"Un cititor trăieşte o mie de vieţi înainte de a muri. Omul care nu citeşte trăieşte doar o singură viaţă." – George R.R. Martin

Quote of the day – 6 September 2017: Girl in elevator – Bogdan Iancu


definition: the elevator is a cable taxi,

you travel with daily and free of charge.

1 m – 1,2 m – standard dimensions

for standard elevators in any standard neighborhood…

in him were written the most beautiful,

the shortest and

the most interesting love stories

that the city knew.

in the elevator were the most beautiful,

the longest

the most interesting discussions

– the elevator preferably crashes

between the 3rd and 4th floors.

the occupants had,

as a consequence, cordial relations.

on the 3rd and 4th floors the elevator had made it

understanding and neighbourhood.

in the elevator mirror were done every morning

the shortest and

The Most Beautiful Makeup…

thousands of faces have mirrored joyful or sad.

with their eyes in the ceiling or with them towards the wet floor…

maximum weight (320 kg) has been exceeded by thousands and thousands of times.

but the elevator endured and moved on. like Sisyll.

some have gone about their business.

others spat out seed peels and threw turbo gum on the floor.

some have gone about their business.

others have touched (not by chance) foreign bodies,

triggering the longest scandals in the block's history.

and the elevator went up year after year.

some have written with nail polish on plywood Sergiu is an ox,

others who says it is.

and others deleted everything with acetone,

something, however, has remained indelible over the years…

Tina – The New

Tina, what are you doing here? Tina, what are you doing here? Tina, what are you doing here?

was written in red on the drilled plate of the elevator

under the light of the blind bulb.

it was our cry of love, of despair.

Maybe you'd deserve that story

to open with once upon a time,

but it's good and so, at the beginning of the declaration of love

placed in this old elevator

from Be-zero,

who climb and descend in tidy jumps…


your simple name

like the sound of a bell, as Madame Pricolici used to say,

it still stirs up my memories,

a thrill pierces my nails, my (few) hairs of hair,

dust on the boots (you know, boots that seem funny to you –

you've told me a thousand times)

and secures somewhere on a thin and yobbege foil of time

– scotch tape on which all photos are glued with you:

you in your arms to Mommy and Daddy at the time when, you can clearly see –

they still loved each other,

you in first class with pencil in hand and a map of Romania in the back,

you between two trees at sibiu zoo

when they made you a pioneer and how excited you were!

looking with poetry towards the camera;

in the back, a grass-dusting needle quietly.

Then you suddenly got big…


he liked to shoot from the cigarette deep, deeper,

She was, let's talk!

then blow the smoke in our noses with indifference,

in circles (he also knew how to remove triangles).

and the smoke came out of her lungs accompanied by a staggering fragrance

which he caught there,

inside Tina

and then we grab all cough

until tears.

but we were happy and she was wrapping us in a wide glance

– I don't know if it was all of us –

then put us back on the wall with the smoke of Kent transmitted directly

over the faces of admiration.

over our great and sustained love.

over blind love, over the love moves.

We were doomed.

She was our firing squad.

Tina was the woman who said

the longest words in the world,

it all started with

Let me tell you what happened to me today!

incredible events were coming up.

Tina was the only one to have something dignified

to be told every day.

only the rest of us led to a


Tina's shadow on the retina

there were no dissidents at the time.

All of us on the scale, I loved you.

you (it seems normal) you knew that. and you liked it.

One night, I remember well,

you stopped in front of the bank on the block

where we waited for hours to show up

and, from left to right, you counted us. There were 10 of us.

apostles of high feelings.

George on scale C, for example,

he wrote poems on your notebook covers, dictatando, then,

from a few well-executed movements turn them into airplanes,

that destiny placed on a flight on an unseen spiral.

the end of the spiral was inevitable the sill of your window.

or Luci from 4, which had filled the walls of the block with


and so many other acts of crazy courage.

The Girl in the elevator book can be purchased from:

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