Category Archives: Life

Beings of Details

Humans are beings of details 

They don’t care what they eat, but the taste of good 

For them it isn’t important what they wear, but the aspect of their clothes 

The utility of an activity means nothing to them, but the pleasure brought by fulfilling it

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Ephemeridae

The Lemonade of the Economical Crisis 

or 

The Efemerity of Things that we want

 

On 24 October we commemorate the Black Thursday of year 1929, the day when the Wall Street Stock Market crash became obvious. It was inevitable to reach this situation: the Crash was the logical consequence tot only of the specultive boom of 1926, but also of the lifestyle gouverned by the “Live now, pay later” principle, the system of buying in rates allowing more american citizens live in luxury. But then, the ecnomical crisis of the 30s had let with their wallets empty the citizens of the United States who, owning soo much money, adopted a new principle: “Pay now, live later”. Some decided to not live at all, put a rope around their neck and hang themselves, others to throw themselves on the window.

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The Story of Lost Essentials

“A man’s house burns down. The smoking wreckage represents only a ruined home that was dear through years of use and pleasant associations. By and by, as the days and weeks go on, first he misses this, then that, then the other thing. And when he casts about for it he finds that it was in that house. Always it is an essential — there was but one of its kind. It cannot be replaced. It was in that house. It is irrevocably lost. It will be years before the tale of lost essentials is complete, and not till then can he truly know the magnitude of his disaster.” – Mark Twain

 

The 20s. City of Piteşti. The house of the Laslo family was a big one, with many rooms, each of them hosting numerous objects. The “pleasant associations” could be made not only with the home as one, but with every room in part. 

An oil bucket. A match. An enormous evilness. A great hate. This four things were needed to burn the house from the ground. Who did it? A man which not that it didn’t had at his hearth, but detestes, hated the hungarian people, and the members of the Laslo family were, in the acception of this bastard, four “damned magyars”. 

The smoke comes out from the roof. The flames embrace the boards. The house is on fire. The members of the Laslo family can only look desperate how their home is reduced to matchwood and ash. On their time, you just couldn’t stop an arson.  

Of course, in the interwar Piteşti, there were no hydrants, and the firemen didn’t stepped by: the days of heroism like those on the Spirii Hill had long gone by (1). The only apparent chance to save a building on fire was to bring water by a bucket from a lake or a river, but such an attempt proves, in the end, its futility: not even the legs of a desperate man can make the road from the Argeş river back tens of times. 

After the fire extinguished, nothing remained, only the piles of a ruined house. When some remains on the streets, the first thing he desires is a roof above his head. He doesn’t have it. Then, he looks at what he had left: to Ştefan, Maria, Ana and Elisa Laslo, the only thing they remained with was a cup of tea, a spoon and the cloths they had on them.   Continue reading

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The Wallet of Soul

Our soul is like a wallet

In it we keep what is valuable 

 

Actually, I think it is more like a money box

In it we keep our savings 

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