He is that who had an essential contribution to the project
that has been materialised in my person. It is said that he was merry.
I do not know why he wanted to become a hero.
He succeeded, but mistook both place and time.
He died in 1941 on anti-Soviet fighting front.
Bad starting point in my biography for the following forty years...
Really heroine was my mother, who needed to fight with me,
without speaking of the fight that she had to do with others for my sake.
War of attrition.... Generally, she was contented with the result, I think.
A later photograph (4-5 years) shows me as almost a cute little boy. What times and what a pity that beauty is of no use. People do not want to accept the idea that somebody can have more qualities than just beauty. Having only one quality is quite enough and rather too much at times. Consequently, I shall write on my defects and how they have increased with time.
To be sincere, I must confess that there was a spark of hope somewhere: maybe I was not very cute. Maybe I was not cute at all. Consequently, I should have the right to some qualities. It is true, they are not confirmed by the history yet, but I am an optimist. People often write history. There are as many histories as many great interests. In the first
Not only the good examples are worthy to be mentioned; the bad ones are much more instructive. I remember my grandmother, who was a great admirer of carrots, advising me to eat carrots to help my cheeks turn rosy red. Otherwise, I would look like brand "X" which was really not recommended at all. I did not look like brand "X" even though I did not eat carrots. Somehow I have avoided all the extremes that impacted my childhood.
To be sincere, I must confess that there was a spark of hope somewhere: maybe I was not very cute. Maybe I was not cute at all. Consequently, I should have the right to some qualities. It is true, they are not confirmed by the history yet, but I am an optimist. People often write history. There are as many histories as many great interests.
In the first sentence of this autobiographical study, I have reffered to my second activity which was eating. In respect to the historical truth, I did not eat but drunk. Here is how the lie inoculates us early in our babyhood. And it is not the worse. It is true that at the beginning the word was not always the right one. It seems nobody understood my first word even though I said it very strongly. Later on, although I insisted, people persisted in their lack of interest for basic philosophical ideas. As for drinks, this has remained a matter that I am still studding and considering its depths. Some things are as uplifting as they are deep. That's why they have to be done thoroughly.
Now I have to break off.
Later, I learnt that I was born under the sign of Taurus (2 May 1937), together with other good men like Lenin and Marx. Recently I have learnt that Saddam Hussein is only four days older than I. Hitler himself aspired to the same sign and a single day missed him. Maybe this sentiment of dissatisfaction made him so ambitious. It could have been Machiavelli's as well, but he was a clever fellow, despite to those who - more machiavellian than him - defamed him.
The happiest year of my sign is going to be 2057. We will live to see it, though my sight is becoming weaker and weaker.
At the beginning, I was very disappointed with my sign because Taurus is a bull and a bull is however an ox: idiot and horned. But I was told that my sign is still a good one. As a matter of fact, in antiquity, Taurus used to be considered a symbol of masculine force and intelligence just thanks to its horns. Zeus himself, in his best days, used to disguise himself into a Taurus. (I think the zodiac was invented by women because only they could idealise an ox in a such great measure.) I have heard that, according to other zodiacs, I should get rid of this obsession, but I do not know other ones and I am not eager to learn about them either. Why should I find out other flaws? I have enough with those already known.
There is about the same with the horoscope. Learning that I am to benefit by a good day, for example, I will be able to make mistakes due to rather much trust in my abilities. Instead, learning that I was going to have a bad day, I would be embarrassed and would make mistakes just because the lake of my usual horned enthusiasm. Learning about my horoscope at the end of a bad day would be the best. In this way I would receive an explanation for my failures during that day, and it would be a tonic for the following day when, surely, the horoscope will be more favourable, in virtue of statistic laws: after rain, bad weather! (I think it is a little different but it does not matter.)
I tried with biorhythms too. It seems more scientific but it gives me the sensation of a machine. I have the feeling that a rod-crank mechanism acts upon me in an obsessing and everlasting rhythm. Or, what a pity, some day it will stop to the disappointment of my biography's readers.:( Every good thing has an end...
But let's do not rush. I have only started writing it.
As the zodiac, horoscope, and even the biorhythms did not help me much, I have learnt to take things as they are. Nevertheless, honestly, on every 13th, I usually inform my acquaintances that they will probably have a bad day.
I do not know when I grow up.
She was searching for something in the grass.
It was not clear what exactly she was searching for, but she finally found me.
I did not use to be in the grass, but much farther away.
For a great love, the land is less important.
Lovers walk more on the clouds, they say.
I used to be surely nearer by them.
Finally, I have come back on the horizontal land, to the general satisfaction.
Here, I had trouble with the style.
With time, the distance diminishes, to the general satisfaction.
It seems that people like our life style because we are asked to sponsor both marriages and christenings.
In this way we have a large collection of godchildren.
In the restricted offing of the socialist Romania, there was not much to do except to work, where I made lots of enemies, because of my published works. Romanians envy a lot.
Painting was by far a more peaceful refuge. I had on average one exhibition a year.
After '89 the borders opened up, and new sources of investigations as well.
At the beginning, around the house:
Look mom, Monte Carlo
Later on, I crossed the water.
From New York... to Pacific
Even a little Mexico
About all these I have still to write, but I am very busy now.
Before I retired, I used to have much more free time. We will talk later.
Let's hear good news, and do not forget: my glorious year will be 2057!