply stand-up comedy, all will be just history. An invincible part of Pogoanele's history.
Action! Play !!! See you in Heaven !

FC Köln against Pogoanele FC : The sighs match

This summer, one of the most famous german football team, 1. FC Cologne(Erste Bundesliga) played a friendly match against the local team, Olympia.The stadium was on fire over 90 minutes and the crowd encouraged their favorites.The impulses come from gallery weren't enough for victory and the visitors won easily the battle.
Their star, Lukas Podolski scored a hat-trick up to half-time. Then, he went in a pub where he spent one hour drinking a lot of beer.Thus, he brought the spirit of The Oktoberfest in Pogoanele too. The local paparazzi sold many incriminating photos with teen german to the british tabloids.
After the match, the romanian players ran after the germans for the used final-matches shirt exchange. A memory after a match which surpassed field's limits.The statements after the game were
full of mutual respect and conform with the reality.
The german boss made an official invitation to Olympia for a rematch in winter.Is well-known that the germans have always a bad start but a great finish, and that they don't commit the same mistake twice. They are like big bugs, which have to be crushed before they crush you. Anyway, even if we are only human, we will go to Germany to prevail for Romania, now the challenge is announced. Hoping that Pogoanele will rule the football world, I notice:
Germans, here we come ! It's time for your round-up. We come to outstand, upset you and pull you out from sport.You will ask for mercy and we will watch your happy ending !

Grogy Local Prison : POGOANELE's Lullaby; Redemption; Requiem of a dream

The most terrifying murderers, creepers, thieves and simply human being who committed crimes lived in GLP. The prison kept inside also ,,Romanian Stars" who participated in 1989 at the Glorious Revolution and seemed to be guilty on killing such innocent people.
After the big change in the country , the prison was closed in January 1991. Now, is only a pain and terror museum, guarded by wild dogs, scattered in the whole courtyard. In 1999, a chapter from OZ-Federal Prison had been taken here in Pogoanele, at dreaded GLP. The prison it is now only a cold and silent giant.
The one and only regret about the prison is that it didn't host one of the most important Romanian history man, stolen from us by Jilava prison, which took our architecture too. The feared serial killer, Ion Rimaru, who died in 1971. He is buried in the prison's yard cemetery. In the same yard, he was killed in cold blood, by some anonymous soldiers. A few meters away, the same soldiers, killed the Marshal Ion Antonescu in 1946, Rimaru's birth year. His body was preserved for scientific studies, and the coffin filled with Rimaru's most favorite stuff. R.I.P., Golden Boy ! Nowadays, I am considered his unofficial delegate on earth.
It's unique design prevented along the years the breaking and made it the most secured jail from Romania. Nobody escaped...alive from it. Their life inside was a terrible nightmare powered by the officers, who cemented a special fear for the pedophiles and Aryans.
Maybe it is closed now, but the ghosts of the past will live forever in and everywhere you are, GLP will be there to watch you !

Bonne Anniversaire POGOANELE !

Ça fait une année… une année des espoirs, des souvenirs et une année pleine de magie avec cette ville. On a essayé de vous présenté une autre Roumanie, une autre ville qui se trouve pas dans la carte de L’Europe et une communauté qui se fait remarque par son grand âme et par l’ouvrir a l’inconnu.
Ça n’est pas comme une blague, c’est la vérité d’une histoire profonde, d’une histoire qui lié la douceur de vivre avec les amis pour une seul but, joie, et ensemble avec les animaux et avec les fruits fraîches partout. C’est la lumière du soleil après la pluie qui nous fait d’avoir cette sourde nostalgie pour les temps qui a nous élevé loin de paradis. Mon histoire commence et se finit avec la douleur d’une vie vécu sur la souvenir d’une perfection; la perfection de bonheur laquelle on va rechercher chaque minute dans le chaque personne et chaque lieu.
Pour nous Pogoanele c’est plus d’une joie enfance, il est devenu notre apaisement en face de la crise morale de l’homme dans ce siècle. Il a resté l’ange de notre cœur dans l’ombre de peine apporté ici par l’obscurité de la tristesse général. Encore une fois une grande rêve a survécu.
Avec cet article je voudrais déclarer le jour de 28 septembre 2009, Le Jour Anniversaire du Pogoanele.
« Amer lieu de mon bonheur, Joyeux Anniversaire !!! »
Mihai .

Happy RE- Birthday POGOANELE !

It's been one year since this miracle was born, but i can still feel that tremor, the thrill of a new beginning. Now, the emotions overwhelmed us, especially because the blog suffered an unexpected expansion and 'cause it is loved by the whole world involved body and soul.
It's obviously that ,,our baby" it is a real phenomenon. Today, which has been named the official Holiday of the city, in Pogoanele it was a great parade, carnivals and a pub party. The youngsters celebrated the birthday in the famous club from Downtown, and the party spread until late in the morning, all for OUR memory ! Then, fragile children carried back their parents to home !
Pogoanele is close to you when you're feeling alone, it builds your dreams and it's the most used word of the last two days.If you're ever gonna lose your love Pogoanele will help you to find HER. POGOANELE will die, but not in this LiFE ! And not on the Earth...
In this time we received violent and strong requests from the children who appear in the pictures on the site , to delete their photos, but they don't know yet the privilege to be placed even only in one photo, on this leading talent site.
One year of glorious articles, golden phrases and sensational pictures. One war with ourselves, no prisoners and no winners.The world is ready for another full year. They just can't stop loving POGOANELE. The site is our way to survive on this hard tried earth.
Pogoanele is exciting and BEAUTIFUL,it is the place where I will always come back , because this is the city which makes you eternal, the town which will live forever in our hearts.Here,good friends don't let you to do stupid things...ALONE -town of metamorphosis.- Pogoanele saved us, in every way that a person can be saved and it's about to be eating us ! All we keep about it, only the memories ! I already miss it like the dessert misses the rain.Does the aliens know about it ? Chuck Norris has enough courage to come in Pogoanele ? Some questions which time will give their answers.
Meanwhile, POGOANELE lives and dies for us ! Love Pogoanele ! I'm crazy about it and I miss all that I own in POGOANELE ! It captured us forever !
Fellows, let's stretch Pogoanele's legs to eternity !

P.S.:This article is dedicated to Mihai, Gabi and ionuţ.The order is irrelevant !

VALi.

Dix raisons forts pour visiter Pogoanele

Pogoanele est la ville ou Godzzila est passé, jusqu'a Les Etats Unis. Puis, la rue est bien conservé et son troux préservent chaque goutte d'eau.
Pogoanele est la ville qui est toujours vert, même l'automne, quand les autres villes sont en train de mourir.
Pogoanele est la ville ou Stalin a envoyé le dernier mercurial nucléaire, avant son mort. Les Americans ont gagné seulement une bataille, mais la guerre poursuive...
Ici sont formés les veritbales chevals d'endurance, qui, puis sont utilisés pour les films d'Animal Planet.
Le parent spirituel du Pogoanele c'est un producteur du bière, qui finance les projets des jeunes. Ainsi, si vous voulez visiter la ville , Burger payera tous les dépenses.
Pogoanele est la ville ou les courses illégales des voitures sont ,, à la maison". L'adrénaline, le dinamisme arrivent au paroxysme.
Dans Pogoanele tous les pilots de Formule 1 ont obtenu l'autorisé du conducteur au célèbre ecole ,,Premiere Ecoole".
La voiture officiele Coca-Cola il y a quotidienne dans Pogoanele. La consomation est énorme et le chef du companie pense qui soit meilleur s'il aurait une branche dans notre ville.
Une vieux tradition roumaine dit que , si un homme est mort sur la rue, doit être edifié une croix et fixé au lieu de tragédie. Malheuresement, il y a beaucoup des croix dans Pogoanele, mais heuresement elles sont considerées Monuments culturelles du Roumanie...Vous pouvez faire des photos avec eux, pour l' honneur du mort...
Dans Pogoanele il y a une station du train qui date à partir d'installation comme roix, a Carol de Hohenzollern (Allemagne). La premiere brique a été fini par meme le Roix.
Il doit meriter l'effort du voyage jusqu'ici. Allez au Pogoanele, la ville ou les Déesses et les anges ont vecu en harmonie dans le passé récent. A suivre , Pogoanele sera l'unique ville contournée d' Apocalypse.