The contemporary story of fairytales

Cine mai crede azi in basme?
Haha! Eram asa de mica incat nici nu stiam ca exist, pe vremea cand trageam de mama ca un terorist mic ce am fost sa "Maaaaamiii...zi-mi o poveste!". Si dup-aia inca una. Si inca una. Pana adormea mama. Si apoi o trezeam: "Si dup-aia? Ce s-a intamplat?"...Si mama continua, si intr-un final adormeam amandoua. Pana cand am invatat sa spun eu povestile, si i le naram mamei in fiecare seara, fara exceptie. De obicei le spuneam foarte repede, totusi teatral, ca sa pot sa spun cat mai multe intr-o seara. Cred ca imi antrenam public speaking skills-urile. Si cand adormea, ii ziceam: "Mama, nu dormi, ca n-am terminat!"... Sa am asa copil, cred ca l-as arunca direct pe geam. Adevaru-i ca n-am prea stat pe curu` meu cand eram mica, eram in permanenta agitatie si aveam niste mofturi mai ceva ca printesa de Pompadour. Apoi am mai crescut un pic, si am explorat tot felul de culturi prin lumea basmelor...tin minte ca imi cuparase mama o carte cu povesti celtice, prin grupa mare. Nu mai puteam de extaz. Apoi basme iberice, nici alea nu mi-au fost indiferente. Povestile vesnic nemuritoare...un element magic al fiecarei copilarii. Poate in ziua de azi mai rar intalnit, cand copchii astia in ce in ce mai acopii, prefera alte soiuri de entertainment in locul basmelor.
Iiiinsa....observ ca nici cum am procedat eu nu-i bine. Am cateodata impresia ca traiesc intr-un basm, intr-un fel de clopot de sticla, si nimic rau nu se poate intampla. Pt ca atunci cand intri in lumea himerica a basmului, accesezi o alta realitate, cea fictionala. Si traiesti bine mersi in ea, fara nicio jena. Pana la proba contrarie. Pana cand toti feti-frumosii si caii verzi pe pereti, sau albi, cum or fi, si toti fluturii aia cu aripi de petale de trandafiri si vrajeli, se duc la dracu` si te lasa pe tine, printesa printeselor, sa-ti jelesti toate alea. Si din printesa devii Sfanta Duminica, cu cele mai intelepte sfaturi de dat altora, dar nimic bun de aplicat pt propria persoana, ca dovada vie stand faptul ca Sfanta Duminica e intotdeauna singura, in cel mai bun caz are prin zona ceva animale de-alea dubase sau lucruri fermecate, dar NU oameni. Si dupa ce te mai si saturi de facut pe inteleapta si ti se apleaca de la atata profunda meditatie asupra existentei...iti bagi picioarele si devii Zmeoaica si iti faci de cap cum ai chef. Good girls go to Heaven. Bad girls go everywhere.
Acest post nu are concluzie. Conclusions out of order for the time being. We will be back as soon as the problem is fixed.

Sssnow time, baby!

Luni, marti si vineri am cele mai grele zile. Ca negrii pe plantatie, stau toata ziua la sapa. Adica la universitate. Ora dupa ora, si daca se nimereste sa am vreo pauza, tzushti la biblioteca. Martia asta nu a fost o exceptie. Am iesit pe la 5pm din biblioteca, sa fug la un seminar, cu gandurile imprastiate("oare ce face cineva drag?", "futu-i mama ma-sii de ploaie, execrabila vremea la englezii astia...", "oare ce m-a impiedicat ca de o luna incoace sa nu imi cumpar o nenorocita de umbrela?", "oare unde naiba este ceva agentie Loto, poate ar fi o idee buna sa incep sa joc, sunt cu bugetul la zero" etc). Si m-a trasnit asa deodata, la iesirea din biblioteca....taddddaaa!!!!!
Z A P A D A ... C`etait incroyable!!! Pure magic!!! Ningea cu fulgi mari, ca-n basme. Nici n-am mai tinut cont de frigul ce m-a adus instant intr-o stare de vertij, am pus-o pe seama ninsorii. Sigur, ninsoarea cadea peste o ploaie zaluda ce tinuse cateva ore bune, de-aia tipic britanica, baga-mi-as picioarele-n ea. Si nici nu urma sa dureze mult, din pacate. Zapada, zic. S-a asezat un strat alb pe masini, suficient cat sa jubilez incontinuu pana acasa. Mi s-a facut dor de scortisoara, de covrigeii lu` mama, de ski, de munte si de un semineu inflacarat.
Incredibil, in octombrie scriu un post despre zapada.
Nu vreau sa fac confidente emo, dar in ultimul timp starea mea n-a fost cea mai buna, am ceva probleme de sanatate, si nici moralul nu-i at its highest level. Insa zapada asta de marti (a cata oara sa va spun ca orice s-ar intampla, marti e ziua mea norocoasa?haha!) a fost ca un boost al energiei care se apropia vertiginos de zero. Walking in a winter wonderland, exact asa a fost pana am ajuns acasa. Acasa, unde mi-am facut un ceai cu scortisoara si mi-am pus fizicul in pat si m-am culcat. Am visat cu castele si zapada si printi si cai albi si inimi de gheata ce se topesc la seminee...

The Story of Cupid and Psyche - Part One

This`ll be a pretty long story. That`s why I decided to deliver it to you piece by piece. If you were ever curious about what Psyche`s story was, well...here it is.


A certain king and queen had three daughters. The charms of the two elder were more than common, but the beauty of the youngest was so wonderful that the poverty of language is unable to express its due praise. The fame of her beauty was so great that strangers from neighboring countries came in crowds to enjoy the sight, and looked on her with amazement, paying her that homage which is due only to Venus herself. In fact Venus found her altars deserted, while men turned their devotion to this young virgin. As she passed along, the people sang her praises, and strewed her way with chaplets and flowers.

This homage to the exaltation of a mortal gave great offense to the real Venus. Shaking her ambrosial locks with indignation, she exclaimed, "Am I then to be eclipsed in my honors by a mortal girl? In vain then did that royal shepherd, whose judgment was approved by Jove himself, give me the palm of beauty over my illustrious rivals, Pallas and Juno. But she shall not so quietly usurp my honors. I will give her cause to repent of so unlawful a beauty."

Thereupon she calls her winged son Cupid, mischievous enough in his own nature, and rouses and provokes him yet more by her complaints. She points out Psyche to him and says, "My dear son, punish that contumacious beauty; give your mother a revenge as sweet as her injuries are great; infuse into the bosom of that haughty girl a passion for some low, mean, unworthy being, so that she may reap a mortification as great as her present exultation and triumph."

Cupid prepared to obey the commands of his mother. There are two fountains in Venus's garden, one of sweet waters, the other of bitter. Cupid filled two amber vases, one from each fountain, and suspending them from the top of his quiver, hastened to the chamber of Psyche, whom he found asleep. He shed a few drops from the bitter fountain over her lips, though the sight of her almost moved him to pity; then touched her side with the point of his arrow. At the touch she awoke, and opened eyes upon Cupid (himself invisible), which so startled him that in his confusion he wounded himself with his own arrow. Heedless of his wound, his whole thought now was to repair the mischief he had done, and he poured the balmy drops of joy over all her silken ringlets.

Psyche, henceforth frowned upon by Venus, derived no benefit from all her charms. True, all eyes were cast eagerly upon her, and every mouth spoke her praises; but neither king, royal youth, nor plebeian presented himself to demand her in marriage. Her two elder sisters of moderate charms had now long been married to two royal princes; but Psyche, in her lonely apartment, deplored her solitude, sick of that beauty which, while it procured abundance of flattery, had failed to awaken love.

Her parents, afraid that they had unwittingly incurred the anger of the gods, consulted the oracle of Apollo, and received this answer, "The virgin is destined for the bride of no mortal lover. Her future husband awaits her on the top of the mountain. He is a monster whom neither gods nor men can resist."

This dreadful decree of the oracle filled all the people with dismay, and her parents abandoned themselves to grief. But Psyche said, "Why, my dear parents, do you now lament me? You should rather have grieved when the people showered upon me undeserved honors, and with one voice called me a Venus. I now perceive that I am a victim to that name. I submit. Lead me to that rock to which my unhappy fate has destined me."

Accordingly, all things being prepared, the royal maid took her place in the procession, which more resembled a funeral than a nuptial pomp, and with her parents, amid the lamentations of the people, ascended the mountain, on the summit of which they left her alone, and with sorrowful hearts returned home.

While Psyche stood on the ridge of the mountain, panting with fear and with eyes full of tears, the gentle Zephyr raised her from the earth and bore her with an easy motion into a flowery dale. By degrees her mind became composed, and she laid herself down on the grassy bank to sleep.

To be continued...