bahamut

ma asez recunoscatoare pe scaunul liber din autobuz, socotind in minte cate ore din viata trec stupid, in inghesuiala asta meschina si mirositoare de trupuri straine, promitandu-mi ca la urmatorul job criteriul distantei fata de casa va fi intre primele doua. scot cartea din sac si citesc lacom cateva pagini – dialogul houellebecq / levy e delicios, ma simt spectator tacut la o sueta de oameni misto (unul din rolurile mele preferate).

pe urma imi amintesc buletinul meteo de weekend, cronica unui sfarsit anuntat (de cate ori in viata avem parte de luxul asta? de cate ori suntem avertizati ca mai este doar un pic, de cate ori suntem preveniti “enjoy it while it lasts“, de cate ori ne putem lua la revedere, de cate ori ne putem umple ochii, inima, plamanii?), sfarsitul verii asteia indiene (quite a hollywood summer), asa ca dau dracului cartea, ma mut pe locul de la geam, eliberat intre timp de o doamna corpolenta, si ma zgaiesc intens la cladirile urate, napadite de cabluri, la tencuieli cazute, la frunzele din herastrau, la geamurile in care se reflecta apusul asta mangaietor, la aerul care vibreaza dulce peste sirurile de masini intepenite pe bulevard, si atunci incepe in casti povestea asta despre testoasa albastra care ne poarta pe toti in spate, intr-un echilibru fragil, despre taurul cu 50 de ochi si rasuflare de foc, despre firul de nisip si lacrima ce ne adaposteste, si ma mir atunci de unde atata frumusete-n lume si cum de-o putem duce pe toata.

The entire known universe
Floats suspended in a thin silver bowl
Which rocks gently on the back
Of an immense blue-green tortuga
And the tortuga’s scaly feet
Are firmly placed on the topmost
Of seven craggy mountains
Which arise from a vast and arid plain
Of drifting, fetid, yellow dust
And the plain is balanced precariously
On top of a small thin green acacia tree?
Which grows from the snout
Of a giant blood red ox
With 50 eyes that breathes flame
The color of the midnight sky
And the ox’s hooves are firmly placed
On the single grain of sand
Which floats in the eye of Bahamut
Like a mote of dust
No one has ever seen Bahamut
Some think it’s a fish
Some think it’s a newt
All we know is that the lonely Bahamut
Floats endlessly through all time and all space
With all of us and everything
Floating in a single tear
Of his eye

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